The Mapmaker's War

by Unknown Author

  Wei, listen to me. Listen to the sound of my voice. Yes. Stand still. Breathe. How full are you? Release some if you need to. Now, where is Ahpa standing?

  You looked into Leit’s eyes. You both realized the fullness of Wei’s sight.

  Ahpa is near you at this moment. Leit, may she touch you?

  He nodded.

  Wei, touch him. You’ll feel he is unharmed.

  Your daughter touched her father where his navel had been. A

  gentle press. She pulled her hand away. Her palm was covered in blood. Neither Leit nor you could see a stain or drop on his shirt.

  Your mind became blank as a stare. Your body constricted with fear and grief. Poor Wei, you thought. What have we done? you thought next.

  I’m sorry, Ahpa. I’m sorry, said Wei.

  She wrapped her arms around his thigh and wailed.

  Get Aza, said Leit.

  You ran through the door. Each person you saw, you asked to get word to Aza that she must go to your home with haste. No one asked for an explanation. They responded. You ran to Aza’s house | before then, she had left your home to pair | but she wasn’t there. You trusted that the people would share the message. That Aza could help.

  When you entered your house, Aza was sitting on the floor with Wei between her legs. She hummed. She held your daughter with crossed arms. Wei seemed entranced. Their eyes were closed.

  Go to Leit, said she between breaths.

  You found him at the house of the elders who had sheltered him upon his return. The warrior had died when Wei was a baby, but his spouse survived, ailing but strong. She led you to small chamber. Leit lay on the bed on his side.

  Beloved, you said.

  She knows, said he.

  You stroked his hair. You touched his arm.

  Not my pain alone, said he. That of the children. That of the fiend.

  You knew she can see the others in memory, you said.

  Leit turned and met your eyes.

  No, said he. She said she faced, then entered them. She knows their stories as well. From the inside. That’s why she was screaming. She said the rage wanted to kill her.

  The elder crept into the room. You were too stunned to ask her to leave. She took your hand and pressed her other one against Leit’s temple. She began to sing a lullaby. She was suddenly ageless. He tried to join her, desperate to match the tones. One phrase, one phrase, formed in perfection, then he strained until he stopped.

  Grief leached from your bones. You had just heard the voice he’d lost to the war. You mourned the missing piece of him. You lamented what had been wrought on Wei.

  BY THE NEXT EVENING, AN ELDER VOICE FROM A FARAWAY SETTLEMENT came to assist Wei. Aza didn’t feel she could serve your daughter as she needed. What had occurred was rare. She didn’t share Wei’s ability. She didn’t know what to do to guide your child.

  You had never seen a human as old as Sisay. She stood strong with a slight bend in her limbs. Her black skin rippled against her bones like bark. Her teeth were worn and yellowed. Her coarse hair was white and trimmed close to her skull. Within two deep slits, her eyes were waning violet moons. Her voice made the arches of your feet ache, your body heavy.

  Bring me the child born without the cloud, said Sisay.

  You stepped outside to call Wei from her play. Whatever Aza had done the day before had soothed her. She had no signs of shock and slept well through the night. Aza said no one could be sure how much Wei remembered. The trauma might have been more than she could hold.

  You introduced Wei to the woman. Your daughter’s face brightened as they regarded one another. She hurried into Sisay’s arms. They twined together and laughed. Their bond was immediate and mysterious. You felt a sear of jealousy. You gave her love, but the ancient woman offered understanding.

  Leit fumbled with his composure when he met Sisay. He had heard tales of her. She was the oldest living Voice. She was known to be as ruthless as Nature, one who saw what was beyond all appearances. Her presence was another adjustment for you but a portent for him. He bowed to her, a rare gesture among the Guardians. The old woman took his broad hands in her thin small ones.

  Your warrior heart beats in your daughter’s chest, said Sisay. Prepare yourself to confront that strength again.

  He nodded. He couldn’t speak. His awe almost frightened you.

  That night, Leit held you to the curve of his body.

  You realize there’s little chance now that Wei won’t be asked to join the trails, said he.

