You hoped Wei had a limited ability. You suspected she didn’t. Since she could speak in sentences, she had said strange things to you on occasion. | Ahma, you liked to look with one eye closed | You spoke little of your life before. No matter. She seemed to know of objects and experiences that the Guardians didn’t possess.
You asked to be present. Aza and Edik accompanied you. She guided Wei. He attended you. Leit watched but did not participate as he had done before.
Several warriors, young and old, sat on the ground. Aza and Wei sat across from them. Aza bowed her head at the group. The men closed their eyes and placed upturned hands on their knees. Wei was told to touch their hands and tell Aza what she felt.
Your daughter knelt before each man for a moment.
Bright, said she. Warm. Empty. Soft. Cool, with air. Happy.
Aza praised her effort. She turned to you and Leit. She nodded.
Wei perceived what they felt with accuracy, said Leit.
The same effort repeated several times. Wei sensed emotions from light to dark. She seemed to take pleasure in her efforts.
The task we spoke about is next, said Edik. Remember, Wei is safe. Aza has done this before.
Leit clasped your hand in his.
Aza instructed Wei to center herself. She told the child that she might feel something different from the men. She told Wei to tell her what she sensed. The child could touch the men or not. That was her choice.
Wei stood within arm’s reach of each warrior. She stood straight and calm in front of the first man. She kissed his bearded cheek. He laughed. Aza asked what happened.
Turtles hatching from eggs. He was a little boy, said Wei. He knows I like turtles, too.
You were relieved the man had shared a pleasant memory. You were conflicted that your daughter had such a gift. Edik offered his hand. You accepted. Your spouse and your kind old friend kept you anchored.
The other warriors shared their silent memories. Wei connected to the emotions and the images. They weren’t joyful. One man couldn’t keep distance from his own pain and wept. Wei rubbed his arm. Aza intervened then. She whispered to your daughter and hummed a soothing tone.
The warriors hugged Wei as they departed. She kissed their cheeks and squeezed their necks. Aza sat with Wei alone. They talked while you sat in silence. Wei ran to you and Leit.
Ahma! Ahpa! Their bodies are full of stories, said she.
Are they? you asked.
Full of them, said she.
You shivered. For an instant you recoiled at your daughter’s strangeness. You didn’t wish to. You did not intend to. Before and then again, you wondered how human she was. Yet she came from your flesh blood bone. You could look at her. Feel her hair and skin. Clean what she soiled. Hear her voice and see her smile, dance, laugh. What doubt in that could there be, that she was different from any other child?
A deep breath filled your lungs. You smiled at her as you exhaled.
That is fascinating, Wei. You’ve worked hard today. Would you like to play outside now? you asked.
She did. The door opened. She ran into the twilight.
Aza dismissed the warriors. She asked you and Leit to stay. The older Voice said Wei’s response showed her expansive potential. The child described the warriors’ memories with accuracy of emotion and image. In some instances, Wei described what your child called the outside stories. She claimed to see the perspectives that were not the warriors’. Aza prepared you that some Voices could perceive thoughts, emotions, and actions of those connected to a person’s memory. You wondered how that was possible.
Tell the truth.
You questioned your child’s truth, and that of those she stood before. You questioned her sanity, and that of those who said she knew their stories. What delusion did they agree to share? you wondered. Yet none of them had a clear motive to lie or dupe. Still, you wondered whether this was all elaborate trickery. If not, you wondered if Wei had imagined the outside stories. No one, of course, could dispute what she told.
AZA WAS CORRECT. IN MOST WAYS, WEI WAS LIKE ANY OTHER CHILD. THAT she was yours made her remarkable.
She grew into a little girl unlike the one you had been. Wei took great delight in billowy skirts and dresses. She and her young friends traded adornments. They draped themselves in jewelry, belts, wraps, and hats. | your sapphire bracelet wrapped twice at her wrist | Her hair was black like her father’s. A white streak grew near her temple. She liked to comb her shiny straight locks. Then Leit would plait her hair in elaborate designs. He had learned and practiced the skill in the nurseries. His dexterity surpassed yours, and Wei knew it. She laughed at your clumsy attempts.
