Map of the Impossible

by J. F. Penn

  She hunkered down, squatting on the ground to look up from below and there, suddenly, she saw it. A golden thread hung from the underside of the deep quarry lines, a shimmering cord of magic that implied … another layer.

  Zoe couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips at the realization. She had read so many maps where there was only one layer of magic woven into the threads; she had never considered that there might be more below that. She reached for the golden thread and as she touched it, a jolt of energy passed through her. The scent of sandalwood filled the air and as she caressed the length of cord, she saw another dimension, another layer of magic, woven beneath the first.

  She blinked, shaking her head a little, trying to adjust her focus so she could see what lay below. But it was as if she had only stitched a tiny part of the whole and much was left to be revealed. Perhaps fixing the upper layer further would uncover more.

  Zoe stood again and worked faster, her fingers darting in and out of silver contours, motes of light dancing around her as stitch by stitch, she remade the map.

  It seemed as if time slowed while Zoe dwelled within and between the layers, fingers flashing faster, a smile playing around her lips. For so long, she had held her weaver magic in check, not daring to use it much for fear of discovery amongst those who knew not of Mapwalkers, but also for fear of the drops of shadow that all exchanged for the use of their gift. But now, Zoe glimpsed the possibilities. How many more maps had these layers, hidden magical paths below what was obvious? What else could she discover?

  She made the final stitch in the upper layer of magic and the Egyptian papyrus seemed renewed, at least through her eyes. The physical cracks disappeared as the magical ones closed, and then it was as if the entire thing became a three-dimensional puzzle. She bent down to look on the underside, her eyes sparkling at what lay below outlined in threads of golden light.

  Zoe carefully examined the network of underground caverns. What had been a plain quarry on the surface was clearly a funerary complex of great riches, a hidden treasure trove undiscovered by Egyptologists. An area of barren desert may well harbor the greatest wealth.

  She traced a path through the chambers, glimpsing golden hieroglyphics on the walls, woven into the magical fabric. She frowned as she recognized symbols from the Book of the Dead, markers on the path to the afterlife.

  Warnings and curses. A forbidden place.

  What could possibly be down there that needed so much protection?

  5

  Sienna stepped into the library, a bag over her shoulder containing her grandfather’s journal. She stood in the doorway for a moment, gazing around at what was left. The fire had carved a swathe through the dry paper and ancient vellum once stacked on the English oak shelves that now stood bowed and blackened — but not completely ravaged. Perhaps nothing could really destroy the heart of the Ministry.

  A rustle came from deeper within the room.

  Sienna walked further in and rounded the shelves to the annex where once the Illuminated Cartographer could be found at study. At first glance, it was as if nothing had changed.

  The area had been partially protected by the sheer density of maps and more had been brought from other departments to replace them. Rolled sheets of vellum painted with routes to distant places lined the walls. Tiny fragments of papyrus lay pinned within frames next to a grand print of an ancient sea map with a tentacled monster nestled in one corner. Glimpses of what it had once been — but the smell of burned paper still hung in the air, a reminder of recent desolation.

  A figure stood at a desk piled high with books and for a moment, Sienna thought she saw the craggy features of the Illuminated emerging from the maps. She blinked, and the image faded as Bridget turned. Her close-cropped dark hair still curled around fine features and piercing blue eyes. She still had laughter lines and an air of mischief, but it was tempered now with a darker stain, and her shoulders hung heavy as if she bore a great weight upon them. Where once she had worn multi-colored dresses of patchwork stitching, she now clothed herself in maps. They wound about her, wrapping her body in layers of lines and symbols, overlaying the tattoos she had etched on her skin. At her wrists, ink merged with blood, a pulsing of life and magic that sustained the border at a cost beyond imagining.

  “Did we do the right thing when we closed the border?” Sienna said softly.

