The Mapmaker's War

by Unknown Author

  He spoke a word you didn’t understand. Then he said, Small man. The young man pointed to his head and toes, flexed his arms and chest, and hovered a flattened hand at his waist.

  A dwarf? you asked.

  He shrugged. You matched his gaze and, without pause, tossed your arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around you in response. In that instant, you realized you had known Wyl all your life, had touched his hands, had linked with his arms, had once kissed his lips, but had never, ever held him that close. You felt the young man rip away. The captain wrenched the young man’s arm behind his back.

  Stop! Don’t hurt him, Captain! you said.

  The guardian turned in the hold and released himself with a fluid movement that was not violent. The ease surprised you all. The captain charged him in bluster. The young man blinked against the other’s stare.

  My lady, we must wait, said the captain.

  Why? you asked.

  An oarsman and the cook are missing. They went into the forest, said the captain.

  Why? you asked.

  I told them to trail you, said he.

  You shook your head. Your guardian signaled he and his

  companions would leave. As the five of them slipped into the trees, you waved goodbye. You refused to return to your kingdom’s bank to summon guards. There was no threat. You and your King’s men slept on the foreign shore.

  In the morning, two young men in blue coats returned the crew members. The oarsman and cook arrived unharmed and bright-eyed. You knew what they had seen. You felt a protective impulse for the people of the settlement. You knew what the men would tell if not sworn to silence.

  WITH HEARTS CROSSED AND OATHS SPOKEN, THE OARSMAN AND THE cook promised to hold their tongues. Neither their fellows nor their liege would learn of what they had seen beyond the riverbank. To quiet curiosity, you spoke at the evening’s shared supper. You told the crew of a peaceful settlement, the people’s kindness, and their wish to be left alone. You explained what you saw because you couldn’t describe how you felt.

  You thought the enchantment would wane for yourself and the two crewmen. But in the weeks before winter sent you home again, you three sometimes glanced at each other, not in warning but in wonder, as if to say, Yes, I did, I saw it, too.

  The cold came early, all the colder over water. You released your crew with the intent to finish the work when spring returned. The men of the river stayed behind. The rest traveled back to the castle. The cook seemed unusually burdened, as if the sack he carried was filled with heavy, hidden stores. You stole a private moment with him to remind him of his oath.

  On the day of your expedition review, you weren’t surprised to see several others in attendance. You had stood at full tables before, the King, your father and various advisers, Ciaran, Wyl and Raef, even the Queen. You had sent occasional letters about your progress, yet specific questions were common at these meetings. There was also much study of the map drafts. The review was as ordinary as any other, except for your report about your visit on the opposite bank. You told no lies yet told no more than necessary. You were careful with your words, careful to raise no eyebrows. The group appeared content with your efforts and relieved that their neighbors posed no threat.

  You set to your work of drawing final copies of the new maps but had little peace outside of the task. You suffered your mother’s redoubled coaxing to end your travels and settle upon an eligible nobleman. Admit it. A gracious family at times gave you and your crew shelter within and near their manor. The thought crossed your mind that you might meet a tolerable man during a stay. If you did, you could involve your father in the proper maneuverings. This assumed you wished to leave your work. Even on the worst days, the wet cold, hot dry, with your neck thick and tight as a rigging rope, you did not tire of it. You wished to do nothing else. Be nowhere else. Mere thought of the dreary alternatives made you glad for your blisters and calluses.

  You relied on your father’s hollow torn resistance. He knew well of the King’s approval. You do me proud, Aoife, and strengthen us in His Majesty’s favor, said he to you once. The uncommon praise struck you like a painless blow. Your father knew his responsibility, but he deflected tradition and your mother’s insistence that time was short. The day will come when she will marry and not make a boring wife, said he.

  Ciaran was not yet married. For him to do so would be of no consequence, except for what all assumed he could someday propagate and was sure to inherit. He would continue in your father’s footsteps. You, however, knew the repercussions of your mother’s great expectations and your father’s patriarchal duty.

