The Mapmaker's War

by Unknown Author

  By that time, Ciaran had married, and they didn’t know of the barrenness. His wife was a large-hearted woman who took pleasure in her niece and nephew. Ciaran told her the truth of their circumstances. It was harder to disguise the truth from those in the inner circle of relationships. Among those outside, the troubles were abandoned to the past. For good. Eventually Ciaran learned the written chronicles had been altered. He suspected Wyl had given orders but had no proof. Your place in history was expunged.

  To the matter, his wife suggested they take the twins as their own. The girl and boy were young enough that they’d grow without recollection of either blood parent or the strife of their infancy. Ciaran loved them as well. Like you, the boy was serious and the girl spirited. Like Wyl, the girl had natural charm and the boy literal-mindedness. Their father relinquished his claim. Unimaginable, but he did, thinking it best for all concerned. So they took the twins, which pleased Mother, for she could have them call her Grandmama still. By all accounts, they knew no different. They called Ciaran Father and his wife Mother. She was gentle and kind and cuddled them like puppies.

  As this transpired, Ciaran traveled to the opposite bank to assess what had been claimed. What was left after the battle, to be sure, because the whole settlement had been looted, including the road that was rumored to be made of gold.

  It had been. When I returned there after my escape, it was gone, you said.

  Ciaran continued. He brought his envoys and tally sheets and walked every foot of ground. He required a survey of the land that had been seized. So much of it was supposedly unclaimed. The neighboring kingdoms to the north and east had long respected the space of the strange people who lived there. It was Raef who set about to convince those kings what had been thwarted. He lied about the Guardians’ cache of weapons and ample riches. The wealth was in the gold road and in their possessions. In truth, Aoife, it was a slaughter. They weren’t armed enough. The kingdom’s forces overreacted.

  Then why did the war spread? you asked.

  It was believed the people moved what had been stored there, said he. It was a contagious distortion. A mania I’d never before seen, and it consumed me as well. It was as if the leaders, army, and people of our kingdom became crazed with the idea that those people were stalking from a distance, waiting to destroy us all. Neighboring kingdoms joined the madness. Villages that knew of their presence suddenly feared them and led troops to their borders.

  And what was gained? you asked.

  He said the kingdom’s domain doubled in size. After the Queen died, Wyl decided to move the seat of power across the river. The flat wooded land was an inappropriate place for a fortification. He ordered the land cleared in the settlement, as well as acres of the forest that surrounded it. An earthen mound was built, and the castle atop that. What ground was spared proved fertile and full of game. Wyl took great pleasure in the claim.

  What of Raef? After the war, which he had viewed, by all accounts, from promontories and margins, he took to his own quest. No magnificent stores that rivaled the hoard had been found in any of the settlements. This enraged him, for he had convinced himself that what he had seen in the first settlement was sure to be found in the others. He wanted the hoard Wyl said he had seen. That, Raef wanted as his conquest. Wealth not to be meted out by royal custom or law or his brother’s grace. There was no secret in this. He spoke of it often, to the point most thought him obsessive, perhaps deranged. One day he disappeared, with no attempt to cloak where he’d gone. He left with a fortune in gold and the map you drew.

  The map is a lie, you said.

  Ciaran suspected so and thought Wyl did, too. He knew Wyl had seen the map because he was there when Raef unfurled it in the great hall to behold. Your father, Ciaran, the Queen, and members of the Council were present. You were locked in the house with the twins. Ciaran stood among those who witnessed the work you’d done. It bore your hand. He confessed he had to hold back tears. It was beautiful, Aoife, with the tender touches you gave to the playful ones of your girlhood. This one had so many animals, and the bold X, too bold, as if it were a joke on us all. But Raef asked Wyl to study it right then. Brother, what say you? asked he. Wyl gave a fine performance with his knitted brow and folded arms and close peering. He declared it accurate and sound, as far as he could tell. Such a long journey it was, such a long journey.

  Raef ventured out with a copy of the map and returned home for a time, broke and exhausted, only to try again. He had not traveled far enough. He’d misstepped. There was always an excuse or a thwart. If he believed the map was false, he never said so.

  The stranger lie was yet to come. Wyl married again, a princess from a kingdom that had participated in the war. A shallower little creature didn’t flit on a puddle. Kindly in disposition and pure of voice, as you can imagine. Not near so beautiful as a king is promised. But there was his match, the price of allegiance. Together, they had four children, three boys and a girl. One of the boys was afflicted with fits and died, poor thing. The rest of the children grew strong. When the oldest boy came of age, the people chose his feat. And what do you think they deemed?

  A quest, you said.

  Full of imagination, they were. The vicarious thrill of battle and adventure was revivified in their minds, although almost thirty years had passed since. They were proud to be led by stouthearted men. The people sent Wyl’s son for the same feat as his father’s, to bring proof of the dragon. Wyl gave him the amulet you had given him and, upon Raef ‘s latest return, required the copy of the map he carried. No more were to be made. So off the son went in full regalia as if going to war. A handsome young man, much like his father, but not as thick, not as credulous. He left, was away for months, and arrived looking none the worse for wear. Almost refreshed, to be exact. He went before the Council as his father, the King, had many years before and upon the table laid a scale.

