by S. E. Grove
“I heard then for the first time the theory that has since been confirmed by other scholars. At the time, I was not certain whether or not to believe Talisman. Now I do without question. He applied his knowledge to shocking ends, but there is no doubt that his observations were true. ‘The Great Disruption,’ Talis went on, ‘disrupted the world in ways we are only beginning to understand. But one thing we know—there are borders, fault lines, edges to the Ages that resulted from the Great Disruption. I have always sought to understand these borders. What did they look like? What happened along them when the Disruption took place? Perhaps we will never know entirely what it was like, but we can try. I imagine a great, blinding light that sears the earth along a jagged line.’ He laughed. ‘But perhaps I am being fanciful. What we know beyond a shadow of a doubt is what happened to those people who were on the fault line when the Disruption occurred.’
“Shadrack and I looked at him in surprise. This was unexpected. ‘Have you never contemplated it?’ he asked, equally surprised. ‘I have been obsessed with the question. And now I know. Those unlucky people fell into a great chasm of time. Every event that ever took place on the spot where they were standing passed through them, like blinding light passing through a prism. Can you imagine what such a thing would do to you? Can you begin to conceive the damage to the human frame, the human mind, of being plunged into infinite time?’ He shook his head, awed by his own question.
“‘Contrary to what you may think,’ he continued, ‘they did not die. Oh, no—much the opposite. They passed beyond time, extending their lives to unnatural length by decades, perhaps even centuries. Nevertheless, they were lost—hopelessly lost. A million memories that did not belong to them remained echoing in their brains. Consider: black is the absence of color, while white is the sum of all colors. What is the result when all of those strange memories are forced into your mind? Utter blankness, utter whiteness. Their minds were blank. And so were their faces. Just as a contented old woman wears the grooved wrinkles of every laugh, and a bitter old man wears the furrows of every frown, and an old warrior bears the scar of every battle, so their faces showed the traces of every memory of their engulfed minds. They wore the face of nothingness.’”
Sophia, absorbed as she was in Veressa’s story, let out a gasp. “Of course! That is why none exist in Boston.”
Veressa nodded. “At that moment I understood, and I could see that Shadrack did as well. ‘The Lachrima,’ he said.
“‘Yes!’ Talis exclaimed. ‘What we call the Lachrima, who weep for the surfeit of memories, among which their own are utterly lost: the Lachrima who weep even as their long lives fade, so that before expiring they are nothing more than a sound, a lament. They are truly the lost souls of this earth.’
“I then realized the meaning of what I had heard the day before. ‘Can it be,’ I asked him, ‘that we have heard a Lachrima here—in your home?’
“He rose from his chair. ‘Follow me!’ he said, hurrying from the room. ‘You have heard a Lachrima who has lived with me for nearly three years!’ We were stunned. ‘Yes!’ he said breathlessly. ‘Three years!’ He stopped suddenly and laid a clammy hand on my arm. ‘And I have attempted to save it.’ He rushed onward, through the twisting hallways, and we followed him, riveted and horrified. Finally, at the end of a long corridor, we reached a door that was heavily chained. Catching his breath, Talis took a key from his pocket and unlocked the massive lock that held the chain in place. ‘Quiet,’ he whispered, ‘it sleeps.’
“He slowly opened the door. The room was small, with high ceilings; bright light poured into the room from a barred window. Underneath the window was a narrow bed, and at first I could not identify what I saw upon it. It was a shape—a female figure only partly hidden by white sheets. There was something draped across it that I suddenly realized was the Lachrima’s arm. It was entirely covered with strangely colored designs that I took for some peculiar pattern on its clothing. Then the Lachrima turned toward us, and I saw the long, pale hair that trailed across the bed and onto the floor. And the face—oh, the face. It was horribly wounded and scarred, as if it had been repeatedly cut in long lines. ‘You see!’ Talisman whispered, gesturing with trembling pride. ‘My great cartologic invention. I have drawn the map upon its skin.’