  For a while, you were valuable on your terms. You were as useful as your brother. An exception to the rule. You imagined you were secretly admired for a cunning slip from the way things were and outwardly disdained for the betrayal of role and function.

  The women’s tsk-tsk-tsks that must have trailed your mother as you freely roamed the kingdom’s yet uncharted wilds. The burn she must have felt at the banquets you missed. Ciaran missed them, too, as matches were made. Each passing year, your womb empty, your life full.

  You had more immediate troubles tearing you in opposite directions. There was your ungratified rut for Wyl, and his for you, and the futility you’d brought on yourselves. He was still promised to a princess. You remained the object of his attention. He was not yours to indulge or keep. You wished you had not kissed him that once. Nevertheless, you entertained the notion of making an even worse mistake.

  There, too, were thoughts of the settlement and its people. Never had you felt such an immediate peace in a strange place. You thought of the dear little boy whose greeting brought you to tears. You, who strained not to shed them. The elders and young woman who met with you seemed untouched by suspicion yet were clear that you must have caution. An affection had passed between you and the young guardian. You felt a desire to return, an irrational longing to stay.

  Then came the summons.

  You paused when you recognized Raef ‘s seal in the wax. You thought his formality undue, even with your shared coldness. You two had had private conversations about matters of state before, petty issues connected to your work, but this request was worrisome. He didn’t write the purpose of your meeting, but somehow you knew.

  You arrived at the appointed chamber on time. Raef was already seated but stood when you entered. He eased down again, cocked his eyebrow, and dropped his bent elbows heavily on the table. Raef asked you to tell again what you had seen on the other bank. You leaned forward on folded arms and repeated your report. He reached into a pouch, set down an object under splayed fingers, and flourished his arm to his side.

  One perfect honeycomb cell lay between you. One piece of the gold road.

  What were you told, Raef? you asked.

  A fantastic tale you must know, said he.

  We’ll see, you said.

  So it’s story time for you, said he.

  Raef shouted, Enter. The cook stepped into the chamber. He bowed to each of you. Raef instructed the man to tell what he had seen. The cook told his tale, a far richer one than you had spun yourself. He told of gold roads and jewelry, of grazing meadows and fertile arables, of a tremendous mill and large smithy. He told of the kindness he was shown when he was found in the forest, and the bed where he spent his night. Through this, you kept your gaze on the cook’s lowered eyes. Raef watched you with a smirk.

  The cook’s story became like a dream. He sat in the garden outside the house where he had slept. A little girl came up to him with a quiet smile. He greeted her with a hello. She held a ball between her palms and asked to play. The cook didn’t know if this was acceptable, so he told her to go away. She placed the toy in his hands and opened her arms to receive it. They spent some time in the game. Because she had asked, he told her why he was in her settlement. When she tired, she sat on the grass across from him. The cook remarked that she wore a pretty pendant. I have it because of what I know, said she. So the cook a
sked what that might be. The little girl, who could have been no more than three years of age, began to tell him of a family who lived far and wide all over the world and whose members guarded a red dragon and its treasure. Every person in this family was special, and all had different gifts. She wore the pendant because of hers. The cook asked what gift she possessed. I understand you, said she. Then she kissed him on the cheek and kicked her ball down the gold road.

  You faced Raef, who almost seemed moved by the cook’s words. You said that much of what the cook had reported, you had not seen for yourself. You were confused by his account of the little girl’s visit. The people’s language wasn’t your own. How could he speak with her if that was the case? You asked him to describe the pendant, although you didn’t say why. The cook said the child’s was gold and round, with a design he couldn’t clearly see. You thought of the interpreter with her pendant. As for the little girl’s tale, you said each of you had heard stories of dragons and treasures as children. No doubt she had as well, and embellished the telling to suit herself. You thought her imaginative but not truthful.

