The Map Makers Daughter: A captivating epic fantasy tale. Read online

  The Map Makers Daughter

  Caroline Dunford

  Contents

  Shift

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Shift

  On the calmest day of the year the harbour shines mirror smooth. The air lies warm and heavy over the village port of Frangelli. Maven sways high in the rigging of the Susan-May checking and rechecking that next time his twisting sail would properly unfurl. The sea breeze ruffles his jet black curls. The sharp salty smell of the sea invigorates him and he climbs higher. His nut brown skin, the lines around his eyes from squinting too long into the sun, make him appear older than his true age. But the way he scrambles up lithely among the ropes belies that.

  The Susan-May hasn’t been his for long and he is still learning her ways. The failure of her twisting sail to unfurl in the last storm was almost catastrophic. Not long ago he would have told this tale with bravado, now he is engaged and returning to harbor has never been more important. Yasmeen is his world, his obsession and the love of his life. His grandmother says he is infatuated, but if he is, he is happy about it.

  Maven tugs a final thread tight on the sail attachment. His eyes run searchingly over the mechanism. Today is a fete day and everyone else is preparing for the celebration. Maven wants to join them, but only when he is completely sure his ship is safe. He is taking a certain pride in delaying his pleasure. He feels as if he has truly crossed the boundary into manhood.

  He flicks the little silver cogs of the winding gear one last time with his fingers. They spin and hum sweetly. No problems. All it had been was a bit of dirt. His father was right. It was imperative to dismantle and polish the gears every time he came into port. It’s a tedious and time consuming job, but he won’t skip it again.

  He has one more trip planned before his wedding to Yasmeen. One more voyage to catch the autumn Durfish migration and then every trip after that he will be coming home to his wife. Maven lifts his face to the suns and smiles into the clear sky. He can hardly believe he will soon be a married man, and the youngest village elder Frangelli has had in living memory. His parents, eager to retire, are as excited as he. The whole village has agreed to put aside some of the season’s gifts of food from Milton Hold to celebrate the day.

  Maven looks down fondly on his home. Frangelli might be a small fishing village, but it’s a prosperous one. His family home is large; a group of low buildings surrounding a sunny courtyard where he and his sisters played as children. His sisters now all had homes of their own and his parents plan to move to a small cottage. Soon the house will belong to him and Yasmeen. Then, they too would raise their family there. This was the way of things. Maven could not have been happier.

  A sudden ripple across the bay jolts him. Without thinking he locks his wrists and feet into the nearest rigging straps. The boat tips again. Not letting go, he twists to survey the horizon. Across the bay he sees the unthinkable, a series of incoming ripples, stacking up one after another on what had been an utterly flat sea.

  There is no wind. No sign of any clouds.

  Under the warmth of the golden sun, Maven’s heart turns to ice.

  It can’t be.

  There’s been no warning. No messenger with maps from the Hold. Everyone is in the village. Everyone.

  Maven shouts. He screams a warning to his village. His voice carries through the still air. A door opens in the house closest to the harbour. He can see Yasmeen. She is wiping her floury hands on her apron, her distant face raised to him in question.

  ‘Get to high ground,’ yells Maven. Frantically he begins to untangle himself from the safety straps. ‘Get up! Get up! Shift is coming! Shift!’

  In response to his cry the villagers stops mid task. There is a moment of stillness, but only a moment. A silent understanding sweeps through the village. Shift, Maven had cried Shift.

  Impossible, but such a warning is too dangerous to ignore. As one, the villagers abandon their work, tossing aside baskets and tools. Everyone runs. Parents scoop up children. Others propel the elderly outdoors. Children catch their pets if they could. Everyone races towards high ground. The whole village flees. All except Yasmeen.

  Across the harbour the ripples become waves. In less than a hundred heartbeats the water has grown monstrous, with rank after rank of foam topped crests as high as houses.

