The Mapmaker's War (16 page)

Still, you must have said something. Aza gave a piece of your story to the woman who aided you with permission to share what she knew. They were told directly who you were. This was their way. Facts, no judgment. Your name was Aoife, who had journeyed long from the kingdom that had provoked the war.

Yes, provoked. Started wasn't accurate. You would learn they claimed responsibility for participating. As they see it, there is no fight if one side refuses to do so. You say the alternative is slaughter, although that's what happened.

Aza stayed at your side and translated your words.

You were taken to a woman who knew of healing plants, and were given teas to clear your cold.

I have no means to pay, you said.

How could I turn away a sick child? asked the gentle old woman.

You were fitted for new shoes with sturdy soles and soft covers.

I have no means to pay, you said.

Your feet cannot wait until you do, said the fatherly shoemaker.

You were led to a small room in a warm house with a neat bed covered in soft linen, a painted chest open and waiting, and a table with a brush, comb, and mirror.

I have no means to pay, you said.

You are the one from that kingdom, said the young woman.

I am.

Is it true you were forced to leave?

Yes.

Sleep now. You're safe.

You slept and slept. A horrible noise startled you. A dream, you thought, until you realized you were roused. You ran outside, afraid, but no one was rushed or alarmed. Someone noticed you. He touched his chest and breathed. He sat you down on a bench and gestured for you to stay. Aza came quickly.

What is that terrible screaming? you asked.

Someone is returning from the war.

The wind shifted. The sounds grew faint. You decided not to ask yet what she had meant. You learned you had been asleep for three days and nights. You were tended in your twilight state but not awakened.

THEN YOU WERE AMONG THEM. THE GUARDIANS. THEY TOOK YOU IN LIKE a foundling child and allowed you to stay. You were asked if you wanted to remain. As if you had a choice. That is incorrect. You could have returned to your home kingdom, but why? You would have had to lie every day of the rest of your life about your origins, your circumstances, your name. Bear in mind, what life would you have had? You had a rare useful skill put to serve kingdoms and conquest. You could have done that for another land. No matter the distance, however, you knew the whereabouts of a woman mapmaker were sure to be found. Even one in disguise.

You recall little about the first months other than the physical actions done. You did fall apart. The loosening limbs was only a start. The details of your grief were too deep in memory then, too muddled with exhaustion. You exerted energy acclimating to the new home, rather than contending with what had led you here. You lived among them, grateful for the peace, grateful that someone gave you food on days you could barely manage to go outside. You were quiet when you wanted to be, found company when that suited you. You were alone, far from where you were born, but you weren't lonely.

On days when you were dark and confused, and there were many, no one told you or gave you the feeling that you should feel differently. The people of your settlement knew the facts of your life before. Where you had come from. That you had been a mapmaker. That you warned the distant Guardian settlement of what the kingdom might do. That you had been married. That you had been exiled from your land. You didn't mention the twins. You didn't say your husband was also the King.

If people wondered what had happened, they could have asked, but no one did. Instead, you were asked what could be done to bring you comfort. You were told if you ever wished to speak, there were many among them who would listen without judgment and in confidence. There were rituals to release and cleanse. You were told there was a ceremony to give yourself a new name if you wished. One of your choosing. The name Aoife was the only vestige of your life before that you were certain you wanted to keep.

The shock subsided. You were asked to help with at least one chore each day. Card wool. Tend crops. Cut wood. Knead dough. You had to be taught these skills. It was good for you. You were often outdoors and busy with a constructive task.

You were like a child. You were clumsy, prone to distraction and easy tears. They were so patient. Everyone. At times, your frustration made you scowl and flail your limbs. They remained still until you were ready to begin again. If it became clear you weren't suited to a task, they expressed no judgment. You were given a chance elsewhere. There was always something else to be done.

You communicated as best you could. You made an effort to learn their language quickly. They immersed you in its musical sounds. Even the children with their sweet avian voices helped you.

ALL THAT YOU HAD HAD BEEN WRENCHED AWAY, YET YOU WERE STILL yourself. Your tendency to observe and study what surrounded you hadn't changed. The first year with the Guardians was spent in pain as much as wonder.

The settlement was on the margin between a deep forest and an expansive plain.

You roamed the forest and the river that rushed through. In your stillness, you saw hares, roe deer, aurochs, boars, hedgehogs, herons, owls, bears, foxes, ermines, and, only once, a pack of wolves. Birch and pine thrived in the rugged earth. Oaks and maples greeted you with splayed branches. You touched these cousins of ones you had known. The shade in high sun gave respite from the heat. That first full fall, you delighted in the bright cheerful scent of spent needles under your feet. When the snow came, you turned to a stand of firs for strength. They bore the cold white weight on their shoulders until the sun and wind gave relief. They endured. So could you. Spring did not unfold or emerge. It screamed a chorus of verdant tongues all at once.

The plain lay wide and full. Wind twisted the blades and blossoms against the light. Flocks of birds whirled to weave earth with sky. The beauty threatened to drown you but instead made you drunk. Summer waved in green and gold, flickered with wildflowers. The grass muted to sand as the cold arrived. Under the snow, it rested in a brown light sleep. It roused when the melt stole its cover. The blinding white thwarted your admiration of the wild horses. Their tracks vanished at the horizon. Poppies sustained the note of spring, red beyond reason.

