The Mapmaker's War (14 page)

Your offense was telling the truth as you saw it.

And you never saw your father again.

Your mother. Your mother a stream, a stream of words, the rocks of why?

The flow. You married a prince. Wealth beyond dreams was yours. The children. Didn't you think of the children? I knew no good would come of your running wild in the woods and the studying. Your father wouldn't listen to me and rein you in. Now look at what you've done to me. What do you know of the ways of the world? All you did was draw pictures of land. Your father so disappointed and shamed, before the King, before his fellow noblemen! Had you kept your mouth shut, you would be Queen. Queen!

You stopped hearing words. The sound reminded you of a panicked cow you'd once heard calling for its calf. You had seen the corpse. A wolf likely found it when it strayed. The poor beast didn't know her baby was dead. As you walked away, you heard the noise rise to a wail, a roar, and howl of madness.

It was done. You didn't bother to defend yourself. Perhaps you were dead but somehow still breathing. You were a criminal, though you had not defiled, stolen, or murdered a thing. Your mother couldn't understand the circumstances. You couldn't believe the quiet in yourself at that moment. You were broken. Untethered. No one wanted you. They wanted a memory of you.

Aoife.

You looked at her.

What will happen to my grandchildren?

I suspect Wyl shall take them.

Silence, beloved silence. Then:

Be grateful they are so young. They will not remember you.

I will remember you, Mother.

The words slipped out, off your tongue, a ripple.

She began to cry. You were numb. She went to you and put your head to her chest. You didn't resist. There had been times the gesture had brought you comfort. Not that day.

You were in the hut but saw a different wall. A stone wall. You heard the sound of Ciaran being beaten on the other side. The rage. Don't you ever make your mother cry. You screamed against your mother's hand. Leave him alone. Leave him alone. As if somehow that memory explained this moment.

Then spring, on her lap. The flower chain you made around her neck. Her soft fingers on your cheek. She's laughing. You're laughing.

That was the last thought in your head as she pressed her hand to your crown and said, My daughter. Then she left. No sunlight through the doorway. Darkness had come.

THE DAY OF YOUR EXILE, YOU STOOD ACROSS FROM WYL.

Your hands were tied behind your back. The moment hardly seemed real. Within two turns through all seasons, you had crossed a river, met a reclusive people, learned of a dragon, journeyed far away, found its hoard, sated desire, married, birthed twins, warned the people of danger, and brought disaster.

Yes. This can be reduced to its parts. The whole somehow included standing bound in front of your husband. You were no traitor in word or deed unless you betrayed that which was unspoken. You wanted to hate Wyl but you couldn't. He was still the goodnatured boy you knew whose center had been twisted.

A bell. Yes, there was a bell on the table that he shook and it sang. The twins, a year old, walked in, almost on their own. Their nursemaid led them in as they wobbled. The girl looked up and noticed you. A squeal, a bleat, then she walked on unsteady feet. The boy followed. Your body urged to reach out for them and seized at your back. They pulled on your skirt and teetered as if a-sail.

Wyl picked them up and held them before you. You kissed each of them on the forehead and cheeks. You said nothing, not even their names. Your tongue filled your mouth with a carrion weight. Then their faces were a blur. The nursemaid took them from their father. A rhythm of familiarity between them. This exchange had been done before. You turned to watch them leave. Was it the girl or the boy? Ah, a lapse here. Which one of them raised its hand above the nursemaid's head and said bye-bye?

You were alone with him.

When we leave this room, before witnesses I will read a decree that you are to be exiled, said he.

Why?

You betrayed the kingdom.

Some may think so, but I didn't betray myself.

He bowed his head.

How could you, Aoife, when I gave you all I could, including my heart? said he. Without anger. In tears.

You were too stunned to reply. Wyl clutched your waist. He kissed you on the mouth. A cool press, as if you were a corpse. A part of you revived and returned the kiss with a passion that vanished as fast as it came. | you had warned him, with blood on your hands |

The decree was announced. You were on your knees with two guards at your side. It was a public spectacle. You remember much shouting. The rope came loose from your wrists. You were wrestled upright on a horse. No part of you was left untouched. Push shove grab. The manhandling was worse than when you were kidnapped and brought to the house. Then, a gag in your mouth. Your hands were bound in front. You held the reins.

Later, one of the two guards said you would be taken to the border and released. Which border? Land, river, or sea? You thought of Burl and his safety. You suspected something was wrong.

The armed guard escort was for your family's sake, perhaps Wyl's. They saw you leave alive. Strange courtesies are done at times.

You knew neither of these men. Young. Proud in their saddles. Their weapons' sheaths jaunty and bright. They were under orders. Under orders. You pondered the thought. Can one suffocate that way, as if under covers? You giggled. It was involuntary. A trickle of madness. The ice beginning to crack. One looked back at you. You felt your horse quiver and buck. Flies. It didn't like flies at all. So you three rode along. One decided to tie a rope around your neck as you went to relieve yourself. Better than being watched.

