Isle of Blood and Stone

by Makiia Lucier

  Reyna smiled shyly at his teasing, displaying two late missing incisors. Her black hair fell in two braids that disappeared below the table’s edge. “Welcome home, Lord Elias.”

  “It’s good to be home.” He set his map carrier on the table and threw himself into a chair. Curious, he eyed the two scrolls that lay in the center of the table, both about four feet in length, rolled, and tied with black ribbon. Too large to be the king’s typical correspondence. They looked like maps.

  “The king spoke for all of us,” Lord Silva said. “We were starting to worry. What took you so long?”

  Months ago, Elias had been dispatched to Hellespont, an island along del Mar’s trade route, to survey its coastlines after a series of earthquakes had altered its topography. But at this moment, he didn’t care the least bit about Hellespont, though it had occupied his every waking thought for many weeks. Now all he wanted to know was why he’d been summoned here before he’d even had a glimpse of his chambers and an opportunity to bathe. He glanced at Ulises, whose expression gave away nothing, and checked his impatience.

  “Parts of the island are unrecognizable,” Elias answered Lord Silva’s question. He uncapped his carrier and removed the contents. Sheets of parchment were spread across the table. They varied in size, each a specific rendering of Hellespont. A few sketches showed the entire island, others primarily the northern half. Others magnified an even smaller portion: a harbor, a peninsula, a stretch of coastline. Everyone leaned forward for a closer look.

  “The earthquakes transformed the northern edge,” Elias continued, “and there are islets on the west side that have sprung right out of the sea. I’ve redrawn the area.” He addressed Lord Silva. “I wouldn’t have our captains attempt that route without these maps. There are new shoals in place, and rocks that will take the bottom right out of our ships.”

  Shoals and sandbars were a danger to every seagoing vessel. There was the risk of grounding or capsizing. Unlike Elias, most of the men aboard a ship could not swim.

  Mercedes pulled a chart closer with a fingertip. “These whirlpools are new?”

  “Yes,” Elias said.

  “Was the Amaris damaged?” Ulises asked.

  “Yes,” Elias said. “We hit some rocks. A few of us were thrown. One shipman broke his leg, and we were delayed for weeks with repairs.”

  “Thrown?” Mercedes eyed Elias’s bruise with a frown. “What about the serpents?”

  “There were none. We were lucky.”

  “You’ve a gift for understatement, Elias,” Ulises said. To be thrown from a ship usually meant one was the next meal for the water monsters that lurked beneath the surface, waiting for just such an opportunity. “Were there any signs of surveyors from Lunes?”

  Elias smiled. “None.”

  Ulises looked satisfied. “Then we have the advantage.” To Lord Silva, he said, “We’ll need copies made.”

  “Quickly,” Lord Silva acknowledged. “Several ships are sailing within the week. I’ll see to it.”

  “I’ll help,” Elias offered.

  In a far-off corner of the castle, mapmakers, painters, and calligraphers copied the charts sketched out by the kingdom’s explorers, men like Elias. They also drew maps using the information brought home by captains, shipmen, and other travelers who were met at the ports. But when time permitted, Elias preferred to draw his own maps. It was the only way to ensure that the copies looked exactly the way he wanted them.

  Lord Silva studied one of the charts with a distracted air. “No, you won’t have time, I suspect.”

  And Elias could be only so patient. “Won’t I?” he asked politely. “Why not?”

  Silence fell. Lord Silva set the map down. Glances were exchanged all around. It grated on Elias, the feeling that everyone in the chamber knew something that he did not.

  Mercedes stood. “If I may, Lord Silva?”

  “Certainly, my dear.”

  Mercedes reached for one of the scrolls, tossed the ribbon aside, and unrolled it. Also on the table was a shallow bowl filled with conch shells. Without a word being exchanged, Elias and Reyna used the shells to secure the four corners. Elias glanced down at the scroll, and then looked again, startled.

