The Map Maker's Daughter

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Please, Sharra. Try.’

  Sharra felt her knees tremble. She had to sit down. She leaned against the ivy behind her. It gave way and she fell.

  She was inside the mountain. The ivy had already covered the entrance. As she blinked in the darkness a low green glow began to emanate from a wall beside her. She blinked several times. Her vision adjusted and she saw she was at the foot of a staircase inside the mountain.

  ‘Sharra!’ called Maven frantically from outside.

  She pulled back the ivy. ‘I’m in here!’

  Maven pushed his way through. He took a deep breath. ‘When I saw you vanish into the darkness . . .’ He stopped and took a deep breath. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me go first.’ He stepped past her and began to climb the stairs. Sharra followed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They climbed into darkness. Every twenty steps or so another green globe would light and the one behind them would go out. The sides of the passageway were smooth and the steps sharp-edged despite time. Single drops of water fell from the damp ceiling. The strange sound of soft, slow rain, echoed from both in front and behind them.

  They climbed until they came to a plain wooden door with an ordinary handle. Maven touched the handle. Sharra put her hand on his, a warm trickle of her blood seeped between his fingers. The wounds on her hands had opened again. Where her blood touched the wood it glowed softly.

  ‘Will they be waiting for us?’ asked Sharra.

  ‘There’s only way to find out.’ He pushed the door open.

  In front of them was a neatly cultivated garden filled with white flowering shrubs and neatly cut hedges. An aisle of trees lined a cobblestoned path that led towards the long, low building of the Archive. It was quiet. The light from the stars and moons gleamed across the garden and a sweet, heady floral scent filled the air. There was no sign of anyone else.

  Maven shrugged and went to go forward. Sharra caught his arm. ‘This is too easy.’

  He stepped out gingerly. ‘It’s an empty garden.’ Nothing happened. Sharra followed.

  The night air was cool and far away a hunting bird gave cry. They moved together down the path. The flowers were glaringly white in the dark. There wasn’t a breath of wind. The hunting bird called again, slightly nearer, but the sky was filled only with stars. Sharra saw Maven through the silvery haze of the moonlight. His face was serious, but calm. As she passed a bush she put out her hand to touch the soft petals. A bead of moisture from the flower touched one of the cuts on her hand. It stung. She drew her hand back sharply. Stealing a glance at Maven’s composed profile she bit back the panic that was welling within her.

  ‘We’re right at the heart of everything,’ whispered Sharra. ‘That building ahead is the Central Archive.’

  Beyond it in the distance they could see fluting towers and soaring arches. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It’s the oldest.’

  The silence shattered in a crack of thunder as a long jagged line shot out across the ground towards them. ‘Get back,’ yelled Maven. He caught for Sharra’s arm, but she was no longer beside him.

  One moment Sharra was on the path, the next she was falling. Instinctively she threw her arms out. She missed the edge, but managed to grasp onto a spar of rock that had formed below inside the fissure. With an almighty effort she pushed herself across onto a small ledge. Below her came a terrible roaring. She looked down and saw the whirling viciousness of the black fire beneath her. Sharra pulled with all her strength, trying to level herself up. She failed. Above her she saw Maven’s ashen face. ‘You can do it, Sharra,’ he yelled. ‘Take my hand, I’ll pull you up!’

  She tried again, slipped and almost fell. ‘I can’t. My hand. It won’t take my weight.’

  ‘I’ll throw you the end of my rope. Can you catch it?’ As he leaned over, the edge of the pit rippled and he almost fell. ‘Hang on.’ He disappeared for a moment. When he returned he’d tied the rope around his waist. ‘I’m coming down.’

  ‘No! They’ll close the pit above us!’

  Maven paid her no attention. He climbed over the edge of the pit. Beneath them the void growled hungrily. Sharra clung to the side of the pit. She tried to will herself calm, but her whole body was shaking.

