(originally published June 10, 2015)
One thing I can say about Chuck Wendig’s weekly writing
challenges, is that they give me the opportunity to do a bit of worldbuilding. A
series has been brewing for a long time, and with many of these challenges,
I’ve had the chance to sketch out the lands, the characters, and ideas for the
plot. Kind of distracting for making progress on my fourth novel, but at least
it counts to another book in some regard!
And herewith, the new random
title challenge, “Five Days of the Cartographer.”
Cal hunched over the parchment and groaned. He stretched his
cramped arms and turned his neck side to side, but felt little relief. He held
the quill over the map. “Where to put Aurora Bay?” Cal scratched his beard.
He decided to place the bay tantalizingly close to
Gallixia’s Shellshard Islands in the northeast corner of the region. The stormy
seas north of the islands prevented travel most of the time, but there was
always one fool who would venture through it, if the promise of treasure was
large enough.
It was almost time to go to market. He had five days to sell
the map and return to the ship. He drew cross-hatched lines to indicate the
steep cliffs that guarded the coast near Aurora Bay. As the cliffs formed, Cal
missed home.
Silkur was but a legend to many people in the Vourae and
Gallixian kingdoms. Those who had seen it in person never returned. Their
people preferred to be left alone. Though resources were abundant on Silkur,
they craved the goods from the kingdoms from the south. And sometimes, people
were those goods. Trade was one-sided. Fiefdoms in Silkur were comprised of
solitary sorcerers who ruled over small villages of corsairs and fishermen.
When the map was done, Cal dusted the parchment with a fine
powder to absorb the excess ink. The powder glowed a faint orange. Cal grinned.
With the magic imbued in the map, the plan was set. He prepared to walk to the
market.
With the exception of the capital, Silkur had no cities. Cal
disdained crowds and his mood darkened as he approached the cartographer’s
stall. His tubes and satchels of maps landed on the table with a loud thump.
“And a fine day to you, sir!” shouted the cider-seller
across the way. He laughed and waved, and offered Cal a free mug of cider.
Cal hung his head down for a moment to regain his composure.
“I’m no actor. How I wound up in this job is a wonder,” he muttered.
When he raised his head, his smile was bright. “Thank you,
neighbor. And a gentle reminder, please tell your patrons to be cautious with
their cider around my maps. Can’t afford any accidents, now.”
The cider-seller laughed again. “Of course; wouldn’t want
anyone to lose their way due to a stain on one of your fine maps.”
Cal’s grin was wry. He waved again and proceeded to organize
his wares. If he only knew.
By mid-morning, throngs of people pressed through the
corridors of stalls. Hunters, traveling workers, and explorers of all kinds
visited the cartographer. The ensorcelled map of Silkur remained under the
display table, rolled up and waiting for just the right opportunity.
*****
By the fifth day, Cal was frustrated enough to sell the map
to the first curious patron who came along. And luckily, the first customer was
the perfect mark.
Rain drizzled on this grey day. The east coast of the Vourae
Kingdom was less tropical than the west coast. The rains tended to be lighter
and less frequent. Cal ignored his aching knees as he stood, watching a man
stroll through the marketplace. The man wore an oil-coated fisherman’s jacket.
He looked like a seasoned seafarer—but not too seasoned. Just ambitious enough.
As the man approached the cartographer’s stall, Cal met his
eye with enthusiasm. “Hello there! Are you from the Shellshard Islands?”
The man looked surprised. “What gave it away?”
“Your coat—the best oilskin coats come from the
Shellshards.”
“This coat will last longer than I do.”
“What brings you this far south?” Cal asked.
“Expanding my business. My family fished for scallops and
crabs for generations. That’s fine enough, but I don’t want to spend my whole
life sailing around the same islands like they did. I love seeing new places,
and it’s helped my finances a lot since I started importing goods back home. A
lot of this stuff,” the man waved his hand around in the direction of the other
stalls, “fetches a fine price in the Shellshards.”
“I bet it does. Say, have you ever been to Silkur?”
The man scoffed. “Close
to home, but ever so far away—that’s what my granddad always said.
Impossible to get to.”
“Not if you know the way.”