  It was one of his father’s maps. A rendering of del Mar in its entirety, from the village of Esperanca in the north to the southernmost city of Alfonse. Five compass roses dotted the surface, and a maze of rhumb lines crisscrossed the sheepskin. He saw the harbor, the mountain ranges, the rivers, and waterfalls. Even the sea serpents, slithery monsters painted just beyond the harbor, were given their due in brilliant blues and greens and purples. But most splendid of all was a large inset of Cortes, showing the hilltop castle and the individual streets and storefronts. There were people, even animals. Pigs caged in pens and stray dogs roaming the streets. The detail was remarkable.

  The only thing missing was a cartouche with the mapmaker’s name and kingdom of origin. But this was his father’s, Lord Antoni’s, work; Elias knew it without question. And it was in fine condition: the parchment untorn, the paint vivid. He had never seen this particular chart before, but that was of no significance. His father had painted thousands of maps. Why was this one here now?

  “Several months ago,” Ulises said, “just after you left, in fact, a merchant tried to sell this map at the harbor. He claimed to have won it in a tavern game of chance on Oslaw. He knew nothing of its provenance, and could only say that the man he won it from was a Coronad shipman with arms like tree trunks.”

  “Helpful,” Elias commented. Show him a Coronad shipman who did not fit that description. They were few and far between.

  Ulises half smiled. “Quite,” he agreed. “The map is unsigned, but Reyna is familiar with Lord Antoni’s work. And there were other . . . elements she thought curious. She bought the map.”

  Elias’s attention shifted to Reyna. “You’ve graduated to the mappers’ booth?”

  The child looked uneasy to have all eyes on her. “It was only that once. I help with the ledgers, usually. Madame Vega says I’m too young to barter.”

  Lord Silva said, “The child, correctly, thought discretion might be in order. She purchased the map using her own funds so that it would not appear in the official records. And she brought it directly to the king.”

  “Mercedes was there as well,” Ulises said. “It was just before she sailed to Lunes.”

  Discretion? Curious elements? And what did Mercedes have to do with anything? Utterly lost, Elias turned to her as she spoke.

  “While I was on Lunes,” she said, “I came across a chart hanging in the king’s map chambers.” She unrolled the second map beside the first and secured it with more shells. “One chart among a hundred others. I would not have given it a second glance if I had not seen Reyna’s copy first. It’s also missing a cartouche. You’ll see that they are nearly identical.”

  “Nearly?” Elias leaned close, comparing the two. Some time passed before he saw that yes, there was a telling difference. Unlike the first map, the second featured the beacon on the cliffs of Alfonse, at the very southern tip of the island. These maps were clearly painted by the same artist, but it could not have been his father. Lord Antoni had died eighteen years ago. The beacon was only ten years old.

  Elias sat back, disappointed. He had been so sure. “Fine copies, then,” he conceded. “It’s not uncommon to learn from the masters. What of it?” He glanced at the first map.

  And saw it.

  In the top left corner, hidden along a thick border made up of olive trees and lemon groves. He brought his face down to the map, so close that his nose nearly touched the parchment. He glanced quickly at Lord Silva, who said, “The child saw it at the harbor.”

  “Her eyesight is sharp,” Mercedes said.

  Elias’s was less so. To him, the words were like the footprints of ants, barely recognizable as lettering. A small glass dish had been placed halfway down the table. He shoved his chair back and retrieved the bowl. It was filled with
dried orange blossoms and lavender. He returned to his seat and without ceremony upended the contents beside the maps. Immediately, Mercedes sneezed.

  “Apologies,” he said absently. He cleaned the dish with the end of his shirt. Mercedes and Ulises were frowning, at a loss, but Reyna was already on her feet and reaching for a water pitcher. When Elias held out the bowl, she filled it with small, steady hands. Carefully, he placed the bowl on the map, over the border. He peered into the glass and read the tiny print that had been drawn there, now magnified by glass and water.

  Adventurer, two princes lost but not gone.

  Follow the path of the ancient mariners, Tramontana to Ostro.

  Look not to what is there but to what is not.

  He felt a sharp prickling along his scalp. No one made a sound. He moved the bowl over the second map. The wording was identical to that on the first. He straightened, anger simmering. “Someone is having their fun with us.”

