Jack Shian and the Mapa Mundi (18 page)

“But we don’t know that this one’s the Sphere,” stated Petros. “Jack just said it was a map.”

Jack looked round at his cousin, and as he did so he became acutely aware that Fenrig and Morrigan had been in the corner of the room all this time. Marco intercepted his gaze and guessed his thoughts.

“Certain treasures are there for all, young man. The map may be owned by anyone whose heart is true.”

Well, that rules Fenrig out.

Marco handed Jack a book from the shelf, an old tattered volume with indistinct script on the cover. Opening it, Jack found these words on the first page:

Mapa Mundi, map of the world,

Shows oceans, lands, a flag unfurled,

But he who would know every part,

Inside the Sphere will see his heart.

“So the map is a sphere,” said Jack triumphantly. “And to get it we have to find this swordfish.”

“But if Trog … or whatever his name is … has been searching for this magic fish for years, he won’t like it if someone else catches it,” announced Finbogie.

“Trog does not own the fish, but he has made it his task to catch it, and out of respect, I would not expect any of you to steal it from him. Tomorrow we will take some of the other youngsters to meet him. Perhaps, in time, the others too.”

As the meeting broke up and the youngsters prepared to bed down in their tents, Jack saw Fenrig and Morrigan in deep discussion. Fenrig stared briefly at Jack at one stage, but said nothing.

The next morning, Marco took the youngsters to see Trog. Fenrig complained bitterly about not having slept all night; Jack had had no difficulty in getting to sleep on his bed sheet outside and was raring to go. He thought that Morrigan would remain with her brother, but she seemed to prefer Ossian’s company. The two of them followed at a distance.

Rana and Lizzie led the way with Marco, chattering excitedly.

“I want to see the well where he drinks,” proclaimed Lizzie. “Something that stops you growing old must be pretty special.”

“But I want to get older,” answered Rana. “At least, until I’m adult. I don’t want to be stuck aged twelve.”

“I must warn you not to drink from the Nanog well,” stated Marco emphatically. “Or you will be doomed to remain here.”

“The waters come from Nanog?” exclaimed Lizzie. “I thought it was just a tale.”

“But a true tale,” stated Marco, turning round to give the others the same warning. Jack and Petros were discussing fishing tips, while Fenrig followed on a little behind: listening, but never joining in.

Jack reached the shoreline within minutes, where the tide was out.

“You’d never come across it by accident,” he said, pointing to the mouth of a cave well above the high-tide mark.

“You mean he really lives in a cave?” spluttered Fenrig with disgust. “I thought you were joking.”

“He has chosen this life to atone for his past,” explained Marco. “He lives simply, and he seeks wisdom and understanding. But I warn you: his past haunts him still.”

Marco indicated to the youngsters to wait while he went to the cave. When he returned a few minutes later, he was followed by a man who looked no older than twenty. His fair shoulder-length hair fell over a ragged goatskin jacket, his face was weather-beaten, and a coarse beard tumbled down over his chest. A rough leather belt was tied around his waist, and he wore loose woollen leggings. His feet, leather-brown, were bare.

Jack approached, nodding hopefully, but there was no light of recognition in the man’s eyes.

Petros looked enquiringly at Jack, who just shrugged.

“I don’t think he remembers me, even from yesterday.”

“This island is rarely visited by Shian,” explained Marco simply. “That’s why you’ve stayed at human size here. In fact, it’s so small, few humans visit it – there’s nothing much here to see. But Trog has been here for over a thousand years; in that time he has seen a few people come and go. Play on the beach until he gets to recognise you all.”

Jack and Petros sat where the edge of the beach met the small field and tried to work out whether the map was their true objective or a distraction.

“I can’t see how a map is a sphere,” stated Petros. “If it’s flat, like maps are, then you couldn’t make it into a round shape. It wouldn’t fit.”

“But if it’s special,” claimed Jack, raking his fingers through the mixed soil and sand, “then maybe it can do different things. Anyhow, what else are we going to do? If Edinburgh and Keldy have been captured, there’s no point trying to go back there.” Absent-mindedly, he stuffed a little of the soil– sand mixture into his jomo bag.

“Keldy’s definitely taken,” shuddered Petros. “I don’t ever want to see Thanatos again. I thought the Kildashie were wild, and whatever they do to the weather is desperate, but they’re kittens compared to the Thanatos. What they did to Uncle Hart … ugh!”

