The Map Maker's Daughter

by Caroline Dunford

  At the top was a small domed room. The flame flickered at the entrance casting shadows across the cobbled walls. Sharra hesitated, but Maven tugged her forward. Inside in the middle of the small room were two free-standing stone arches. A low stone bench lined the wall.

  Sharra looked around. ‘I don’t understand. I thought the dead were meant to be here.’

  ‘There’s something written above them.’

  Sharra went up to look closer. ‘It’s not words. It’s a face. Two faces. One facing each direction.’

  ‘Forward and back?’ suggested Maven.

  ‘But which is which?’

  Maven walked round the other side. He reached up a hand to touch the top of one arch. ‘It’s smooth on this side.’

  ‘Don’t go through,’ said Sharra in alarm. ‘Come back the way you came.’

  Maven shrugged, but did as she asked. ‘Are you thinking if we step through those arches we’ll vanish into the past?’

  ‘No, I thought stepping through must be what makes this place work.’

  ‘I don’t get the faces. Forward and back. How can you have a ghost from the future?’

  ‘Didn’t your grandmother ever say anything about it?’

  ‘No, she’s never been here. And remember she said no one ever talks about what they see.’

  ‘Maybe this is all there is.’

  ‘Do you want me to go first?’

  ‘No.’ Sharra stepped through the archway before she could change her mind.

  Grass under her feet. The smell of woodland. Sunshine on her face. The sound of thundering hooves. Sharra jumped back as a horse raced past her. It came so close she could see the sweat on its flank. The rider disappeared into the distance, her white blonde hair flowing out behind her.

  ‘Wait,’ called a woman’s voice.

  A shiver ran through Sharra. She knew that voice. She turned slowly, hardly daring to believe it was possible, and saw her mother riding up.

  ‘Mother!’ said Sharra.

  ‘Ivory, wait!’

  ‘Mother, I’m here!’

  But Bella Milton rode on past her daughter. Sharra ran after her calling, but her mother didn’t turn round. ‘Please, Mother, wait.’

  Hardly a moment passed and she was among the familiar shadows of Milton Hold. Sharra found herself running after Bella into her father’s office. She walked straight past an annoyed Gareth, whose hair was as wayward as ever, but jet black, and into Milton’s inner sanctum. ‘We were to have tea, my lord.’

  Milton was young. There was something of the seriousness he carried with him today, but the lines from his face and the grey from his hair were absent. His face lit up to see Bella in a way Sharra did not remember ever seeing.

  ‘My lady, I must finish these few lines and I will be with you.’

  Bella went over to the desk and pushed some of the books out of the way, so she could sit on the edge, dangling her feet and peering at his calculations. She tickled Milton on the cheek, but he continued to write.

  Suddenly, he slammed the book shut. Bella started back. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to annoy you.’

  ‘It’s wrong. All wrong! The Workers at the Central Archive have set all of the northern quarter to mining. It will tip the balance.’ He glared at Bella. ‘Don’t they realise if they stray too far from the original calculations The True Map will not be able to hold the world in form. It will unravel. We will all unravel.’

  Bella laid a hand on his arm. ‘Come, Milton. We know the workers have become overly greedy, but even they are not going to risk the destruction of the world.’

  ‘You don’t understand. It’s a little bit here and a little bit there. They don’t fathom that all their changes add to each other. The geniuses who created the True Map were holding back death. They caught our world before death and bound it into a stronger form.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what is wrong. All things must die sometime.’

  ‘So you’re willing to stand by and let everyone die. Even our daughter?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  Milton clutched her arm. ‘You have to help me, Bel. You have to help me steal the True Map. With my knowledge and the strength of your talent we can put the world right.’

  Bella pulled away. ‘Milton, we can’t. It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘Don’t you trust me? Don’t you believe I’m right?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Sharra could feel her mother’s exasperation. ‘Why are you the only one to see this danger? Why do the others say you’re wrong?’

  ‘Because they don’t want to believe it’s happening!’ shouted Milton. ‘They can’t accept what they have done!’

  ‘But if you’re wrong,’ said Bella.

  ‘I am not wrong,’ bellowed Milton.