  From what? you asked.

  The prince claimed to have fought the dragon. He raised the sleeve of his shirt to expose a burn scar above his left hand. A swift sword swipe drew dragon’s blood and loosed a scale from its body. He declared the hoard as well-stocked and awesome as his father had said it would be. The prince had detected and heard of no imminent threat as he bade his time near the lair.

  There was later a welcome ceremony with the people. A feast. Until his death, Wyl had been a generous king, Aoife. What he lacked in wisdom he made up for with boons. But to the matter, there was a fuss about the scales, a display made to be kept in the King’s private chamber. Ciaran saw for himself the difference. The scale Wyl had brought back was colorless. His son’s was red, through and through.

  It’s a fake, you said.

  Which one?

  The son’s. The scales are transparent.

  How do you know?

  My spouse and my daughter told me so.

  Then you had a turn at your tales. When you were finished, you sighed. You felt released. You felt forgiven, although you had not asked that of him.

  During his stay, your brother accompanied you to see the whole of the settlement. To those who asked how he had found you, you responded simply, Wei. No more needed to be said. You led him through the forest and into the plain. He saw the mine, fields, lake, and river. He slept in the small room you kept for Wei’s family. He joined you, your spouse, and your daughter for meals and amusements. Genuine affection emerged among them. Too soon, he had to leave. Neither acknowledged you would never see one another again.

  The peace I feel. I didn’t understand you then. That’s what you tried to convey so many years ago, said Ciaran.

  Yes, you said.

  We mistook the treasure. We sought the obvious. What a terrible pity.

  You nodded. Ciaran held you in his arms with love. When Wei led him to the forest, you didn’t follow. She alone would return her uncle home.

  LEIT DIED TWO SEASONS LATER. HIS DECLINE WAS RAPID. THAT DIDN’T STARtle you. He was elderly. What made you quiver was his dying. The scar began
to split open. It bled a slow weep like water through a rock. You had a Voice summon Wei. She arrived with Olen and Katya.

  They helped you care for him as his life leaked away.

  Wei’s light soothed him, calmed him, but she couldn’t save her father. She curled against him as she had as a child. He whispered to her. Beloved Wei. Beautiful beloved Wei.

  One morning, when he was still strong enough to sit, Wei knelt at his side. She was silent. Her expression showed conflict.

  What is it? asked Leit.

  I know something, but I don’t know whether you wish to be told.

  An understanding crossed between them without words. He nodded. She took his hands.

  The tree that shared the wounds. A crack grew long and a hollow formed deep. The tree has died. When the hollow is through and through, what is left will be a link, said Wei.

  Leit grabbed her wrists.

  This you glimpsed? asked he.

  Yes and no. I’ve been to it. The links are not all random. Some stand on hallowed ground.

  He dropped his head and her arms. She stood behind him with her hands crossed over his chest. Wei began to sing a song of welcome. One for a coming newborn. Innocent, remind us what is pure. Innocent, remind us what is true. Innocent, awake from the great sleep. Behold what waits for you. Leit splayed his limbs. He fought no longer. As tears flowed, he sang with his daughter.

  The beauty of their voices awed you to silence.

  He sang with his whole voice again, at last.

  That afternoon, he insisted on a walk through the forest. He sat on the plateau until the moon rose. Then his bodily strength left him.

  His friends streamed in with comforting touches for you all. As always, they met your needs, especially for love.

  The flow quickened. He was not afraid.

  I weaken but I’m in no pain, said he.

  You slept next to him. You awoke in the mornings touched by his blood. In those last days together, you remembered, cried, and laughed. You held one another with your eyes when his arms became too weak to surround you. Once strong, scarred with fire from the smithy, with violence from blades.

  He became so pale. His family gathered around him. Each of you held on to him. You lay stretched at his side with your hand on his belly. The red wetness was part of him. Was him.

  Leit smiled into each person’s eyes. Then he closed his for the last time. You kissed him, then pressed your lips to his neck. The throb, once so steady, slowed slowed slowed. He gasped once, as if surprised, then exhaled.

  Ahpa, wailed Wei.

  The sound of her cry shattered your heart where it was already broken.

  Wei’s spouse left to announce the death. Within moments bells rang throughout the settlement. You asked to clean Leit’s body alone. You would never touch him again.

  On the plain, young warriors prepared the pyre. Companions arrived to carry the corpse. Leit was shrouded in a fine blue cloth. It was woven by certain weavers and stored for use only for those who walked the trails. He was laid upon a bed of boughs. The ritual cauldron consumed offerings in flame. For two days and nights, warriors kept watch over the fire. On the third day, one of his closest surviving companions lit the pyre.

  You thought of winters past and fires he tended to keep you warm.

  Leit’s ashes were brought in a beautiful urn. He had said that you may choose how to release them. Wei wanted to give him the honor he had earned. Long ago, the Guardians received agreement to scatter each warrior’s remains in the realm.

  So you stood before a dead hollow tree at twilight. Your daughter spoke the incantation. A bee bade entry. You were here, then there, within a few steps.