  If she runs now, maybe she had a chance. Maven screams again to her to run. But Yasmeen only stood there watching him trying to free himself. She will not leave without him.

  The walls of water move slower than the natural tide, but it flows relentlessly. There are only moments. Maven cannot reach her before the water hits. He cannot even free himself from the rigging in time. ‘Run!’ he screams. ‘Run! Go!’ Below him her small figure resolutely shakes its head.

  Maven twists one last time to the horizon. With every heartbeat the sea grows higher, towering in an impossible wall. It is like a great creature bearing down upon its prey.

  The sky above the Susan-May grows dark. The incoming waves have blocked out the sun. Maven turns back towards the harbour. Yasmeen has finally run, but she has run towards him. She stands by the harbor wall, staring up into his eyes. ‘Together forever,’ she mouths..

  He feels coldness on his back. He knows what was coming, but he doesn’t take his eyes from Yasmeen. It is all he can do for her now; share this moment of their death together.

  The first waves broke over the Susan-May. Maven’s boat is tossed high on the back of the sea, but the boat is heavily laden for her imminent voyage, and she stays upright. Maven, half fastened into the rigging, is tossed mercilessly back and forth. He loses sight of Yasmeen as his world tumbled about him. He closes his eyes to keep her image in front of him. He hears the eerie thunder of the stormless, water making landfall. He hears cries of terror, and then his head connects with the main mast and he knows no more.

  The rigging of the Susan-May was the best Maven’s family could afford. In its time it had saved Maven’s grandfather and his father. This day, it saved Maven.

  When he came to, he was still aloft but upside down. He could see no sign of the sea, only a dull grey beneath him. Slowly, he understood the boat was now high upon the shore, her hull broken by a ragged line of rocks.

  Shocked and bruised Maven cuts himself free with his boot knife and half falls, half scrambles, down to the deck. He clambers up to the prow that now lay on an incline. The house by the harbour is still there. Beyond it he can see his home. He hopes beyond reason.

  He drops over the side to land awkwardly on the sea-slick rocks. Later he had no memory of how he had made his way inland. He was left only with the cuts, bruises and pain of his desperation.

  He swings himself over what had been the harbour wall. Only then does he see her. She has not shrunk from her fate. She had stayed by him to the end. The waves have taken her where she had stood, picked her up and thrown her like a doll against the wall of her own home.

  Yasmeen’s body lies all sharp and twisted angles; her long dark hair spread out around her. Maven runs to her. His heart racing. All his injuries forgotten. Please, please, he begs, I will do anything. I will do anything. Let her live. But as he bends over her battered, once sweet face, her eyes look past him and into the life beyond.

  1

  ‘Stop that! Stop it at once!’

  Standing over the fallen horse, his whip still raised, the messenger freezes. He turns to see the two teenagers riding up. Both Jayne and Sharra are windswept and mud-splattered, but the colours of Milton Hold on their cloaks are still visible. The messenger drops his whip, but aims one last surreptitious kick at his ride.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Sharra’s green eyes glitter with anger.

  The wind steals tendrils of Jayne’s white blonde hair from their plaits. Jayne brushes them away. Silently she watches her younger sister’s anger.

  ‘Answer me!’ The man ignores her and focusses on Jayne. She returns his gaze with a calm and distant one. Sharra, he can dismiss as yet another angry young one, but Jayne, a bare two years older, already carries an air of authority.

  ‘I’ve got maps to deliver. There’s a Shift due. I’d be obliged if I can borrow your horse, Miss.’

  Jayne’s manner changes at once. She slides out of the saddle and drops down onto the ground. ‘Of course, you must take her. Sharra and I will share a horse home.’

  The man nods his thanks and begins to untie the bags from the fallen horse.

  ‘What happened?’ asks Sharra more quietly.

  ‘Caught his leg in some hole, damn fool beast. I reckon it’s only a sprain, but the lazy . . .’ he looks up at Sharra, assesses her age and changes what he was going to say. ‘The lazy creature wouldn’t get up.’