Unlike the other Guardian settlements you had seen, this one wasn't hidden among the trees. It coiled into the open near a small lake and close to a river. The center contained a well and the Wheels. The road started in the east, curled toward the sun's curve, and moved around where the sun didn't rise or fall. Straight roads radiated from the center to the far edges of the spiral. You sketched the image in your mind and recognized the pattern. It resembled a wheel, but more so a web. Spiders cast such orbs, but you didn't feel trapped.

Like most of the settlements, it was within walking distance of a mine. Beyond the roads and buildings were tracts of land rich with grain crops and vegetables. Oxen grazed within view of the soil they turned. Ample pens held goats, sheep, and swine.

In the spaces between the roads were small gardens, little pastures, tiny orchards, and many buildings of all sizes. Some dwellings were equipped with the tools of trades. There were some for storage of food and goods. The rest were for housing.

In structure, the buildings were much the same, although all faced the heat of the sun. A rare hut was made of stone. For the rest, thick wood timbers set in the ground served to make the rectangular frame. More timbers were used to erect the pitched roof and brace the walls. Mud mixtures or clay filled the hollows around doors and windows. Some of the houses shared walls, and some stood alone.

Roof material was thatch, clay tiles, or slate. Windows had clever woven screens and heavy shutters that bolted shut. Main entry doors hung on sturdy fanciful hinges. Small narrow doors led to shared covered privies and their stores of ash.

Each house was similar but had its own character. The outside walls were painted or decorated with whatever delighted the dwellers. Inside, the first floors were covered with tiles or stone. Upper floors had smoothed wooden planks. Heavy woven and braided rugs blocked what chills they could. Walls were coated in thin plaster and painted with single colors, simple designs, or elaborate murals. Solid walls sometimes separated space. More often, thick curtains hung from the ceiling and wrapped to offer privacy. The first floor had at least one fire pit with an elliptical low brick wall with small holes at its bottom edge. A copper-capped opening in the roof allowed smoke to escape.

Furniture varied in design but not in function. Rough simple tables, benches, and beds were as common as pieces with fine joints and delicate inlays. High-backed seats gave comfort with soft cushions. Chests held what required storage. Baskets held what was often used. Pegs kept overclothes and hats at the ready.

When you left the visitors' house, you were given your own curtained space in a home with three other women. | you chose not to live alone | You went into unlocked storage buildings to select your furniture, bedding, and clothes. In one, you found an obsidian mirror that reached the outstretched span of your fingertips. It rested on a base of wooden talons. A carved owl's head hooked its beak over the top to hold it in place. How long it had been since you chose something for yourself.

Around you were all manner of arrangements. There were family groups of parents and children under one roof. Near relatives lived in the house or close by. Shared dwellings were occupied by men, women, or both, of all ages. Some chose small, single huts. Others lived in pairs. The term applied to any two people who agreed to a bonded relationship. Some wore symbolic rings and some did not. You were shocked at your shock at the adult consent without scrutiny, and at the seeming lack of formality.

Most of the members of the settlement bore a basic resemblance to each other. They were strong and solid. Their eyes narrowed at the far edges, and their skin had a warm tone. Many had dark hair and eyes. Although the Guardians as a whole shared the same culture, the groups didn't all look alike. The people of the other two settlements you'd seen looked different in bone structure, features, and coloring. There were also those born away who joined them and had children of their own.

They dressed with great variation except for one detail. Each person wore the Guardian blue. Some part of a garment or adornment had that color. It was their acknowledgment of a greater unity.

Otherwise, the people clothed themselves in what made them comfortable. To your eyes, it seemed some were costumed. Their garments were sewn with elaborate seams and decorated with embroidery and appliqué. Yet most chose basic but finely made tunics, leggings, skirts, blouses, and shifts. Every person could wear jewels or precious metals if he or she wished. You learned that, to the Guardians, gold and the like had no intrinsic value other than beauty. Human perception made it a commodity, easy to trade.

The Guardians organized themselves with shared effort. Every person who was able worked in some way. You observed trades like the ones people had in your life before. There were smiths, carpenters, and wheelwrights. To provide food and drink, there were farmers, hunters, shepherds, bakers, brewers, and millers. To provide clothing and wares, there were weavers, potters, shoemakers, and tailors.

The settlement also had singers, musicians, and storytellers. To make beautiful things, there were jewelry makers, painters, and embroiderers. Midwives, healers, and Voices tended the pregnant, sick, and distressed.

Mundane tasks were not daily chores as you had observed them. Neighbors arranged to help one another with meals and washing. There were cooking spaces in the buildings with the baking hearths. At the river were inventive water pumps, troughs, and wringing cylinders to clean linens. When harvests ripened, extra hands went into the fields and forest.

Within a short walk of any house or work building, there was a nursery for babies and young children. Elders, young people, and warriors served as tenders. If they wished, mothers and fathers could place the children in the tenders' care while they worked.