Her movements were a perpetual dance. You had never seen a child so graceful. She learned to use her senses to flow among all that surrounded her. Sometimes she seemed to defy air or accept its gentleness. You loved to watch her with the children at the Wheels. She swayed and kicked in harmony with the twinkling music. She led them to join hands and form ribbons of mirth.
As all Voices did, she had a beautiful voice. The sound was soft and warm, with uncanny depth. She discovered its power when she sang. She shared sweet wordless melodies and renditions of the old and new songs of her people. The beauty overwhelmed others more often than not. Listeners wept without shame. You joined them in their tears.
How much love was in that child? you wondered.
As you witnessed her gifts strengthen, you worried what Wei would see in her father. You both knew that some of her outbursts had occurred when she was alone with him. Leit had told no one except for you the circumstances behind his scar. He seemed somewhat unburdened after your witness, but the inner struggle was not gone.
He didn’t return to the trails for long periods when Wei was young. His service lasted only weeks of a given season. Instead, he remained in the settlement to train young warriors or to work in the smithy. Those brief times away stirred him, but that wasn’t the only provocation.
You were watchful when the darkness crept into him. It came and went without announcement, without a pattern. You did what you could to protect Wei. You tried not to leave her alone with him. If his mood was especially black, you sent her to play or spend the night with friends. She knew, she felt, so in a way this attempt to shield her was pointless.
Leit knew when he was taken by the furious gloom. He was fully aware. A rupture in him loomed on the worst days, but he never lashed out.
Don’t fear me, and don’t teach our daughter to fear me, said he.
While you tried to avoid him | dead father, old fear | , Wei tried to heal him. He sensed when his daughter hugged him with affection and when she held him to soothe his old wound. He pulled away, as he did with you, when he wore the pain as a skin. You watched Wei persist.
Ahpa, what hides in there? asked she once. Her innocent hand lay on the center of his chest.
A terrible story. Leave it alone, said he.
She was vigilant in a way you could never be. You were afraid of that wound. You were afraid of what Leit might unleash if he could no longer contain it.
Wei couldn’t help her impulse to comfort. This was an attribute of most people, but it was acute in the Voices. The instances were spontaneous. Pain or unease reached her, and she wished to help release it. Until she learned to ask permission, she approached neighbors and spoke for a moment or touched them. Despite the feeling of violation, the people acknowledged she had relieved them. They understood they had a role as well to help Wei learn to use her gifts.
Wei knew when to warm Makha’s aged hips or her father’s sore right shoulder. She rubbed your wrists, which tightened from kneading. Yet you knew she went deeper with you. She explored your complications. Then, unexpectedly, she would soothe a wound. She was five when she sat in the bathhouse with you and placed her hand on your left arm. Wei covered the scar. You trembled and resisted tears. Ahma, you fought the best you could. Believe no longer you could have done better. You were very strong and brave. Your
daughter smiled, your arm became hot under her touch, and you wept with relief. How could she know, but she did.
Now and then, she spanned the limits. You had no
comprehension of how she learned what she did. When Wei extended her impossible sight through you, you could doubt the truth. But you could not deny it.
LEIT RECEIVED AN INVITATION TO THE ASSEMBLY. EVERY SEVEN YEARS, representatives from all the settlements across the known world met in Egnis’s realm. They discussed observations from the trails and their own communities. He had attended the meeting for his first time before the war. | the year of your quest | You were in the same house by the time he attended his second Assembly. Wei had not yet been conceived.
He said he had listened without comment at the last gathering. His thoughts were unsettled. Never had he questioned the Guardians’ ways before. Since the war, and from what he had seen on the trails, he had begun to doubt what once had seemed immutable.
