The Map Maker's Daughter

by Caroline Dunford

  For Jean

  Contents

  Shift

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Acknowledgements

  Shift

  On the calmest day of the season the harbour shone mirror smooth. The air lay warm and heavy over the village port of Frangelli. Maven swayed high in the rigging of the Susan-May checking and rechecking that next time his twisting sail would properly unfurl.

  A young man, but with a boyishness about him, Maven held little fear of death, but he was keen to delay his acquaintance with it for as long as possible. He had much to look forward to.

  Short, black curls crowded his brow, but to please his family he’d kept, in the way of the fishing folk, a long ponytail snaking down his back in an upturned question mark. His skin was weathered a nut brown by the sea and the dark wells of his eyes were already lined from squinting into the sun. He was taller than many, lithe and quick, as he needed to be sailing such a troublesome stretch of sea. Young though he was he had already given his heart away.

  Maven tugged a final thread tight on the sail attachment. His eyes ran searchingly over the mechanism. Had he missed anything? Today was a fête day and everyone else was preparing for the celebration. Maven intended to join them, but only when he was completely sure the rigging would work.

  On his last journey there had been a terrifying moment when the twisting sail had stuck and he thought he would be unable to avoid the incoming cloud-storm. The thought of never seeing Yasmeen again was not a pain he wanted to endure twice.

  He flicked the little silver cogs of the winding gear one last time with his fingers. They spun and hummed sweetly. No problems. All it had been was a bit of dirt. His father was right. It was imperative to dismantle and polish the gears every time he came into port. It was a tedious and time consuming job, but essential.

  He had one more trip planned before the wedding. One more voyage to catch the autumn durfish migration and then every trip after that he would be coming home to his wife. Maven lifted his face to the suns and smiled into the clear sky. He could hardly believe he would soon be a married man and the youngest village elder Frangelli had had in living memory. His parents, eager to retire, were as excited as he. The whole village had agreed to put aside some of the season’s gifts of food from Milton Hold to celebrate the day.

  Maven took a deep breath of sea air and surveyed his village from his high vantage point. Frangelli might be a small fishing village, but it was a prosperous one. Maven’s family home was large; a group of low buildings surrounding a sunny courtyard where he and his sisters had played as children. His sisters now all had homes of their own and his parents planned to move to a small cottage. Soon the house would belong to him and Yasmeen. Then they too would raise their family there. This was the way of things. Maven could not have been happier.

  A sudden ripple across the bay jolted him. Without thinking he locked his wrists and feet into the rigging straps. The boat tipped again. Not letting go, he twisted to survey the sea. Across the bay came the unthinkable, a series of incoming ripples, stacking up one after another on what had been an utterly flat sea.

  There was no wind. No sign of any clouds.

  Under the warmth of the golden sun Maven’s heart turned to ice.

  It could not be.

  It could not be.

  There had been no warning. No messenger with Maps from the Hold. Everyone was in the village. Everyone.

  Maven shouted. He screamed a warning to his village. His voice carried through the still air. A door opened in the house closest to the harbour. Yasmeen stepped out, wiping her floury hands on her apron, her distant face raised to him in question.

  ‘Get to high ground,’ yelled Maven. Frantically he began to untangle himself from the safety straps. ‘Get up! Get up! Shift is coming! Shift!’

  In response to his cry the villagers stopped mid-task. There was a moment of stillness, but only a moment. A silent understanding swept through the village. Shift, Maven had cried Shift. It was impossible, but they trusted him and such a warning was too dangerous to ignore. As one the villagers abandoned their work, tossing aside baskets and tools. Everyone ran. Parents scooped up children. Others propelled the elderly outdoors. Children caught their pets if they could. Everyone raced towards high ground. The whole village fled. All except Yasmeen. She didn’t move.

  Across the harbour the ripples became waves. In less than a hundred heartbeats the water had grown monstrous, with rank after rank of foam-topped crests as high as houses.