  “We did what we could.” Bridget shrugged, the maps rustling around her at the movement. “But I still don’t know. It’s impossible to tell.” She turned back to the desk, indicating the books stacked high around her. “The reports of natural disasters keep coming, and the annals of the Mapwalkers have little of help. This has never been done before.”

  Sienna walked to the desk and touched the leather spine of one book. Words of those long dead meant nothing as people continued to die every day in the here and now.

  “You can open the border again though, right?”

  Bridget sighed. “It’s hard to tell. When my blood mingled with the maps that day, I used significant power to close it. It would take much more to reverse that action.” She hung her head. “I don’t know if I can do it alone, or if I have the strength to maintain it without letting in a tide of Borderlanders.”

  Sienna put a hand out to touch the edge of the maps that curled around Bridget’s arm. “You’re not alone. There are still Blood Mapwalkers who stand alongside you, those who will fight for Earthside.”

  Bridget turned her palms upward and Sienna looked down to see where the maps entered her veins at the wrists. Her blood turned to a deep indigo — not the dark blue of the Shadow but more the cobalt of Chinese porcelain or the hood of a saint in the stained glass of a medieval cathedral.

  “You can still walk away,” Bridget said. “It’s too late for me. I decided to give my life For Galileo a long time ago, but you have a chance to get away from here.”

  Sienna took Bridget’s hand in her own. She could feel the blood and ink pulsing between them and something called to the magic within her. Like calling to like. “This is my life now, too. I had no direction before coming here, no idea why I felt so restless. Now I know my place in this world and the one beyond.” For a moment, Sienna hesitated, unsure of the next step. She bit her lip and then sighed. “But there is something I need to show you.”

  She pulled up her t-shirt with her other hand, revealing the whorls of shadow that patterned her torso.

  Bridget gasped, her eyes widening. She dropped Sienna’s hand in shock, the connection of ink and blood severed once more. “How did it happen?”

  Sienna shook her head. “I don’t know exactly. It ebbs and flows as I use my magic, but something is different now. I think I might be able to sustain a balance of shadow.”

  Bridget bent to look at the patterns more closely. “I’ve never seen marks as dense as this on someone still functioning. You have to see one of the doctors—”

  “But—”

  Bridget held up a hand. “Don’t even try to argue. You’ll see Dr Rachel Tabib. She’s younger than most of the other Ministry doctors, more open-minded about possibilities. Please, Sienna. Your father will be so worried.”

  Sienna nodded. “Alright, but just to ease his mind. I’m not being confined to some ward while I have time left to find this.” She opened the bag and pulled out her grandfather’s journal.

  Bridget moved a heavy tome to one side and Sienna glimpsed a figure sketched in black lines spinning in a vortex of shadow and blood on its ivory pages.

  “Show me,” Bridget said.

  Sienna placed the journal on the desk and opened it to a page marked with a purple silk ribbon. Intricate drawings covered the paper, sketches of giant stones at the base of a pyramid, a boy lounging against a palm tree eating dates next to a sleeping camel, the triangular sail of a felucca on the waters of the Nile beyond.

  Bridget bent to look closer. “Michael traveled often to Egypt on Earthside when he worked with the Antiquities department. Sometimes he would cross
over to the Borderlands to fetch artifacts pushed over in ancient times. Why do you think this is unusual?”

  Sienna turned the page. “He sketched a lot of tombs and because he saw so many, he noted when they were different, when they stood out somehow.” She pointed to a set of hieroglyphics and the scrawled handwriting underneath. Map of the Impossible.

  Sienna flicked through the subsequent pages. “Look here and here. He found these marks in several tombs but never discovered what it referred to. They were all etched with funerary texts and paths through the underworld to the land beyond.”

  Bridget traced the lines with a gentle fingertip. “You think the land beyond might be the Borderlands?”

  “It’s possible. We have to at least consider it as an option.”

  Bridget nodded. “Even if I could open the border once more, it would allow the invasion of the Shadow Cartographers and the forces of the Warlord. The best option is for you and the Mapwalker team to find another way through and see if you can work with the Resistance to change things over there before we open it again.”