“I understood then that the web of unintelligible markings that I had taken for clothing were lines of ink drawn upon the body of the Lachrima. Shadrack frowned. ‘But what have you done to its face?’ he asked.
“‘With careful incisions,’ Talisman exclaimed, ‘I have twice almost found its hidden features!’
“I shuddered, taking Shadrack’s arm, and a cry must have escaped my lips, for the Lachrima suddenly stirred and lifted its head. It faced us in silence, its horribly scarred countenance a mockery of a human face; and then suddenly it let out a terrible, heartrending cry. Covering its face with hands that were, like its arms, laden with inscrutable markings—it shrieked over and over, as if in agony. The shriek resolved itself into words: ‘HELP ME! HELP ME!’
“I bolted from the room, dragging Shadrack behind me, and Talis followed us hurriedly, locking the heavy door. But it did not muffle the cries of the Lachrima, and I felt that if they continued, I would lose my mind. Then I saw from Talisman’s face that he was even more affected than I. He dropped to his knees, suddenly, and looked up at us. ‘Apff?’ he said, in the high, gurgling voice of an infant.
“‘What is wrong with him?’ I cried.
“‘I don’t know,’ Shadrack replied. ‘He seems to think he is a child.’ The shrieking of the Lachrima continued, and I knew that I could bear it no longer. I turned and ran down the corridor, fleeing from the sound and from the frightening sight of Talisman on his hands and knees. Shadrack ran after me, and though we lost our way in the hallways more than once, we finally found our way back to the dining room and from there to the bedrooms to gather our belongings. We seized them and ran toward the stables, where we had left our hired horses. I was trembling from hand to foot, and I could barely manage the saddle. And yet, as we were readying the horses, the sound of the Lachrima faded and finally stopped. Still, I wanted nothing more than to leave as quickly as possible.
“Suddenly Talisman threw open the stable door and came unsteadily toward us. I felt an irrational fear surge through me. ‘Please,’ he said faintly. ‘Wait—I beg you.’ I would not have waited, but Shadrack hesitated, moved by pity. The old man looked beaten down and exhausted, and I understood then the constant expression of grief that he wore, even when he was not under the Lachrima’s spell. He carried a wrapped bundle carefully in his arms, and as he walked toward us he shifted it to one hand and held his other out toward us appealingly. ‘I beg you,’ he said again, hoarsely. ‘Wait.’
“‘We are leaving, Talisman,’ Shadrack said firmly.
“‘I know, I know,’ he said, crestfallen. ‘I know it frightens you. It frightens me as well, but I must explain to you. Someone must know. The Lachrima’s cries confuse my sense of time. I lose my way—I know not who I am nor where I am, nor when I am.’
“‘Let the Lachrima go free,’ Shadrack implored. ‘Come away with us. We will find you a doctor in Nochtland. Your mind might still be restored with care and rest.’
“Talis shook his head. ‘I cannot. It is my life’s work. I aim to restore that creature’s mind, even if it costs me my own.’
“‘But can you not see the further damage you are doing? You are restoring nothing!’
“‘I am drawing a map of its life upon its skin. Then it will remember its one, true life.’
“‘I ask you once more to show it mercy and leave with us,’ Shadrack said, taking the old man’s arm.
“Talis pulled away and handed Shadrack the bundle. ‘If you must go, take these with you. They are too valuable to be left here, where they might soon be lost with me.’ He smiled feebly. ‘Do not fear—they are maps like those you know. They hold the key to a great mystery, and it will not do for them to be burie
d with an old man.’
“Shadrack accepted them, at a loss for words, and Talis stepped back. He raised his arm as if bidding us farewell and slowly left the stables. Shadrack seemed to hesitate, debating what to do. Then he put the package in his saddlebag and mounted his horse. ‘Let us leave this place,’ he said to me.
