How strange it was to return home, a woman of twenty. You had been away for so long. The first step over the threshold, and you fell under a familiar spell. You slept in your girlhood bed, under your father’s roof and your mother’s care, above neglected cobwebs, things that go bump in the night, and maps to hidden worlds.
At each daybreak, you sat on a stool long after you’d slipped on your boots. You remembered where you were again. Your mother always thought you were a lazy riser. You were listening to see if he was gone. You listened for signs of your inconsistently indulgent father with a mean streak. No, he never whipped you with a switch or belt. No, you saw him do that to Ciaran. He’d slap you across the mouth, the face. Unpredictable. You were slapped for saying you didn’t like runny eggs. Another time for telling your mother you didn’t wish to wear a particular frock to a banquet. You weren’t a bratty child. You didn’t much complain. What did your mother do? It’s for your own good. Serves you right, stop that crying, what a lucky child you are to have that food, that dress.
Home again, you wished to see friends, but all had married and moved throughout the kingdom. Your brother Ciaran was far off and weeks away from a visit. Prince Wyl had been sent to another kingdom for a courtly purpose. Then he suddenly returned to his castle rooms unannounced. You availed yourself to his royal requests. Wyl had become a collector of dubious maps. He wanted your expert opinion, but you avoided him otherwise. You knew your place. He had forgotten his.
One sunny morning, you ventured to the forest in a dark green hooded cloak and brown boots lined with fur. You found a favorite boulder, not yet warmed by the sun, and sat with your back against it to see what might come. The winter was not yet so harsh, the animals not yet too thin. Winter is a dream time, you thought. All that is imagined to be lost returns when we wake up. You looked to the sky with closed lids and open ears.
There came a sudden scuffle of hooves and wheezy breath. You rolled your eyes to watch the deer leap over the boulder, over your head, and stumble into the trees. There was blood on your hands. You kept to your seat when you heard the noise of running footsteps and harsh gasps. You turned only your gaze to see who it could be. You watched Wyl and his brother Raef vie for a lead as they raced ahead. The two brothers resembled each other at rest as much as in motion. The similarity ended there.
Through no fault of his own, Raef was born after Wyl. He didn’t receive the same attention, esteem, or respect. By nature or neglect, he was also not as charming or amiable. He seemed desperate to prove himself. In the forest, at least, he could compete with his brother on equal terms.
You peeked through the brush and met the glint of a blade. Wyl grabbed the antlers of the great stag. You clasped your mouth. Raef drew a dagger against the stag’s throat. Three arrows jutted from his body. You saw a thick scar on his shoulder. You had seen the ancient creature many times since your childhood. You had drawn him on your maps.
There was some chase left in the old man, said Raef.
Though it was not his season, you said.
The young men startled at your approach. You knelt at the stag’s side.
It’s the season for boars, you said.
So it is, but we found none today, said Wyl.
She believes she has surely seen them, hiding as she was, said Raef.
You narrowed your eyes at the younger prince. He smiled as he wiped the dagger in his shadow on the beast’s fur. You pushed to your heels, wrapped deep into your cloak, and left without a reply. Soon Wyl’s footsteps fell in rhythm with yours. He tried to explain the reason for the hunt, the choice of quarry. You had little use for the older brother’s defense of the younger.
Be careful of your brother, Wyl. I know this wasn’t your doing, you said.
I wanted to hunt today as well, said he.
Raef hunts what secretly reminds him of himself.
He isn’t so swift and strong.
That’s not what I meant.
Say what you mean, then.
He is cold and weak.
Wyl took hold of your cloak and halted your steps.
What am I? asked he.
A man of good intention, nature, and cheer.
What are you?
A mapmaker, and a subject.
He took your hands and smeared the blood. He found no wound but touched something carnal and raw between the two of you.
What could be, if it were, would come to a dark end, you said. | spoke it into being then, didn’t you? |
Aoife, even you can’t see that far in the distance, said he.
You turned your head when you heard Raef call out. His bloody hands hovered at his sides. Wyl waved to him, and Raef stood in wait. Wyl took your stained hand and pressed it to his chest. Your palm filled with the heat of the chase, his shirt, your will. All of it pulled away from your grasp as he left to join his brother.
THE KING ORDERED YOU TO THE NORTHERN BORDER WHERE THE LAND met a wide river. You were told to map as far as you could see on the opposite bank. It was said there was a kingdom on the other shore, but little was known about the people. The King had sent messengers to deliver peaceful invitations, but the watchmen who received the notes only nodded, and no replies came. In his wisdom, the King thought it best to leave the unknown people to their own. For now, he only wanted to know where their fortifications were in relation to his.
You dreamed of a sturdy vessel with a perch to see afar. Wyl found boatbuilders to bend and seal it, bow to stern. The boat still firmly ashore, you traced the dry joints, shook the solid anchors, and climbed the lofty perch. Wyl stood back with crossed arms and tousled chestnut hair. You knew he’d come to see the launch of another good deed done. He would see you away once again, perhaps for the last time.
