Wayfinder (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  He was the one person tasked with remembering all of mortal history. Mankind’s entire impact on the world lived within him, and his job was to keep them. Memories that weren’t his. Histories from before his time. Everything man, dwarves, and every thinking creature were allowed to know, Darby had a place for in his mind and soul, bound by his magic.

  But here, on this ship, he was surrounded by memories that should never have resurfaced. Each time a sailor of bone and ice drew too near, Darby had clutched his head in pain, suddenly tormented with the old histories, unfinished business, and untimely deaths of their former selves. And so, quite quickly after they’d set sail into The Silver Depths, Darby had sequestered himself in the cabin he shared with Fox, leaving only to use the head and swipe food from the galley when it was absolutely necessary. The rest of his time, he spent writing and reading, and waiting for Fox to join him for their daily practice.

  And, it appeared that Darby had chosen the object of today’s lesson. He scrutinized Fox across the map-strewn table for a moment longer before he said, much more calmly than before, “You need to learn control.”

  Fox raised an eyebrow at the maps in front of them. “What do you think I’ve been doing all this time?”

  “I’m not talking about your powers,” said Darby. “I’m talking about your emotions. They’ve been our secondary focus for far too long, and I’ve let that aspect of your training get away from us. For that, I apologize.” He groaned and sat forward, rolling up one map at a time. “The Shavid are, by nature, an impulsive and passionate people. It fuels their art and their music. You fit right into that mold, as well you should. However, given your ... unique connection to the wind, the risks of what might happen if you let your feelings get the better of you are far greater.”

  Fox started to argue, but caught himself. Darby was right. In fact, Fox’s own emotions had run away with his magic in the past. Windows had flown open when he grew angry, his excitement had often caused flurries of leaves and dust to whip up around him, and even Lai had noted his agitation reflecting in the wind’s behavior. He swallowed his own retort and said earnestly, “What should I do?”

  “Meditation, for starters,” suggested Darby, gesturing for Fox to sit. “We’ve learned so much about your Cartomancy through trial and experimentation. There’s no doubt it’s worked to an extent, but perhaps we should have looked within from the beginning.”

  “Would it really have helped all that much?”

  “Consider yourself a winter bonfire,” Darby explained. “You could, eventually, build a large and roaring flame by throwing enough wood and kindling together. But, knowing the best way to build a long-lasting, efficient flame starts from the ground up. Knowing how much kindling. How best to stack the wood. Which materials burn fast and hot, and which take time to coax into being.”

  With that visual in mind, they set to work, Fox spending the next hour beginning to familiarize himself with the magical kindling within. He closed his eyes, listening to Darby talk him through several beginner exercises. At first, it seemed like he was only breathing; in and out to a carefully orchestrated rhythm that Darby tapped out gently on the tabletop. But it didn’t take long for him to start feeling something more. With each breath, his lungs filled and emptied like a sail, and his wind-based magic pulsed along with it. He could feel it flowing through him, as natural as his own blood. And, the more he focused, the more aware of it he was. He could feel a little tingle in the back of his neck, or a jolt in his fingertips as the magic danced within him, eager to play. Desperate to be used.

  “Don’t let it get away from you,” said Darby’s voice from what sounded like afar. Fox realized, even with his eyes closed, that he’d inadvertently been rustling papers around him. “Don’t let your bonfire burn you. You are the master of your magical flame. You can control it. Focus, Fox.”

  For a moment, Fox considered simply opening his eyes. Letting the magic out to play. Sending the wind off on its own, like letting a dog off a rope. And then, he stopped himself. That, he was certain, wasn’t the point of the lesson. He’d always been able to summon the wind to him at a moment’s notice. He could always call on his magic, certain it was there, even if he didn’t understand it, and unleash chaos on a parchment map, or even a city street.

  His magic was a wildfire. He needed it to be as precise as a candle.