  The doors behind them flew open. Bella turned expecting to see Gareth, but instead Marnie ran in weeping. Behind came a man carrying a child, who was twisting pitifully in his arms. Sharra could see shadows creeping across the child’s legs as if her body was somehow growing insubstantial.

  ‘There was no warning,’ cried Marnie. ‘The pit opened up beneath her. I caught her, my lady, but the black fire touched her.’

  ‘It’s me,’ whispered Sharra. ‘It’s me.’

  Bella rushed forward as the man laid the child on the couch. Tears streamed down her face as she reached out to embrace her daughter. ‘Milton, how can we help her?’

  Sharra’s father spoke in a flat, dead voice. ‘If she has been touched by the black fire there is nothing we can do except pray it is quick. You see now the handiwork of the Great Workers, who cause our world to spit destruction upon the innocent without warning.’ Milton’s voice cracked. ‘My Sharra.’

  ‘No,’ wailed Marnie.

  ‘How long has she got?’ asked Bella.

  ‘A few days. As I love her I hope it is no longer.’ He turned to the servants. ‘Leave us,’ he shouted.

  When they had gone. He sank down by the couch and took his daughter’s hand. ‘I’m am so sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have stopped them long ago.’

  ‘I could draw her,’ said Bella. ‘Give me a page!’

  ‘Bel, no. You can’t.’

  ‘She’s our daughter!’

  ‘The boundaries between life and death are sacred, Bel. We can’t.’

  ‘She’s not dead yet. You have to let me try.’

  Milton’s face contorted in anguish.

  ‘Please.’

  Milton went to his desk and retrieved a page and a pen. He gave them to his wife. ‘Bel, I don’t know if this can work. Even with your talent. If it does work she’ll be changed – somehow.’

  ‘But she’ll be alive.’

  Bella wiped her tears away with her sleeve and bent her head in concentration. Then leaning the page on the floor with a few quick strokes she captured her daughter’s likeness. When she ceased to draw she placed both hands over the page and closed her eyes.

  Nothing happened. Tears streamed from Bella’s closed eyes. ‘I’m not strong enough. I can’t.’

  Milton placed his hand on her shoulders. ‘You tried.’

  ‘I will never forget that you let me try.’ Then she leaned down and kissed her daughter. ‘Goodbye, sweet one,’ she whispered so low only she and Sharra could hear. ‘Remember me.’ Then she rose and turned to Milton. ‘We must go to the True Map.’

  Sharra saw the shock on her father’s face and then the scene collapsed in upon itself.

  Sharra found herself stumbling from the arch and back into the cobblestoned chamber. There was no sign of Maven.

  The flame flickered and died. A weak sunlight filtered across the chamber. Sharra looked out of the exit to see if Maven was waiting on the steps. There was no one there, but the mist had gone from the island and she could see down to their boat. Something told her they should leave.

  ‘Maven,’ she called. ‘Maven, where are you?’

  Behind her there was a sudden rush of wind. She turned to see Maven hurled from the arch
way. He landed awkwardly on the floor. His face was deathly white. Sharra ran over and knelt beside him. She placed her hand on his chest. He was cold and he was no longer breathing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shock and grief shook Sharra. ‘Maven,’ she whispered, ‘oh, Maven.’ She pressed her hands against his chest. ‘This is all my fault.’

  Maven stirred and opened his eyes. ‘You’re bleeding.’

  ‘You’re alive!’

  Maven sat up coughing. He looked down at the blood on his chest. ‘You’re bleeding or I am.’

  ‘That was my hand. I hurt it on the sail line.’

  ‘It looks nasty. Here. Let me see.’

  Maven tore the end off her cloak and began to bind her hand. Sharra pulled it away.

  ‘What happened? I thought you were dead.’

  Maven shook his head. He looked as if he was waking from a dream. ‘I saw Yasmeen.’

  ‘You spoke to her?’

  Maven shook his head. ‘No. Well, yes, but she didn’t answer.’ He paused. ‘Was it the same for you? You saw things. You were there, but there was nothing you could do?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sharra, ‘but what I saw helped. It helped me understand what she did. I know now my mother was doing what she thought was right.’ She blinked back tears. ‘She was doing it because of what happened to me.’ Sharra paused. ‘But I lived. How is that possible. I fell into black fire and I lived.’

