You imagined the creature as best you could. You repeated the incantation quietly inside. Before, you had said it aloud, but then you were alone. You thought Wyl might think you mad. If he didn’t, you sensed the words had powers best not exploited. You had been entrusted with them. No matter what you felt for Wyl, you were never thoroughly unguarded. It wasn’t that you felt he’d take advantage. You though it possible he’d share it with someone who would. Someone nefarious like Raef. Or Raef himself. You two were there because of him anyway.
Wyl trusted you because of your work. You were a mapmaker. You had studied a navigable world in miniature, hadn’t you? But you followed more than land. You looked to the skies, the stars, the movement of birds.
You were near a glade. You saw a swallow dash over the ground and disappear in the forest. Such a bird preferred open spaces. You were curious. You entered where it had, took several steps, stood still. You heard a buzz at your ear, then looked ahead as a small bright speck whizzed into the gaping hole in a dead tree. Its petrified trunk straddled the ground, hollow through and through. You approached it, then stopped. You called Wyl to follow. Another winged hum, a bee, flew into the hollow, the link.
As you walked into the hole, you entered a gap. You stepped through to the other side. You crossed into the realm. There, the air was light and conductive. Although it wasn’t a cold day, the air had an autumn crispness. Had there been an animal to stroke, its fur would have snapped and stood on end. All was vibrant.
The surroundings looked as you might expect given the geography. The trees, the plants, the light. Yet it was different, somehow even more beautiful and alive.
You walked not so long, as long as it takes a good fire to boil a pot of water. The trees edged what you had expected to be another glade, but it wasn’t. Beyond the narrow strip of sod was the foot of a mountain. You repeated the incantation in your mind. There was another swallow, a dart at your left, then out of sight. You and Wyl walked in that direction, around the mountain’s base. The area smelled of metal, slightly of smoke.
You saw the wide welcoming entrance to a cave. Wyl wished to enter, so you did. The anticipated darkness yielded more to light. The great cavern was filled with objects made of gold, silver, and copper and decorated with jewels, stones, and designs. Vessels, pots, cups, cauldrons, daggers, swords, shields, helmets, rings, necklaces, buckles, bracelets. It was a hoard you couldn’t have dreamed or imagined. You both were beyond words among such riches.
You noticed another entrance within. It was a glowing space framed in wood carved in a repetitive pattern. The horizontal timber was inlaid with overlapping circles of gold and silver. The union between them was amethyst. You stared long at the design’s simple beauty.
Beyond the threshold was a step. Beyond that step, another. A spiral staircase had been chiseled into themountain’s body. The corridor was a coil of soft light. Whoever had built the place covered the walls and ceiling with reflective metals, crystals, and jewels. You stepped through light hopeful as dawn, calming as candle glow. The space defied reason.
Neither of you complained of the climb. Neither wondered how long it would take or what you might find. You had not seen the size of the mountain, its height or breadth. You had no sense of its enormity or which dimension the staircase builder had chosen to follow.
The air became cooler. A breeze glided past. The light intensified. You squinted. Then there was sky, solid smooth blue. Your head and shoulders pushed into its depth. You emerged on the mountaintop. It was flat in parts, craggy in others. There was a copse of trees, some in fruit, some in bloom. You explored the landscape. Wyl went in one direction, you in the other. You reached the edge first.
What did you see?
You aren’t certain.
Sometimes you remember a vast forest fed by the curve of a river. You recall a distant ocean, gentle as sleep, blue green blue green. There, too, was a desert, a broad seamless yellow. And still you ponder a valley that breathed in colors, a lap of flowers, an embrace of blooms. Impossible, all of it. It was one, or nothing. Wasn’t it?
Wyl joined you at your side. He smoothed his hand against your head, neck, ended at your back. Neither of you spoke, but your eyes conveyed awe. You stood with him at the top of the spiral, where the world turned from the rupture from which it had sprung.
He led you to an indentation in the rock. The space was lined with moss and straw. The cozy nest of a giant bird, it seemed. Wyl lifted his arm. He held a clear elliptical object with a jagged top and rounded edges. A diagonal crack reached to its center.