  He expected Lord Silva to agree with him, right then and there, without the slightest hesitation. And so he was stunned when the silence inched along even further before Lord Silva said, “Elias, I taught your father how to hold a brush. How to mix his paints. I have seen him cast a thousand rhumb lines across the page. I know his work, child. As well as yours, as well as my own.”

  And from Ulises, “What if these are his?”

  “The beacon—” Elias began.

  “I know what it means.” Ulises regarded him, unsmiling. “Whoever painted the maps was alive ten years ago.”

  “What are you saying?” Elias rose slowly, not taking his eyes off his king. He sounded to himself unnaturally calm and detached. “And how dare you say it?”

  “Elias . . .” Mercedes said. His eyes flashed to hers; she looked away first. He began to understand now what she would not tell him in the square.

  The king’s voice remained even. “I’m saying nothing. Only that there is a riddle. I’m asking you to solve it.”

  “I see.” Elias’s temper unraveled faster than he was proud of. “You want me to solve this riddle. And prove what? That my father is alive somewhere, painting maps”—he sent a scornful glance toward the charts—“and choosing not to come home?”

  Ulises opened his mouth, then shut it. Elias stared at his friend, infuriated, then swung around to glare at Mercedes. “You found this on Lunes, you said?”

  Her hands were folded on the table. She was pale and set, but she met his eyes squarely. “Yes.”

  “What did Lamech say when you asked for the map?”

  “I did not ask for it,” Mercedes said.

  “The king offered it to you?” Elias asked with a skeptical air. The king of Lunes was a stingy old miser. He would not hand over anything valuable without expecting something in return.

  “I’m certain he would have, had I asked.”

  Her meaning became clear. Incredulous, Elias said, “You stole this map? From the royal map chambers on Lunes?”

  Mercedes glanced at Reyna. The child’s eyes were as large as twin moons. Likely this was the first time she was hearing of Mercedes’s more colorful diplomatic responsibilities. “What would you have had me do?” Mercedes countered. “I couldn’t have anyone wondering at my interest. The last thing I wanted was for someone else to take a closer look.”

  “How did you—?” Elias stopped. He didn’t want to know how she had stolen the map. Turning back to Ulises, he said, “This is ridiculous. How can you give this credence?”

  “How can I not?” Ulises snapped. “Two princes lost but not gone? These are not strangers in a fairy story, Elias. They are my brothers!” Ulises rose, facing him across the table. A pulse beat at his temple. “Lord Antoni’s skill is not something that can be copied, as simple as that. Look at them. This is the work of a master. Are they not worthy of a look, at least?”

  “No.” Elias grabbed his carrier. Better that he go before he really said something he shouldn’t. The Hellespontian sketches were left scattered about the table.

  “These were painted years apart,” Ulises continued, urgent. “And they’ve turned up on opposite sides of an entire sea.”

  “A coincidence.”

  “Two coincidences?” Ulises shot back, gesturing toward the maps. “There may be more. Why would someone go to this much trouble?”

  “Because he is mad!” Elias’s voice rose. “Because he is cruel. Or bored. There are a thousand, thousand reasons why. Have you not considered them?” Bitterly, he added, “Was this ambush simpler? Old friend?”

  A slow flush crawled up Ulises’s neck. Good.

  “Sit down, Elias. Listen to me. I am your friend—”

  “My king,” Lord Silva broke in. He, too, was on his feet. “Elias. Please . . .”

  Elias paid him no attention. “And this is how you show it?” he demanded of Ulises. “By besmirching my father’s name? By bringing fresh grief to his widow—” Another shock coursed through him as he thought of his mother.

  Mercedes spoke quickly, “She won’t learn of it. No one knows of the maps except us.”

  He glared at her. Hurt unfurled in him. He let her see it. She had known of this all along, at the harbor. She could have given him some warning. He asked, “What about the man who sold Reyna the map?”

  “He’s gone,” Mercedes said, frowning. “Sailed off. What of him?”

  “That doesn’t mean he won’t return, or speak of it,” Elias said. “What about Commander Aimon?”

  Her hands were no longer folded before her. They were fists. “That is unworthy of you. You know he can be trusted.”