  “We need someone who knows hieroglyphics with us.”

  The sound of hurried footsteps came from outside, then the door to the library banged open.

  John rushed in, his face etched with concern as he rounded the corner of the annex. “You both have to see this.”

  He carried a tablet computer with the news playing on mute. He turned it to face Sienna and Bridget as he switched on the sound.

  “The evacuation of San Francisco is continuing under almost impossible conditions this morning as earthquakes intensify. Emergency sirens sound throughout the downtown area and residents have been asked to calmly leave as fast as possible.”

  John muted the sound again even as horrific images of the aftermath of the Pacific Island disaster played on the screen, followed by footage of cars streaming east away from the coast of California, people running from what was on its way. The news cut to photographs from the 1906 earthquake that devastated San Francisco. Thousands of people dead, buildings destroyed and hundreds of thousands left homeless. Images of the stricken city seared on the memory of those who thought this day would never come in their lifetime.

  “We could not have foreseen the impact of closing the border,” John said. “But more people will die from natural disasters than might have died from invasion or the plague if we don’t get it open again. We’re running out of time.”

  Zoe felt a touch on her shoulder. She jumped, the vision of the golden underworld dropping away, the veil of magic dissipating as her focus shifted.

  The Head of the Antiquities department stood by her side, the woman’s gnomish face crinkled in curiosity. “Found something interesting?” She bent to look more closely at the map on the desk.

  Her words made Zoe hesitate. She didn’t really know what she’d found, but she didn’t want to share anything yet. Not until she was sure.

  “Perhaps, but I need more time.”

  “Well, you won’t have it today. You’re needed in the library.”

  Zoe’s heart beat faster at the prospect of going to the center of the Ministry, the soul of the maps. She had visited the place briefly when she arrived as part of her induction tour, but it was a mess of charred ruins and everyone had ignored her, consumed as they were by cleanup tasks. She could only hope it was better now.

  “What for?”

  “Something Egyptian, right up your alley. Get going. Don’t keep the Illuminated waiting.”

  Zoe grabbed her notebook and pen, as much for something to clutch onto as anything else, something to anchor her hammering heart.

  She hurried through the corridors of the Ministry, winding her way toward the library. Thoughts ran through her mind, possibilities about how she could help. Perhaps she might become an important part of the team, or maybe she would just disappoint them and have to leave Bath almost as soon as she had arrived, slinking back to her parents in shame and failure. This was such an important moment in her career. She couldn’t mess it up. But what if she did?

  With her mind teeming, Zoe paused at the doorway to the library and took a deep breath. There was only one way to discover what came next. She stepped inside.

  Rolled maps lined the walls of the first chamber alongside what was left of the ancient books that had survived the fire. A large framed photo took pride of place near the door, an image of what the library had been only months before — and what might be again with time and care.

  “Come on through.”

  The voice came from the other side of the shelving and Zoe rounded the end to find herself in a smaller annex. This was much cozier than the grand entrance, clearly where the Illuminated worked. The woman clothed in maps turned around. She was beautiful in the way of the Pre-Raphaelite painters, women of ivory skin frozen in time, captured in the moment before their inevitable death. Something about her made Zoe want to curtsey.

  “Welcome.” The Illuminated stepped forward, maps rustling around her as she held out a hand. “I’m Bridget. This is Sienna and John.”

  Zoe shook Bridget’s hand, shocked into silence. She stood with those considered royalty amongst the Mapwalkers. John Farren was a legend of many explorations and the Antiquities department had much he had collected on his travels. He was marked by scars, bowed with the pain of torture, but his eyes were still a steely blue.

  Sienna’s reputation was new, an estranged daughter who turned out to be far more than expected, with powerful blood magic that both empowered the Mapwalkers and endangered their future. Many within the Ministry considered her arrogant, given too much responsibility before she was ready purely because of her heritage. But Zoe saw doubt in Sienna’s eyes, a fragility she had not expected. There was also a palpable sense of misgiving in the room.