  I know, you said.

  You remembered a conversation with Aza some time before. The most gifted among the Voices were asked if they wished to serve in the wider world. Their role was to accompany the Guardian warriors who traveled as traders. Voices who were boys didn’t have gifts as strong as the girls, so only girls walked the trails. They weren’t ordinary children. They could feel into people and places. What felt peaceful, what felt unstable, what felt dark. Because they were so young they were often overlooked. They appeared small and weak, therefore unthreatening. Most people were less guarded around them. They forgot their tongues because they thought what they said was over a child’s head.

  You’ve been brave, Aoife. No mother, even one born among, could have been more resilient, said he.

  I feel shame to say this, but I sometimes wish she was like any other child, you said.

  As I have in rare moments, said he. But to require that of her would crush what makes her Wei.

  SISAY HAD COME TO DEEPEN WEI’S TRAINING. SHE ALLOWED YOU TO watch several sessions. You would have to understand how to help Wei with a new skill.

  For your daughter to center herself would no longer be enough. If she had this greater gift, she risked being pulled apart, mind and soul. She could get lost in another person’s story. She would forget she had the ability to help a person heal.

  You watched Sisay teach Wei to find the space between herself and the memory she confronted. If she did, she didn’t risk a merge with another’s pain. She was taught to root herself in her physical presence. She had to connect with her feet and hands, with any sense she wished. Sisay told her to let her body choose a gesture to ground her focus. You saw your daughter move in a tuneless dance. Every part of her swayed. Her hands and arms twined and parted. Wei stood firm when her fingers laced together at the webs, each digit straight and firm.

  When Wei mastered her ability to root, Sisay taught her another skill. An elder warrior who no longer walked the trails sat with them. He had resolved a painful experience but could still reach into the feelings if he tried.

  Wei stood near him. She told Sisay what she felt and saw. She cried. Sisay told her to find her root. She calmed but quivered. Sisay told the warrior to stay in the moment.

  Wei, find the gap that spans then and now. Know you can cross it or leave it alone, said Sisay.

  Your daughter nodded.

  Leave it alone. Observe from where you are. Do nothing but observe.

  She nodded again.

  Wei, you are a witness, said Sisay. Repeat what I say. I am a witness.

  I am a witness, said Wei.

  Now. Brighten, said Sisay.

  Your daughter didn’t move. Her focus seemed impenetrable. For an instant you thought the whole of her blurred. As if she escaped the corner of your eye.

  Sisay stood at Wei’s back and whispered to her. You couldn’t hear what she said or see what she did with her hands. Sisay walked away. Wei approached the warrior. She placed her small palm against his broad forehead. He inhaled with force, held the breath, then exhaled with a long blow. When he looked at her eyes, his face relaxed.

  Remember, Wei. You helped the moment to open because he was ready. If it is closed or dark, you must not cross the gap and use force. Guide, but allow them to see the truth for themselves, said Sisay.

  Each day, your daughter and the ancient Voice went into the forest. A small group of warriors accompanied them at times. If you stood at the margin, you could hear hu
man sounds. Screams, wails, shouts, laughter. Of course, singing. Sisay’s sonorous tones pulsed like a heartbeat through the trees.

  You knew some days Sisay took your daughter away. There were other Voices for her to meet. Wei had lessons to learn that couldn’t be taught at home. When Wei and her teacher returned before dinner, they were tired but in good moods.

  Each evening, Sisay took to her bed at twilight. You, Leit, and Wei visited friends, played games, or sat in quiet company. When you embraced your daughter, she vibrated with a noiseless hum. Her father had noticed as well.

  There’s a slight tickle when I hold you now, Wei, you said.

  Sisay sings the pain out of my body. It gets caught, and she makes it go away. Then I tickle.

  Whose pain? you asked.

  The world’s pain, Ahma, said Wei. She’s teaching me to do it, too. I can use sound, but I’m better with light.

  You looked at your spouse. He shook his head as he smiled.

  Sisay taught me a word for what we do. Transmutation.

  Transmutation, you said.

