Jack Shian and the Mapa Mundi

by Andrew Symon

  “But it’s midsummer!” exclaimed Jack

  “Dad’s been captured,” sobbed Lizzie. The journey’s nausea had passed, leaving her free to dwell on her anguish.

  “Who’s taken him? And why?” demanded Rana.

  “The Kildashie and the Dunters made a deal – an Unseelie alliance,” explained Aunt Katie, trying to comfort her daughters, “and they brought in the Thanatos.”

  “Thanatos?”This was a new name to add to Jack’s list.

  “They’re the condemned,” gasped Uncle Hart, his eyes tightly closed. “They hover just this side of death. When they fight, they know they’ve nothing to lose.”

  “Why not? And why are they condemned?”

  “If they’re defeated, they know they’re going to Sheol. Whatever they did in life, it was bad if that’s their punishment.”

  Jack shuddered. Sheol: Shian hell, the worst fate imaginable.

  “Why would they bother with the Kildashie?”

  “The Kildashie have promised them the Chalice. The Thanatos think that it will keep them alive.”

  “And so they won’t go to Sheol?”

  Uncle Hart nodded. “We think so.”

  “But the Chalice doesn’t work like that. It’s not a magyck; it’s about belief.”

  “These are desperate creatures, Jack. They’ll try anything to avoid …”

  “Dad tried to take ’em on,” mumbled Petros. “But they move like lightning. One of them drew his sword across Uncle Hart’s face.”

  Jack was overwhelmed. It was so good to see his cousins and the others again, but the news that things had got even worse was hard to take in. His uncle’s face looked hideous.

  In a daze, Jack led the bedraggled refugees back up to the house. When they arrived, Marco and Luka were standing by the door. They seemed unsurprised by the unkempt and distressed condition of the new arrivals. Holding up his hand for attention, Marco announced, “Luka will attend to your injuries. Our house is open to you all, but you see that it is not big enough for everyone.”

  “Grandpa can fix that,” stated Rana.

  “I’m afraid that Shian charms will not work on this house,” replied Marco smilingly. “But it is midsummer, and I am sure that you younger ones will be happy to sleep out in tents. We have canvas enough.”

  “And you will be safe here, so do not fear.” Luka spoke up now. “If matters are as serious as you say, then Marco and I will have work to do elsewhere, once I have seen to that man’s eyes. You may stay here for as long as you need. Marco and I will leave the house to you.”

  “I saw Trog today,” stated Marco. “He lives down on one of the bays. He was quite excited when I told him about you all. He believes the arrival of our young visitors – or one of them – is a matter of great fortune.”

  Jack looked quizzically at Marco.

  “Trog?”

  “It’s not his real name. We call him that because he lives in a cave. When he arrived he was known as Erik Bloodaxe. He doesn’t like his old name.”

  “How come Rana and I haven’t met him before?”

  “I haven’t seen him myself since you arrived. He’s practically a hermit, and shy of visitors, but something makes him think one of these young ones may be the answer to his prayers. In fact, Jack, I can take you to meet him now.”

  The house still looked like a ruin from the outside when he arrived back two hours later, but Jack hardly noticed. Filled with excitement, he could hardly wait to tell the others of Trog and his cave. As he approached the house, he saw that several small tents had been erected outside, but they were all unoccupied.

  Stepping inside the house, Jack found everyone was crammed inside the now familiar interior. But his anticipation was dashed as he saw the look of defeat on the face of Petros, Rana … well, everyone. Everyone, and Finbogie too, whose stern gaze met Jack’s astonished look.

  “Midsummer opened up the low road, Jack,” said his defence tutor. “But it’s done something else. You remember that Daid said he’d touched the Stone at Oestre? I’ve just come from Edinburgh, and midsummer’s worked the same trick. If the Kildashie can work out how to get the Stone out, it’s all over.”

  21

  Trog

  That was it, then. Hundreds of years of waiting to get the Stone back, and now the Unseelie had just walked uninvited into Edinburgh and midsummer had granted them the Stone. Just great. To say nothing of them turning midsummer back into winter.

