Eat, child, said a voice.
A woman older than you’d ever seen walked through the door, nimble as a girl. She placed a basket on the table and pulled a stool next to you.
She asked no questions. She cleaned and dressed the wound. You were given a basin and a cloth to wash yourself. She put you to bed. You wore a large linen gown the color of lilac, the smell of lavender.
I’m lost, you said.
The world is full of people missing by choice or circumstance. Rest now.
I’m an exile.
A nod, as if she understood a deeper matter. Yes, this has happened before.
You awoke to the smell of cooked egg. The old woman smiled and invited you to eat. You did. She made a pouch of food, salve, and bandages. She gave you a loose clean dress with fine embroidery at the cuffs.
Then she crouched at the mouth of the hearth and pointed to the dirt floor. You recognized the design there, one you’d seen far away from that place.
Her finger was parallel with the point of the triangle.
Continue that way, said she.
So you did. The dress felt light on your shoulders, heavy at the hem.
YOU FOUND BURL. HE DIDN’T RECOGNIZE YOU AT FIRST. THE SIMPLE clothes you wore became an unexpected disguise. He had heard what had happened. Word had not yet reached of your possible escape. Perhaps the one and the other one agreed to say you were dead.
He led you across the river at night under a waxing moon. You both walked along the bank until you found the familiar spot. No one was there. Burl let the boat go adrift.
I will not return there. There is bidding I cannot abide, said he.
You both decided to search in daylight. You slept under shrubs protected by trees.
The next morning, you found the large rock with the worn groove in the forest. For a moment, you leaned against it. Solid. Fixed. Solace. You led Burl to
the settlement. There were gouges in the earth where the gold road had been. Men who wore emblems of your kingdom roamed about. You crept with caution. Many of the houses were destroyed. All that you entered had been ransacked. You approached the settlement center. There was a hole where the well had been, with debris piled within. The great musical Wheels were gone. Some of the gears lay scattered in the dirt. There were no rotted bodies in
view. You couldn’t see but somehow felt blood on the ground.
Burl burst into quiet inconsolable tears.
Why? Why? said he, as if the rubble or you could answer.
He found a child’s toy boat and placed it in his pouch.
Once Burl calmed himself, you led him into the forest to find the old woman’s hut. It was deserted. You sensed it was vacant because she was away and would return again when it was safe. You knew your journey must continue. You sat upon a stool near the hearth and saw the symbol that pointed to haven. You fingered the hem of your dress. There were objects in the fold. You gnawed at the stitches and withdrew a gold coin.
You and Burl crept back to the settlement. You found clothing and sacks to carry what you needed. Burl found a sharp knife, which he wrapped in a cloth. With no idea where to go, you hoped for safe refuge and spoke the incantation. A rabbit appeared from the brush, then hopped back a step. You took its direction.
For miles and miles, between link to link, through gap to gap, you and Burl were alone. He was the first true friend you’d had in many years. He told you he wanted to leave the kingdom because he didn’t wish to live and die an oarsman. He had become one because it was the most tolerable job he’d found as a man of his station. He believed there was something else he could do if he was given the chance to try. He hoped to discover what it was in another land. You understood.
Eventually, far, far from your kingdom, you found a Guardian settlement. You knew this because the people wore the familiar blue and spoke the musical language. The roads, however, appeared newly paved with stone. You both greeted the first people you encountered. Someone brought a boy to meet you. His eyes looked as if they couldn’t decide what color to be and settled on dark. He spoke your language and led you to the settlement center. He was the first male Voice you’d met.
You learned they had been affected by the war but not destroyed. There was no account for why. Many other settlements had been less fortunate.
For several days you rested, and considered a permanent stay. You were offered refuge. You felt comfortable and safe, but you didn’t sense you were meant to remain there. Burl claimed his new home.
On the morning you left, Burl wore new clothes with a blue cloth belt. He said he was grateful for what you’d done for him. He felt a sense of expansion and peace he’d never known. He looked years younger than he had when you’d first met him. You told him he looked happy.
I am, and I hope you will be, too, said he.
Burl embraced you and kissed your cheek.
Winter entered its turn in the cycle. You defied common sense. Your journey continued. How you managed to travel so long through that winter was not so much a mystery as it was a meandering, hut to hut, gap to gap. You seemed to wander without boundaries. Sometimes you found yourself far-flung to strange places you wanted to believe were dreams. In and out of hollows and huts, you moved through. Old women gave you shelter and tasks to do with your hands when you entered a land where the weather was too bleak. You became better at sewing, nimble at spinning. They didn’t speak of the reason for their solitude in those hidden places. You didn’t ask. You intuited their purpose. Each was fluent in the language of her time and place, yet transcendent in that each had spent part of their lives among the Guardians. This you would learn in fact later. They understood the need to protect you. When it was time to leave, you left a coin in payment if the old woman would accept it.
You noticed sparse green shoots, brave harbingers in half-light. Spring was near.
The forest’s edge met a flat plain. You looked out across an expanse of land intimidating in its openness. You had so long traveled under the cover of trees. Squirrels often served as guides in the branches.