  The messenger straightens, one bag in each hand, and looks up at the suns. ‘Blast the World!’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asks Jayne, but Sharra guesses at once.

  ‘It’s too late, isn’t it?
’

  ‘I reckon there’s four hours before it hits.’

  ‘Where do you need to reach?’ Sharra says.

  ‘Harrbourgh and Malington.’

  Jayne raises a hand to her face. ‘And you can’t reach both?’

  ‘Nope.’ He takes the reins from her and sets to lengthening the stirrups. ‘You’re Lord Milton’s daughters aren’t you?’ His eyes flick curiously from Jayne’s blonde head to Sharra’s dark curls.

  ‘Yes.’ Sharra identifies them both without hestitation.

  ‘Right then. I’ll ask you if you’ll be kind enough to take Malington’s maps back to the Hold with you.’

  ‘But the people . . .’says Sharra.

  ‘Will have to fend for themselves for once.’

  ‘Could you ask Camden Hold to help? They could send another rider. You could reach there and still have time to get to Harrbourgh,’ says Jayne

  ‘It’s not a bad thought, Miss, but Malington’s ours. Camden’s not prone to doing Milton favours. I don’t reckon they would risk a messenger and a rider.’

  ‘Even in a case of emergency?’ Jayne is shocked.

  ‘It’s not a Camden emergency.’

  Sharra speaks up again. ‘You could get to Malington and back in fours hours.’

  ‘Maybe. But I’d not have time to reach Harrbourgh then. They lie in opposite directions, Miss.’

  ‘I know that,’ snaps Sharra. ‘I’ve seen the maps.’

  The man raises an eyebrow in surprise. ‘If that’s so, you’ll know it’s not possible for me to reach both. I’m heading for Harrbourgh. It’s nearer.’

  ‘And safer!’ says Sharra

  ‘Hush. He’s right,’ says Jayne. ‘He has to reach the people he can. It makes sense for him to go to Harrbourgh. World bless Malington.’

  ‘B-but he can’t. The further away from the Hold the worse the Shift. Without the new maps they won’t know what’s happening. They won’t know where is safe!’ says Sharra

  ‘Now you understand why I was beating that damn fool horse. If the dispatch master had had the sense to send two of us, but oh no it’s always “we have to save the resources” when it’s folks outside the Hold are concerned.’

  Sharra gave an unladylike snort. ‘Milton Hold isn’t like that. My father cares about . . .’ she broke off as she sees the messenger’s face harden and swallows down her anger. ‘We can’t let those people die.’

  The messenger shrugs. ‘It’s out of my hands.’

  ‘It’s not like there’s anything we can do, Sharra. It’s sad, but it’s the way of things.’ Jayne puts her hand on her arm.

  Sharra shakes her off. ‘Give me the maps.’ The two of them look at her blankly. ‘The ones for Harrbourgh. I don’t know the way well enough to get to Malington, but I know I can get to Harrbourgh. If you go now, you’ll make it and be back close enough to the Hold to be safe.’

  The messenger glances at Sharra and at the lower sun. ‘I don’t know about that, Miss.’

  ‘You have to try. You’re a Map Messenger from Milton. That means something!’

  The messenger hesitates.

  ‘You took an oath!’

  The messenger frowns. Then with a quick decisive motion he hands one of his bags up to Sharra. ‘Take it to the village hall. They’ll see the maps reach those that need them and the Shift is only a small one there.’ The messenger mounts Jayne’s horse.

  ‘Malington?’ asked Jayne.

  ‘Map Makers reckon Blackthorn Hill to the left of the village is liable to move.’

  ‘Which is a glib way of saying it’s going to be a major disaster,’ concluded Sharra.

  The messenger fails to meet her eyes.

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I? Chasms? Landslides? Even black fire?’