  After a measure of quiet, Raef handed the gold block to the cook and dismissed him. The man clutched the cell between his hands and looked at you.

  My lady, Prince Raef questioned us all. I’m sorry, said he.

  I’m sorry. It was my doing that we went ashore at all, you said.

  The cook bowed and left you and the younger prince alone.

  What did you do to him? you asked.

  In a fair exchange, improved his station. He won’t die a cook. He’s a steward now, said Raef.

  THE TIME CAME FOR WYL TO COMPLETE HIS FEAT. HIS WISDOM TEETH had emerged in full. For reasons unknown, that sign, not age, determined when the task was to be done.

  The people of the kingdom chose the endeavor. Peculiar, but that, too, was how it had always been. The feat was intended to test the firstborn prince’s strength, bravery, and perseverance. They often decided upon a solitary hunt. The man and his bow out in the forest. The prize was the carcass, then a ritual feast. If the prince was out of favor, the people chose a difficult animal to track and kill | so it was said, you heard tales from old villagers | or required three bodies instead of one. For a beloved prince, the quarry could be as simple as a rabbit or a dove. There were rewards for good favor.

  Once the task was accomplished, the young man was declared fit to be King, although many years might pass before he was crowned.

  Wyl rarely spoke of the feat other than to wonder what he must hunt. He assumed, rightly so, that his task would be easy. The people had great affection for him. They could require that he catch a salmon as the spawning hoards returned. One good leap, said Wyl, and I’d catch it with my bare hands.

  Where were you when he said that? Surely you sat with him in a familiar location, the courtyard, the map chamber. Yet within you, he braced himself against the current. He grabbed that giant rosy hook-faced fish out of water and held it in the air. He was naked from the waist up. His soaked pants molded to every contour from hip to leg.

  Aoife, blink, said he.

  You closed your eyes to see him more clearly. Sigh. Then you stared at his hands. There he was right in front of you, as distant as the image of him that emerged but didn’t exist. Your blood ran hot with lust. You suspected yourself depraved.

  Once you spied a crewman through the trees. Bathing. He stood in the middle of a shallow stream. He had a metal cup. He bent and poured and rubbed himself. It was a pleasant morning. When he was clean, he wiped the water away from the hair on his body, then pressed a palm over his genitals several times. He was in profile to you. He took hold of himself with some degree of tenderness and gave his body lingering attention. Although you had seen a man’s body, you had never seen it respond as it did. You were shocked to find yourself flushed. The sight made you heavy and light-headed. Hardly seemed ladylike. Then the medium by which a man’s seed finds its way out joined the flow of the water. He never knew you were there. He acted no differently toward you, nor you to him. There had been an animal purity about him. He was alive and healthy and in a circumstance that didn’t require containment.

  Your response was not shame or horror. It should have been. All subtleties and directives of childhood demanded such either-or. No, you felt curious. Did what went through his head and hands go through yours? Of course, you knew that instant, of course. The denial of it made a woman’s body an object of submission to the man’s expected desire, to her own trained resistance.

  You desired Wyl, but other men appealed to you. You were not blind. Now and again, the comely or witty son of a nobleman. During your travels to map the kingdom, without fail there was often a crewman or two near your age, strong and kind. Nothing could come of it, though. You worked and ate together. You slept among them every night but always alone. They and you kept a distance between each other although their bodies were at times so close. You relied on their respect, and they understood the boundaries. To the degree possible, you were one of them. You asked nothing of them you wouldn’t do yourself. The illusion that you belonged there had to be maintained.

  Indulgence was not to be yours. The crew had options. You didn’t care that the crew was not wholly chaste. They had animal urges. You were observant of the discrepancy. There were, as they were called, the used women who for whatever reason allowed themselves to be filled. They were chasms where pleasure disappeared. You knew. You heard the satisfied snores. You heard the men speak of what had been done with whom, to whom, and how. What the women received was a mystery, and you could not ask. Silent, you thought of the good women anxious in virtue, their bodies designed to take in and give as much as the used women yet with greater constraints.