With no idea which way to go, you spoke the incantation. In the distance, a low noise rumbled. Wild horses in full gallop passed over the land in a great herd. Their bodies were thick and powerful.
You followed one with your eyes. It had a streak of white in its brown mane. It gave a jaunty leap that made you laugh. How long had it been since you’d laughed? As if it knew, it leapt again with a flamboyant toss of the head. Then it muscled into a run to pass the others. There was no man astride this beast. No boundaries to where it wished to go. No demand for its return to a stable for the night.
The wild herd kicked holes in the earth. You followed the
hoofprints. You were somewhat fearful of the distance. You saw nothing but blue sky and gold earth. The land had been burnished in its sleep. You carried a light bundle on your back with food and a bladder of water. The sun approached the end of its arc.
By twilight, it was very cold. You came to a small cluster of trees. It was as if they hadn’t been told to move. Or had refused. You walked toward the center. Perhaps the wind would not be as strong. There in the dimness was a crouched furry back. Shouldn’t it be asleep? you thought as the bear turned to reveal the front of a man. You gasped.
An encounter with a bear would have frightened you less. You began to move away. He walked toward you. He held up his hand. Slowly, with gentleness. He smiled.
He was an old man. A huge man. He gestured for you to approach. Your body didn’t tell you to run. You followed him. He moved like the beast whose skin he wore. At his thigh, a dead hare swung to and fro. He held it by the ears. He led you to a little dugout in the earth surrounded by enormous stones. You wondered where they had come from. Thick branches lay across the top as a roof.
Nearby, there was an open fire. He gestured for you to sit and gave you a hollowed wood knot filled with water. He set to skin and gut the hare with a knife so sharp there was no effort in his work. You watched him ske
wer the animal over the fire. You shivered. He noticed. He gave you a musty wool blanket that smelled of animal dank. However, you were warm. He took off his tight red cap and scratched his brilliant white hair, which muted to silver then gray to the tip of his beard. The old man sat with contentment. When the hare was cooked, he gave you a knife to carve some meat. You brought the thigh to your mouth. He made a noise. A grunt. You looked at him. He clasped his hands and bowed at the three-legged beast. He stared at you as if to say, Now you. So you did, too.
After you both ate, he took the remains away. You heard him scratch around, although you couldn’t see him. He returned. You yawned, and he smiled. He gestured to the pit in the earth. A wildsmelling place. Not foul. Untamed. Still, your body didn’t tell you to run. You entered, then turned around to peer out at the mute glow of the fire. He spoke to you then, a deep distinct human row of syllables. Later, you would learn what he had said. Sleep, lost child. His sounds were what you repeated to yourself as you allowed yourself to rest.
The next morning, he was gone. The fire was dead. A leather bag filled with shelled nuts was at the entrance. You left him your last gold coin on top of the folded wool blankets that protected you that night.
What you intended to find or see, you had no idea. How you would know where your new home was to be?
You had arrived at the thaw.
You stood with your back to the old man’s solitary den and spoke the incantation. Water droplets spattered the ground. An ice storm had come in the night to re-create the world in crystal. A bright sun and temperate breeze had come to melt it away.
A great stag slipped through the trees. Its magnificent antlers glimmered in many points. Icicles had formed on the tips. They dripped slowly. You found him so beautiful, so familiar, that you followed him. With no foliage, only frostbitten buds and branches, you were able to see him with ease. You walked a
short distance. He marked his territory and stamped his feet. Somehow, you both knew you were to part ways.
With mere steps forward, you entered the settlement through an unusual space. There was no well-worn path.
A woman found you. You wanted to speak. Help. But you didn’t and you didn’t have to. She saw a strange woman alone at daybreak and no real harm could come of that.
The woman told another to find aid. Those who passed you did not stare. They saw you with absolute clarity. They gestured with fingertips joined, raising hands to a bowed head, touched at the brow. They all did this. | we do it still |
As you walked through the broad, busy settlement, you began to melt like the ice on the stag’s antlers. That had not happened before in any other place. That was how you knew you’d found your new home. There would be no leaving in the state you’d fallen into. Your body moved as if your limbs were connected loosely. For a moment, you couldn’t remember your name. So long had it been since you’d had to tell or hear it.
They had a guesthouse. You’d learn they all did. That was where you were sheltered as a visitor who would never leave. You were given food and drink.
Someone wrapped you in a covering that smelled of borage. Your shoes were replaced with warm slippers. | beautiful, embroidered in striking colors with a pattern of plants and creatures | They embraced you with their way. The quiet. The woman who found you sat an intimate yet respectful distance in front of you. A calm smile on her face. Piercing blue eyes with a slight slant at the corners. Broad nose. Hair like a crow’s shiny tail.
A woman near your age entered the room.
Hello, you said.
Welcome. I am called Aza. What is your name? asked she. Her eyes were violet.
You wailed in reply. Aza took your hand. You have no memory of what you told her. Perhaps you said nothing. She might have learned your story through the mysterious means some Voices possessed.
Still, you must have said something. Aza gave a piece of your story to the woman who aided you with permission to share what she knew. They were told directly who you were. This was their way. Facts, no judgment. Your name was Aoife, who had journeyed long from the kingdom that had provoked the war.