“What … what d’you think they’ll do with your dad?”

Petros was silent for a while. He turned away from Jack and wiped his eyes.

“Mum thinks they’ll kill him. Maybe not on purpose, but they’re like savages.” His nose sounded blocked.

“How many were there?”

“A few dozen, I guess. Enough, anyway. Even Uncle Hart couldn’t stop them.”

“So what happened to the others from the square?”

“People were all over the place,” replied Petros. “I think Freya and Purdy got away though. Daid got Murkle out. He knew some human spaces that the Thanatos wouldn’t get to.”

“So Rob from Cos-Howe betrayed the Congress?”

“I think Ban-Eye was in on it too. But the Kildashie killed her anyway. And Atholmor. Finbogie says he’s definitely dead.”

They sat in silence, looking out over the bay’s clear blue water.

“What d’you think of Trog, then?” asked Jack.

Petros shivered. “Totally uncivilised. Imagine living in a cave. Even the humans aren’t that daft.”

“The cave’s brighter than you’d think,” replied Jack. “And he’s all right too. He doesn’t say much, but he lit up when he got talking about this swordfish. He thinks it’s his escape from here.”

“I didn’t understand that,” said Petros. “If you eat this fish, suddenly you know things?”

“You know what you need to know. For him, it’s getting the Sphere.”

“And he thinks that’ll help him die?”

“Die peacefully; he’s still troubled by what he did way back.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Marco, who had approached quietly.

“Trog feels ready to meet you all now, one at a time.”

Jack was first to his feet, and he made his way up towards the mouth of the cave where Trog sat, a little apprehensively. In turn, the seven youngsters approached and chatted for a while. When they had all done so, Marco indicated that they should return to the house, explaining that he and Luka would have to leave the next evening.

“We must go to the mainland. But you young ones can come back here tomorrow morning. Trog wants you to have a race on the beach.”

“I’m fast,” announced Rana emphatically. “I can beat Lizzie easily.”

Jack looked at Fenrig, who just scowled back. Ossian and Morrigan, holding hands, appeared not to have heard.

“What’s the race for?” asked Jack.

“To see who gets to help Trog catch the swordfish of fortune.”

The house, when they returned, had been made habitable for everyone. Aunt Dorcas was arranging some flowers in old jars, while Grandpa Sandy explained to Uncle Hart how the house, despite not being Shian, was charmed. The scar across Uncle Hart’s face was still angry, and he was in obvious pain. Armina had made soothing poultices, but was complaining that everything was human-sized and not as she liked it.

Aunt Katie tried to put a brave face on when she heard the youngsters arrive.

“How was the beach? And Trog? Did he tell you anything useful?”

Rana and Lizzie began to relate excitedly what Trog’s sheltered bay had been like. Jack decided to let them talk. He was trying to plan ahead for Trog’s race. Jack could run quite fast, he knew that, but Ossian and Petros were bigger and stronger than he was, and Fenrig was no slouch.

The rest of the day was spent showing the new arrivals around. Ossian and Morrigan had returned much later and didn’t seem to mind the scolding they got from Aunt Katie. Rana had taken Lizzie off, proclaiming that there were some things only girls should know about. As Jack gave Petros a tour of the island, Fenrig tagged along, always a little behind.

The next morning, Ossian made good his escape before breakfast was over. Aunt Dorcas and Armina were busy tending to Uncle Hart’s eyes and didn’t notice as the young man slipped silently out of the house. Morrigan disappeared soon after, and the two were not seen again all day.

Jack led Petros, Rana and Lizzie off back to Trog’s bay. Fenrig, as tight-lipped as ever, followed on behind. When they got there, they found that Trog was waiting. He wore a bow over his shoulder and carried a quiver of arrows.

“The others are not here?” Trog spoke in a quiet voice.

Jack looked at Petros, then at Fenrig. “I don’t think they’re coming. They’re … busy.”

Fenrig’s snort of disgust needed no translation.

“When are we racing, then?” demanded Rana.

“You must first understand what the race is for.” Trog spoke earnestly.

“Marco said: to help you catch the swordfish,” stated Lizzie.

“But do you know why the fish is special?”

