Original Story: Hic Sunt Dracones
Now that the Crones contest is over, I can post my entry for it here. It's been revised quite a bit since the contest - I cut off nearly 1000 words and changed some dialogue in parts. Now I like it a lot better. =D Anyway, this is one of the stories I'm going to use in my portfolio for a writing class I want to take at university.
Rating: PG
Warnings: wine consumption, magic use, kiss scene
Word Count: 5720
Summary: A man lost in his work. A woman who has lost hope. A map that can change everything with three simple words: Hic sunt dracones.
Hic Sunt Dracones
A light breeze filtered in through the open window, causing the papers on the desk to rustle like autumn leaves. This did not amuse the man who was sitting behind the desk; he scowled when the pages of the book he had been reading blew shut as he reached for his quill. Grumbling to himself, he rose to shut the window, pausing only when the heard the sound of laughter in the garden. The sun was shining brightly, forcing him to squint as he stared down to see the children playing cricket. The boys were throwing the ball with unnecessary violence while the girls were cleverly finding ways of evading their brothers as they ran to the bowler’s wicket and back. The sight of their youthful pleasures almost brought a small smile to his lips. He could not remember a time when he had been able to engage in such activities; his childhood had been torn between being companion to his deaf mother and trying to live up to his father’s high expectations.
The bitter memory of that time in his life was enough to make the scowl reappear, this time deeper than before. He closed the window with a loud snap and went back over to his desk to neaten the piles of books and parchment upon it. His last journey to the city had yielded many interesting finds in obscure market stalls and the ancient library. The majority of the parchments were so old that they threatened to crumble at the slightest touch, while some of the books clearly dated back to a time centuries in the past.
Most of his days were spent within this room, studying the books and maps he had collected throughout his life. With careful hands, he would copy the parchments that were in the most danger of destruction from mere use. Later he would file away the new copies of the map or letter while he painstakingly tried to restore the original. There were many times in which restoration failed, even with the use of magic. He knew better than to put faith in the work of magic, especially when it pertained to his books.
With a bitter sigh, he reached for the next of his new acquisitions, a quarto volume of history plays by a little-known playwright. Although the dialogue was sometimes lugubrious and the language very exaggerated, the plays were not terrible and did include some interesting tidbits about past royalty. He absently flipped through the book and put it aside, its condition far better than most of the works he had recently purchased. The next book in the pile was slightly larger and entirely handmade; the text within it had been cautiously handwritten by a long-ago scholar or magician. He frowned deeply upon seeing the small holes made by a bookworm. Such things were very difficult to repair, but to leave the book as it was in its present condition would never do; the pages that were in need of mending would disintegrate at a faster rate, then the text would be lost forever.
The library was a very lonely room, inhabited only by him and his books. It seemed that everyone in the house was too preoccupied with not disturbing anyone else. The children did not dare come up to the library unless called for, knowing that they’d only meet with their father’s heavy scowl. Nor did they climb the stairs to the tallest tower, where their mother tirelessly studied her magic. She was not likely to become angry with them for interrupting her work, yet all the same they would not take their chances.
The distance between the library and the tower was a large one, especially if that distance was never breached by either party involved. If only...
Crash!
Glass from the windowpane shattered upon impact from the cricket ball, which flew across the room, hitting the pile of books and sending many of them tumbling to the ground. For a moment, the man was stunned, unable to move. He stared at the leather-covered ball, which continued to roll until it stopped to rest against the leg of a table. His cheeks turned pale with fury when he rose to see the pile of books and parchment spilt across the floor in front of his desk. This incident would only create more work than he already had. Like he needed anymore of it.
The sound of numerous footsteps echoed down the hallway, alerting him to the presence of he perpetrators of the whole mess. There was a pause in which whispers could be heard outside the open door, as though they were discussing which of them should brave their father’s fury. As a head covered in yellow curls peeked around the doorframe, the occupant of the room was already kneeling over the fallen books, gingerly folding back dog-eared pages and placing the books back on the desk.
“Father?”spoke a plaintive voice from the doorway.
The man looked up, a book in his hand. “I suppose you wish to retrieve your ball?”
The boy, who was perhaps nine or ten, winced at the cold fury in his father’s voice, then nodded his head, which sent the curls bobbing like mad.
“Then come get it. There’s no use standing about the door all day.”
However, the child did not budge from his position. His dark green eyes were wide with what appeared to be fear. “B-b-but the window, sir...”
The man waved a careless hand towards the broken pane, staring at a piece of parchment on the floor with curiosity. All the scathing remarks that had been on the tip of his tongue vanished in a moment. “I’ll ask your mother to come fix it this evening. It was an accident, I’m sure.”
“Y-y-yes it was,” the boy said, hurrying into the room to grab the ball.
He was about to hurry out again when the man, who had now picked up the parchment, stopped him. “Marcus?”
The boy’s eyes widened to an impossible size. “Y-y-yes, sir?”
“Enjoy your game,” the man said absently, slowly rising with his eyes seemingly glued to the parchment. He circled the desk and sat back down in the chair, not noticing as his son stood there looking shocked. There were more whispers from the hallway, and finally, the boy left the room. The sound of retreating footsteps was heard, then, minutes later, the game outside resumed with many whispers about Father’s strange reaction.
The reason for this strange reaction could be found within the mysterious parchment which had slipped from one of the books. It was very possible that, had the ball not flown through the window, he would not have discovered the paper within the book for a very long time, for the book was not at all an interesting one. Certainly not one he would casually browse through.
Hands trembling with excitement, he unfolded the parchment as carefully as possible so as not to rip it. From the ink markings on the outside, this was a very old document, possibly from the Ancient Ones who had once lived far to the south in great stone cities. The words used on the map, although not unfamiliar to the man, did not seem to make any sense. It appeared to be some sort of magical incantation or code.
Finally, he completed the task of unfolding the parchment and breathed in quickly with surprise. It was not the ancient scripture he had expected. It was not even a simple list of spells or potion ingredients. It was a map.
Colourful inks marked various countries, cities, and the topography of the land. The sea was a colour of blue so bright and vibrant that the man imagined he could see the waves crashing against the shoreline. Every detail possible was evident: mountains, forests, marshland, even wildlife were featured. His eyes were drawn to each of these, taking in the beauty of the map as he sat there, eyes transfixed upon it. Yet the artistry could only hold his attention for so long until he tried to interpret the words and markings. Even with all the landmarks drawn upon the map, it was difficult to place the locations that it depicted. Thinking back on other maps he had seen in the past, the man realised that he was entirely unfamiliar with the lands pictured on this particular map. It showed a world he had never even imagined to exist.
Then he saw the words. Three simple words: Hic sunt dracones.
For many minutes, he stared at the words, as though he were trying to understand their meaning. Perhaps it was the peculiar word order that troubled him. Usually the verb - in this case sunt - was supposed to be at the end of the sentence, not in the middle. It was definitely a vulgar rendition of the ancient language, the man thought with a small sneer. Then he looked closer at the last of the three words: dracones.
There was little question as to the meaning of this word, yet the man refused to allow its possible meaning to cloud his judgement. There were no such things as dragons. Such creatures were only heard of in old legends and tales for children, but they didn’t exist. They never had.
Had they?
How could this map appear entirely by coincidence and just happen to contain a single word that had the ability to make a man question his thoughts and beliefs? This map could merely be work of art, something entirely created within the fanciful mind of a long-ago artist. Yet each stroke of the brush seemed to be filled with affection; each word was written with such care that it could be clearly read even in dim light; each picture was so real that one wanted to believe that such a place was really out there, waiting to be discovered.
But dragons? Surely not.
He looked back at the map and the countries shown upon it. If the map was ancient, many of the cities would no longer exist, either because of plague, drought, or for a thousand other reasons. The borders between countries would have changed when lands were conquered and lost. Little was known of the countries that existed beyond the great mountain range that separated the Southern Lands from the rest of the continent. Of the few passes there were, the majority were filled with snow the entire year.
There was, however, one person who had once travelled far to the west and seen great wonders, including giant winged lizards who could breathe fire from their mouths and nostrils. It had been a land of magic more powerful than any known about in the Southern Lands. Magicians there were not looked upon as demigods or as if they were cursed. It appeared to be a land where anyone could achieve whatever they wanted, but it was only a story.
Or was it?
A knock on the library door interrupted his thoughts. The head of a manservant appeared, the silver embroidery on his livery glittering in the light.
“My lord, dinner is ready and has been this last quarter hour. Her ladyship requested that I come to see if you will join her.”
His lordship sat back in his chair with a frown. Just as his work was getting interesting...
“Alright,” he said harshly. “Tell her I’m coming.”
The manservant disappeared, his footsteps making no sound as he hurried down the hall, away from his unpredictable employer. Not that her ladyship was any less predictable, but more often than not she would simply smile wanly without saying a word. She was not one to waste words, as some women did, the manservant thought. It was very much out of character for a normal lady of high standing, but then again, nothing in Santor could be called normal, least of all its lord and lady. The man suppressed a grin just before he entered the lofty dining hall. In this room his footsteps echoed, alerting the woman sitting at the table to his presence. Her fingers tapped the table top impatiently as she looked up at his approach.
“He had forgotten, I suppose,” she said, not a spark of emotion in her voice.
The manservant bowed. “Yes, my lady. He appeared quite occupied with his work.”
She waved a hand to dismiss him, then went back to her thoughts, none of which were especially pleasant, seeing that she had spent most of the past week in the depths of boredom. She simply did not have the inclination to study more magic, especially since she rarely ever used the powers she already had. As a silly child, she had wished to be a true lady, wearing fashionable clothes and living on a fine estate. Yes, she had all of those things, but they were no longer contributing to her happiness. More often she found herself desiring the cold, draughty castle by the ocean where she had lived with her adopted father and teacher, the magician Flavius. Although the place was not physically beautiful or warm, it was a happy place because of the people within it and the powers they had for good. Now it was nothing more than an empty ruin, no better than her present home.
She had a wealthy husband, five healthy children, all the things she could want in the world, yet they were no longer enough. Each day was spent wasting away at some useless activity while her husband sat at his desk, browsing through old books. She felt that she no longer knew that man. He had been very different once. They both had been.
The door creaked open and his footsteps could be heard crossing the room. She looked up, seeing only the dust on his clothes from the books when she should have noticed the confidence in his step and the elegance in the way he carried himself. He walked over to where she sat and bowed before taking his own seat across the length of the table. She dared not meet his eyes, as she knew her own would betray the acute unhappiness she was feeling.
“How are you this evening, Nathaniel?” she asked, the words sounding stiff and formal.
He folded the napkin across his lap. “Fine, thank you. And yourself?”
“As well as can be expected.” Nervously, she reached up to ensure that the arrangement of her hair was still correct. The yellow curls were firmly pinned in place, a single blood red rose adorning them.
His hand stopped on its way to the wine glass. “What do you mean by that, Arria? Has something happened that I am not aware of?”
The expression of total disgust that appeared on her face did not at all suit her delicate features. “There appear to be a great number of things you are not aware of, Nathaniel.”
Arria immediately regretted the words upon seeing Nathaniel wince, but she could not take them back. They were the complete truth and both of them knew it. Instead of replying, Nathaniel took a sip of his wine and signalled for the footmen to begin serving the food, keeping his eyes focussed on his wife. She could feel them boring a hole into her forehead while she desperately tried avoiding them.
“If you wish to speak with me about something, Arria, please do.”
She wondered if her face mirrored the scowl that was usually upon his. “There’s nothing the matter, my lord.” She spoke his title as though it were an insult.
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips. Something was indeed troubling her, he could see, but if she wanted him to know about it, she would tell him when she was ready.
“If you say so, my lady.”
Both picked at their meals, too distracted to be bothered by hunger. The only sounds in the room came from Arria’s fork against the dish as she pushed the food around her plate and the wine bottle clinking against Nathaniel’s glass as he refilled it once again. Although his thoughts were frequently drawn away by the mere presence of Arria, they would only go back to the map that now lay safely in the locked drawer of his desk. He could picture the colourful drawings and the mysterious words that still plagued his mind...
“Marcus told me there was an accident with the window this afternoon,” Arria said suddenly, breaking the silence much like the cricket ball had shattered the window earlier that day.
“Indeed there was.”
“He also mentioned that you acted strangely about it.”
Nathaniel put his wine glass down on the table. He knew where this conversation would lead and silently debated whether or not he should tell her about the map. It was quite possible that, together, they could discover more about the map and the places it depicted.
“Did he?”
She knew from his vague answers that he had found something of great interest in that last set of books he had purchased. It explained not only his tardiness before dinner, but also the vague answers and dead end conversations.
“So what is it?” she asked him.
He frowned. “What is what?”
“That thing you’ve found.”
“Who says that I’ve found anything?”
“Everything.”
“Everything about what?” The impatience in his voice was enough for Arria to know that she was getting on his nerves, but she was not about to back down, not when there was something to know, something that he was trying to hide from her.
“The level of distress this thing is causing you.”
“It’s nothing really, just an old map,” he said, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.
“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t have told me that it was merely nothing.”
“Are you calling me a liar, Arria?”
She snorted. “Of course not! I’m simply trying to say that you’re being difficult.”
The scowl reappeared on his face. “It’s a map. Why would I create so much fuss over a silly piece of parchment that is purely fantastical, since it doesn’t show any real location.”
So that was it! Arria thought, the wheels in her head spinning madly. Any normal map would hardly catch his interest, but this one had, and for good reason. Something about it disturbed him and the fine balance that was the basis of his reason. She had to see the map, just to look upon the thing that had brought back a shadow of the person she had known long ago, the man she had chosen to spend her life with.
“So I suppose you’ll show it to me when I go up to repair the window,” she said firmly, taking a ladylike sip of water.
He shrugged, picking up his fork once again. “If that would satisfy your curiosity.”
As soon as the meal had ended, Arria sprang from her chair, fussing with her skirts as they threatened to trip her up. She walked down the hallway beside a coldly silent Nathaniel, continuously plucking at the fabric of her dress with anxious hands.
“If they bother you so much,” he said in what could have been called a growl. “Why do you wear the blasted things?”
Arria sniffed, smoothing out the embroidered silk. “I like them, that’s why.”
He didn’t bother to reply.
Upon reaching the library, Nathaniel gallantly opened the door for Arria, who swept into the room and surveyed its pristine neatness. All the books had been tidily placed on shelves; the new ones stacked on a table in order of size. The pieces of parchment that had previously covered the desk had been filed by date, author, and subject in a locked cabinet. Only the broken window revealed the fact that humans resided in the room; otherwise it was cold and almost menacing. Hardly the sort of place she’d spend all of her days in.
Resisting the urge to shudder, she picked up her skirts and strode over to the window. The glass from the window still lay on the floor where it had fallen. She hoped that every piece was there, otherwise the magic would not take hold properly. Whispering the well-known words under her breath, she held a limp hand over the glass shards. They began to glow slightly, the light forming within them pulsating like the beating of a heart. Her hand twitched and the shards rose from the ground, putting themselves back together like the pieces of a puzzle.
Nathaniel watched all this from the doorway, the expression of boredom on his face not revealing his actual feelings at that moment. The strange light that shone around Arria while she performed the spell made her hair glow as it never did in the sunlight. The dull yellow locks turned into spun gold while her regularly freckled skin almost looked translucent in the fiery light. Only while doing magic did she become truly beautiful, though something within Nathaniel told him that she always appeared that way if he bothered to look hard enough. As the final piece of glass was fixed in place, he drew his eyes away from her form and went to the desk to remove the map from its place of safety.
Spreading the map out on the well-worn surface of the desk, Nathaniel read aloud the words written upon it: “Hic sunt dracones. I assume you know what the words mean.”
She came to stand beside him. “Yes, of course, but how can those words be written on there? Dragons? It can’t be true.”
“Exactly. There’s never been any proof of them in the Southern Lands and there haven’t been any concrete reports of them elsewhere, not in the last four hundred years, at least.”
Arria was staring at the words. “Do you think it could be a fake? The fact that the words are out of order could easily mean that they were written more recently by someone with a lesser knowledge of the language.”
Nathaniel shook his head, acutely aware of the way her arm was brushing against his as she bent over the map. “It’s possible, I suppose. But does it really appear to be a forgery?” His finger traced the lines of the coast. “If it is, I admit that it’s very cleverly done.”
When she tilted her head upwards to look at him, she realised how close they had been standing. Swallowing anxiously, she quietly said, “It’s very beautiful.” Her hand pointed to the realistically drawn mountains and rivers. “Do you think any forger would put so much of himself into his work?”
He stepped back, finding it difficult to breathe. Just standing close to her was a test of his will. He had forgotten how much of a test it had always been, even in the days they had been rivals for the attention of their teacher, continuously trying to outdo each other in everything they did. The events that had followed their schooling both threw them together and forced them apart, yet somehow they came to a truce. A truce that eventually led to a partnership. All of those moments had been lost with time. The memory of them had crumbled, leaving only the knowledge that such an event once occurred without the memory of the emotions that had been felt at the time. Like a skeleton that once held the soul of a human being, these empty memories had been cold and lifeless for many years. Yet the map had changed all of that with three simple words.
“Do you have any knowledge of which lands it shows?” she asked him, seemingly oblivious to his well-concealed emotions.
Pushing his dark hair back with one hand, he shook his head. “Possibly the lands to the far west, but that is only a guess.” He walked over to the newly-mended window and gazed into the darkness, hands clasped behind his back.
She gave him a quizzical look. “You were never one to guess anything.”
“Did Flavius ever tell you about his journey to the Far West?” Nathaniel asked after a moment, remembering the story told around a dying hearth. Although the room had been cold and damp, the story had kept them all warm.
“No, he hadn’t,” she whispered, picking up the map to hide the envy she could feel growing within her heart. Her old master, although a brilliant man, had treated his apprentice far differently from the boys who came to learn the most basic magical skills. While she had been set to reading ancient books of spells, they had been told stories of great heroes and creatures of fantasy.
“He probably thought I wouldn’t be interested,” she added nonchalantly, turning the map sideways, intently staring at the geography. “This could very well be the Far West. There are no maps of that part of the world here, not even at the castle library in Haemlyn.”
“Our people were never ones for exploring. The very thought of going beyond our own borders strikes fear into the hearts of even the greatest warrior,” Nathaniel said thoughtfully, still staring out into the darkness. It was as though he could actually see beyond the mountains which hung in the distance like menacing shadows.
With a swish of silken skirts, Arria came to stand beside him at the window, still holding the map in her hand. “Did Flavius tell you that he had really seen dragons?”
“He said that he left to travel after he received his robes from the Magi of the Watery Plain,” Nathaniel replied, seeing out of the corner of his eye the frown that had appeared on his wife’s face. Even though she had more than enough magical power to join the Magi, the fact that she was female had kept that path closed to her.
“Two weeks into the journey,” Nathaniel continued. “He said that he came to a mountain without a peak. Smoke drifted up from where its peak should have been and there were no plants or animals to be seen for miles. When he climbed the mountain, he saw strange winged creatures that could only be- ”
“Dragons,” Arria finished for him, eyes filled with wonder. “Though I’m sure he told the story with much more eloquence than that.”
When he opened his mouth to reply, she laughed and placed a finger on his lips.
“I admire your brevity all the same, my dear. Knowing Flavius, the story would have been filled with sword fights and magical battles with the sole purpose of keeping his audience from growing bored.”
“So then you think the dragons were only part of the story, nothing more?” he asked, removing her hand from his lips and holding it fast within his. He could feel upon it the single ring she wore. The knowledge of what it symbolised, although it had not been blessed by one of the Magi, forced him to remember why he had tied his life to hers. It was something he had not thought about for a very long time.
“Every story has some truth to it,” she answered. “Flavius was never one for an outright lie, no matter how much he enjoyed stretching the truth. No, there are dragons out there, we have only to find them.”
He turned to face her, raising his eyebrow. “‘We’?”
“Who else? Surely we of all people can confront such creatures as dragons without fear,” she said teasingly, moving closer to him. “Anyway,” she added, “I wouldn’t dare go without you.”
“And why not? Would you be afraid of my wrath if you left me here with my books?”
She laughed again. “The only wrath that came to mind was if you had to leave your precious books behind.”
He began lowering his lips to hers. The close proximity of their faces was almost becoming too much to bear. “If you are there to keep me occupied, however, I believe I might be able to subdue my wrath until we find the dragons.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, pulling back an inch. “We’re just going to see if they exist, not fight them.”
“You know the stories about how they kill humans with their blazing breath,” Nathaniel argued. “But I promise not to disembowel the creatures unless they try to kill us first. Is that fair enough for you?”
With a smile, she moved to fill the space between them. “I think we can make a compromise.”
Their lips brushed at first, as though neither was quite sure what to do. Then one of them - it was impossible to say who - pushed forward so that their mouths crashed together in a burning kiss, unlike one they had shared in many years. Intense longing flowed through their veins as Nathaniel squeezed Arria’s hand, snaking his free arm around her waist. She placed her free hand on the back of his neck, trying to deepen the kiss. However, the strange feeling of the map, which was still in Arria’s hand, tickling his neck, coupled with the sense that they were being watched, forced him to pull away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a small figure standing in the open door, looking puzzled.
With a bitter sigh, he stepped away from Arria and composed himself.
“Hello, Katrena,” he said to his youngest daughter. “And what, may I ask, are you doing out of bed at this hour?”
“I can’t sleep,” the six-year-old replied obstinately. She was perhaps the only one of the children who was not nervous around Nathaniel. “Can you tell me a story, Daddy?”
Stealing a glance at Arria, he saw that she had leaned back against the window frame and was now hiding her laughter behind a hand. Obviously, she was going to be no help to him in this matter.
Trying not to grimace too visibly, he said, “Yes, of course, my dear. I’ll be along in a moment.” He hoped that she would be asleep by the time he arrived to tell the story. Such a plan had worked in the past with the other children.
“I want to hear about the dragons,” Katrena persisted.
“You want to hear about the dragons?” Nathaniel asked in surprise. Just how long had the child been standing at the door, eavesdropping on their conversation?
“That’s what I asked, Daddy. You sound like a parrot when you talk like that.” As much as the child shared her father’s dark hair and olive skin, she was her mother’s child through and through.
After a short pause, Katrena suddenly asked, “Mummy, are you and Daddy going away?” Most likely she asked her mother because her father wasn’t giving intelligent enough replies.
The laughter vanished from Arria’s face as she exchanged nervous looks with Nathaniel. Their eyes travelled down to the map in Arria’s hand. They could leave and maybe spend years searching for dragons and travelling to places many of their people would never hear about. It could be the adventure of a lifetime, but it could also take a lifetime. Indeed, they could leave, but what would be there when they returned? Their children, the eldest already seventeen, might all be grown up and living their own lives, forgetting the parents who had abandoned them long before. Everything came with a price. They would have to choose between discovering new worlds and their children.
Arria swallowed, then said, “Of course not, darling. We’re staying here for a while, at least until you’re older.”
The child brightened. “Then I can come with you? I want to see dragons too.”
Tears came to Arria’s eyes upon hearing this. “Yes,” she said quietly. “You may.”
Katrena cried out with happiness, spinning where she stood and would have nearly fallen over if Nathaniel hadn’t caught her at the last moment.
“Now you have to go to bed,” he said sternly. “I will come to tell you a story shortly.”
As soon as she had left, dancing down the hallway humming a tuneless song, Nathaniel shut the door behind her, leaning upon it like a tired lord shuts the gates against an angry mob. He muttered something about children and insanity, then looked up at his wife.
They did not need to speak in order to express their thoughts to one another. Arria hastily wiped a tear from one eye, trying not to let it stain the map.
“Is it not strange that something as little as that map can change so much?” Nathaniel asked quietly, breaking the silence.
Aria held the map tightly, taking in all its colourful details. “We must keep it.”
“Of course.”
Her eyes rose from the map’s glory. “We’ll save it for a rainy day,” she whispered.
“What was that?” he asked, stepping forward to hear her better.
Face lit up with a dreamy smile, she repeated, “We’ll save it for a rainy day. Then we will go find the dragons and whatever else is out there. We can take Flavius’ path or find our own, but somehow we will go.”
He nodded and turned away to hide the pain that shot through his heart. She remained at the window after he left the room, wistfully gazing out into the starlit darkness, the map still held tightly in her hands. The thoughts and dreams that passed through her mind were filled with happiness and frustration alike. The chance for adventure had escaped her, but she had gained something else. If the map had done anything for her, it had given her hope.
“One day,” she whispered, her eyes on the distant mountains. “One day, I’ll follow you there.”
Rating: PG
Warnings: wine consumption, magic use, kiss scene
Word Count: 5720
Summary: A man lost in his work. A woman who has lost hope. A map that can change everything with three simple words: Hic sunt dracones.
Hic Sunt Dracones
A light breeze filtered in through the open window, causing the papers on the desk to rustle like autumn leaves. This did not amuse the man who was sitting behind the desk; he scowled when the pages of the book he had been reading blew shut as he reached for his quill. Grumbling to himself, he rose to shut the window, pausing only when the heard the sound of laughter in the garden. The sun was shining brightly, forcing him to squint as he stared down to see the children playing cricket. The boys were throwing the ball with unnecessary violence while the girls were cleverly finding ways of evading their brothers as they ran to the bowler’s wicket and back. The sight of their youthful pleasures almost brought a small smile to his lips. He could not remember a time when he had been able to engage in such activities; his childhood had been torn between being companion to his deaf mother and trying to live up to his father’s high expectations.
The bitter memory of that time in his life was enough to make the scowl reappear, this time deeper than before. He closed the window with a loud snap and went back over to his desk to neaten the piles of books and parchment upon it. His last journey to the city had yielded many interesting finds in obscure market stalls and the ancient library. The majority of the parchments were so old that they threatened to crumble at the slightest touch, while some of the books clearly dated back to a time centuries in the past.
Most of his days were spent within this room, studying the books and maps he had collected throughout his life. With careful hands, he would copy the parchments that were in the most danger of destruction from mere use. Later he would file away the new copies of the map or letter while he painstakingly tried to restore the original. There were many times in which restoration failed, even with the use of magic. He knew better than to put faith in the work of magic, especially when it pertained to his books.
With a bitter sigh, he reached for the next of his new acquisitions, a quarto volume of history plays by a little-known playwright. Although the dialogue was sometimes lugubrious and the language very exaggerated, the plays were not terrible and did include some interesting tidbits about past royalty. He absently flipped through the book and put it aside, its condition far better than most of the works he had recently purchased. The next book in the pile was slightly larger and entirely handmade; the text within it had been cautiously handwritten by a long-ago scholar or magician. He frowned deeply upon seeing the small holes made by a bookworm. Such things were very difficult to repair, but to leave the book as it was in its present condition would never do; the pages that were in need of mending would disintegrate at a faster rate, then the text would be lost forever.
The library was a very lonely room, inhabited only by him and his books. It seemed that everyone in the house was too preoccupied with not disturbing anyone else. The children did not dare come up to the library unless called for, knowing that they’d only meet with their father’s heavy scowl. Nor did they climb the stairs to the tallest tower, where their mother tirelessly studied her magic. She was not likely to become angry with them for interrupting her work, yet all the same they would not take their chances.
The distance between the library and the tower was a large one, especially if that distance was never breached by either party involved. If only...
Crash!
Glass from the windowpane shattered upon impact from the cricket ball, which flew across the room, hitting the pile of books and sending many of them tumbling to the ground. For a moment, the man was stunned, unable to move. He stared at the leather-covered ball, which continued to roll until it stopped to rest against the leg of a table. His cheeks turned pale with fury when he rose to see the pile of books and parchment spilt across the floor in front of his desk. This incident would only create more work than he already had. Like he needed anymore of it.
The sound of numerous footsteps echoed down the hallway, alerting him to the presence of he perpetrators of the whole mess. There was a pause in which whispers could be heard outside the open door, as though they were discussing which of them should brave their father’s fury. As a head covered in yellow curls peeked around the doorframe, the occupant of the room was already kneeling over the fallen books, gingerly folding back dog-eared pages and placing the books back on the desk.
“Father?”spoke a plaintive voice from the doorway.
The man looked up, a book in his hand. “I suppose you wish to retrieve your ball?”
The boy, who was perhaps nine or ten, winced at the cold fury in his father’s voice, then nodded his head, which sent the curls bobbing like mad.
“Then come get it. There’s no use standing about the door all day.”
However, the child did not budge from his position. His dark green eyes were wide with what appeared to be fear. “B-b-but the window, sir...”
The man waved a careless hand towards the broken pane, staring at a piece of parchment on the floor with curiosity. All the scathing remarks that had been on the tip of his tongue vanished in a moment. “I’ll ask your mother to come fix it this evening. It was an accident, I’m sure.”
“Y-y-yes it was,” the boy said, hurrying into the room to grab the ball.
He was about to hurry out again when the man, who had now picked up the parchment, stopped him. “Marcus?”
The boy’s eyes widened to an impossible size. “Y-y-yes, sir?”
“Enjoy your game,” the man said absently, slowly rising with his eyes seemingly glued to the parchment. He circled the desk and sat back down in the chair, not noticing as his son stood there looking shocked. There were more whispers from the hallway, and finally, the boy left the room. The sound of retreating footsteps was heard, then, minutes later, the game outside resumed with many whispers about Father’s strange reaction.
The reason for this strange reaction could be found within the mysterious parchment which had slipped from one of the books. It was very possible that, had the ball not flown through the window, he would not have discovered the paper within the book for a very long time, for the book was not at all an interesting one. Certainly not one he would casually browse through.
Hands trembling with excitement, he unfolded the parchment as carefully as possible so as not to rip it. From the ink markings on the outside, this was a very old document, possibly from the Ancient Ones who had once lived far to the south in great stone cities. The words used on the map, although not unfamiliar to the man, did not seem to make any sense. It appeared to be some sort of magical incantation or code.
Finally, he completed the task of unfolding the parchment and breathed in quickly with surprise. It was not the ancient scripture he had expected. It was not even a simple list of spells or potion ingredients. It was a map.
Colourful inks marked various countries, cities, and the topography of the land. The sea was a colour of blue so bright and vibrant that the man imagined he could see the waves crashing against the shoreline. Every detail possible was evident: mountains, forests, marshland, even wildlife were featured. His eyes were drawn to each of these, taking in the beauty of the map as he sat there, eyes transfixed upon it. Yet the artistry could only hold his attention for so long until he tried to interpret the words and markings. Even with all the landmarks drawn upon the map, it was difficult to place the locations that it depicted. Thinking back on other maps he had seen in the past, the man realised that he was entirely unfamiliar with the lands pictured on this particular map. It showed a world he had never even imagined to exist.
Then he saw the words. Three simple words: Hic sunt dracones.
For many minutes, he stared at the words, as though he were trying to understand their meaning. Perhaps it was the peculiar word order that troubled him. Usually the verb - in this case sunt - was supposed to be at the end of the sentence, not in the middle. It was definitely a vulgar rendition of the ancient language, the man thought with a small sneer. Then he looked closer at the last of the three words: dracones.
There was little question as to the meaning of this word, yet the man refused to allow its possible meaning to cloud his judgement. There were no such things as dragons. Such creatures were only heard of in old legends and tales for children, but they didn’t exist. They never had.
Had they?
How could this map appear entirely by coincidence and just happen to contain a single word that had the ability to make a man question his thoughts and beliefs? This map could merely be work of art, something entirely created within the fanciful mind of a long-ago artist. Yet each stroke of the brush seemed to be filled with affection; each word was written with such care that it could be clearly read even in dim light; each picture was so real that one wanted to believe that such a place was really out there, waiting to be discovered.
But dragons? Surely not.
He looked back at the map and the countries shown upon it. If the map was ancient, many of the cities would no longer exist, either because of plague, drought, or for a thousand other reasons. The borders between countries would have changed when lands were conquered and lost. Little was known of the countries that existed beyond the great mountain range that separated the Southern Lands from the rest of the continent. Of the few passes there were, the majority were filled with snow the entire year.
There was, however, one person who had once travelled far to the west and seen great wonders, including giant winged lizards who could breathe fire from their mouths and nostrils. It had been a land of magic more powerful than any known about in the Southern Lands. Magicians there were not looked upon as demigods or as if they were cursed. It appeared to be a land where anyone could achieve whatever they wanted, but it was only a story.
Or was it?
A knock on the library door interrupted his thoughts. The head of a manservant appeared, the silver embroidery on his livery glittering in the light.
“My lord, dinner is ready and has been this last quarter hour. Her ladyship requested that I come to see if you will join her.”
His lordship sat back in his chair with a frown. Just as his work was getting interesting...
“Alright,” he said harshly. “Tell her I’m coming.”
The manservant disappeared, his footsteps making no sound as he hurried down the hall, away from his unpredictable employer. Not that her ladyship was any less predictable, but more often than not she would simply smile wanly without saying a word. She was not one to waste words, as some women did, the manservant thought. It was very much out of character for a normal lady of high standing, but then again, nothing in Santor could be called normal, least of all its lord and lady. The man suppressed a grin just before he entered the lofty dining hall. In this room his footsteps echoed, alerting the woman sitting at the table to his presence. Her fingers tapped the table top impatiently as she looked up at his approach.
“He had forgotten, I suppose,” she said, not a spark of emotion in her voice.
The manservant bowed. “Yes, my lady. He appeared quite occupied with his work.”
She waved a hand to dismiss him, then went back to her thoughts, none of which were especially pleasant, seeing that she had spent most of the past week in the depths of boredom. She simply did not have the inclination to study more magic, especially since she rarely ever used the powers she already had. As a silly child, she had wished to be a true lady, wearing fashionable clothes and living on a fine estate. Yes, she had all of those things, but they were no longer contributing to her happiness. More often she found herself desiring the cold, draughty castle by the ocean where she had lived with her adopted father and teacher, the magician Flavius. Although the place was not physically beautiful or warm, it was a happy place because of the people within it and the powers they had for good. Now it was nothing more than an empty ruin, no better than her present home.
She had a wealthy husband, five healthy children, all the things she could want in the world, yet they were no longer enough. Each day was spent wasting away at some useless activity while her husband sat at his desk, browsing through old books. She felt that she no longer knew that man. He had been very different once. They both had been.
The door creaked open and his footsteps could be heard crossing the room. She looked up, seeing only the dust on his clothes from the books when she should have noticed the confidence in his step and the elegance in the way he carried himself. He walked over to where she sat and bowed before taking his own seat across the length of the table. She dared not meet his eyes, as she knew her own would betray the acute unhappiness she was feeling.
“How are you this evening, Nathaniel?” she asked, the words sounding stiff and formal.
He folded the napkin across his lap. “Fine, thank you. And yourself?”
“As well as can be expected.” Nervously, she reached up to ensure that the arrangement of her hair was still correct. The yellow curls were firmly pinned in place, a single blood red rose adorning them.
His hand stopped on its way to the wine glass. “What do you mean by that, Arria? Has something happened that I am not aware of?”
The expression of total disgust that appeared on her face did not at all suit her delicate features. “There appear to be a great number of things you are not aware of, