The Mapmaker's War (19 page)

NEITHER OF YOU PLANNED TO SEE ONE ANOTHER ON THE PLATEAU BUT you encountered each other there often enough. Some nights you spoke. Other nights you agreed to sit in silence.

Of course, in time, the familiarity extended beyond the viewpoint on the plateau. You began to speak together in public places. People noticed. You've made a new friend, Aoife. What a fine man he is, said they.

You knew this to be true. He was not prideful or superior. The regard others had for him could have shaped him so, but did not. He welcomed questions of the Guardians' ways. | our ways | He replied with kindness, a willingness to teach. He spoke of his life before he became a warrior and before the war.

You replied to questions about your place of origin. This inquiry didn't disturb you. As your ability to speak the language improved, you were asked about your former home. Those born away—the exiles, the foundlings—told of customs and beliefs they remembered, in some instances still held.

Leit's questions remained open. In time, you perceived that he was trying to make sense of a greater matter. He wished to understand the war he had witnessed. He wanted to know what had ruptured like an abscess and spread from mind to heart, mind to heart, of a few, then to many.

He didn't delve into your own story. He gave you quiet and space. You said little on your own, limited yourself to facts. Your father was an adviser of high status in the kingdom. Your mother kept a tidy house with organized servants. Ciaran, your brother, was a smart, reliable man who planned to fill your father's role. As a child, you liked to draw maps. You were trained to do so and charted large portions of the land. You married the prince, who became King. You were exiled because you were believed to be a traitor.

Leit spoke of his father and mother. They died before the war. His father died of blood poisoning from a wound that wouldn't heal. Leit was a young warrior on the trails then. His father had a strong body, quiet nature, and focused mind. Leit received those from him. His mother died in a gentle sleep a season before the war. She shared with her son watchful dark eyes, skill with a hammer and anvil, and distaste for disorder. Both his parents expressed love with words, embraces, and acceptance. Leit had been a rough, physical boy with a tender heart. They recognized the warrior in him. They told of ancestors whose path he followed. He received guidance early. He proved to be a boy capable of discipline and restraint, of quick reflexes and mind. His teachers expected great tales to be told of him.

YOU NAVIGATED AROUND EACH OTHER'S PAIN. YOU APPROACHED THE edges but did not enter. His pain was too close. Yours was too deep. The reverse was true as well.

Leit was your friend, and you loved him as such. You hadn't tried to hide the nature of your exile and assumed many in the settlement knew the reason. Whether he had been told, you had no way to know. He didn't ask. Because you loved him, because you knew the pain he hid was linked to yours, you chose to tell him the truth.

When I was a mapmaker, charting a border of the kingdom, you said, I chose to step upon the bank across the river.

You said you were brought to a Guardian settlement and treated with kindness. Never had you felt such peace. You sensed an abiding goodness all around. The calm unnerved but beckoned you. Two men on your crew attempted to find you, and they, too, experienced what you did. You three agreed not to speak of it to anyone, but one did. He confessed to the riches he had seen in the settlement. He told of the little Voice who spoke of the dragon and the hoard. Your people chose a feat for Prince Wyl, a quest to find the dragon. You followed him. You both saw the hoard, but there was disagreement about its purpose. On the journey home, you became lovers at last. After the return, you married him.

Later, you learned Wyl's brother and four other men had gone to the settlement while you and Wyl were away. There were inquiries among those who had visited. Suspicions festered. You traveled to warn the Guardians of a potential attack. You wanted to protect them. When you returned home, you admitted what you'd done. No one heeded your arguments. They were inclined to think the worst and take action. Then the King died. Your husband took the throne and authorized the first blows. You were imprisoned and ordered to draw a map to the hoard. After it was complete, you were exiled, sent away with two armed men. You suspected you were to be killed, but one of the men let you go. You traveled until you stopped at this northern settlement and felt you'd found your home. You were grateful to be accepted, in spite of who you were.

I'm the one who caused the war, you said. I would understand if you didn't wish to speak to me again.

Leit turned his eyes from you to the plain.

What makes you think you have such power? asked he.

You expected no answer as that.

There are forces far greater and more dangerous than the curiosity to see what's on another side, said he.

But if I hadn't been . . . You couldn't finish the thought.

He rubbed his chest with his palm.

There's not one straight line between cause and effect. Many roads lead to the same place, or not. The choice depends on the travelers. As a mapmaker, you understand, don't you?

Yes, you said.

Makha focused her eyes on you. Never once had you tried to touch her. You were somewhat afraid of the wolf. She stretched her head beyond her crouched forelegs and sniffed the air near your face. She raised her ears, then settled again at Leit's side.

She accepts you, said Leit. He spoke as if the wolf 's gesture meant more to him than any word you ever said.