  If she began to run now, maybe she had a chance. Maven screamed again to her to run. But Yasmeen only stood there watching him try to free himself.

  The walls of water moved slower than the natural tide, but it flowed relentlessly. They only had a few moments. Maven knew he could not reach her before the water hit. All he could think was that he wanted her to try. ‘Run!’ he screamed. ‘Run! Go!’ Below him her small figure resolutely shook its head. She would not leave him.

  With every heartbeat the sea grew higher, towering in an impossible wall that gathered pace and swept in towards the village like a great creature bearing down upon its prey.

  The sky above the Susan-May grew dark as the incoming waves blocked out the sun. Maven felt the coldness on his back. He knew what was coming, but he didn’t take his eyes from Yasmeen. He didn’t turn to see his fate. In those final moments before the water hit each of them had no thought, but for the other.

  The first waves broke over the Susan-May. Maven’s boat was tossed high on the back of the sea, but the boat was heavily laden for her imminent voyage, and she stayed upright. Maven, half fastened into the rigging, was tossed mercilessly back and forth. He lost sight of Yasmeen as his world tumbled about him. Then came the eerie thunder of the stormless, water-making landfall. He heard cries of terror, and then his head connected with the main mast and he knew no more.

  The rigging of the Susan-May was the best Maven’s family could afford. In its time it had saved Maven’s grandfather and his father. This day, it saved Maven.

  When he came to he was still aloft but upside down. He could see no sign of the sea, only a dull grey beneath him. Slowly, he understood the boat was now high upon the shore, her hull broken by a ragged line of rocks.

  Shocked and bruised Maven cut himself free with his boot knife and half fell half scrambled down to the deck. He clambered up to the prow that now lay on an incline. The house that had been by the harbour was still there. Beyond it he could see his home. Perhaps, perhaps, it hadn’t been so bad.

  He dropped over the side to land awkwardly on the sea-slick rocks. Later he had no memory of how he had made his way inland. He was left only with the cuts, bruises and pain of his desperation.

  He swung himself over what had been the harbour wall and saw her. She had not shrunk from her fate. She had stayed by him to the end. The waves had taken her where she had stood, picked her up and thrown her like a doll against the wall of her own home.

  Yasmeen’s body lay all sharp and twisted angles; her long dark hair spread out around her. Maven ran to her. His heart racing. All his injuries forgotten. Please, please, he begged, I will do anything. I will do anything. Let her live. But as he bent over her battered, o
nce sweet face her eyes looked past him and into the life beyond.

  Chapter One

  ‘Stop that! Stop it at once!’

  Standing over the fallen horse the messenger froze as he saw the two teenagers riding up. Both Jayne and Sharra were windswept and mud-splattered, but the colours of Milton Hold shone bright on their cloaks.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Sharra’s green eyes glittered as she surveyed the striped skin of the fallen horse. ‘You’ve been beating that beast!’

  The wind stole tendrils of Jayne’s white blonde hair from their plaits. Jayne brushed them away. Silently she watched her younger sister’s anger.

  ‘Answer me!’ The man ignored her and focused on Jayne. She returned his gaze with a calm and distant look that unnerved him. Sharra, he could dismiss as yet another angry young one, but Jayne, a bare two years older, already carried an air of authority. He decided to appeal to her.

  ‘I’ve got Maps to deliver. There’s a Shift due. I’d be obliged if I can borrow your horse, Miss.’

  Jayne’s manner changed at once. The distant look was gone as she slid out of the saddle and stepped down onto the ground. ‘Of course, you must take her. Sharra and I will share a horse home.’

  The man nodded his thanks and began to untie the bags from the fallen horse.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Sharra more quietly.

  ‘Caught his leg in some hole, damn fool beast. I reckon it’s only a sprain, but the lazy . . .’ he looked up at Sharra and changed what he was going to say. ‘The lazy creature wouldn’t get up.’

  The messenger finished untying the two bags. He straightened, one in each hand, and looked up at the suns. ‘Blast the World!’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Jayne, but Sharra, quicker than her sister, guessed at once.