  But Maven wasn’t listening. ‘Why did I come here? Why did I? There’s nothing. The dead don’t speak.’ He stood up. ‘We should go. There’s nothing for us here.’

  ‘Are you still going to hang someone?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Sharra looked into his battered, stubborn face. She remembered how he had held her on the boat when she was afraid. He rose and offered her his hand. ‘We need to get away from here. We need to think.’

  The mist drifted in slow, low clouds across the green hillside of the Isle and there was the sweet, sharp tang of the sea in the air. This time they could see the shallow cobblestoned steps that led down to the small bay. The cobblestones were rounded, sunk in golden mortar and packed close to make a smooth surface. The sloop rested high on the sandy shoreline. When they reached it Sharra turned back to take one last look at the place of the Oracle and found the pillar and the flame had vanished. All that remained was the clean, green hill. The last vestiges of mist blew away, revealing only an empty isle. Maven stood on the beach squinting out to sea. His put his hand up to shade his eyes against the sun. ‘If I didn’t know better,’ he began, ‘I’d think –’

  ‘There!’ Sharra cried. She ran along the sandy beach. Lying at the water’s edge was the spinning sail. ‘I’ve found the sail,’ she called. ‘Come help me fold it up!’ Maven jogged along the beach to her. ‘What are the chances of it ending up here?’

  ‘About as much as that being Frangelli over there.’ He pointed out to sea. ‘I’ve sailed these waters a thousand times or more. I know them. There is no island here.’ He glanced around at the landscape. ‘And I don’t think this one will be here much longer.’

  Sharra followed the direction of his gaze. The hill was growing opaque, so you could see the calm sea beyond it.

  ‘We’d better get back out to sea,’ said Maven.

  It seemed too calm to launch the sloop, but Maven had hardly pushed the boat off the beach when a strong breeze filled the sail and he had to jump in smartly. Within moments they were streaking across the sea. The Isle faded quietly and they were left with nothing more than a bright, cold day behind them. Maven set the sail and made directly for the shore.

  The journey back took them a scant few hours. Neither spoke. When he met her eyes Maven smiled encouragingly back at her. Sharra could not hold his gaze.

  It was early evening when they came into Frangelli bay. The sun was sending out its last golden rays and moonrise had yet to begin. The light sparkled off the darkening sea and picked out the bright colours of the Frangelli homes.

  Maven pulled the sloop expertly up to its mooring. He jumped out and tied up at the jetty. Maven held out his hand to her. Sharra took it and staggered ungainly on to the wooden boards. The sun dipped below the horizon. Everything went dark. Then moonrise began. The first moon began its gradual ascent into the night sky sending silvered light across the bay, picking out the boats rocking gently in their moorings, the long quay, the firm harbour wall and the village that nestled above it.

  ‘Home,’ said Maven. ‘It feels like home again.’

  Sharra looked at him askance as they walked along the jetty.

  He stopped at the foot of the harbour steps and looked down at her. His face caught by the moonlight was all planes and sharp angles. ‘But I will have my revenge.’

  Sharra felt her blood chill. She wanted to say, ‘It might have been me,’ but her mouth wouldn’t form the words.

  ‘You’re shivering. Let’s get you inside. Besides, my gran will be waiting for news.’

  Sharra’s mind seemed to be functioning on two levels. She heard herself joke. ‘Scarlet’s not going to be happy about her boat.’

  Maven shrugged again. At the door Sharra hesitated. ‘I must be a mess.’

  ‘As if you’ve been to Oblivion and back.’

  Maven knocked. Within moments his grandmother was pulling back the bolts and welcoming them in. ‘Look at the state of you,’ she whispered. ‘We’ve got a guest. Take Sharra through to the back and I’ll get some of the young ones to bring you water.’

  ‘We found it, Gran.’

  ‘I can tell that by your faces, Maven.’