Yes, provoked. Started wasn’t accurate. You would learn they claimed responsibility for participating. As they see it, there is no fight if one side refuses to do so. You say the alternative is slaughter, although that’s what happened.
Aza stayed at your side and translated your words.
You were taken to a woman who knew of healing plants, and were given teas to clear your cold.
I have no means to pay, you said.
How could I turn away a sick child? asked the gentle old woman.
You were fitted for new shoes with sturdy soles and soft covers.
I have no means to pay, you said.
Your feet cannot wait until you do, said the fatherly shoemaker.
You were led to a small room in a warm house with a neat bed covered in soft linen, a painted chest open and waiting, and a table with a brush, comb, and mirror.
I have no means to pay, you said.
You are the one from that kingdom, said the young woman.
I am.
Is it true you were forced to leave?
Yes.
Sleep now. You’re safe.
You slept and slept. A horrible noise startled you. A dream, you thought, until you realized you were roused. You ran outside, afraid, but no one was rushed or alarmed. Someone noticed you. He touched his chest and breathed. He sat you down on a bench and gestured for you to stay. Aza came quickly.
What is that terrible screaming? you asked.
Someone is returning from the war.
The wind shifted. The sounds grew faint. You decided not to ask yet what she had meant. You learned you had been asleep for three days and nights. You were tended in your twilight state but not awakened.
THEN YOU WERE AMONG THEM. THE GUARDIANS. THEY TOOK YOU IN LIKE a foundling child and allowed you to stay. You were asked if you wanted to remain. As if you had a choice. That is incorrect. You could have returned to your home kingdom, but why? You would have had to lie every day of the rest of your life about your origins, your circumstances, your name. Bear in mind, what life would you have had? You had a rare useful skill put to serve kingdoms and conquest. You could have done that for another land. No matter the distance, however, you knew the whereabouts of a woman mapmaker were sure to be found. Even one in disguise.
You recall little about the first months other than the physical actions done. You did fall apart. The loosening limbs was only a start. The details of your grief were too deep in memory then, too muddled with exhaustion. You exerted energy acclimating to the new home, rather than contending with what had led you here. You lived among them, grateful for the peace, grateful that someone gave you food on days you could barely manage to go outside. You were quiet when you wanted to be, found company when that suited you. You were alone, far from where you were born, but you weren’t lonely.
On days when you were dark and confused, and there were many, no one told you or gave you the feeling that you should feel differently. The people of your settlement knew the facts of your life before. Where you had come from. That you had been a mapmaker. That you warned the distant Guardian settlement of what the kingdom might do. That you had been married. That you had been exiled from your land. You didn’t mention the twins. You didn’t say your husband was also the King.
If people wondered what had happened, they could have asked, but no one did. Instead, you were asked what could be done to bring you comfort. You were told if you ever wished to speak, there were many among them who would listen without judgment and in confidence. There were rituals to release and cleanse. You were told there was a ceremony to give yourself a new name if you wished. One of your choosing. The name Aoife was the only vestige of your life before that you were certain you wanted to keep.
The shock subsided. You were asked to help with at least one chore each day. Card wool. Tend crops. Cut wood. Knead dough. You had to be taught thes
e skills. It was good for you. You were often outdoors and busy with a constructive task.
You were like a child. You were clumsy, prone to distraction and easy tears. They were so patient. Everyone. At times, your frustration made you scowl and flail your limbs. They remained still until you were ready to begin again. If it became clear you weren’t suited to a task, they expressed no judgment. You were given a chance elsewhere. There was always something else to be done.
You communicated as best you could. You made an effort to learn their language quickly. They immersed you in its musical sounds. Even the children with their sweet avian voices helped you.
ALL THAT YOU HAD HAD BEEN WRENCHED AWAY, YET YOU WERE STILL yourself. Your tendency to observe and study what surrounded you hadn’t changed. The first year with the Guardians was spent in pain as much as wonder.
The settlement was on the margin between a deep forest and an expansive plain.
You roamed the forest and the river that rushed through. In your stillness, you saw hares, roe deer, aurochs, boars, hedgehogs, herons, owls, bears, foxes, ermines, and, only once, a pack of wolves. Birch and pine thrived in the rugged earth. Oaks and maples greeted you with splayed branches. You touched these cousins of ones you had known. The shade in high sun gave respite from the heat. That first full fall, you delighted in the bright cheerful scent of spent needles under your feet. When the snow came, you turned to a stand of firs for strength. They bore the cold white weight on their shoulders until the sun and wind gave relief. They endured. So could you. Spring did not unfold or emerge. It screamed a chorus of verdant tongues all at once.
The plain lay wide and full. Wind twisted the blades and blossoms against the light. Flocks of birds whirled to weave earth with sky. The beauty threatened to drown you but instead made you drunk. Summer waved in green and gold, flickered with wildflowers. The grass muted to sand as the cold arrived. Under the snow, it rested in a brown light sleep. It roused when the melt stole its cover. The blinding white thwarted your admiration of the wild horses. Their tracks vanished at the horizon. Poppies sustained the note of spring, red beyond reason.
The Mapmaker's War Page 10