  ‘It’s too late, isn’t it?’

  ‘I reckon there’s four hours before it hits.’

  ‘Where do you need to reach?’ Sharra persisted.

  ‘Harrbourgh and Malington.’

  Jayne’s hand stole to her face. ‘And you can’t reach both?’

  ‘Nope.’ He took the reins from her and set to lengthening the stirrups. ‘You’re Lord Milton’s daughters, aren’t you?’ His eyes flicked curiously from Jayne’s blonde head to Sharra’s dark curls.

  ‘Yes.’ Sharra identified them both without hesitation.

  ‘Right then. I’ll ask you if you’ll be kind enough to take Malington’s Maps back to the Hold with you.’

  ‘But the people . . .’ began Sharra.

  ‘Will have to fend for themselves for once.’

  Jayne tried to be reasonable. ‘Could you ask Camden Hold to help? They could send another rider. You could reach there and still have time to get to Harrbourgh.’

  ‘It’s not a bad thought, Miss, but Malington’s ours. Camden’s not prone to doing Milton favours. I don’t reckon they would risk a messenger and a rider.’

  ‘Even in a case of emergency?’ Jayne was shocked.

  ‘It’s not a Camden emergency.’

  Sharra, who’d been thinking, spoke up again. ‘You could get to Malington and back in four hours.’

  ‘Maybe. But I’d not have time to reach Harrbourgh then. They lie in opposite directions, Miss.’

  ‘I know that,’ snapped Sharra. ‘I’ve seen the Maps.’

  The man raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘If that’s so, you’ll know it’s not possible for me to reach both. I’m heading for Harrbourgh. It’s nearer.’

  ‘And safer!’

  ‘Hush. He’s right. He has to reach the people he can. It makes sense for him to go to Harrbourgh. World bless Malington.’

  ‘B-but he can’t. The further away from the Hold the worse the Shift. Without the new Maps they won’t know what’s happening. They won’t know where is safe!’

  ‘Now you understand why I was beating that damn fool horse. If the dispatch master had had the sense to send two of us, but oh no it’s always “we have to save the resources” when it’s folks outside the Hold concerned.’

  Sharra gave an unladylike snort. ‘Milton Hold isn’t like that. My father cares about –’ she broke off as she saw the messenger’s face harden and swallowed down her anger. ‘We can’t let those people die.’

  The messenger shrugged. ‘It’s out of my hands.’

  ‘It’s not like there’s anything we can do, Sharra. It’s sad, but it’s the way of things.’

  Sharra thrust out her hand. ‘Give me the Maps.’ The two of them looked at her blankly. ‘The ones for Harrbourgh. I don’t know the way well enough to get to Malington, but I know I can get to Harrbourgh. If you go now, you’ll make it and be back close enough to the Hold to be safe.’

  The messenger glanced at Sharra and at the lower sun. ‘I don’t know about that, Miss.’

  ‘You have to try. You’re a Map Messenger from Milton. That means something!’

  The messenger hesitated.

  ‘You took an oath!’

  The messenger frowned and then nodded quickly. He handed one of his bags up to Sharra. ‘Take it to the village hall. They’ll see the Maps reach those that need them and the Shift is only a small one there.’ The messenger mounted Jayne’s horse and began to tie his remaining bag to the saddle.

  ‘Malington?’ asked Jayne.

  ‘Map Makers reckon Blackthorn Hill to the left of the village is liable to move.’

  ‘Which is a glib way of saying it’s going to be a major disaster,’ concluded Sharra.

  The messenger failed to meet her eyes.

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I? Chasms? Landslides? Even black fire?’

  The messenger nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it. Be best if the outlying farmers moved centre-wards until tomorrow. You’re right. I should try and reach them.’

  ‘But Sharra can’t go riding off across the country alone!’

  ‘She’s plenty of time and she’s right, close to the Hold nothing much will happen. They weren’t built on the pillars of the World for nothing!’ He wheeled the horse, saluted them and plunged his horse into flight.

