The Glass Sentence (The Mapmakers Trilogy) (36 page)

But it lay several steps away. As she reached the base of the stairs, Sophia realized with horror that the floor had disintegrated. She was standing on a floating piece of ice. Stepping as quickly as she dared, she hurried across and jumped onto another piece that drifted before the entryway. She was almost there. Only a few more steps. She tipped across the ice, and as she breached the doorway with a sudden lurch the floating slab broke into pieces, leaving nothing but icy water in its wake.

Sophia ran onto the snow and looked across the wide, frozen terrain. Then a sound burst out from behind her: the sound of a thousand maps breaking at once. She turned and watched the hall collapse. The mighty walls shattered: sheets of glass crashed against one another, fragmenting into pieces. Puffs of snow and ice burst upward as the walls crumbled. It was a pile of rubble: broken maps over an empty lakebed, its waters infusing the warm soil below. And somewhere deep within lay Blanca. The air was still.

Then, with a sense of dread and expectation, Sophia turned slowly away from the ruined hall. Would she see it? Would he be there? She squinted as she looked northward. There were no storm clouds in the direction of Nochtland. The sun shone brightly over the ice. And there, far across the glacier—

Sophia’s heart hammered. There was a sudden glimmer on the white surface: a reflection of something tiny but bright—like an early star in a pale sky.

38

A Fair Wind, a Fair Hand

A
S
THE
H
ALL
of Remembrances fell, the glaring light that had lined the glacier’s edge faded, and the slow encroachment ceased. The ice stood motionlessly on the plains outside Nochtland, and a new change began. The bright sun began to melt the glacier, releasing a shallow current, as if a block of ice were melting on a tabletop. At first, the change was imperceptible, but as the sun continued to shine on the ice, it became impossible to ignore. The waters rose over the plains in a quiet flood.

Some, at least, were well prepared. Near the high ice-cliff that formed the edge of the glacier, a magnificent boldevela with bright green sails wheeled through the water at breakneck speed. It skirted the edge of the glacier, driving onward through the water on its high wheels until the depth of the water raised the ship. The ship sailed on, its wheels propelling it through the water and the cold wind billowing through the sails. Standing at the tiller shouting orders was the polite pirate, Burton Morris. “I said a
ROPE,
not
soap
,” Burr hollered to Peaches, who was running toward him holding a bucket and a brush.

The pirates of the
Swan
had, for once, succeeded in living up to their name. Traveling inland upon news of the strange weather-front moving north, they had commandeered the most magnificent boldevela they could find on the road from Veracruz and sailed it all the way to Nochtland. There they had found the entire city in disarray. It was perhaps something more than luck that drove Grandmother Pearl to insist on a southeasterly route directly toward the ominous glaciers. In the rocky hills southeast of the city near Lake Cececpan, they had come to an abrupt halt as she held her head alertly, listening.

“But how can you hear anything over this storm?” Peaches had protested.

“Hush, Peaches,” she had said. “Is there a cave nearby?” she asked, turning inquiringly toward him.

So they had sailed straight toward the dark opening of the cave that they had sighted in the hills, arriving just in time to see Burr, Calixta, and four other dirty spelunkers emerging from the tunnels. Now they were all sailing with the wind, and they raced as fast as they could toward the pyramid collapsing in a burst of white snow.

S
OPHIA
R
AN
TOWARD
the faint flash of silver that moved across the ice toward her. Her boots seemed to grasp at the snow and cling to it until her feet were two massive snowballs. But she thought the figure was getting larger. She stopped to kick snow from her boots. Her breath came painfully as she leaned forward and kept running.

And then, after what seemed like hours, she saw him clearly: Theo, waving his hand bandaged with silver thread.
I see what you planned now, Fates,
Sophia thought as she gasped for breath.
I can see how carefully you devised this.
They collided, Theo laughing as he wrapped his arms around her and Sophia stumbling in her snow-covered boots. “You brought it down!” he shouted.

Sophia shook her head, leaving great white puffs of breath in the air. “I didn’t.”

“What do you mean you didn’t? Look! The whole thing’s come down.”

She turned and saw the snow settling over the ruins of the great hall. “Blanca—she and I, we destroyed it.”

“Blanca?” Theo squinted. “Where is she?”

Sophia shook her head. “She did not—” She held the straps of the pack tightly and turned away from the collapsed pyramid. “She is gone.”