“We returned to Nochtland without stopping, and we could not bring ourselves to speak of what had happened. Back at the academy, we sat listlessly at our desks, thinking only of what we had seen—of that tormented creature and how little we had done to save her. Shadrack came to my room the following day with the bundle that Talisman had given him. ‘I think we should look at these together,’ he said.
“Inside the carefully wrapped bundle we found four maps—glass, clay, metal, and cloth. Four maps that fit together and told a tragic story. Despite the horror we had felt during our visit, we recognized that the maps were, indeed, keys to a great mystery. After studying the maps we came to the same conclusion: they held a memory of how the Great Disruption had come to pass.”
Everyone at the table gasped, and Veressa looked down at the glass map. “What we could not agree on,” she continued in a subdued voice, “was what to do with the maps. The glass map, in particular, since apart from being a memory map, it was clearly also a tracing map—a lens used to identify and draw other maps. Shadrack believed we should use them for exploration, to discover where the Disruption had taken place. It was his theory that if we followed the maps we would find the carta mayor—the fabled water map that shows the living world. The idea had occurred to both of us; indeed, among cartologers, it would have occurred to anyone. But I,” Veressa paused, shaking her head, “I feared the maps would lead to ill. The carta mayor is a dangerous legend, and it has led many explorers to disappointment or death. Some say it is an ordinary water map. Some say it has much greater power: that the carta mayor does not only show all possible worlds—past, present, and future—but that it also offers the power to change them. A change in the map produces a change in the world. Who knows if such a thing is true, but it hardly matters; the rumor of such power is enough. People believe what they will. I worried about what would happen if the maps fell into the wrong hands.”
Martin reached across the table and took his daughter’s hand. “Shadrack and I could not resolve our difference of opinion,” she said sadly. “And our arguments grew increasingly bitter. I think, beneath it all, we were suffering from guilt. The Lachrima had asked us for help and we had fled. Finally, by way of compromise and out of respect for my wishes, Shadrack agreed to separate the maps as a way of minimizing their potential power. The glass map was a formidable instrument, but alone it could not tell the whole story of the Disruption. I know that he has used it with the utmost wisdom, relying on its excellent quality to draw exquisite maps of his own. He has only used the tracing glass to add knowledge to the world of cartology, and he has tried to keep its existence hidden. Nevertheless, its reputation has traveled. Even here, I heard rumors of what came to be known as the ‘Polyglot Tracing Glass.’ It was inevitable that as its reputation grew, so would covetous explorers and cartologers seek to find it. The other three maps were mere stage scenery without the glass layer. I kept them.
“Shadrack and I parted on bad terms. He wrote to me only once, to tell me that he had returned to Talisman’s home, but the man’s mind was past repair. Shadrack freed the Lachrima, who fled at once, and brought Talisman to Nochtland, where he settled him in a convent hospital. From time to time I visit. He is like a child now—lost in some private world which the rest of us cannot see. But Shadrack I never heard from again—until now.” She smiled wanly at Sophia. “And so, with you, the glass map returns to Nochtland.”
“But where are the other three, my child?” Martin demanded. “I have never seen such maps here.”
Veressa sighed. “They are in the library safe. The four maps are together in the same place once more.”
24
Into the Sand
1891, June 26: Shadrack Missing (Day 6)
Arboldevela: A term to describe the arbol de vela, or sailing tree, a vehicle powered by wind and used to navigate both on land and on water. Early models were developed for the court of Leopoldo. Stored wind-power generated by the sails is used to propel the vehicle with woven wheels that convert to paddle wheels when used in water. Common in the Triple Eras and the northern periphery.
—From Veressa Metl’s Glossary of Baldlandian Terms
SHADRACK KNEW THAT they would soon be abandoning the train, because all morning the Sandmen had been packing Blanca’s belongings. He tried to keep his mind on the task at hand. He had rapidly transferred his memories into the rectangular sheet of copper, and now the painstaking work of ordering and manifesting those memories into a map had begun. Shadrack leaned over the copper sheet with a magnifying glass, studying the pattern of oxidation he had created. His tools—a microscope, an array of small hammers and chisels, a case full of vials with colored liquids, and a brazier with cold, ashy coals—lay around him on the table. Weeping stood by, watching Shadrack’s progress with studied patience. The two had hardly exchanged another word, but Weeping had somehow communicated their lie to Blanca, and she had not returned.