  The edges of the pit rippled and churned, but the ledge where she stood stayed level. She could not see how either of them would get out of this alive. Then Maven was by her side. She felt the urge to lean into him. He tied his rope around her waist. ‘There. I knew I was carrying this thing for a reason. I’ve tied the other end to a tree. You said they can’t change living things. I’ll push you up. You should be able to manage with one good hand. When you get up there. Untie yourself and pass the rope back down to me.’

  ‘But what if I have the same trouble you did getting to the edge?’ asked Sharra.

  ‘You won’t. They want you, not me. They’ll be too busy thinking of what to do next.’

  ‘But –’ Before she could argue further Maven hoisted her up.

  ‘Don’t fight me. Or we’ll both fall.’

  Sensing his determination, Sharra pulled on the rope. It stayed taut. Maven hoisted her further. She put her good hand up and pulled. He shoved at the soles of her boots. She was within reach of the edge. Sharra wrapped the rope around her wrist and curled her damaged fingers around it. She’d need her good hand to catch the edge of the pit if she was going to have any chance of pulling herself up.

  ‘You can do it!’ yelled Maven. ‘C’mon! I’m depending on you to rescue me!’

  She reached for the edge. Her injured hand burned like fire. She caught the edge. It was impossible. She tried to remind herself why she was doing this. She was going to save the world. That was even more impossible. How could she do something so huge? She hung there caught between the rope and the edge.

  ‘C’mon, Sharra!’ called Maven from below.

  Maven. She had to save Maven. With an enormous effort Sharra heaved her shoulders above the top of the pit. She pushed out with one leg and managed to get the other over the edge. She rolled sideways and landed on her back on the path.

  She didn’t even wait to catch her breath. She scrambled to her feet ignoring the blood that was running from her hand. Frantically, she pulled at the knotted rope around her waist. The pavement beneath her feet bucked and tossed as no land should.

  The knot came loose. She ran back to the edge of the pit. Maven was very pale, but he smiled up at her. ‘What took you so long?’

  Sharra threw the loose end of the rope down towards him. Maven let go of the sides of the pit and reached up his hands towards it.

  The void roared. The ledge beneath Maven tipped. He leapt. The pit buckled. The sides changed form and the black fire flickered higher. Maven’s fingertips brushed the rope. He clutched at it . . . and missed.

  He fell.

  Sharra screamed.

  Maven caught at the ledge. His strong fingers latched onto the edge and he hung there.

  ‘I’m coming down,’ screamed Sharra. She began to pull up the rope. ‘I’ll get you back on the ledge. We’ll get it right next time.’

  Maven’s voice carried to her clearly above the noise of the black fire. ‘There is no time. The void is rising. You have to go!’

  ‘I won’t leave you!’

  ‘Sharra, listen to me. You have to. Even if you got down here your hand is too badly damaged to help me.’

  ‘But you’ll die.’

  He looked up at her and smiled.

  ‘Maven! No! I need you!’

  ‘I forgive you.’ Maven let go of the ledge.

  As he fell he looked up into her eyes. She smiled at him though it cut her heart in two, because she did not want the last thing he saw to be her weeping face. Then the pit closed above him and he was gone.

  Sharra sat back on her heels and wept. Around her the land rolled and rumbled, but no more thunder came. The ground stayed firm beneath her. He
was gone. Maven was lost.

  After the first rush of sorrow came disbelief and then slowly creeping in through every pore, anger. Anger as great and powerful as the mountain itself and she understood how Maven had felt when he lost Yasmeen. She understood all he was, all he had been, the strength and the goodness of him. She felt what the world had lost as he passed out of it and she felt fury overtake her.

  Sharra got to her feet and she walked to the Central Archive. She didn’t run. She walked. She felt invincible in her anger. She had no care for herself. She wanted only revenge. Revenge for Maven.

  She reached the door and traced the design around the hinges with her fingers. Metal set into stone. Stone was at the heart of each Shift. Stone was the tool of the Map Makers. She had Shifted rocks she could not see. Here, now, how hard could it be to change stone? She willed the stone to part. Her anger gave her focus. Her talent rose within her strong and fiery. She unleashed it.