Theo’s eye lingered over the ruins, but then he turned away, to his left. “Let’s get off this ice—I’m freezing.” He looked back and grinned. “The pirates got hold of a ship!”

They ran at an easy pace to the craggy edge of the ice that formed the border of the Glacine Age, squinting against the glaring sunlight. “What about the others?” Sophia asked, out of breath but too anxious not to ask.

“They’re all on the ship.”

“How did you get out of the tunnels?”

“Shadrack. It’s like he had the whole map in his head. He ran around until we lost the Sandmen. Calixta and Burr fought them off and nabbed a couple pistols. Still, it took us hours to find a way out.”

Sophia felt a rush of relief. Shadrack was safe.

They slowed as they reached the incline at the edge of the glacier. Stumbling over the sharp outgrowths of ice, they began climbing steadily toward the ridge. They both slipped more than once; the rough surface was growing slick in the fierce sunlight. Sophia’s hands grew numb as she seized the ice and hauled herself up. Theo went on ahead of her, and a moment later he gave a shout of exultation. “We’re at the top! Look,” he said, pointing. “Everything is melting.”

Below her lay a scene she could never have imagined and would never forget. The city of Nochtland was still little more than a gray lump in the distance. All around it, like a scattering of black sand on a pale stone, were thousands and thousands of people. Sophia would not have known they were people had the crowds not extended all the way from the city to the edges of the rising waters. Fleeing the glacier’s advance, they were running or riding or trudging northward. Some traveled in wagons, others in boldevelas. Some had clearly attempted to bring as many of their belongings as they could. Others walked with nothing at all. The rising waters had already pushed the refugees farther north, and at the edge of the ice pieces of clothing, a broken boldevela wheel, and other debris floated loosely.

Theo waved, and the sunlight glinted off the silver thread that held his bandage in place. “There they are.” He pointed in the direction of Nochtland, at a tall boldevela that was streaming toward them through the debris.

As the ship approached, Sophia saw Burr perched on the mast. It slowed and he waved. “Aye, there, castaways!” he shouted and threw something toward them, paying out the rope. “Make sure it’s well secured.”

A four-pronged hook caught in the ice, and Theo pounded it down with his foot. As he did so, Sophia tightened the pack across her chest. “You first,” he said.

Sophia edged down onto the rope with some difficulty, but once she had her ankles hooked around it, she was able to slide down toward the ship’s mast. Burr grabbed her by the waist and swung her onto a foothold among the clipped branches of the mast. “Can you climb down yourself?” he asked. She nodded, but before descending she looked up to watch Theo. He swung onto the rope and nimbly shimmied down. Sophia began descending farther to make room, just as if she were climbing down the trunk of a tree, and a moment later she looked up to see Burr hauling Theo to safety. With both of them securely perched on the mast, Burr cut the rope. “We’re off!” he shouted.

As soon as her boots hit the deck, Sophia was surrounded.

Veressa threw her arms around her. “We were so worried about you!”

Sophia smiled, but her eyes searched for the one person she had not yet seen. “Where’s Shadrack?”

“I’ll take you to him, sweetheart,” Calixta said, leading Sophia by the hand. “He’s just resting below deck.”

“We’re relieved you’re back, Sophia,” Martin said, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze.

The luxurious boldevela had a spiral staircase that descended into a long corridor; the vine-covered walls were studded with pale flowers. Sophia followed Calixta into a large bedroom. The portholes cast a sunny light on the bedding, and buttercups grew in the cracks between the floorboards. Grandmother Pearl sat in an embroidered armchair beside the bed where Shadrack, lying back on the pillows, propped himself up as they entered. “Sophia!” he cried.

“Shadrack!” In an instant she was by his side. “Are you all right?” She pulled back at once and looked down at him critically. Why was he here?

He smiled and tucked Sophia’s hair behind her ears so that he could see her face. “Are
you
all right?”

“I’m fine. You won’t believe everything that happened.”

He laughed. “Perfect. You can sit next to Grandmother Pearl and tell me all about it, because I’ll be here a while longer.” He drew the covers back, revealing his bandaged right leg.

“What
happened?
”

“Afraid one of those pesky bullets caught me while we were underground. I’m beginning to understand why people in Nochtland dislike metal so much.”

“How bad is it?” Sophia asked, looking at his bandaged leg.

“Not bad.” He drew up the blankets. “Grandmother Pearl, I have learned, is a wonderful medic in addition to being a diviner, a storyteller, a weather reader, and who knows what else.”