A dragon’s scale, said he.
You shook your head.
This is its lair.
Your head swung like a plumb. No no, no no.
You were suddenly starving. You picked fruit from the trees. Fruit that you knew grew in different seasons and climates, all ripe at once. You filled a pouch at your hip. You ate a perfect fig as small as your thumb. You remember that. It was the only raw one you had ever eaten.
When you descended and emerged from the cavern, night had come. Still, the wood-framed stair entrance glowed. You were dreaming, you decided. Only a dream. Yet it continued as you drank from a spring near the foot of the mountain, ate the fruit with Wyl under a light-splintered sky, and fell asleep in each other’s arms on a cushion of ferns.
You dreamed more that you awoke and found him with the hoard. He cut the space in front of him to shreds with a sword. His movements were graceful, arousing, but not playful.
This is no mere dragon’s hoard. It’s the store of a great army, said Wyl.
He speculated that the wealth and weaponry were unlike any they could have imagined. He handed the sword to you. It was beautiful, with a balance even you could feel.
There are far more items for domestic use and adornments, you said.
The rest of the weapons must be in use. In hand.
No, perhaps not.
Likely so.
So literal, Wyl.
Good that I am. I must warn my father and our people.
You knew you couldn’t reason with him. Not in the state he’d created for himself. He hadn’t seen what you had in the settlement. He had not felt what you had. A deep peace that belied this evidence.
A day and a night cycled. The dragon didn’t appear, not as you expected. Neither of you knew the habits of such a beast. Where it might go, for how long. You decided to leave. Wyl believed he had his proof. He wanted to take one of the fine daggers but chose not to in the end. The spontaneous thought came that Raef would not have been as honest as his brother.
You were not blameless, however. You wanted to take something, a bracelet or a chalice, but you resisted the gold’s lure. A childish part of you wondered whether dragons took tallies of their possessions and sought their stolen treasures. If there were dragons, of course.
The task complete, you departed. Before you left, you turned back to look. What you saw perhaps was not a cloud.
A red fleeting shape.
You left accompanied by a man who was not your relative or husband, your captor or guard.
There you were alone with Wyl. You were more alone than you had ever been or would be again. Your lives before seemed distant, unreal, the rhythm of it jarring. Buttons, buckles, beltings. Walk again in those shoes on that soft forest floor under dappled light. Watch the man stripped of his title, his horse, his responsibilities, his future. Watch him move steadily, sure-footed. Feel that emptiness, the awareness of nothing but the ghost of your name and the pulsebreath of your body.
And his body. Wyl in the flesh.
Oh, you were caught in a timeless place where you both would always be young and firm. Infirmity, impossible.
You weren’t ashamed that you found him beautiful and virile. That first time, you had no shame because there was nothing familiar about your life then to be so. Once it was done, it could not be undone. You had. You did.
One morning you woke up without him near your side. You found him and for a moment w
atched as he bathed in a stream, oblivious. You moved away from the shrubs to the narrow path that deer had trampled to the water. Wyl, lean, strong, bare. What was so long hidden plainly revealed. He glanced toward you. He sensed your stare. | woman, what happened to the impulse to turn your head? | Because you didn’t look away and he didn’t seek cover, he approached you. You could not believe how fast his blood rose. The air on your skin a caress. His skin on yours a shock. You wanted to bite him, so you did. His neck exposed, a taut tendon. When your forces joined, you laughed. Yes, you laughed, until the human in you became bestial again. Until Wyl’s weight released you full to the ground. Until he lay flat at your side, attempted composure, and gave way to a mirthful howl.
You understood each other much better when you weren’t speaking.
The twins were conceived in this primal state, when you slept, ate, and moved like animals through forests of staggering beauty. You were not naïve but you were foolish. Mindless. Seeds need fertile ground. That is all. You thought the vomiting came because you crept ever closer to home.