The night before the maiden voyage, you and Wyl scaled the perch’s narrow rungs and sat with legs afloat in the air. You both were in plain sight but in private space. He hadn’t spoken again of the announcement he had given you when he arrived. Wyl was intended for another. A matter of alliance rather than the heart. The promise would be sealed the spring after the next.
Ask and you’ll have it, said he.
As ever, as always, you said.
Ask, Aoife, whatever it may be.
Can you forgive and forget what I’m about to do?
Then for the first time you kissed him, full under a new moon.
Uncalled-for. What were you thinking? You weren’t. You owed him nothing, but his gift was an excuse for the impulse. You had no illusions that he would, or could, choose you over his intended.
Tell the truth.
You desired him. His features pleased you, the rest of him as much. In moments when your concentration lapsed, you caught yourself thinking of him. What he said to you at the plane table. How he moved with square-shouldered confidence. The way he held himself on a horse.
The next morning, you climbed to the highest point on the new boat. You waved goodbye to the boatbuilders, most of your land crew, and Wyl. You felt a rip in your chest as they walked away from the kingdom’s shore. Wyl turned to look back once more. Even deep wounds heal, you thought. No matter the cause.
You journeyed out into the seam between winter and spring.
You peered beyond the bare trees for hints of secret forts. It had been said that the other bank had none. So it was that nothing was encountered but animal rustles and rumps, no person or dwelling, for several months. By late summer your hair had turned from bronze to gold. Your curiosity about what lay beyond the river bends turned to daydreams.
When you could resist the mystery no longer, you asked the crew to take the boat to land. They stood in their places with wide, wondering eyes, looking past the bank and into the forest. Birds chirped, clouds moved, water lapped. Then an oarsman cried, Ashore, ashore, men and my lady! Men ashore!
Five young men in blue coats approached the bank and stood in a line. The third raised his hand slowly with his palm toward you, high above his head. You looked down from the perch, an
d the crew looked at each other. The crew raised their hands, then the other four men gestured in turn. The third man stepped near the boat. You could hear faint voices. Your crew captain shouted and waved his hand to call you down.
You studied the five men in your descent. Blue coats, white belts, flaxen leggings, tanned shoes. Hair long at the crown, swept back, cropped at the skull. Not one seemed to carry a sword, dagger, spear, or club. The third man met your eyes when you stood in front of him and nodded.
Come, said the man in your language.
They refuse to take one of us men, said the captain.
No harm, said the man.
My lady, I advise you to stay. I told them we would leave, said the captain.
You smiled at the captain, who looked unafraid but unnerved. This was an invitation you couldn’t resist. You accepted the man’s hand as you leapt ashore. He gestured a rectangle. The captain explained they wanted to see the maps, which he didn’t want to release. You asked him to gather a selection of drafts. He complied. You noticed the crew had twitches and fidgets. You urged them not to worry and above all to be calm.
Three of the young men in blue stayed near the bank. You walked beside the third man, who gave no name or title but seemed to be their leader. The last man fell in step at the leader’s side. They spoke with rich voices in a language you’d never heard. You noticed they were younger than you, barely out of boyhood. You wondered what kind of kingdom would post sentries without weapons. Fools or innocents, you thought.
The two men appeared to utter goodbyes. The leader’s companion began to run ahead through the trees. The leader stood still and faced you. Your body tensed. You clutched the maps. When your eyes met, the young man told you there was no danger but explained nothing. He put his hand on his chest and breathed deeply. He lifted his brows, tapped his chest, and breathed again. You smiled and returned the gesture. When you laughed, he laughed, too. You both continued on the long, mysterious walk.
The direction you traveled led you to a large rock. Its placement had to be deliberate, a marker of some kind. He touched it as you walked past.
Then in the distance, a subtle glow rose from the ground and met the sunlight. Your footing felt a shift. You looked down. The forest floor had merged into a road paved with gold. At your toes was the wisdom of the bees, a pattern of honeycomb the length and width of the path. The leader kept his pace, which you tried to keep until you could stand it no longer. You tugged his sleeve and begged him to slow down. He replied with a smile meant for a child.
You and the young man followed a straight road. On either side of it, paths turned off left and right. The houses were sturdy and square, with clay brick walls painted in muted colors and pitched roofs layered thick with thatch. All faced the heat of the sun and had garden entrances, some with herbs and flowers, some with small trees and shrubs. Now and then the land lay open and green, sometimes with a fence, sometimes without, where children and animals ran and leapt. There were sounds of work and play, voices speaking and voices singing. People who noticed you waved and smiled. Step after step fell to gold.
Too soon, you came to the center of the hidden village. Graceful trees shaded glare from the road. You noticed a mechanism the likes of which you’d never seen. A great wheel decorated with inlays of metals and gold reflected chance glints of light. At its back, more wheels of all sizes with notched edges lay quiet against each other. Nearby was a well with a peaked silver roof and solid stone surround.
The leader escorted you into a house longer than any of the others. It had large windows draped in gauzy linen and floors paved with stone. He seated you in a high-backed chair with soft cushions and gestured that you should stay.