  Jack rounded on Marco and Luka, demanding, “Can’t you take the Kildashie on?”

  “Young man, you mistake our purpose here. My brothers and I are teachers; we do not interfere directly in the affairs of people. Or, at least, only rarely.” Luka spoke calmly.

  “But you have the powers of Gosol,” Jack persisted. “And you’ve told us that we always have to fight for what’s right. Isn’t fighting evil part of what you do?”

  “We are part of that fight,” continued Luka. “But we operate through people – human or Shian. If they learn well from us, then they will know what to do. That is our commission.”

  “Well, tell us then: what do we do?” Jack shouted angrily.

  Aunt Katie stood up and moved over to Jack, putting her arms around him. Her eyes were moist, but she looked firmly into his eyes.

  “Jack, trust them. They’re good men.”

  “But how?” Jack wanted to push his aunt away.

  “We cannot give you all the answers.” Marco spoke up now. “But we can show you how to find them. And I have already started that. Perhaps you ought to tell the others what you have learnt this afternoon.”

  “Well … we went to see Trog. He’s not that old … I mean, he doesn’t look all that old. He’s a warrior-something …” Jack broke off.

  “Warrior-savant,” interjected Marco.

  “Yes. He used to be a warrior, now he spends his time seeking wisdom. His cave is tucked away; you hardly notice it. Rana and I have been here a month, and we’ve never even seen him. For seven years he’s been trying to catch this big fish. It’s something to do with finding wisdom, or good luck …” Jack’s voice trailed off.

  “Trog is a warrior who came here with the Norse invaders.” Marco took over. “But he’s no ghost, like the ones you saw last year. He was left for dead, but his body had fallen by a well whose waters have powers that stop ageing. But once taken, that person cannot leave. They must return to drink the waters of the well every full moon, or their body will wither and die, and their soul with it.”

  “You mean he just drinks from the well and he’ll live forever?” Rana sounded incredulous. “Then why doesn’t everyone go there?”

  “His long years come at a price,” stated Luka. “He is slowly atoning for his bloodlust, but the anger can flare quickly. He needs wisdom if he is to have a peaceful death. To get that wisdom, he believes he must catch and eat the swordfish of fortune.”

  “It’s this enormous fish,” blurted out Jack. “The first person to taste its flesh will be shown where the Mapa Mundi’s hidden. It’s a map that shows its owner where his heart’s treasure lies. Trog believes it will lead him to a peaceful death.”

  “The manuscripts said that about the Sphere.” Grandpa Sandy’s voice was weak. “The third treasure.”

  “But a map’s not round,” pointed out Jack.

  “Globe maps are,” asserted his grandfather. “And if this one shows the right path to follow, that must help us.”

  “We can get the Stone back and get rid of the Kildashie.” Rana sounded triumphant.

  “But we don’t know that this one’s the Sphere,” stated Petros. “Jack just said it was a map.”

  Jack looked round at his cousin, and as he did so he became acutely aware that Fenrig and Morrigan had been in the corner of the room all this time. Marco intercepted his gaze and guessed his thoughts.

  “Certain treasures are there for all, young man. The map may be owned by anyone whose heart is true.”

  Well, that rules Fenrig out.
>
  Marco handed Jack a book from the shelf, an old tattered volume with indistinct script on the cover. Opening it, Jack found these words on the first page:

  Mapa Mundi, map of the world,

  Shows oceans, lands, a flag unfurled,

  But he who would know every part,

  Inside the Sphere will see his heart.

  “So the map is a sphere,” said Jack triumphantly. “And to get it we have to find this swordfish.”

  “But if Trog … or whatever his name is … has been searching for this magic fish for years, he won’t like it if someone else catches it,” announced Finbogie.

  “Trog does not own the fish, but he has made it his task to catch it, and out of respect, I would not expect any of you to steal it from him. Tomorrow we will take some of the other youngsters to meet him. Perhaps, in time, the others too.”

  As the meeting broke up and the youngsters prepared to bed down in their tents, Jack saw Fenrig and Morrigan in deep discussion. Fenrig stared briefly at Jack at one stage, but said nothing.