You told Wyl. He didn’t seem surprised. He wasn’t angry. He took the announcement as an inevitability, but his response was not predictable. There was no suggestion to find someone to purge your womb. If so, you know you would have faked surprise and horror, then relented with feigned resignation. Of course, this is best, you would have said. There was no offer to place you in a remote part of the kingdom where you and his offspring would live your days in hidden comfort. As for that consideration, Wyl knew better. You were not one to be kept.
No. Wyl proposed. You protested. He was betrothed already. To break the agreement could be disastrous for the alliance with the kingdom of his bride. You gave every political reason you could conjure, each one a consequence Wyl was willing to face. You said you had not intended to become pregnant and didn’t expect to marry him.
Now. Tell the truth.
You never said you didn’t want to marry him or bear his children. Remember what happened. You told him of the life within. His expression was empty, then he smiled.
You will honor me with a son, said Wyl.
Not a child, no. A son. He spoke out of hope, not preternatural knowledge. You carried this hope. You carried an unborn prince. He touched your belly, and you looked into his eyes. Wyl was happy. You felt powerful, that you could affect him in this way.
Now name it. You wouldn’t then.
You also felt guilty.
You, Aoife | who had anything, everything, you ever wanted from him | felt guilty for the life he’d given you because you had given him nothing in return. There was no other favor, gift, or tribute you could give to set the balance right. You had shared your body because you desired his. That was not payment. What came of the union might be.
So, you accepted. Where was your courage? You knew the word No. Instead, you rationalized that Wyl would not restrict you as another husband would. Perhaps you might continue, and eventually complete, the mapping of the kingdom. You might become a tutor for those who wished to learn the craft. Pupils from far and wide. Young men belligerent at first. The indecency done to them to have to study under you. The bad feelings wouldn’t last long. You would follow Heydar the mapmaker’s example. Fairness, encouragement, guidance. Perhaps, by some turn of fortune, one of the students would be a girl. You would help her. You would help her see the wider world.
Decision made, future set. Still, no peace settled within. You couldn’t stop yourself from what you began to do. You knew the act was brutal. Cruel. Desperate. Nevertheless, you beat your abdomen enough to bruise. The excuse for all of this would be gone if the act succeeded. You wondered how something so loosely sown could so tenaciously root. You considered there was a flaw in your being because you felt no warmth toward that which was coming. Wyl did. His sleep-heavy hand pressed sore muscles and guarded what he’d wrought.
Then you returned to the facts of your previous lives still intact. You had been away for a year. That seemed impossible, but that was what they claimed. When you entered your old room in your father’s house, all was as you’d left it. No one looked much older, other than the servants’ children.
Arrangements began for a celebration of Wyl’s successful quest. Before the event, he called your families together. As he wished, he announced you were to marry. Your body did not yet betray the impetus. You saw Mother overjoyed. Father elated. Ciaran confused. Raef dumbfounded. The King and the Queen mute.
This is no royal match! What blood might mix? said the Queen. You overheard her speak to her ladies-in-waiting. The forced intimacy, the assumed trust. Your fate once married.
The shocking declaration of your betrothal postponed everyone’s curiosity about the quest. That did not endure for long. You and Wyl were called to meet with the Council. They wished to hear of the quest before the story was given to the people. The subjects knew Wyl was alive and well, but the custom was they would also see and hear proof of his feat.
Charming Wyl, what a tale he told. The Council hardly breathed as they listened. Such adventure and danger, most of which he had seen but had not experienced. Brave, cautious Wyl, who aided those in need, who used his wits, fists, or weapons all in good time.
You didn’t challenge his story. You had no way to confirm or discredit what he had encountered before you’d found him in the forest. He didn’t mention the spiral stair or mountaintop view. Neither did you.
Then the disagreement began.
He said he had seen a great hoard filled with the makings of war. There surely was a kingdom nearby with the power and men to fight a long battle, if provoked or inspired to do so. Wyl accounted the spoils. He described the craftsmanship of the weapons. He expressed his awe. He insinuated his dread.