  Two young men, nephews or cousins, appeared and began filling two baths. They set a curtain between them. Sharra had shared a sluice room with all the children at the Hold, but she couldn’t help but be glad of the privacy. It didn’t, however, stop Maven from humming loudly and tunelessly in his bath. Sharra sank into the hot water, enjoying the flush it brought to her skin and the accompanying dizziness. Outside she could hear the wind beginning to rise.

  When they were clean and dry, Maven’s gran led them through to the kitchen where plates of cut meat, baked potatoes and bowls of steaming soup were waiting for them. Sharra barely took the time to say thank you before she fell upon the food. She was spearing the last tuber when she heard footsteps in the passage. Scarlet was saying, ‘Honestly, it would be easy enough for them to make up a bed in one of the outer buildings.’

  ‘No, no. Your family have been more than kind. I must get back.’

  Sharra dropped her spoon. She disappeared under the table as Scarlet and the man passed the kitchen on the way to the door. She didn’t immediately reappear. Maven poked his head under the table. ‘What are you doing –’ He got no further as Sharra caught his arm and dragged him down.

  ‘Sssssh! That’s Dale.’

  ‘The assassin?’ Maven asked, but he kept his voice low. Sharra nodded. Her mouth was suddenly dry.

  There was a thud of the door closing. Then the sound of Scarlet pushing home the bolts. ‘He’s gone,’ said Maven.

  ‘To report back!’ exclaimed Sharra scrambling out. Maven followed her.

  ‘He doesn’t know you’re here.’

  ‘If he’s been to Camden Hold he’ll know you were with me.’

  ‘Wait here.’ Maven strode off down the corridor calling after Scarlet. Sharra tidied the table. It gave her something to do and kept her mind occupied. Outside the wind began to roar. The kitchen lit up with a flash of light. There was a loud bang and rain began to pelt down on the roof. Maven appeared from the other end of the house looking worried. He was wearing a heavy cloak. ‘You were right.’ Maven raised his voice above the rainstorm. ‘The man came to the village looking for me. He said Camden wanted to offer me a reward. When they told him I was back he couldn’t get away fast enough. Apparently he told them he had to fetch the reward.’

  ‘Did he mention me?’ Sharra’s voice cracked with fear.

  ‘He didn’t, but Scarlet told
them I had gone sailing with a female companion in her boat. She said we’d stolen her boat.’

  Sharra tried to lighten her voice. ‘I said it would annoy her.’ She smiled slightly. Maven’s face stayed stern. ‘What do we do?’ she asked. ‘Surely he can’t get far in this storm?’

  ‘It’s a bad one. Like the ones that come before a Shift.’

  ‘You can’t go out in that,’ cried Sharra as he unbolted the door.

  ‘It’s not water that’s going to get me killed,’ replied Maven and headed out the door. Sharra ran over. She could see the dark form of Maven jogging off up the hill away from the bay and further into the village. The sky above was dark. Rain stung her face, but through it she could see up ahead, in the direction Maven was walking, the sky was bright and clear.

  Sharra pulled the door shut. She returned to the kitchen and tried to think, but the guilt she was carrying numbed her thoughts.

  Maven returned after half an hour. He burst through the door in a flurry of rain and wind. His cloak was sodden. He flung it over to the fire, tearing the wet garments off as he walked. Frightened, Sharra rose to her feet. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The storm doesn’t even cover all of the village. It’s centred over the bay. Half the boats are already wrecked. It doesn’t seem natural.’

  ‘It isn’t,’ said Sharra.

  Maven gave her a hard look. ‘There are men heading towards the village. One of the herdsmen told me he had seen twenty or more riders. Wearing armour. That only means one thing. They are coming to fight.’

  ‘Fight? Who?’

  ‘Us. If we won’t give you up.’

  ‘But you’re not fighters.’

  ‘No. We’re families.’

  ‘What do I do?’

  ‘I can’t make that decision.’

  ‘It can’t be so bad being dead,’ she said shakily. ‘My mother looked beautiful.’

  Maven looked at her curiously. ‘You’d give up your life for a village of people you haven’t even met?’

  ‘I’d give up my life not to be responsible for another death.’

  Maven sat down on a kitchen chair. ‘I have little experience with armies, mercenary bands or whoever it is who is tracking you, but naive as I am, I doubt there is honour.’