Shadrack estimated that the train had almost reached the border of the Baldlands. He had no notion where Blanca would go once the rails ended. His time was running short; he would have to make his attempt to flee soon.
As he scraped gently at the metal sheet, the door suddenly opened. Blanca entered, followed by four Sandmen. “We are leaving the Bullet,” she announced. “Your niece has boarded a ship called the Swan in New Orleans, and the ship’s destination is Veracruz.” It sounded as if she was smiling. “So we are heading south. When we reach the border, we will board a boldevela and travel to Veracruz.”
Shadrack deliberately did not acknowledge her. “I give you this information as a courtesy,” Blanca added, “and so that you are assured of being soon reunited with your niece. Your map of the carta mayor’s location should be ready just in time.” Her attention turned to the copper map. “Have you completed it?”
“Not quite,” Shadrack said quickly.
“Let me see it,” she said.
“I would like to finish it before you read it.”
Blanca reached across the table and picked up the map. “A match, Weeping.”
Weeping hesitated only a moment before drawing a matchbox from his jacket pocket. He lit a match and held it before him. Blanca held the map to the flame, then set it down on the table; its entire surface swarmed with inscrutable drawings. She quickly pulled off one of her gloves and placed her fingertips on the copper surface. Shadrack was tense with anticipation.
For several seconds she stood motionless; then she pulled her hand away from the map as if burned. “This cannot be its location, because this place no longer exists. How do you know this place?” she whispered. “Tell me how you know it!” The fear and anger coursed through her words and into the room, palpable and overwhelming. Weeping winced and stumbled backward.
Shadrack felt the rush of blood in his ears as he rose abruptly from his chair. “I would ask you the same,” he shot back, trying to stay calm. The sound of her voice alone was enough to make the steadiest heart skip a beat.
“How do you know this place?” She nearly choked on her scream.
Clearly, even Weeping had never seen Blanca in such a state. The other men stared at her in terror, paralyzed. “I have been there,” Shadrack said evenly. “And so have you.”
“You lied to me,” Blanca wailed, charging around the table. “You deceived me.”
“I said I would draw you a map.”
She strode toward him, her fury spilling forth like flames from a burning house, and for a moment Shadrack believed she was going to throw herself upon him. She stopped, her veiled face inches from his; he expected any moment to feel the force of her exploding anger. Then suddenly she shrank visibly, as if the fire had bee
n doused, and Shadrack heard nothing but ragged breaths. The veil shook before his face. “I see how you are, now,” she said, her voice trembling. “You are cruel. Impossibly cruel to remind me of that place. How could you?”
“I did not intend to be cruel,” Shadrack said. His voice was earnest but firm. “I intended to show you that I understand.” He stared into the veil. “If you would but let them see the map,” he added softly, “they would understand as well.”
Blanca turned suddenly, electrified. “Who else knew of this?”
The Sandmen shook their heads. Weeping looked at her with fire in his eyes and said nothing.
“What did he tell you he would draw?” Blanca demanded.
“He said he would explain my name. The origin of the weeping. I wish to understand the truth,” Weeping added firmly—perhaps recklessly.
She stared at him in silence. When she spoke again, her voice had changed. “You wish to understand the truth, of course,” she said quietly, almost sweetly. “How foolish I was to leave you untrained so long, Weeping. You will understand the truth, certainly.” She turned to Shadrack. “And you will understand the cost of deceiving me. You may save yourself by being indispensable, but you cannot save anyone else.” She stepped quickly around the desk and motioned to the petrified men who stood pressed against the wall. “Bring them,” she said brusquely, motioning at Weeping and Shadrack.