  The messenger nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it. Be best if the outlying farmers moved centre-wards until tomorrow. You’re right. I should try and reach them.’

  ‘But Sharra can’t go riding off across the country alone!’

  ‘She’s plenty of time and she’s right, close to the Hold nothing much will happen. They weren’t built on the pillars of the World for nothing! When all else falls the pillars will hold until the end of time.’ He wheels the horse and rides off.

  As his dust cloud recedes, Jayne says ‘You can’t go. You know that, don’t you? You were right to push him to go to Malington, but we have to get back.’

  ‘Afraid?’ Sharra ties the bag firmly to her pommel, testing the knots.

  ‘It’s not seemly for you to do this. Women aren’t Map Messengers.’

  ‘Women aren’t Map anything. Don’t worry Jayne. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. See what you can do for that poor horse.’

  ‘Sharra! You can’t! You can’t leave me here! It’s the middle of nowhere!’

  But Sharra was already away, thundering across the field. There will be trouble later, but for now her blood is pounding in her ears. She feels alive, excited. The wind pulls at her bonnet and it sails away over a hedge. Sharra laughs out loud. She shakes her hair to free it from its ribbons and races on.

  When she returns two and a half hours later, Jayne is cold and angry. The horse has fared worse and is dead.

  ‘I delivered the maps.’

  Jayne gives her a withering look. ‘If you would be so kind as to take me back to the Hold now.’

  Sharra sighs. ‘You must see I had to do it.’

  ‘No. I don’t. It wasn’t your place.’

  ‘You’re only upset with me because I enjoyed doing it.’

  ‘You are such a child sometimes,’ grumbles Jayne, swinging herself up onto the horse.

  ‘We’ll be home soon. You’ll feel better when you’ve got some hot soup inside you.’

  As they ride back Timos, the second sun, dips below the horizon and night surrounds them. The evening frost reaches out with thin fingers. The ground crackles as the ice embraces it. Sharra gazes up at the stars hanging glorious in the sky above.

  ‘Father once told me there were more stars when he was a boy. I can’t imagine it.’

  She feels Jayne shrug behind her. ‘I wouldn’t know. Milton doesn’t spend time chatting with me.’

  ‘It’s more that I seek him out. More often than not he tells me to go away he’s so busy.’

  ‘But he does to talk to you. More than anyone.’

  ‘Anyone who’s not a Map Maker!’

  ‘You know what I mean. You’re close.’

  ‘You have your mother.’

  Jayne gives and they ride on in silence. With the moons’ help it is more than light enough to find the way home. Their mount, weary from the rapid journey to Harrbourgh and burdened with both of them, slows to a gentle plod. The world is silent as it waited for the next Shift. Jayne rests her head on her sister’s shoulder in an unspoken gesture of forgiveness. Both of them strain ahead into the darkness longing to see the welcoming lights of the Hold that would mean they are safe.

  It is not long before they see the outlying farms of their Hold. White trails crackle over the deserted fallow fields pinching any shoots foolish enough to hazard the winter eve. The frost ices the red tiled roofs of the Hold farms and clouds the breath of cattle in their stalls. It tickles the paws of farmyard cats and firms muddy tracks into rough roads. Water at the bottom of the deepest wells shivers as snowy crystals form.

  As the girls clatter into the courtyard they barely spare a glance for the majestic Milton Hold with its mismatch of towers and gables, courtyards and stables built and added to by generations of the Milton family. It is simply home. They tumble thankfully off their horse. A yardman appears from the shadows to take it away. Without discussion, Jayne and Sharra head for the kitchen, where Marnie, who once worked in the nursery, holds domain. As soon as they stepped over the threshold, a bank of warm air greets them.

  ‘Oh thank goodness for the range!’ Jayne runs forward to warm her hands. ‘Everywhere else in the Hold may be cold, but we know we can always trust you, Marnie, to keep a fire burning.’