  It is always this close, Wei? you whispered.

  She opened her arms wide. She bent her elbows and brought her flat hands toward her chest. Her left palm faced the sky. She turned her right to face the earth. Wei placed her palms one upon the other.

  A thin space separates realm from realm. Some places allow both to meet, said she.

  You stood at the foot of the mountain. Leit’s ashes were heavy in your arms. Blue swallows gave chase across the valley. The clouds blushed pink rose crimson. The billows revealed contours. You gasped as the shape became form and drifted to the ground. You looked at her wings, tail, legs, head.

  The winged beast, so red, bowed to meet your eye. You stared long at your reflection, the darkness in the light. Your mind spiraled with images. The glimpses spared nothing. Revealed everything. The entirety was beyond comprehension. The flood was ruthless— then stopped. You blinked. For an instant you thought you understood why they guarded her.

  She was the witness of the world, future present past.

  Egnis huffed. She turned toward the open land. You and Wei followed. Wei broke the urn’s wax seal. Together, you tipped the vessel and spilled the dust. The dragon blew a warm breath. The ashes lifted into the air. She beat her wings to urge the dust upward.

  Then she took flight with a great plume of flame from her mouth. She danced with grace through a breeze. She flew higher until she disappeared beyond the rise of the moon.

  Gray powder covered your hands. Bone shards lay scattered at your feet. The empty urn held the peace of his release.

  YOU DID NOT SPEND YOUR LAST YEARS ALONE WITH LEIT’S LOSS. KATYA and her own family remained in the village, an easy three-day walk away, but Wei returned with Olen. You shared a house together within sight of the Wheels. The children’s joy and voices gave brightness to each new morning. After the music, some of them came to your door for lessons. To them, it was play. Some sat with compasses and straight edges. Others held only quills. What you taught had little purpose in their world, but it bound yours together.

  Alone, you sat at a table. You clutched an incomplete chronicle, one written in fragments on scraps. You stared at an open box of writing sheets. You had told Leit you would save them for a special work. On several occasions, you attempted to begin. Too much came at once. The thin pages could not endure the furious scratches. You contemplated your quest and exile. You realized there was one last journey to take.

  Wei closed her eyes when you made the request. You reminded her that she had found her uncle. She had brought him to visit. Wei said she sensed Ciaran had the strength to see you arisen from the dead. In your hearts, both of you had wondered whether you knew the truth of past events.

  She admitted she had seen the twins many years earlier. She was young, testing the gaps and her sight. Her brother didn’t yet have a wife and was in service of the King, | the boy, the heir inapparent | Her sister was married and not yet with child. Boldly, she spoke to them but did not tell them who she was. She said her friendliness confused them. They found her strange.

  What do you want? asked Wei.

  One last look with my hands free.

  She cautioned you to keep yourself removed. You assured her you didn’t wish to speak to them. Wei asked you to be mindful, to spare them their lost memories. You understood. From your daughter you had learned words were not necessary for knowing.

  First, Wei led you to the boy. She told you he was a widower with three surviving children. Ciaran’s late years were marred with dispute. A good portion of what he’d held had been given to another. The boy managed what was left of his uncle | his father’s | estate. What had once been the boy’s grandfather’s, and that man’s father, and so on. The reward for loyal obedient service. He had no interest in courtly affairs or fighting. Those who lived on his land worked it hard, which covered the costs of supplying the King | his half-brother, consider | with armored men and steady taxes.

  You stood at the edge of the forest. You looked at the house where you had lived as a child. Repairs kept it free from decay. No noticeable changes captured your eye. You stood where once you had worn a path. It was gone, overgrown. An old woman clothed in wool and drudgery went to the well. You crouched like an animal to watch the day’s activities. No urge pressed you to creep upon the house’s windows. You rem
embered. You suspected few differences within.

  Your presence there felt as unwelcomed as ever.

  Late you ate a simple meal. You drank from a bladder. Wei returned near sunset to take you to the hut of an old woman. So much time had passed since you had crossed such a threshold. You convinced Wei to let night come.

  Candles burned in the chamber that once had been your father’s. With caution, you approached. The boy sat with a drink in a polished goblet. The light revealed few details. He was tall, with a balding head fringed with dark hair. His profile was pleasing. You imagined, hoped, he resembled Wyl. You studied him as if he were a stranger, because he was.

  Tenderness swelled your heart. You seized the open warmth for a moment, mistaken. No, the mother in you did not recognize him. The human in you did. He had come from your flesh but you had no claim to him. You had relinquished that by choice, no matter the forces.

  Suddenly he shouted a name. You jumped. He leaned forward to peer out of the window. You hid deeper in the shadows. Two voices mingled in brief tense conversation punctuated with the slam of a fist. When all was quiet, you touched the stone wall once, one last time. Your footsteps walked an old hidden path back to the trees where you always felt more at home.

  Morning brought rain but across the gap there was sun.

  The girl lived in the new territory on the other side of the river. The conquered lands. Wei said she had been married well before Ciaran had lost favor and prominence. That she did not choose her husband was no surprise. Women were makers of heirs, not choices, among most born away.