  You were philosophical, but not as much as you wish to think. You were young. Healthy. Curious. If they could enjoy that, why couldn’t you?

  Why not Wyl? Sometimes the sight of him made you mindless. | that grin, that glance | He had fine balanced features and a long lithe body that moved with animal grace. He was beautiful. This could not be denied. On more occasions than you have fingers, you saw women freeze in midmotion, forget to curtsy, and stare at him. They were struck dumb. Other girls and women giggled and looked askance in his presence. He wasn’t blind. He noticed, but he thought all princes were treated that way. He thought the women were overcome by his royal bearing. So literal, Wyl, you said when he told you.

  After the daydream of Wyl catching the fish, you knew you had to avoid him. You didn’t want to feel as you did, but you did. What overtook the beasts of the forest lived in you, too. Your nature contained it, and you had not yet released it. There were risks worse than gossip. If you failed at this, you had no desire for the outcome. The infant inevitable. You wanted what would be allowed Wyl. The pleasure and the power to walk away.

  You imagined an escape, but where would you go? You left your father’s house for the fields and forests. To leave the kingdom’s sprawl to close yourself off in a house with servants and a husband? Unacceptable. To a place all your own? Unlikely, if not impossible. Unless you left to serve another, far, far away.

  HOW WORD SPREAD OF THE SETTLEMENT ON THE OTHER BANK, YOU had no idea. The cook | no, now the steward | , unburdened by his confession to Raef, may well have told one person, and another and another. Raef himself, tritely drunk in the company of boisterous fellows, might well have told the tale. Perhaps embellished it. Perhaps got an idea in his head. No one would ever know who revealed this fact.

  What occurred was the traditional poll of the subjects to determine what feat beloved Prince Wyl would undertake. You were away when you learned what they had chosen for him. A messenger with news from the King first announced it to the crew.

  Then Wyl arrived at the site you were mapping. He demanded a private meeting. You had to obey. Such was his power. The chamber door closed. The guard outside coughed. Wyl paced. The decision troubled him. He expected what generations had done before. A hunt, the lifting of tremendou
s weights, a night alone and unarmed in the forest.

  Instead, he was given the feat of a quest to return with proof of a dragon.

  He wanted you to tell him what you’d seen in the settlement across the bank with every possible detail. You didn’t want to. It was a place where you returned, if only in mind, during quiet moments. You wondered what it would be like to live there. You questioned whether your memory was true, if you had in fact felt such peace and welcome. Regardless, you were protective of the settlement, although you did not understand why. You didn’t wish to betray their quiet.

  I said all I had to say before the King and the Council. Why does it matter? you asked.

  I want to know if there’s evidence of this dragon.

  None but a story, you said.

  And of the riches in the village?

  It’s all under one’s feet and before one’s eyes. That is real.

  The people say they’ve chosen me, said Wyl.

  For what?

  A new era of prosperity, more than enough for all.

  Raef, you thought, the cunning and cowardly. If Wyl found a dragon hoard, he knew the people would get no more benefit than a generous banquet. As a prince, he’d enjoy the riches on top of his inherited wealth. If Wyl failed, you would not be surprised if Raef commissioned a journey of his own. If Wyl died, Raef might have to quest himself, but if he survived, he would one day be King.

  You watched Wyl sit on a cushioned bench. His back widened as he leaned forward. You placed both hands below his shoulders. Comfort for him, contact for you.

  They say I’m a good, brave, and worthy prince and only a man such as this can attain these boons, said he.

  In that instant, no, Aoife, you didn’t think the full thought. The glimmer came and went. You felt a shiver at your core and smiled wide with no idea why you were smiling. It was only a nameless, formless possibility at that moment. Then you said:

  Wyl, you are a good, brave, worthy prince.

  He asked if you believed so. You did. You did. Your hands moved into the brown curled scruff at his neck. He sighed a creature’s content.