The old woman smiled. “He has strong bones and a strong heart. Now that you’re here, he has everything he needs to get better.”

Sophia put her arm around her and squeezed gratefully. “I’m so glad
you’re
here,” she said.

“It’s wonderful to hear your voice again, dear,” the old woman replied. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you? You need some food and water in you. And some rest.”

“I believe Sophia has stopped the glaciers all on her own, Grandmother,” Calixta put in.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Whether it was all your own doing or not,” Grandmother Pearl said, hugging her, “the cold air has dropped and the ice is falling back. We’re on a fair wind again—can’t you feel it?”

Sophia went to the open porthole. Leaning out, she saw the cold waters below, the city of Nochtland ahead, and the blue skies above. She could hear the sails of the boldevela, leaves flapping in the wind, and the voices of Burr and the other pirates on deck. But she also heard a sound in the distance that made her heart race: a constant murmur, like the high-pitched whine of a thousand sirens.

Sophia drew her head back into the cabin. “It does seem a fair wind. But—that sound. What is it?”

“It’s the Lachrima, my dear. I’m afraid there are many more in the world today than there were before.”

39

The Empty City

T
HE
GLA
CIER
RETREATED
to the edges of Lake Cececpan and then stopped, planting its frozen feet into the earth below and turning a cold shoulder to the sun overhead. The Glacine Age would draw back no farther. And as the glaciers cemented their hold, their hard surfaces shining starkly only three miles from Nochtland, the borders of the Ages were redrawn.

The vast, depopulated Glacine Age stretched from the southern edges of Nochtland to the very tip of the continent. Late Patagonia had disappeared. Much of the southern Baldlands had vanished as well. Where the Ages met, three different cities lay abandoned, their streets emptied by desertion and disaster. Below ground, the mineral city remained silently calcifying, its high towers shining in the light cast by the botanist’s trees. Above the ice, in the northernmost city of the Glacine Age, the empty buildings surrounded the ruins of the great pyramid like silent mourners. And in Nochtland a strange hush had fallen upon the once busy streets.

Thousands upon thousands had departed, fleeing the glacier’s advance. In the weeks that followed, they walked and rode on until rumors began to reach them that the great change had concluded. Some, hearing this, stopped where they stood; they put down their packs, unhitched their horses, and rested. A short respite became a longer one, until many simply began to rebuild their lives on the very spot where they had stopped. New towns sprang up in a long, meandering line stretching northward.

But others could not believe that the glacier had truly halted its advance, and they walked on, heading farther and farther north until they found themselves in the Northern Baldlands. There, among strange people who had never even heard of the glaciers, they threw down their belongings with relief and tried to forget the catastrophe that had driven them from their now-vanished homes.

Still others had lost more than their homes. It was in the Lachrima’s nature to seek solitude, and so it appeared at first that the thousands of Lachrima to emerge from the Glacine Age had disappeared as soon as they had come to light. But they had not disappeared. Many people who had once lived in Xela, or the high cities of Late Patagonia, now wandered the new terrain as faceless creatures; dreading human contact, they haunted the edges of every town on the route from the Baldlands to New Occident.

As the boldevela neared Nochtland, there were some on board who were thinking of the Lachrima’s fate. Sophia, after dutifully eating and drinking what Grandmother Pearl had put before her, listened to the dull, distant wailing and thought about Blanca. Shadrack was found, Nochtland was safe, and New Occident lay waiting for them; and yet, unaccountably, she felt an uneasy grief. Blanca’s cry might have saved her, driving her from the pyramid in time—but that cry had also found its way into her heart. She had no wish to look at the map that had been the sole piece of the pyramid to survive. Handing it over to Shadrack, she sat at the foot of his bed holding the silk scarf that had once been Blanca’s veil. As she twisted the thin fabric between her fingers, she thought about the scars that it had served to conceal. Sophia realized that the more she had seen of the Lachrima’s scars, the less they had terrified her. They moved as Blanca spoke; they reflected her thoughts and emotions just as clearly as a mouth, nose, and eyes. There was even something beautiful about the way those scars had conveyed the cold, dignified determination that lay behind them.

“Sophia,” Shadrack said now. “You need to get some sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy. I’ll just stay here with you.”

“Why don’t you go ask Peaches which room to use, and just try putting your head down. If you like, send Veressa to keep me company—she’ll want to see this.”