He noticed more violence and chaos while on his duty. He thought the war had had a virulent effect beyond the places where the battles had been waged. Leit pondered the safety of the Voices and whether their service was worth the risk to them. He wondered whether their presence on the trails mattered any longer. The warriors’ protection of the realm was passive. He considered that that might have to change.
We know people slip into the realm to loot the hoard, said he. They rarely steal more than a few items. They’re afraid of the unknown—oh, they’ve all heard tales—and get away quickly. We see the pieces traded on occasion. Sometimes, a Voice can determine where they gained entry if we know where the loot-takers came from. We often chop down the links in the event luck strikes the same place twice.
As long as their fear of the dragon is stronger than their greed, this is a reasonable loss, said he. What’s concerned us is that someone will become bold and organize a way to maim or kill her. The hoard is only metals and jewels. Nothing essential to life. Egnis’s mystery is. If enough armed men stormed through at once, our response may not be quick enough to help.
What would happen if she was harmed? you asked.
We speculate. A suggestion comes from one of the tales when she wouldn’t raise the sun. All realms fell into darkness. Without light, nothing can live. The connection of one life to the next is broken, said he.
You pondered the conversation long after it was done. The Guardians perceived cycles, not finality. Far later in your life, you realized that their hope for the future was twined with this view. They had not what other peoples did. They had no eschatology.
Leit believed there was grave danger, though. A cruel darkness had begun to deepen outside of the settlements. An infection of the mind, he thought. The Guardians were human. They might be protected, but he didn’t believe they were immune.
Leit felt deep concern about those born away coming into the settlements. He had reservations about the foundlings, but he had serious worries about the adults. He knew some adults born away felt led or drawn to their new homes with the Guardians. Others stumbled upon them as a place of refuge. Regardless, Leit thought, the adults had not lived with the gentleness and cooperation natural to the Guardians. He believed those born away would bring greater strife now, worse than the individual troubles they had brought before. Like a blight on a crop, the darkness could spread, threatening the ways of his people. He would recommend that adult newcomers be led to neighboring villages instead to protect the settlements.
So why did you come to us, Aoife? asked he.
I was compelled to be among you after I visited the settlement
near the kingdom where I lived. I had never felt such peace. Such safety and acceptance, you said.
That peace is meant for every person, but now I doubt it’s possible. I consider myself a man of courage, but I fear this contamination to my bones. It’s inside of you, Aoife, because of your origins. It’s inside of me because of what I’ve seen. It is likely within Wei, through no fault of her own, said Leit.
These thoughts preyed upon him. Leit spoke to you often about what your birth home had been like. He had taken no such specific interest before. You tried to love each other as you were, where you were. He didn’t deny you had a role in what had come about. A catalyst. The Guardians didn’t shun or persecute or, so it ever seemed, blame you. Many influences bear on one moment. Your intent had been to protect them, not to invite invasion. You couldn’t have imagined what horror emerged from the war. You loved your new people. | you rarely thought of the others |
You wondered what would have become of you had the Guardians refused your stay. Had you not found work as a mapmaker, what would have been your fate? A new struggle took root. You believed Leit. You knew well the strife beyond the settlements and what you had escaped. Despite the gratitude for your welcome, your impulse was to deny others what was offered to you. You wanted to protect the Guardians’ ways, too. Yet a deeper wisdom urged the opposite. Grant others the chance you were given.
Leit was away only a few days to meet with the Assembly. He returned uncertain about the results. He wasn’t alone in his counsel, but he was among a minority. Each representative agreed to observe whether matters improved. They chose not to be hasty. There would be no abrupt change to their customs. No one who wished to live among the Guardians would be denied residence. You felt relief. You saw no reason to disturb the balance that had long been held.
SEVERAL MONTHS PASSED AFTER THE ASSEMBLY.
The early spring of Wei’s sixth year, she began to prove the depths of her gift.
My brother and sister don’t believe their father is their father, said she.