  The stone shattered. Fire erupted across the wooden door, engulfing it. Where there had been a door there was only smoke. Sharra stepped through the ruins of the doorway and into the Central Archive. As she did so she heard Ivory’s voice, high and shrill, ‘Kill her, Gory! Kill her! She’s a monster!’

  Sharra stood in the doorway with the smoke swirling around. This was where she would challenge the Map Makers one last time and it was not at all as she had expected. The Central Archive contained no more than a series of row upon row of concentric seats placed about a blackwood table that bore a glass cabinet. Within the cabinet was an old parchment. The moment her eyes rested on it she forgot everything else. The True Map called to her. She remembered for a moment Gareth’s warning, but then it vanished from her mind. She could think of nothing but reaching the Map. It wanted her. It needed her.

  Sharra was vaguely aware of other people fighting. A part of her realised this was Milton’s supporters and Camden’s men battling for control of the Archive. A man passed in front of her, a sword raised as if to strike her down, but as he came forward another man barred his way. Her father. He had been in the cars that passed overhead. He had come after all. Sharra stepped sideways between the seats.

  ‘I will not let you harm my daughter,’ she heard her father say, but his voice was distant as if he was a long way away. Without words, but louder than thunder the True Map called to her. It pushed reason and sense aside.

  There was a clash of swords upon swords. The grunt and effort of fighting behind her, but she ignored it. An acrid smell met her nostrils. Others had been Shifting here. They had been Shifting the garden of the Central Archive, so close to the True Map. Then she saw the black fire licking at the far wall. A part of her knew she should be afraid, but the True Map was so close nothing else seemed to matter. The people fighting around her were pale shadows compared to the call from – a phrase flashed into her mind – the soul of the world. That’s what it was. The essence of everything.

  More men came towards her. They wanted to stop her. Wanted her not to reach the centre. Three of them, angry and hating, came towards her. Sharra did not hesitate. She moved with a fluidity she had not known she possessed and stepped onto the first row of seats. She felt a harsh, fiery pain slice across her leg. Someone had slashed at her with a dagger. Nausea overwhelmed her and the floating, focused feeling that had borne her forward vanished. The grief, the anger at losing Maven flooded back into her.

  Sharra cried out. The three men scrambled up behind her. To one side she caught a glimpse of Gory fighting her father as they ranged up and down the building. Gory – younger, fitter, stronger – was gaining on him. Ivory circled them, shouting encouragement to the younger Lord. Sharra tripped and fell. The men were almost upon her. She rolled under the seat and into the next circle. One of them tried to grab her ankle and failed. She scrabbled away, crab-like across the floor under the seats. A glimpse of silver flashed before her eyes and she realised they were poking swords at her. She rolled again and again, trying to gain distance.

  Something hit her hard in the back. She curled in agony. Then moved sideways quickly. It was the leg of the blackwood table. She had reached the centre. She stood up. The men were shouting again, but the strange feeling was returning. She couldn’t understand their words. Time slowed. The glass was in the way. Sharra pulled off her shoe and smashed the box.

  The room resounded with Ivory’s screams and the desperate shouts of the men. Her father looking up was caught in the shoulder by Gory’s blade. He sank down on one knee, but before she could react the hand of another was on her shoulder.

  She had to do it now.

  Sharra plunged her hands into the remaining shards of the box and grasped the True Map. Her blood smeared across the parchment. She raised it high above her head, so all could see it. It was only then that she saw what her mother had drawn. There on the back of the True Map was the face of a young girl, her face. And as she held the Map, as her blood moved across the face, it rippled and changed into a reflection of her. It was then she understood. Her mother had tried to draw her better – that picture in Milton’s desk – when it had failed she had come here. Her mother had brought her back from the ravages of the black fire by drawing her into the True Map. It was a part of her as she was a part of it.

  From his lower position Lord Milton made one last effort and thrust his sword hard into Gory’s stomach. Ivory screamed.

  ‘I have the True Map,’ said Sharra and everyone stilled.