“Eating it will show you the
Mapa Mundi
,” continued Lizzie.

“But to use the map, your heart must be pure, and true,” replied Trog patiently. “That is why I fear I may never find it.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Marco said you’d been trying … to catch this fish for a long time,” said Jack, falteringly.

Trog looked sadly at him.

“I have been here many years. I’m sure Marco has told you the reason I came. And why I never left.”

“So why is this fish so hard to catch?” asked Lizzie.

“He’s big, and wise. But I know the tides he likes at the midsummer full moon, and the pools where he hides. I sense he is near today.”

“Marco said you thought that our arrival was a stroke of luck,” chimed in Rana.

Trog looked hard at her.

“For seven years I have tracked this fish. I recently dreamt that a Shian youth would come and help me catch it.”

“And eating it tells you where to find the map?” Fenrig spoke up now.

Jack eyed him suspiciously.
There’s no way I’m letting him get the fish, or the map
.

“Is the race along the beach, then?” asked Lizzie, trying to steer the subject back.

“The main stretch around the rocks is half a mile long.”

Fenrig was first to his feet, swiftly followed by Rana and Lizzie. Jack and Petros exchanged glances.

“Anything to get off this island.” Petros’ terror of the day before had gone.

The tide was coming in, and the youngsters had to clamber over the rocks to get to the beach. Trog explained that a flaming arrow, fired by him at the far end, would start the race.

Like the girls, Jack had decided that beach running was easier in bare feet. Fenrig, retying his laces, looked scornfully at him.

Rana and Lizzie started playing in the incoming tide, while Fenrig practised stretching exercises. Jack and Petros kept an eye on Trog’s progress, keen not to miss the signal when it came, but after a while it was hard to tell if he was still moving or not. It took him ten minutes to reach the rocks where the beach ended.

After what seemed like ages, the flame shot skywards.

Fenrig got the best start, having stolen a few yards while the others watched the end of the beach. He was fast, there was no doubt about it, and Rana put in a good bid, catching him up within a hundred yards. But, unable to maintain this sprint, she soon fell away, joining Lizzie, who was jogging along in last place. Petros fared better, slowly pegging Fenrig back until at last he overtook him. As Petros’ lead stretched to five, ten yards, Fenrig uttered a shrill cry and fired a hex at his opponent’s back.

“
Cadolex!
”

Petros staggered and fell, sprawling in the sand.

“Cheat!” shouted Jack, some ten yards back.

Spurred on, he sprinted and drew level with Fenrig as they came within a hundred yards of Trog. Edging just ahead, Jack sensed he had the beating of his old adversary, when Fenrig tripped over Jack’s heels. They both stumbled, but while Fenrig fell, spraying sand up around him, Jack regained his footing and completed the race.

“Cheat!” yelled Fenrig, as he limped home. “You tripped me up!”

“How could I?” shouted Jack. “I was in front of you.”

“It was an accident,” said Trog calmly. “Unlike your hexing of the other lad.” He looked sternly at Fenrig. “The prize can only be enjoyed by the one whose heart is true.”

“Well, what does that mean?” scoffed Fenrig.

With a yell of rage, Trog drew a long steel knife from his belt and held it to Fenrig’s throat. Fenrig, his eyes half closed in terror, whimpered.

“It’s all right, Trog.” Jack pulled Fenrig away, and the warrior-savant sagged. His arm dropped, but he continued to clutch his knife. He looked down at the sand, breathing heavily.

Petros and his sisters joined them now and berated Fenrig for his lack of sportsmanship. This change of focus allowed Trog to recover himself, and he said simply, “Jack will help search for the fish. The rest of you can stay here or go back to the house.”

Fenrig stalked off. Rana announced that she and Lizzie would go back to Trog’s bay for a while, as they liked the rock pools there.

“You’d better watch that tide,” said Petros. “Look, I’ll come with you. You’ll be all right, Jack?”

Jack grinned broadly.

“I’ll just get my shoes.”

Jack jogged back along the beach with Petros and the girls. As they neared Trog’s bay, Petros guided his sisters around the rocks, many of which were now underwater. Jack picked up his shoes and started to make his way back to where Trog sat gazing out to sea.

The sun was rising in a cloudless sky, and a warm sea breeze soon dried Jack’s sweat. By the time he reached Trog, he was sticky and very thirsty.