You froze. Of course, you had given her pieces of your life before. Facts. The two of you shared a love of the forest, and in the forest’s quiet, you gave her the fragments. Far away, a father, mother, brother, and another spouse. You had to leave them because of a terrible disagreement that could not be resolved. The twins were a subject you intended not to mention until she was much older.
Who told you of them? you asked.
No one. I’ve known about them for a long time, said Wei.
How?
Oh, Ahma, said she.
You breathed. With calm, you said you had had a girl and a boy in your life before. You had put them in the care of your first spouse when you left after the disagreement.
I know about him, too. He’s their father.
Curiosity had its latch, but fear had a stronger grip. You knelt in front of your daughter and nudged her chin to face you. I don’t wish to speak of this now, Wei. What happened is complicated. Respect my thoughts and theirs. Stay away, you said. Please.
Don’t you want to know what troubles them? asked Wei.
No.
But Ahma—
I know you don’t understand. I’m sorry. This cannot be discussed.
Wei’s face was sorrowful when she walked away. You wondered if she glimpsed your true feelings, the ones you never spoke.
Late that spring, Makha came to her last days. She was impossibly old. As long as she was able, she kept to Leit’s side. She sat with him on the plateau. She took slow walks through the forest. When she could no longer hunt for herself, Leit did for her. Makha had her fill on what he killed | hare heron deer boar | and the rest went to the stores.
Her frailty slipped into lethargy. She left him slowly. She gave him time to let her go. Leit lay upon the floor with her body against his chest. Her once-silver fur was white but for the shimmering streak from her forehead to her tail. He whispered to her. She wagged her great tail and licked her old teeth.
The night of a full moon, Wei sat between Makha’s outstretched legs. The wolf lay on her side with Leit at her back. They petted her with tenderness. Wei placed her two small hands at the beast’s heart. Later, Leit told you he felt Makha relax with a peaceful sigh. You both watched your daughter kiss Makha’s face and accept a kiss in return. You both heard her speak into the wolf ‘s ear:
Don’t be afraid. Your b
ody is a shell that will crack to set you free. I love you, Makha. Thank you for saving my ahpa.
Leit rushed his gaze to you. You nodded. He burst into tears. You contained yours.
Makha licked Wei’s face until your little girl laughed.
They slept with Makha on the floor. You awoke to Leit’s hushed keen. His wolf was cold and stiffening in his arms. Wei hugged her father. You knelt near them. Leit touched her callused paws and rubbed her thin ears.
My loyal friend, where is the forest where you now run?
Makha’s body was placed on a cart near the Wheels. The children asked to have songs played for her through the day while they sang. They covered her with flowers. Leit’s companions built a pyre for her on the plain. Her body was burned as a warrior’s.
You and Leit didn’t ask Wei what she had meant. Her words might have been innocent. She knew Makha had protected her father on the trails. You hoped that was the extent of her knowledge.
Then came summer. The three of you had enjoyed the day. Wei spent the better part of it with friends helping a potter. You spent the morning in the bakery and the afternoon chronicling a history you had heard from a storyteller. Leit worked in the fields and returned home with a simple meal. That evening, you added notes to what you’d written. Leit polished his weapons. Wei played with the dolls within the dolls. Each one spoke a different language.
You heard Wei ask:
Why are you bleeding?
You turned to see her run to her father. He stood to catch her.
You’re bleeding, Ahpa! So much blood!
She screamed as if she were being tortured.
Leit cupped Wei’s shoulders. You ran toward them. You were grateful to Aza at that moment. She had trained you well. You knew what to do.
Wei, settle down. Breathe, you said. She couldn’t hear you over her howls. She threw herself on the floor and began to pound her forehead against it. Panic flushed you cold. You had never seen her so out of control. Leit lifted her in his arms and braced against the blows from her tiny fists. When Wei began to cry, he let her go. She shook where she stood.
The Mapmaker's War Page 17