  Elias’s laugh held little humor. “A secret is safe, Mercedes, when one person knows it. Not seven, or more. You of all people should know that.” He turned his anger back to Ulises. “Did you spare a thought to what this will do to my family?” He jabbed at one of the maps. “Even a whisper of it?”

  “Listen to me,” Ulises said. “I mean no insult—”

  “I am insulted!” Elias slapped both palms flat against the table, hard enough to rattle the seashells.

  Their raised voices had not gone unnoticed. The doors swung open, and two guards stuck their heads in.

  “Out.” The order came from Ulises. That, and the cold look he shot their way, had the men stumbling over themselves as they backed away. The doors slammed shut.

  It was only then that Elias became aware of Reyna huddled in her chair and Lord Silva’s lips pressed thin. A child. His teacher. A spark of shame ignited within him. He forced his breath to slow, and tried to pull his anger back inside of him.

  “My father,” he said quietly, “was a lord of del Mar. A man who served his king and kingdom and died for it. I am insulted.” He slung the carrier over his head and stalked out of the chamber, leaving behind a thick and muffling silence.

  Three

  LIAS HAD BEEN only an infant when it happened, but he knew the tale as well as any, and better than most. Eighteen years ago, on the island of St. John del Mar, two princes vanished, never to be seen again.

  Prince Bartolome and Prince Teodor, ages seven and five, had traveled outside the city in the company of Lord Antoni. As Royal Navigator, Antoni oversaw del Mar’s School of Navigation, along with its considerable network of explorers, mapmakers, instrument makers, and pilots. Bartolome had developed a fascination with the navigator’s arts, and anyone looking for the prince knew to look for Antoni, for he had become the man’s shadow. The outing was meant to show the princes the magnetic compass rocks that could be found on a hill near Javelin Forest. Accompanying them were their nurse, Lady Esma; servants; and two dozen of the king’s finest guards. In the end, their strength and numbers mattered not.

  When the party did not return by nightfall as planned, King Andrés and more soldiers rode out to find them. They came upon an unspeakable sight. Beneath a full moon, lying scattered across the meadow like broken dolls, were two dozen dead soldiers. Servants, too. There was no sign of the princes or Lord Antoni. The nurse, also, was missing.r />
  The king launched a frantic search. Spies and emissaries, one and the same, were sent to kingdoms near and far to ferret out the truth. After many months, a Mondragan soldier was questioned. And slowly a crime was uncovered, layer by layer, exposing a rotted core at its center.

  Five island kingdoms dotted the Sea of Magdalen like steppingstones. Each with its own language and customs. Each with its fortune tied in some way to the sea. The largest and most powerful stone was St. John del Mar, followed by Lunes, Mondrago, Hellespont, and Coronado.

  Mondrago lay to the east of del Mar, at that time ruled by the newly crowned King Marius. Marius lived far more extravagantly than he ought to have, supplementing his treasury by imposing crippling taxes on his people. When that was not enough, he hatched a plan.

  Bartolome and Teodor were to be snatched and held for ransom. The kidnapping of royals or noblemen was not unprecedented. They were on occasion waylaid, though returned unharmed once payment was made. The boys were to have been smuggled to an undisclosed location while terms were being negotiated between del Mar and an anonymous envoy representing Mondrago. Only something went wrong. The ship carrying the princes was lost in a storm.

  Retribution was brutal. The grief-stricken King Andrés gathered his forces and sailed to Mondrago. King Marius denied having anything to do with the boys’ disappearance and, when that did not work, begged for mercy for himself and his family. His pleas fell on deaf ears. After an endless siege, Marius and his family were put to death, scores of nobility slaughtered, citizens scattered to the wind, castles and estates burned to rubble. Mondrago was now a del Marian possession. What remained of a once-picturesque island kingdom was an impoverished wasteland, a ruin.

  The people of St. John del Mar settled into a prolonged period of mourning. The queen died the following spring, many said of a broken heart. And a third son, Ulises, only a babe when his brothers were lost, was named heir to the kingdom of del Mar.

  That was where the story ended. Always.