A scowl descended over the man’s face. “So say the
charlatans.” He took a step back from the stall.
Cal held up a hand. “Now, please, hear me out. My maps are
all authentic. There’s not a one on this table that I haven’t traveled myself.”
“Including Silkur?” His arms crossed over this chest and he
stared Cal down hard.
“Things are changing there, believe it or not. Yes, they’ve
been isolationists for ages. Trade with them meant pirates taking what they
wanted and returning home. Did you know that along the coast, the supply of
fish has been running low? Overfishing, you know. The people of the villages
are crying for change. They need to connect with the rest of the world and they
know it.”
“They want to trade? With us?”
“Consider what the prospects are if you are one of the first
to establish regular trade with Silkur? You could become a titan among
merchants! Handle this well, sir, and your fortunes would help your family for
generations.”
The man paused. His hand hovered over a pouch hanging from
his belt, surely where his coin purse lay.
Take the hook, my fisherman.
It took Cal every ounce of willpower not to sneer.
“Can I see the map?”
“Yes, I have it right here.” Cal reached under the table and
pulled out the tube. He gently pulled out the parchment and unrolled it on the
counter. “May I ask your name, sir?”
He man let out a long breath as he stared at the details on
the map. Lifting his hand up to hold his chin, he stood and grew increasingly
distracted. The orange dust on the map shimmered just a bit—just enough to
appear as though the light came from the nearby lantern. “Damon Silversky.”
“Mr. Silversky, I don’t think I have to tell you this is a
once-in-a-lifetime chance. I promise you, this map is as authentic as your
oilskin coat. Think of the opportunity—The Shellshard Trading Company, founded
by Mr. Damon Silversky.”
“How much?”
Cal named his price. High, but not exorbitant. Coin changed
hands, and the man with new dreams in his eyes walked away.
Cal sighed happily. “Finally, now I can leave this
godsforsaken city. Just enough time to get packed up and off to the boat.”
*****
When Damon Silversky’s ship reached the Ghost Storm
Peninsula on the northern edge of the Shellshard Islands, the sunset brightened
to fiery shades of orange. Clouds that appeared to be made of soot began to
cover the setting sun, swirling too fast for normal clouds.
The would-be trader clutched the map in his hands. “Can’t
abide rough seas now.”
The first mate approached with the sextant, handing out to
him. “You can see land to the northeast! I think we’re close.”
He used the sextant. His heart swelled with ambition. “What
do you make of this sky? What storm are we facing?”
“Honestly, I’ve never seen colors like this. Aurora Bay,”
the first mate whistled. “That’s what they say about the skies in Silkur.
Absolutely otherworldly. The clouds are unusual, but I think we’ll be fine. The
winds aren’t very strong.”
Damon stared at the black clouds in wonder. How they moved
so fast, yet the swells and wind remained the same, peaceful calm as they had
for hours. “Sail on,” he said.
The enveloping night sky delighted the sailors with the
varied colors of the northern lights and the clouds that danced around them. The
closer they got to the shore, the more amazing the skies became.
Until the lighthouse came into sight. They didn’t notice it
at first. The beacon remained dark until they were close to the end of the bay.
The beacon’s light flared into a ball of magical light, and the sky went dark.
They were not blessed with starlight nor moonlight. Plunged
into the blackest of voids, Damon called for the ship to be stayed.
They waited, tensely listening to the sounds of the gentle
waves.
A crescent of fire surrounded the ship. Seven dragonships of
Silkur came into view. Ships of legend, the dragonships were massive, each
metal dragon’s head at the bow puffing smoke and flame, ready to burn an enemy
ship at a warlord’s command.
A voice came from the darkened bow of one of the ships. “You
will surrender.” It wasn’t a question.
There was no choice.
As the corsairs boarded the ship en masse, Damon wondered
who Cal really was.
Obviously no simple cartographer. The slavers clasped each
sailor in chains, and assigned their own to guide the ship home to Silkur
behind the dragonships.
A titan among merchants,
Cal thought with a sardonic grin, feeling the iron cuffs weigh down his wrists.
A titan among fools, more like. If I ever get out of this mess, I’ll hunt
down that cartographer and feed him to the god of the kraken.