  He could feel the wind all around him, awaiting his command. No, not just around him, inside him. Running through his very being. And, for the first time, he saw it as a part of himself. As necessary and as malleable as his own arms and legs. Taking one final breath, he corralled every sensation to a place deep within him, letting it fill some imaginary fire pit in his soul. The papers around him stilled, and Fox opened his eyes with a grin.

  And promptly vomited.

  Darby rushed to grab him a bucket, and waited as Fox emptied his stomach of all its contents. “Sorry about that,” the dwarf said apologetically as Fox resurfaced, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Everyone’s bodies react differently to learning to control their own magical Blessings. Yours has gone unchecked for so long now, it looks like it doesn’t like being penned up.”

  Fox glared up at his mentor. “Couldn’t have warned me before we started?”

  “Would it have stopped you?” asked Darby.

  After a moment, Fox shook his head. “I suppose not.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. “Can’t learn to walk without falling over, can’t learn to hunt without going hungry.”

  “Your body, and your magic, will adjust,” Darby promised him. “Meantime, let’s get you some hot tea. We try again tomorrow.”

  Again, Fox shook his head, this time in protest. “Give me an hour,” he said. “Then we try again.”

  Darby raised an eyebrow, and opened his mouth as if he planned to reprimand or question his student. Then, he merely clapped Fox on the shoulder and pulled him to his feet. “I’ll track down some spare buckets.”

  Whether Darby guessed at the reasoning behind Fox’s insistence, Fox didn’t know. They never spoke of it over the next few days, as Fox demanded Darby put him through more and more complex mediation exercises. But, as Fox continued to grow more and more in tune with the wind magic in his blood, he could tell his grasp on it was growing stronger. By the end of the week, even Lai’s presence near him didn’t cause him to accidentally shake the sails, or rustle a breeze through her flower-scented hair. And that made all the practice worth it. There was much more riding on this voyage than his own heart. Fox couldn’t afford to lose his focus, for Lai’s sake, or for Farran’s.

  Chapter Two

  The Arcanist

  Neil had studied magic all of his life. Not as a practitioner – he had never been Blessed himself with the sort of gifts many of his companions had – but as a scholar. From the moment he’d first seen a wizard conjuring light out of midair, at the university where his father taught, the fascination had buried itself deep in Neil’s soul like a barbed fishing hook. He could no more tear himself away from the pursuit of magical knowledge than he could wield such power himself. Even when Neil busied himself with other interests – training his body for combat, listening to stories around the fire at night, or spending intimate time with his new wife, Gully – the need to learn more was always there. As was the pain, rooted in the knowledge that he would never be more than a walking academic guide. Never a wizard in his own right.

  The pain, however, was easier to ignore when Neil was faced with a curious or new element of magic. And here, aboard the Laila, he was simply swimming in them. Surrounded by memories held together with the magic of a god, and his Godkin daughter, Neil found himself almost as giddy and excitable as he had been as a small boy, watching magic spark a flame into being between the nothingness of a wizard’s fingers.

  For the first two weeks of the voyage, Neil contented himself with simply taking notes. He watched the skeleton crew closely, trying to puzzle out exactly what combination of spells mig
ht be keeping them upright and functioning. He made charts, comparing the divine magic at work with anything in the mortal realm that he’d seen or heard of before, trying to make sense of it. He climbed into the rigging and examined the sails, knitted together by frost. He even casually questioned Lai over dinner on more than one occasion, asking how she felt as this new magic grew within her. How was she learning to control it? What did it feel like to have divine power coursing through your veins?

  Lai answered as best she could, but her responses were frustratingly similar to all those Neil had always gotten from any Blessed he interrogated: she couldn’t explain it. It was something you had to feel. Had to experience for yourself. In short, you had to have magic to truly begin to understand it.

  “But you do understand it,” insisted Gully one night as they lay in their shared hammock, arms wrapped around each other for warmth. “You understand magic better than most magicians I know. Its history, its technique? You’ve spent your entire life studying everything from magic’s toll on a body and mind to the smallest details of what it can do. If that does not qualify as understanding ... ”

  “A soldier may spend his entire life studying military strategy,” said Neil quietly. “He may know the accounts of every great battle by heart, and understand weaponcraft better than any blacksmith. But it does not make him a commander, no matter how badly he may wish it were so.” He paused for a moment, simply letting his dark fingers wind their way through Gully’s hair, savoring the feel of her against his skin. “If he has never killed a man, never set foot on the fields of war ... then that soldier, dreaming of something more, is as unqualified to call himself ‘commander’ as I am to claim I am a wizard. Or that I truly understand magic.”

  “My love,” said Gully gently, “they will study books written by you someday. Whole classes of wizards, warlocks, Blessed trying to learn their own gifts, will desperately turn to your knowledge, and revel in it.” She sat up on one elbow, leaning over Neil and placing one hand on his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes. Even by the dim light of the sleeping quarters, Neil could see the passion burning within them as she spoke. “Of that I am certain. You will be so much more than an ordinary man, using magic to light fires or grow plants, or speak to the wind. You, Neil Palladoran, will be grander than any of them. To hell with your soldier and his imaginary battles. You are a scholar, an adventurer uncovering the secrets of magic that even its own practitioners can’t put words to, and your discoveries will outlive them all.”

  And with that, Gully planted a firm and punctuating kiss on Neil’s lips, before tucking herself back into the crook of his arm. As she drifted off to sleep beside him, Neil wrapped her faith around himself like a blanket, and let it warm him from within. By the time morning came, a manic eagerness had taken hold of Neil, and he threw himself into this new project. With Gully’s help, and occasional insight from Darby and Fox, Neil began work on his first volume. It was small, and simple: an insightful delve into the many magical ways one could create light. He dedicated a chapter each to every way he’d ever come across, and filled the pages with charts and notations, theories and observances.

  In only a few days, Illumine was complete. For a moment, Neil’s pen hovered over the author page as he hesitated. Neil Palladoran was just a man. Someone who would live and die like all mortals. Someone with human emotions and urges and passions. This work, and these magical discoveries, needed to be something more. Smiling to himself, Neil bent his head over the blank page once more, and simply signed it, “The Arcanist.”

  A SMALL CELEBRATION was held that evening in the captain’s quarters, in honor of Neil and his accomplishment. Lai had insisted, and the rest of the living crew had immediately agreed. It seemed everyone wanted an excuse for revelry, and to break up the day-to-day of ship life. They gathered around dusk, and were admitted into the great cabin to a spectacular sight.

  Even in a ship stitched together by magic, the cabin where Lai slept was altogether new. It was like something out of a dream. In fact, Neil reminded himself as he gazed around the room in wonder, parts of it probably were. One of the few truly concrete things he’d managed to get from Lai about her developing powers was that she appeared to lose control of them somewhat while she slept. She said she’d wake up, and pieces of things she’d dreamed about had leaked into the real world. Sometimes, they went away on their own. Other times, they shifted the very fabric of the world around her.

  Here, just as on the rest of the Laila, ice knitted itself over any crack in the wood, filling in whole gaps where ship’s lumber should be. But, unlike everywhere else, the ice in the great cabin was more than just pale blue streaks or silver icicles. It was multi-colored barnacles and coral, sprouting from the woodwork. It was flickering flames that somehow warmed the room, despite appearing to be made of nothing but purple frost. The magic glimmered in the dim light from the setting sun, filtering through rimed glass windows, and cast a hint of ethereal color over everything.

  And then, in some places, it wasn’t ice at all, but thick evergreen branches, and small bundles of forest flowers Neil remembered seeing in Thicca Valley. “Home,” he whispered to Gully. “She’s been dreaming of home.”

  At the center of the room, a long table had been decorated for the occasion, with a small feast laid out on platters of tarnished silver and water-stained copper. Overhead, a curious chandelier shone down on them, each branch a different style of glowing lantern. Some were green and flickering, others perfectly round balls of amber flame. Still others did not seem attached at all, but merely floated in the general area of the ceiling, lending their light to the chamber without ever properly becoming part of the fixture.