  As his dust cloud receded, Jayne placed a restraining hand on her sister’s leg. ‘You can’t go. You know that, don’t you? You were right to push him to go to Malington, but we have to get back.’

  ‘Afraid?’ Sharra tied the bag firmly to her pommel, testing the knots.

  ‘It’s not seemly for you to do this. Women aren’t Map Messengers.’

  ‘Women aren’t Map anything. Don’t worry, Jayne. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. See what you can do for that poor horse.’

  ‘Sharra! You can’t! You can’t leave me here! It’s the middle of nowhere!’

  But Sharra was already away, thundering across the field. She knew she would be in trouble later, but now her blood was pounding in her ears. She felt alive, excited. Her horse leaped beneath her. The wind pulled at her bonnet and it sailed away over a hedge. Sharra laughed out loud and raced on.

  When she returned two and a half hours later, Jayne was cold and angry. The horse was dead.

  ‘I delivered the Maps.’

  Jayne gave her a withering look. ‘If you would be so kind as to take me back to the Hold now.’

  Sharra sighed. ‘You must see I had to do it.’

  ‘No. I don’t. It wasn’t your place.’

  ‘You’re only upset with me because I enjoyed doing it.’

  ‘You are such a child sometimes,’ grumbled Jayne swinging herself up onto the horse.

  ‘We’ll be home soon. You’ll feel better when you’ve got some hot soup inside you.’

  As they rode back Timos, the second sun, dipped below the horizon. As it vanished it set loose the evening frost that reached out with thin fingers across the lands of Milton. Sharra gazed up at the stars hanging glorious in the sky above.

  ‘Father once told me there were more stars when he was a boy. I can’t imagine it.’

  She felt Jayne shrug behind her. ‘I wouldn’t know. Milton doesn�
�t spend time chatting with me.’

  Sharra was quick to pick up the jealousy of Jayne’s tone. ‘It’s more that I seek him out. More often than not he tells me to go away. He’s so busy.’

  ‘But he does to talk to you. More than anyone.’

  ‘Anyone who’s not a Map Maker!’

  ‘You know what I mean. You’re close.’

  ‘You have your mother.’

  Jayne did not reply and they rode on in silence. With the moons’ help it was more than light enough to find the way home. Their mount, weary from the rapid journey to Harrbourgh and now tasked with carrying two of them, slowed to a gentle plod. The world seemed empty and silent as it waited for the next Shift. Jayne rested her head on her sister’s shoulder in an unspoken gesture of forgiveness. Both of them strained ahead into the darkness longing to see the welcoming lights of the Hold that would mean they were safe.

  Around them the winter’s night unfolded. If it hadn’t been for the impending Shift Sharra knew she would have found it beautiful. White trails crackled over the deserted fallow fields pinching any shoots foolish enough to hazard the winter eve. The frost iced the red-tiled roofs of the Hold farms and clouded the breath of cattle in their stalls. It tickled the paws of farmyard cats and firmed muddy tracks into rough roads. Water at the bottom of the deepest wells shivered as snowy crystals formed.

  As the girls clattered into the courtyard they barely spared a glance for the majestic Milton Hold with its mismatch of towers and gables, courtyards and stables built and added to by generations of the Milton family. It was simply home. They tumbled thankfully off their horse. A yardman appeared from the shadows to take it away. Without discussion, Jayne and Sharra headed for the kitchen, where Marnie, who had once worked in the nursery, held domain. As soon as they stepped over the threshold a bank of warm air greeted them.

  ‘Oh thank goodness for the range!’ Jayne ran forward to warm her hands. ‘Everywhere else in the Hold may be cold, but we know we can always trust you, Marnie, to keep a fire burning.’

  Marnie snorted, but the sisters, exchanging glances, knew she was pleased with the compliment. She pushed them into seats by the huge cooking range. ‘You’ve been up to no good, haven’t you? I’m surprised at you, Jayne.’ But for all her cross words she gave them mug after mug of hot soup.