  “Hi, thanks for inviting me over.” Zoe cursed the words almost as soon as they were out. She needed something better to impress the magical elite.

  “We’re hoping you can help us.” Sienna pointed to the desk.

  An old book lay to one side with a figure sketched in ash on its ivory pages, turning in a vortex of shadow and light. Next to it, a journal open to a page of hieroglyphics etched between the lines of a hand-drawn sketch.

  Zoe found herself drawn closer, her love of Egyptology quashing the nerves that skittered through her veins. She bent to the page and examined the finely drawn images, translating the symbols in her mind. They were well-known passages from the Book of the Dead, and time slowed as she let the words wash over her.

  She turned the page and a scent of cedar wood rose as if she were with the man who wrote these words, copying them from the walls of a chill tomb surrounded by the dust of the long dead. These were no common symbols. They were reflections of what she had seen in the golden layer of Wadi Hammamat. Zoe couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips.

  “What is it?” Bridget came closer as the others gathered round. “What do you see?”

  Zoe pointed to a set of glyphs on the page. “These symbols are incredibly rare, a form of Mapwalker magic used to place maps within maps within maps.”

  John frowned. “A third layer of cartography? I’ve heard rumors of this, but I’ve met no one who could make or decipher them. A bloodline lost in the genocide of the east, perhaps.”

  His words echoed through Zoe, a call to her ancestral past. “My mother’s family are from Armenia originally. We’re Weavers.”

  “Weavers?” Sienna sounded curious. “You mean you weave cloth?”

  “And magic,” Bridget said, her eyes piercing as she looked at Zoe with new interest. “Weavers can layer objects with a magical thread and some can even manipulate the cords of the world.” She placed a hand on Zoe’s arm. “Where have you seen these glyphs before?”

  Her touch was gentle, encouraging, but Zoe also felt an edge in the hard lines of the maps that encased her body. There was only one authority here.

  “I’m restoring a map down in Antiquities. On one plane, it’s
an ancient quarry, but as I stitched, I found a layer below, that of a treasure house hidden under the rock. Then I found a golden thread to a third layer, a set of tombs. This glyph marks the door implying it is a way through the border in the realm between the living and the dead. There is no exact translation that I can find, but it means something like ‘impossible.’” Zoe pointed to the journal. “This person knew something of Egyptology to translate such a word. Perhaps he was in the tomb, perhaps he found a way inside.”

  “Could you find such a place if you were in that quarry?” John asked. His words made Zoe’s heart beat faster again. Something within her wanted this so very much.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps.” She whispered the last word, like a prayer.

  Bridget nodded. “Sienna, get Perry and Mila down here. You’ll go together with Zoe, find these golden chambers, and see if the Map of the Impossible leads you to the Borderlands. In the meantime, John and I will continue searching for answers.”

  A decision made, a page turned, a life changed.

  Zoe took a deep breath. She was ready.

  6

  Titus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the skull. It was clearly a warning, but death had already come for the people of the Borderlands and they had little left to lose.

  Finn put the torch into a metal bracket on one side. “Help me move this.”

  Together, they put their shoulders against the rock and with a scrape of stone; they pushed it aside.

  The tomb was hacked into the mountain itself, each cut made by hand to honor one so greatly revered. A stone sarcophagus stood in the center, adorned with alchemical symbols and around the casket, the implements and tools of the alchemist himself.

  Titus took a deep breath as he gazed around at the tomb. It smelled musty with a metallic edge, like dried blood on a sword after battle. Thick benches of black wood lined the walls, piled with brass implements mottled with age. Bottles of varying sizes stoppered with beeswax lay in boxes, thrown together hastily in a mosaic of colored glass each containing mysterious liquid or powder. If only they had more time. He could spend a generation studying what lay here.