  “So then,” said Darby, glancing around the cabin as he took his seat in a high-backed, lavishly-cushioned chair. “This is what the luxury of a pirate king looks like.” He ran his fingers appreciatively along an intricate carving dancing across the arm of his seat.

  Farran bowed sanctimoniously as he took his own place at one end of the table – he left the head, the seat of highest honor, for Lai. “You weren’t expecting nothing but gemstones and jewels, were you?” He placed a hand on his chest in mock scandal. “My good sir, I’m a collector, not a show off.”

  “So, where is it, then?” asked Cullen, like a child eagerly awaiting a bedtime story. “Your hoards of treasure?”

  “Interested in treasures, are you?” asked Farran, cocking an eyebrow at the young man.

  “Who isn’t?” said Cullen. The rest of the group had seated themselves by now, and he looked around at them as if seeking confirmation. “The legends of your exploits on the high seas are ... well ... legendary! I grew up hearing stories and songs about cursed treasures and magical jewels, all plundered by the adventurous pirate god.”

  “And you thought by marrying his daughter, you’d be entitled to a piece of it, did you?” said Farran cooly.

  Cullen shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Lai glared at Farran across the table. But it was Fox who stepped in, coming smoothly to Cullen’s rescue. “You can’t blame a man for wondering,” said Fox. “You lend yourself to mortal curiosities, friend.” He smirked at Farran. “I’ve been inside your head, lived through your own memories, and even I often ask myself what other stories you could tell.”

  Something unspoken passed between Neil’s best friend and the god. A wordless challenge. They stared each other down for a heartbeat, before Farran grinned, and raised his glass. “It’s a story you want then, is it? What shall it be?” He addressed the table, as charismatic and engaging as any Shavid about to spin their fireside tales. “I could tell you of the islands where I’ve hidden my treasures, and the terrors I’ve left behind to protect them. I could relive battles and grand conquests.” He sprang to his feet, leaping onto his chair and planting one booted foot on the tabletop with a mighty crash. “I could tell you of great sea monsters I’ve slain with my crews, and cursed pendants I’ve hunted across worlds and stolen from kings!” As the s
mall gathered crowd began to cheer, Farran’s eyes met his daughter’s. “I could tell you the greatest story in the world, about a foolish god, who fell in love with a mortal woman.”

  At once, the whole room quieted again, holding its collective breath. Beneath the table, Gully squeezed Neil’s hand tightly. None of them had dared ask about Adella. Even Fox didn’t speak of the memories he’d shared with Farran, insisting that it was Lai’s choice when she wanted to hear them. For a moment, everyone waited, wondering if this was finally that time.

  “I think,” said Lai slowly, “a tale of daring adventure and cursed treasure is just what we need.”

  With a nod that was half understanding, half regret, Farran swept the moment away like a passing wave as he launched into his tale. As the pirate performed, the great cabin was soon filled with laughter and gasps, and the clinks and clangs of silverware on plates. One story turned into another, and then Darby took over. The dwarf spoke of great tournaments in his faraway mountain home, and legends of champions who had slain underground beasts. Even Neil was goaded into standing and reading a passage from his book. Doing his best to echo the grandiose personas the Shavid always put on when they told their stories, Neil spoke of an ancient civilization that carved magical light into their very skin, tying the power to their blood and souls.

  The company feasted on roast venison and savory pheasant. They toasted with spiced wine and indulged in sticky cakes filled with fruit and honey. A friendly game of dice broke out between Norda, Gully, Lai, and Fox, while Cullen and Darby placed bets on the outcome. And Neil, for the first time since the journey had started, was left relatively alone with Farran.

  The two sat at the far end of the long dining table, watching the game in silence for several minutes. It was Farran who spoke first, leaning over the gap between them to scoop up the journal stamped Illumine. “Fox always told me you were quite the scholar. I saw it for myself a bit, back in Calibas.” He thumbed idly through the pages. “How many of these do you aim to compile?”