  It means to turn into something else.

  The mystery of your child deepened. You were told little. It was impossible to comprehend anyway. Wei wasn’t forbidden to tell you, Leit, or others what she learned, but she was cautioned. Sisay, as some Guardians, believed everyone was born with the Voices’ abilities. These were buried and unformed within the mind. If they were released without guidance or discernment, grave harm could be done.

  SISAY LIVED WITH YOUR FAMILY UNTIL WINTER APPROACHED. SHE trained Wei with intense focus. When she left your home it was only physically, because Wei understood how close she was. Your daughter was not as alone as she appeared.

  Before she left, Sisay invited you to walk in the forest with her. You felt tenderness for the ancient adept who apprenticed your daughter in their esoteric gifts. She surprised you when she took your hand.

  Aoife, said she in her low firm voice.

  Yes, Sisay, you said.

  Wei has her father’s heart and her mother’s forward mind. You have shown courage to allow both to thrive in her. The proof will come to bear, if Wei follows her own will and moves past efforts to thwart her.

  As before, you will not get to keep this child. She must leave you. The journeys ahead will clarify her purpose. Wei has the potential to be an eminent leader. If she chooses this, she will be misunderstood. You share this fate, and this is the legacy you have given to her.

  In an era yet to be born, you will speak to a grandchild. With this child, and others whose time has come, beginning in the land of your exile, a great hush will force a reckoning between lies and truth. The future will depend on those who survive.

  Sisay hummed softly like insects.

  You thought of Wei, then of the twin, the girl. Her weight against your leg. The boy was a shadow. Sorrow welled into you. As before, you will not get to keep this child. You had no doubt Sisay had peered into you. You could not conceive how she made sense of what she saw.

  The old woman halted near your favorite stand of fir trees. She grasped your palms. Her gaze, fierce and loving, focused on you.

  Had they not been, Wei could not be. This is a truth beyond fact.

  Why? you asked.

  That is beyond our understanding, said Sisay. You have served her well. Have no doubt.

  AFTER SISAY WAS GONE, YOU DECIDED TO ASK WEI HOW SHE EXPERIenced her gifts. She had never spoken of the glimpse beyond her father and the horror of his scar. Aza’s intervention was meant to spare her memory. If she retained any vestiges, she didn’t speak of them. That instance had been the most extreme. You knew her glimpses didn’t always yield physical proof like blood.

  The two of you took an afternoon walk to the lake.

  When you find your root and witness, what happens? Explain to me. I want to understand.

  Look into the lake, Ahma. What do you see?

  The reflection of the trees and sky around us.

  She took your hand and led you to stand in another place.

  And now.

  I see the shallows below. A small cluster of fish. If I turn my gaze, I also see the trees and sky again.

  Wei knelt on the bank and plunged her hand into the water.

  Nothing has changed, but I’m in both places at once, said she.

  An echo tingled your bones.

  When you were a little girl, Ahma, you knew, but you didn’t know what it meant.

  How do you know that? you asked.

  I peeked. I apologize.

  A hardness formed inside of you. Wei flinched. In moments like that, you were afraid of your daughter. Still. To be guarded all the time was impossible. You did your best to accept her gifts and that she was a child still learning to use them. Yet when she penetrated your life before, you feared what she could know. You willed yourself to take her hand with gentleness. Wei’s fingers hummed in your grasp.

  Wei, remember what Aza, Edik, and Sisay told you. We discuss this now and then.

  I must respect every person’s sheath.

  Yes. Do you not have thoughts you wish to keep to yourself? you asked.

  I do.

  As do I and Ahpa and everyone else.

  I mean no harm, said she. But sometimes I can help when I glimpse. If people let me.

  WINTER SETTLED ON THE LAND. THE LONG WAIT FOR SPRING HAD begun. The wait to learn Wei’s fate ended.

  Edik and an elder visited your home one afternoon. Leit fed the fire as they sat with her. They told her she had been chosen to be a Voice on the trails. She would translate for her Guardian companions when that was needed. Her role was to protect them and Egnis through her awareness. If she heard or felt that any persons were in danger, she was to tell her companions. They, not she, would be responsible to thwart the possible harm and settle all into balance.