  The next morning, Marco took the youngsters to see Trog. Fenrig complained bitterly about not having slept all night; Jack had had no difficulty in getting to sleep on his bed sheet outside and was raring to go. He thought that Morrigan would remain with her brother, but she seemed to prefer Ossian’s company. The two of them followed at a distance.

  Rana and Lizzie led the way with Marco, chattering excitedly.

  “I want to see the well where he drinks,” proclaimed Lizzie. “Something that stops you growing old must be pretty special.”

  “But I want to get older,” answered Rana. “At least, until I’m adult. I don’t want to be stuck aged twelve.”

  “I must warn you not to drink from the Nanog well,” stated Marco emphatically. “Or you will be doomed to remain here.”

  “The waters come from Nanog?” exclaimed Lizzie. “I thought it was just a tale.”

  “But a true tale,” stated Marco, turning round to give the others the same warning. Jack and Petros were discussing fishing tips, while Fenrig followed on a little behind: listening, but never joining in.

  Jack reached the shoreline within minutes, where the tide was out.

  “You’d never come across it by accident,” he said, pointing to the mouth of a cave well above the high-tide mark.

  “You mean he really lives in a cave?” spluttered Fenrig with disgust. “I thought you were joking.”

  “He has chosen this life to atone for his past,” explained Marco. “He lives simply, and he seeks wisdom and understanding. But I warn you: his past haunts him still.”

  Marco indicated to the youngsters to wait while he went to the cave. When he returned a few minutes later, he was followed by a man who looked no older than twenty. His fair shoulder-length hair fell over a ragged goatskin jacket, his face was weather-beaten, and a coarse beard tumbled down over his chest. A rough leather belt was tied around his waist, and he wore loose woollen leggings. His feet, leather-brown, were bare.

  Jack approached, nodding hopefully, but there was no light of recognition in the man’s eyes.

  Petros looked enquiringly at Jack, who just shrugged.

  “I don’t think he remembers me, even from yesterday.”

  “This island is rarely visited by Shian,” explained Marco simply. “That’s why you’ve stayed at human size here. In fact, it’s so small, few humans visit it – there’s nothing much here to see. But Trog has been here for over a thousand years; in that time he has seen a few people come and go. Play on the beach until he gets to recognise you all.”

  Jack and Petros sat where the edge of the beach met the small field and tried to work out whether the map was their true objective or a distraction.

  “I can’t see how a map is a sphere,” stated Petros. “If it’s flat, like maps are, then you couldn’t make it into a round shape. It wouldn’t fit.”

  “But if it’s special,” claimed Jack, raking his fingers through the mixed soil and sand, “then maybe it can do different things. Anyhow, what else are we going to do? If Edinburgh and Keldy have been captured, there’s no point trying to go back there.” Absent-mindedly, he stuffed a little of the soil– sand mixture into his jomo bag.

  “Keldy’s definitely taken,” shuddered Petros. “I don’t ever want to see Thanatos again. I thought the Kildashie were wild, and whatever they do to the weather is desperate, but they’re kittens compared to the Thanatos. What they did to Uncle Hart … ugh!”

  “What … what d’you think they’ll do with your dad?”

  Petros was silent for a while. He turned away from Jack and wiped his eyes.

  “Mum thinks they’ll kill him. Maybe not on purpose, but they’re like savages.” His nose sounded blocked.

  “How many were there?”

  “A few dozen, I guess. Enough, anyway. Even Uncle Hart couldn’t stop them.”

  “So what happened to the others from the square?”

  “People were all over the place,” replied Petros. “I think Freya and Purdy got away though. Daid got Murkle out. He knew some human spaces that the Thanatos wouldn’t get to.”

  “So Rob from Cos-Howe betrayed the Congress?”

  “I think Ban-Eye was in on it too. But the Kildashie killed her anyway. And Atholmor. Finbogie says he’s definitely dead.”

  They sat in silence, looking out over the bay’s clear blue water.

  “What d’you think of Trog, then?” asked Jack.