It was easier to agree. Sophia found the Metls looking out over the side of the boldevela at the icy water below. “Veressa,” she said. “Shadrack wants to show you the map—the one I brought from the pyramid.”

Veressa eyed her thoughtfully. “Had enough of maps for one day?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Very sensible.” The cartologer rested her hand briefly on Sophia’s shoulder. “I’ll go down and see him.”

As she left, Martin called, “Look at this, Sophia.” She joined him and saw that the wheels of the boldevela were once again visible. The waters had grown shallow. The ship shuddered as the wheels made ground, and Burr shouted orders to the pirates adjusting the sails.

“We’re almost at the Nochtland gates,” Sophia said with surprise, looking up with at the high walls.

“Yes, almost there,” Martin said.

“Why are we going back?” She looked warily at the unguarded gates, which stood ominously ajar. “What about you and Theo?”

“We’ll be fine. The last thing anyone cares about now is a few iron bones.”

“Burr wants to go back to look for Mazapán,” Theo himself said, joining them. “Everyone says he’s probably gone, but Burr says no.”

The boldevela rolled through the open gates, and everyone aboard fell silent. Nochtland was deserted. The fountains and canals still ran with water, and the crowded gardens still leaned out into the sunlight, but there were no people to be seen. “Everyone’s gone,” Sophia said.

“Oh, I’m sure they’ll return,” Martin replied, “once they realize the waters are receding.”

As she looked over the desolate city, she found it hard to believe.

“Look, there’s someone!” Theo said, pointing to a woman who watched them from a window.

The woman waved. “Has the storm passed?”

“Yes!” Martin shouted, waving back. “It’s safe now.” He turned to Sophia. “You see—not everyone is gone.”

The boldevela moved slowly through the streets until it reached the broad avenue at the city center and rumbled to a stop just outside the palace. To Sophia’s astonishment, the palace gates too stood open. There was not a guard in sight. “We’re home!” Martin exclaimed.

While Burr and Theo went in search of Mazapán, Calixta accompanied Martin and Veressa to the palace. Sophia was aware of the pirates resting and talking to one another on the deck, but her mind was miles away, watching Blanca’s face contort as she pushed the heavy stone over the edge of the balcony. The memories were as vivid as they would have been on a map.

“Sophia?”

She started. Grandmother Pearl had joined her.

“How are you doing, my dear?”

“It’s strange,” she replied slowly.

“What is?”

“I can’t seem to get any of it out of my mind.”

“You have seen and heard terrible things,” the old woman replied. “And they are not easy to forget. Nor should they be. Be patient with yourself.”

“We might have all become Lachrima. We could all be wandering now, lost—somewhere out there.” She waved vaguely at the city around her.

“That was not our fate. Your fate,” Pearl said quietly. “Yours is a different story.”

Sophia reflected for a moment. “Yes. A different story. The one you told me—about the boy with the scarred face and the underground city—it’s as if I saw the story happening. It wasn’t exactly the same. But it was still very true.”

“Ah—yes,” Grandmother Pearl replied. “That is almost always the way with stories. True to their very core, even when the events and the people in them are different.”

Sophia looked down at her tattered, salt-encrusted boots. “The underground city was a city from another Age. The boy with the scar on his face was a woman. The city was a hall full of maps. It all happened as the story said it would, only a little differently.” She hesitated. “At least, almost all of it. I don’t think the scars were erased the way they were in the story. But even with that difference, both stories are just as sad.”

Grandmother Pearl linked her arm through Sophia’s. “Perhaps you’re right. But you never know. There may yet be a time when you see the scars fade away.”

—13-Hour 40: At the Nochtland Palace—

V
ER
ESSA
AND
M
ARTIN
returned to the boldevela some time later with Calixta, and they reported that the palace was entirely abandoned. Soon afterward, Theo and Burr arrived victoriously with Mazapán, his wife Olina, and large wooden crates full of food and chocolate dishes. In the dying light of the afternoon, they prepared a banquet on the ship’s deck.

Burr and Peaches carried Shadrack up the spiral staircase, and every manner of gilded chair from the cabins was brought topside. It was a night for celebration. The meal was delicious, the chocolate tableware was superb—both as serving dishes and dessert—and there was more than enough for everyone. Peaches discovered a harp that someone had left behind in the Nochtland gardens, and for several hours the sweet, lulling sound of ballads filled the air.