One night at the plateau, he didn't wish to speak. He was in your presence but far away. His eyes glazed. His body seemed heavy, immobile.

You had never touched him other than in the customary ways. As you learned, the Guardians were an affectionate people who greeted and parted with kisses, handshakes, and embraces. Yet that night, your hand reached for the back of his neck.

He flinched but didn't pull away. His dark hair brushed your skin. His flesh was raised but not raw. You tried to read the relief without moving your hand. You turned your mind to each place where your fingers touched. You realized there were permanent whelps on his skin. He had been branded.

He remained still.

Please, don't ask me now, said he.

YOU WANT TO REPEAT THE STORY OF HOW YOU CAME TO LOVE HIM. YOU want the tale of the woman who feels passion again, but this serves no purpose other than diversion. Remember, old woman, be sparse with nostalgia.

What emerged between you and Leit was not the bloodthick wildmind rut you had with Wyl. No matter your higher feelings for your first spouse, it was that at its core. Whereas with Leit, you loved the man before you loved his body.

Leit wasn't a man you thought physically beautiful at first. You had a different idea of masculine beauty. Wyl embodied that. The proportioned angles of his face. The length of his limbs in relation to the rest of him. The width of his shoulders. The shapes of his hands. Had you drawn him yourself into being, you could have done no better. He fit you in all the right places.

Leit had a slant to his eyes. He had a suspicious look. He was a big man. Tall. Thick-muscled. His back wide and meaty as an ox. He appeared hewn from stone. Like the blood-born men of their region, he grew his own dense coat of dark hair from his head to his legs.

Yet you came to appreciate the qualities within. These softened his brute shape. You had watched him beat metal to leaf thinness and appreciate the delicate result. His broad arms held little children with warm gentleness. He gave thoughtful counsel when asked for his opinion. To his warrior companions, he was affectionate and devoted.

Both Leit and Wyl were good men. Neither was compelled to do harm on purpose. Wyl was good the way a steed can be good. Reliable, strong, harmless unless provoked. Leit's sense of honor held him at his center. Your first spouse's weakness was of will. He questioned his own. He was easily swayed. Leit was firm in himself. There was a core to Leit that there wasn't in Wyl. Wyl could be manipulated.

Tell the truth.

You didn't respect Wyl for that reason. You hated Raef for the undue influence he had over his brother, but Wyl allowed it. What you despised about Raef, you possessed as well. You rationalized that you deserved to work with the old mapmaker. You did. You proved your skill. Yet your place in the apprentice's chair came through guile. Subtle and suppressed as it was, you had no right to wield it.

In slow progression, your bond with Leit strengthened. Still, he didn't fully trust you to touch him. Within the settlement, you came to greet and depart as anyone else did. No more, no less. In time, your affection deepened to holding hands and close embraces. | he withdrew at the hint of amorous possibility | The instances happened only within the forest's cover. Neither chose to consciously hide this. Yet the closeness wasn't lost on others. Many could see you had formed a special friendship, although few dared to inquire of its nature.

A WOMAN YOU DIDN'T KNOW WELL, WHO WAS BORN AMONG THEM, APproached you one day. With sincerity, she said she was glad to see Leit and you had become friends. She asked if you wished for more than friendship.

No, you said.

Some wonder whether he'll share a room beyond a bed, said she.

Her direct reply was uncommon. You weren't sure how to respond. You understood the meaning. Leit had had lovers but had never formed a pair with one. You remained quiet.

Have you heard him sing? asked she.

No.

I feel distressed to hear that, said she.

I don't understand, you said.

He can sing so beautifully. Many have missed his voice in the evenings, and in the nurseries. He's not quite the same man he was before the war. I believe part of his voice was lost, said she.

You'd heard speculations about Leit before. To be more precise, you heard concern expressed. Has anyone seen him remove his breastplate? Does there appear to be a scar under his throat? Has he done a witnessing?

They didn't enjoy seeing others in pain. They found no pleasure in pondering another's misery. What they said of Leit was rooted in genuine distress.

Friends spoke to you in private. They said they had sat with him and encouraged him to share what he appeared to hold deep. They admitted they had shared their worries with the elders and Aza. They had seen your affinity for each other. They hoped you could help him, as they seemed unable.

One friend who visited you was a warrior who had long served with Leit. The man wept with deep pain.

We return home knowing there's no fight here. We're supposed to unarm, said he. But Leit wears that breastplate. It's a thin metal I could pierce with one sharp stab. We all understand the symbol. He covers something he wants no one to see. Even if it were physically removed, his armor would remain on.

I agree, but he has shared no more with me than what he said at his return ritual, you said.

What he hides can't be spoken at a ceremony, said he.

How do you know? you asked.

Most of us witnessed deeds we could never have conjured even in our nightmares, said he.