  They explained that she would be away from her home, family, and friends for seasons at a time. There would be long visits in between to rest. She may withdraw her service if she no longer felt fulfilled. She wouldn’t be asked to serve past her fourteenth year.

  Wei sat still as they spoke to her. She paid close attention. She smiled and nodded. They said she was to make the decision from her heart. She was to talk to her parents and friends if she wished, but they were not to interfere. She must decide for herself.

  No surprise. Wei was a decisive child who consulted but did not depend on you or Leit. You tried your best not to influence her about the trails. In truth, you didn’t want her to go. The separation from you was one matter, but more so were the dangers she would face. The mothers born among knew by hearsay what was beyond your peaceful borders. You knew by experience. You had not forgotten.

  Leit was as conflicted as you. He loved his daughter with affection, respect, and tenderness. He was proud of your little girl. As to her gifts, he confessed to awe. Leit had traveled with several Voices and knew Wei’s abilities far surpassed theirs.

  In the quiet of your bed, Leit admitted that he wished Wei wouldn’t go. He knew the pain Wei would feel. The people felt sorrow for what the warriors sacrificed, but the warriors felt a unique sorrow for the Voices. The girls sacrificed their innocence to confront the neglect, cruelty, and violence away from their homes.

  He hoped she would serve as Aza and Edik did, safe within a settlement. He still believed the war unleashed a darkness that would claim more than it would spare. He worried that the world away had the power to shatter a child as beautiful as Wei.

  Some nights, Leit sat next to your sleeping daughter. The past crept into the space he left next to you. You thought of your father. He didn’t encourage but also did not deny your mapmaking apprenticeship, then duties. He acknowledged you served a greater purpose, whether he liked it or not. Your beloved spouse understood Wei was called to higher service as well. You wondered, for a moment, what these two men would think of each other.

  Leit returned to bed and pulled you against his chest. He held you while he could. His time to re
turn to the trails approached. Your daughter’s entry would follow in his footsteps.

  I WILL, SAID WEI.

  Not, I want to, or I wish to. I will.

  Settled, then. Your daughter had chosen for herself. Leit gathered her in his arms. Wei kissed his wet cheeks.

  I’m brave like you, Ahpa, said she.

  Braver, said he.

  Soon after Wei agreed to be a Voice on the trails, she turned seven. You and Leit had pondered a gift for her. You decided to give her the dolls within dolls, presented to you at her birth. She played with them more than with her own toys. Wei jumped with glee.

  Thank you, Ahma, said she. They are so beautiful, like you and me.

  She celebrated the day among friends. She asked for musicians to entertain. You provided players on string, pipe, and drum. The children danced with joined hands, snakes and circles in the snow. You loved to watch her in those moments. She was fluid and graceful. The love around her made her buoyant. She ran to you and pulled your hand. Come, Ahma, said she. Join the dance. You surrendered to her joy.

  The next time you danced with your daughter, it was before her goodbye.

  You were told of the ritual to honor Wei’s new role. She and you had parts to play. Wei needed a simple white frock. You required a specific costume. A young man known for his skills with cloth and thread was elated that you asked him to provide the raiment. He gathered talented friends to help him complete the task. When they were finished, you studied their effort with amazement. The costume lay before you full of life.

  The ritual was held on a beautiful cool spring night. All the people of the settlement gathered on the plain. Hundreds of men, women, and children ate, drank, sang, and danced to celebrate your daughter’s duty. They hugged, kissed, and thanked her. Nothing in your life prepared you for their sincere love.

  Leit drew you from the perimeter of the wide swirling circle to the center. He stood ahead of the ranks of warriors. They wore their ceremonial best. In front of them was a mountain of wood that rose toward the sky. Aza gave you an unlit torch. Leit opened a tinderbox red with the want of flames. You placed the moss end of the torch inside. The fire took its breath. You touched the tongues to the wood and watched the pyre ignite.