When they all finally went to bed, even Sophia had forgotten some of her troubling memories. Most of the pirates returned with Martin and Veressa to the palace, where they promptly took command of the royal suites. Theo and Sophia stayed with Shadrack on the boldevela. She fell asleep almost at once.

But she awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, panicked by a nightmare that she could not remember. She sat up, stretched her sore legs, and looked out the porthole at the pale moonlight. Her heart took a little while to stop racing. When it did, she quietly climbed out of her blankets.

The deck of the boldevela was still littered with remnants of the feast. Sophia stepped over the plates and cups and walked to the edge, resting her arms on the polished railing.

The moon hung over the Nochtland palace and its gardens, pale and ponderous, like the wondering face of a clock with no hands. There was the faint rushing of water from the fountains in the palace gardens.

A footstep on the deck made her turn. Theo came up and leaned his elbows on the railing beside her. “Bad dreams?”

“I can’t even remember what about.”

“Maybe this’ll help,” he said, handing her a chocolate spoon.

Sophia had to smile. She bit off a piece of the spoon and let it dissolve on her tongue. “Do you hear that?” she asked.

Theo cocked his head. “You mean the fountains?”

“No—something else. It’s farther away,” she hesitated. “Someone crying?”

If she had not known him better, Sophia would have said Theo looked almost worried. “I don’t hear anything,” he said softly.

“There must still be Lachrima in this city. Who knows how many.”

“You’ll hear them less once you leave.”

Sophia was silent for a moment. “I suppose everyone will go different ways now,” she said, taking another bite of chocolate.

“Veressa and Martin said they’ll stay as long as Justa doesn’t return.”

“Do you think she will?”

Theo shrugged. “I doubt she’ll want to—with the ice just miles from the gates.”

Sophia considered the blank face of the moon. “What about you?” she asked. “Are you going to stay, too?”

“Nah. Sure, the palace is nice, but who wants to sit around all day and look at flowers? I want to be out doing things, seeing new places.”

Sophia’s mind turned to the pirates and how quickly Theo had taken to life aboard the
Swan
. “I’m sure Calixta and Burr would be happy if you sailed with them.”

“I don’t know,” Theo said doubtfully. “What I’d really like is to get into exploring.” He paused. “Do you think if I could get papers into New Occident, Shadrack could maybe get me started?”

Sophia felt an inexplicable wave of elation wash over her, cutting through the sadness like a current. Suddenly negotiating for entrance into New Occident, contending with the July 4 border closure, and awaiting parliament’s decision at the end of August seemed trivial. “I’m sure he could,” she said. “Shadrack can get you papers, because he got them for Mrs. Clay, didn’t he? And there’s no one better to talk to about exploring,” she went on happily. “Maybe you could go with Miles when he’s back. If it weren’t for school, I’d go with you.”

Theo smiled. “Well, maybe we could be summertime explorers.”

Sophia laughed.

Then he reached his bandaged hand out toward her. “You’ve got chocolate all over your chin,” he said, wiping her chin with his thumb. His hand rested briefly on her face and then slipped easily across her shoulders. Sophia leaned comfortably against him and looked up, finding the dark sky suddenly bright. The blank face of the moon looked down wistfully on the pair and tried to lean in just a little closer.

—1891, July 6: Leaving Nochtland—

T
HE
GREAT
MYSTERY
of how and why the Glacine Age had suddenly manifested would trouble cartologers in New Occident, the Baldlands, and the United Indies for many years to come. It lay beyond their knowledge. Martin posited, and the others agreed, that being in the underground city had saved them. They were already in an outlying pocket of the Glacine Age when the rest of it arrived; the border that would otherwise have transformed them into Lachrima had left them untouched. But no one understood how the Age had shifted its borders or why draining the
carta mayor
had halted the glacier’s progress.

The map that Sophia had brought with her from the pyramid seemed to hold more questions than answers. It described a strange history that began with distant tragedies—rumors of plague and illness traveling across the continent, spreading fear and then panic. The animals of the Glacine Age fell as they grazed. The birds swooped to earth to seize a worm or seed and were struck down, dead. And the people, too, fell, as the cities and towns gradually emptied. It was as though the entire Age had succumbed to an unseen poison. The mapmakers could offer no explanations: they could only record the gradual disintegration of their Age. The memories of the map faded away with the last inhabitants of what had once been a great city, and then they ended.