Then you spoke of what lay among the swords and shields, the evidence of peace. Surely these were a people of remarkable skill and quiet times. What you discovered was beautiful beyond brief description. That which was functional | a pot, a cup | appeared strong and durable. They were lovely to regard, comfortable to hold. What was decorative | a buckle, a bracelet | seemed done with exceptional emphasis on beauty.
Did you see the dragon? asked Raef.
Oh, it exists, said Wyl.
From a pocket, he withdrew the prize he had found on the mountaintop. His proof. The object covered his palm and fingers.
A scale from its body, said Wyl.
Murmurs and gasps escaped the Council. You watched them lean forward and in to one another. You had touched what he held. It was a strange flattened thing that felt like a thick fingernail. Or the surface of a horn. You had never seen anything like it.
Did you see it, my brother? asked Raef.
I believe I did. A brief sighting of an enormous haunch and curving tail. Then large wings beat into flight.
Did you see it, Aoife, my soon-to-be sister? asked Raef.
I don’t know. The land was strange, with queer movements of light.
Is my brother a liar? asked Raef.
We saw differently. That’s all, you said.
You didn’t reveal the shadow you’d seen the morning you’d left its realm. Before you followed Wyl into the margin of the trees, you looked back at the valley and mountain. Darkness fell from above like a passing cloud. You expected to see the outline of the white’s inverse on the ground. Instead, a shape took form and circled on itself three times, lithe, serpentine, winged. You turned your face skyward to a hint of what you thought you saw. There was only a wafting reddish cloud. The edges were blurred. Its shape was speculative, interpretable. Show yourself, you wanted to shout. You said not a word, not then, not later.
Now you do. Now you can’t contain the words.
The Council determined that Wyl had fulfilled the people’s chosen feat. Soon enough, a few months later, you would learn Wyl unknowingly obtained curious evidence to corroborate what Prince Raef had seen for himself in the settlement. The beloved welcoming settlement on which he had imposed a visit while you were both
away.
So, the next day, in the great hall, the people pressed together like sheep to hear Prince Wyl tell his dragon tale. The story was almost identical to what he’d told the Council. They cheered when he displayed the peculiar scale. You watched a small man spatter himself with ink as he scrawled notes. Later, Wyl’s feat would be transcribed into the official chronicle.
Wyl’s raised arms bade silence. As planned, he announced your wedding. He reached his hand to you. The heat of embarrassment filled you as the people muttered. Polite applause created its own modest din. He noticed and reddened. He knew they had known of the marriage promised to another. A princess. Even you understood, as well as shared, their confusion.
Wyl continued. He touted the fine service of your father on behalf of his own, the firm loyalty and sound counsel give to the King. For generations, your family had served with honor. The implication. You were good solid stock.
Furthermore, said Wyl, the woman at my hand journeyed at my side. I couldn’t have chosen a more valorous, patient, and beautiful wife.
He drew your fingers to his lips and kissed them with affection. The people saw this. As you and Wyl dropped your arms, they clapped and cheered. Hail! Hail! Wyl, beloved prince, smiled and repeated the gesture. However, that time, unseen, his tongue moved against your knuckle. You had a dissonant response. Your viscera received. Your mind recoiled.
You found yourself back under your father’s roof until the wedding. Your parents didn’t know you felt confined. Certainly, at first, they had no idea of the confinement yet to come.
You had never felt so restless. Long walks in the forest kept you strong and occupied. There was no work to be done, no copying to complete. You realized you missed the company of your crew. At the start and end of each day, there was your mother.
Oh, this marriage will settle you nicely, Aoife. Enough of the men’s business. Do as you were meant to now, said she.
To some degree, you did. You yielded to your mother’s insistence. You acquiesced to repeat the past. You worked haphazard stitches on some linens. This tradition was the least sufferable. But there was no silence in the effort. Finally, captive listener, you sat as she spewed the woman knowledge for which before you’d had no time or need. Domestic details, daily, monthly, yearly. How to manage servants, guests, children, a husband. That was her hoard, poured out to you. You had no need or want of it.
The Mapmaker's War Page 5