Then it was night. There was no nobleman's home waiting for your arrival. You would sleep outdoors. You had done so before countless times but had never felt so unsafe. You thought of all the men who had been on your crew. Decent and respectful to you, at least in your presence. One of the guards produced metal shackles and tied you by one leg to a tree. They ate.

There was a jug of ale, strong by the smell of it. One and the other one, you called them. The one eased into his drink. Neither was drunk. There wasn't enough between them for that.
The one moved his hand across your head after he handed you dinner. Cheese, bread, tough dried meat. You willed yourself not to react. His intent was to disturb. You kept your eyes down but your ears up. It grew dark. You didn't wish to sleep. The moon was split in half and leached light through the treetops. You drifted off somehow.

You felt the sensation of a finger easing a wisp of hair behind your ear. You weren't awake. You were caught in a past life. | violence can be tender | You almost said Wyl's name. You opened your eyes and gasped. The one crouched near you like an animal. You thought him beastly, but his human agency made him more dangerous. You sat up. He said nothing. He moved his eyes from yours to your leg, exposed to the thigh. | where your son and daughter had stood | You were an exotic creature leashed in the darkness.

Again, with your body in one time and place, your mind leapt to another. You, six, Ciaran, thirteen, at the close of a spring festival. Chained at the neck in a cage that gave no room for movement, a golden beast with a nimbus of silken fur. A creature with dark moons under its eyes as if it cried itself to sleep every night. Ciaran held your hand. This is the grandfather of cats. He's called a lion. You wept and pled for its release.

Where would it go? asked Ciaran. It doesn't belong here.

Your mind returned to your body. You watched the one stare at your thigh. He knelt. His fingers touched the ground. You knew then there are fates worse than death. He placed his hand on your leg. Suddenly you could speak.

Why?

Because I can, said he. He pushed you down at the chest.

The tethered leg pulled taut at the rope. No farther could you go. You tried to kick with the other, but he pressed his shin to hold it still. He held a dagger above your left breast. The glint numbed you. His other hand fumbled below his waist, then touched the flesh where your thighs met. His fingers rushed full entry into the hidden space between your legs. You screamed and struggled and hoped to die first.

Then his weight was gone. He was on his feet. A man next to him. The other one. There was an argument you understood by tone and feeling, not in the words. A jostle back and forth. Then you heard, No matter. We have our orders, the one said. The other one didn't move. He didn't speak to you, but he looked in your direction.

You awoke the next morning with a scab on your finger. You weren't certain but you thought you might have cut it on the small dagger that had been pointed at you. There it was in the dirt in the place where the one had been. You accepted the danger. You put it in a pocket of your skirt. Your arm felt sticky. There was more blood. The one had cut you. Nicked your breast and gashed your left upper arm. You ripped off a sleeve to bind the wound. No pain. You were too shocked.

You asked the other one to let you be untied as you mounted the horse. He complied. But he tied your hands once you were astride. You rode. You were the blade in the pocket. You became the blade. You drank little, although you were thirsty. Fewer reasons to get off the horse.

The third day and third night. The one was off behind a tree. The other one near you. You returned with the rope around your neck. You lifted your hands for him to bind. Odd what the body's will does on its own when it becomes used to bondage. He removed the loop at your throat.

He looked directly into your eyes and whispered, Run.

THE GLADE YOU FOUND FELT TOO OPEN. YOU WALKED THE MARGIN UNTIL you heard a trickle. A stream. You knelt and drank and drank. You cried for every reason why, then stood up. No one knew where you were or if you were dead or alive. You thought you must go to the Guardians' settlement. You also had to eat. You still had the dagger. No rope for a snare, though. Perhaps some wild fruit. | summer, your twenty-fifth year, a third of your life | You found an unlikely row of peach trees, which led to a hut with one blue shutter.

You had nothing. No coins, no jewels, nothing of value. You didn't wish to steal, but you were so hungry. You smelled food. Inside, a pot was over a fire. The beans were nearly cooked, good enough. Only morsels, enough until you had the strength to hunt.

Eat, child, said a voice.

A woman older than you'd ever seen walked through the door, nimble as a girl. She placed a basket on the table and pulled a stool next to you.

She asked no questions. She cleaned and dressed the wound. You were given a basin and a cloth to wash yourself. She put you to bed. You wore a large linen gown the color of lilac, the smell of lavender.

I'm lost, you said.

The world is full of people missing by choice or circumstance. Rest now.

I'm an exile.

A nod, as if she understood a deeper matter. Yes, this has happened before.

You awoke to the smell of cooked egg. The old woman smiled and invited you to eat. You did. She made a pouch of food, salve, and bandages. She gave you a loose clean dress with fine embroidery at the cuffs.