He took a mug from a nearby table and went outside. You watched him offer his finger to a little boy, who climbed a small arch of steps built into the well’s side. They peered over the edge together as the leader pulled the bucket’s rope. He let the child dip the mug and rub a cloth on its side. The little boy accepted help down the steps and followed the leader back to the building. The child paused at the doorway.
You waved to the boy, who returned the gesture with a smile and a phrase spoken in melody, like a bird’s song. Then he was gone. Your eyes suddenly filled with tears. Your throat tightened. The leader moved a bowl of fruit, nuts, and hard cheese to a table next to you and placed the mug in your hand. You clasped his fingers. It was a bold gesture. Spontaneous. You did not touch strange men. He let you hold as long as you wished, knelt at your side as you did. Not a word passed between you.
Three people entered the room from an interior door. You released the young man’s hand and stood before them. There was a man and a woman, much older than you, wearing linen clothes with beautiful designs at the cuffs and necks and hair streaked with white and silver. The woman wore a headband and the man wore a wristband made of the same blue cloth as the leader’s tunic. The third was a woman near your age, who wore a blue skirt, fitted green blouse, and gold pendant at her neck.
Welcome to our settlement. How could we give you more comfort? asked the young woman in your native language.
You found yourself unable to speak, so you bowed first, then shook your head.
Your guardian will wait outside until we’ve ended our talk.
You nodded.
The three pulled chairs away from a nearby table and circled you. The young woman gave their names. You managed to say your own. The young woman explained that she was fluent in your language and was there to help the other two, who could speak only phrases. The older man and woman were elders who came to the house to understand the reason for your visit.
You told the truth. You said you had been sent by your king to map the riverbanks and mark any fortifications. The three nodded. The man asked to see your charts. The three peered from different angles at what he held. The woman asked who had drawn them, and you said it was you. The three nodded. You realized that the young woman spoke your language with no accent, as if she herself were from your kingdom.
You learned that these people had lived in their settlement for hundreds of years and meant no harm to anyone. Their ways were different, unusual to many, and it was best that encounters were made like hers, by chance, without malice. Their ways were older than your kingdom, than any known to recent memory. They wished to have their peace, and their peace they would gladly share. You assured them that you, your crew, and your king had no ill intents. The three sat in silence.
What do you think? asked the man.
She tells the truth as she knows it, said the woman.
They were silent again, until?
What do you feel? asked the woman.
She will protect us, said the man.
And endure grave dangers, said the young woman.
What dangers? you asked.
You shall see. Heed the voice inside, Aoife. Heed it without fail, said the young woman.
You opened your mouth to respond but could form no words. Instead, you stared at the young woman’s pendant. You could discern a design of geometric shapes. Circle, triangle, square. The young woman followed your gaze with a lazy shift of her own. Then she looked at you as if she peered through your flesh. She spoke her native language. The man left the room and returned with an object.
You travel much. We are sworn to protect and guide anyone who carries this amulet, said the young woman.
You opened a delicate wooden box with dovetailed edges. Inside was a silver piece the size of a coin. It carried the same design as her gold pendant. What great care they take to the small things, you thought. What attention. You thanked your hosts for several moments.
When you were ready to leave, the young guardian appeared at the door. The three, in turn, took your hand and held it tightly. They wished you well and sent you away with a small bundle of food. Not much time had passed. You could tell by the arc of the sun. However, you felt as if you’d been there for ages.
You followed the guardian through the settlement
and back into the forest.
As you reached the large rock you’d passed before, a voice called your name. The young woman who had translated your words rushed toward you. There was something else she wished to give. She told you to listen with your heart, not your mind. She said the known and hidden worlds weren’t what they seemed. Like a map, they could fold. The shortest distance between two points was not always a line. Among all that was seen and unseen, there were links, the points, and gaps, the distance between.
Take care to notice the trunks of trees, said she.
Her fingertips touched the hollow of your throat.
Remember what I tell you, said she. See and say clearly in your mind where you wish to go. The words will show the way, if you follow the form in which they appear. The journey could be long in walking or brief in step, and you might be given no choice.
Then she told you the incantation in your native tongue.
| wind howl and whisper, water ebb and flow— |
Yes.
You remember it still. There are some things you will not force yourself to write, not entirely. Subtle forces answer the call, whether the speaker is friend or foe. There is no discrimination of the one who utters. Directions will be shown. The gaps will open to admit all, but you won’t reveal the way.
The young woman and your guardian touched the rock. You did, too, for good measure. She left with a smile. He led you again with one. You felt too overwhelmed to speak. It was just as well he didn’t use the same language. You repeated to yourself what the young woman had said. Her nonsense puzzled and fascinated you. A childlike curiosity stirred within.
When the guardian returned you to the river, you stood in front of him for a long moment. Nearby, your crew and four young men in blue kept watch on one another. You saw the captain approach, handed him your items, and asked him to step away.
Who made the gold road? you asked the guardian.
The Mapmaker's War Page 2