  As she held the Map high above her head the image of the world flickered and spun. The man at her shoulder stepped back, gasping in fear. The Map, intricate and old, began to move across the parchment. It flowed over the edges of the sheet and onto Sharra, across her fingers and down into her body.

  Sharra closed her eyes and welcomed it. She felt the knowledge of the world seep into every part of her. The Map took sanctuary in her form. It whispered in her mind of the true shape of the world, of what must become. It told her of what she must draw, but not yet. It curled around her spine, sang out to the ends of every hair; it gave her the hope of the world.

  ‘What have you done?’ cried Ivory. ‘You fool!’

  Sharra opened her eyes and saw Ivory shouting not at her, but at Milton as he swayed unsteadily. Sharra felt despair and anger flow from Ivory with a terrible intensity. She understood then that Ivory would never give up. She would never listen to wiser council, she was eaten up by revenge and that it would consume her and all around her.

  And at that moment she knew she could not take revenge for Maven’s life. If she allowed revenge to consume her she would end the world. As Maven had forgiven her, so she must let her anger go or it would overwhelm her as it had the once kind Lady Camden.

  But then Ivory leapt forward. She ran at Milton, her arms outstretched. It took no more than a moment for Sharra to understand that she meant to push her father into the black fire that lapped at the wall behind him. She was too far to reach him. ‘Help him,’ Sharra said to the Map within her. ‘Save him.’

  The Map felt cold and dispassionate. Something changed and she saw Ivory slow; time was stilling. The Map did not answer her in words. It was not alive, but it showed how damaged the grounds of the Central Archive had become. The Shift had given free reign to black fire here and across the world. She could close this one crudely, quickly to save her father, but she risked causing more chaos elsewhere. All this must be dealt with slowly, properly, if the world was ever to heal.

  There was only one other option.

  Sharra held the world in her mind. She could not see every part of it. Her mind could not comprehend so much, but she could see it with an absence of something. In her mind’s eye she imagined a world without Ivory. The Map rippled in her mind.

  Ivory was running again, full speed, but as she moved her skin trailed tiny golden stars behind her. Ivory half turned in wonder and in horror. She gazed at her shimmering arms. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. She made a final attempt to reach Milton, but all that settled at his feet was
a pile of golden dust.

  The room became still and quiet. Sharra stepped away from the broken cabinet. No one tried to stop her. She walked slowly to Milton, who was kneeling, scooping the dust through his fingers in disbelief.

  Sharra laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I didn’t want to do it, Father, but if I had quenched the black fire suddenly it would have sent chaos across the world.’

  Milton stumbled to his feet. ‘You chose this?’

  Sharra’s face was grim. ‘She was right. I am a monster.’

  Ignoring the wound in his shoulder, Milton gripped Sharra by the arms. ‘No, my sweet daughter. You chose. You made a reasoned decision. You did not let the True Map overwhelm you.’ He turned to the rest of the room. ‘Did you hear that? My daughter controls the True Map. This is a new beginning. Lay down your arms.’

  A murmur went around the room. One man, a young noble Sharra did not know, stepped forward, his sword raised. ‘I’m sorry, Milton, but she is condemned by her own words. She is a monster.’

  Milton stepped in front of his daughter. ‘But you saw her. She mastered the Map. She did not give into it.’

  The man shook his head. ‘She has resisted it so far, but who is to say how she will be tomorrow? You saw what she did to the Lady Ivory. What if anyone else should anger her. The risk is too great.’

  ‘You have angered me. You killed Maven.’ The men ignored her.

  Lord Camden moved to stand at the young man’s shoulder. ‘Ethan is right,’ he said softly. ‘I have better cause than any to know that a woman with access to the True Map can only bring harm to us all.’

  ‘You know Bel never intended to harm anyone,’ said Milton. ‘She paid the ultimate price for what she did. Sharra has done nothing.’

  ‘Nothing yet,’ said Ethan.

  ‘I have done plenty,’ said Sharra, but they still did not listen.

  Camden lowered his sword and placed his arm on Milton’s arm. ‘I know Bel never meant any harm. You never knew, but I spoke at the Archive Council against her execution.’