  Petros shivered. “Totally uncivilised. Imagine living in a cave. Even the humans aren’t that daft.”

  “The cave’s brighter than you’d think,” replied Jack. “And he’s all right too. He doesn’t say much, but he lit up when he got talking about this swordfish. He thinks it’s his escape from here.”

  “I didn’t understand that,” said Petros. “If you eat this fish, suddenly you know things?”

  “You know what you need to know. For him, it’s getting the Sphere.”

  “And he thinks that’ll help him die?”

  “Die peacefully; he’s still troubled by what he did way back.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by Marco, who had approached quietly.

  “Trog feels ready to meet you all now, one at a time.”

  Jack was first to his feet, and he made his way up towards the mouth of the cave where Trog sat, a little apprehensively. In turn, the seven youngsters approached and chatted for a while. When they had all done so, Marco indicated that they should return to the house, explaining that he and Luka would have to leave the next evening.

  “We must go to the mainland. But you young ones can come back here tomorrow morning. Trog wants you to have a race on the beach.”

  “I’m fast,” announced Rana emphatically. “I can beat Lizzie easily.”

  Jack looked at Fenrig, who just scowled back. Ossian and Morrigan, holding hands, appeared not to have heard.

  “What’s the race for?” asked Jack.

  “To see who gets to help Trog catch the swordfish of fortune.”

  22

  The Swordfish of Fortune

  The house, when they returned, had been made habitable for everyone. Aunt Dorcas was arranging some flowers in old jars, while Grandpa Sandy explained to Uncle Hart how the house, despite not being Shian, was charmed. The scar across Uncle Hart’s face was still angry, and he was in obvious pain. Armina had made soothing poultices, but was complaining that everything was human-sized and not as she liked it.

  Aunt Katie tried to put a brave face on when she heard the youngsters arrive.

  “How was the beach? And Trog? Did he tell you anything useful?”

  Rana and Lizzie began to relate excitedly what Trog’s sheltered bay had been like. Jack decided to let them talk. He was trying to plan ahead for Trog’s race. Jack could run quite fast, he knew that, but Ossian and Petros were bigger and stronger than he was, and Fenrig was no slouch.

  The rest of the day was spent showing the new arrivals around. Ossia
n and Morrigan had returned much later and didn’t seem to mind the scolding they got from Aunt Katie. Rana had taken Lizzie off, proclaiming that there were some things only girls should know about. As Jack gave Petros a tour of the island, Fenrig tagged along, always a little behind.

  The next morning, Ossian made good his escape before breakfast was over. Aunt Dorcas and Armina were busy tending to Uncle Hart’s eyes and didn’t notice as the young man slipped silently out of the house. Morrigan disappeared soon after, and the two were not seen again all day.

  Jack led Petros, Rana and Lizzie off back to Trog’s bay. Fenrig, as tight-lipped as ever, followed on behind. When they got there, they found that Trog was waiting. He wore a bow over his shoulder and carried a quiver of arrows.

  “The others are not here?” Trog spoke in a quiet voice.

  Jack looked at Petros, then at Fenrig. “I don’t think they’re coming. They’re … busy.”

  Fenrig’s snort of disgust needed no translation.

  “When are we racing, then?” demanded Rana.

  “You must first understand what the race is for.” Trog spoke earnestly.

  “Marco said: to help you catch the swordfish,” stated Lizzie.

  “But do you know why the fish is special?”

  “Eating it will show you the Mapa Mundi,” continued Lizzie.

  “But to use the map, your heart must be pure, and true,” replied Trog patiently. “That is why I fear I may never find it.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  “Marco said you’d been trying … to catch this fish for a long time,” said Jack, falteringly.

  Trog looked sadly at him.

  “I have been here many years. I’m sure Marco has told you the reason I came. And why I never left.”

  “So why is this fish so hard to catch?” asked Lizzie.

  “He’s big, and wise. But I know the tides he likes at the midsummer full moon, and the pools where he hides. I sense he is near today.”

  “Marco said you thought that our arrival was a stroke of luck,” chimed in Rana.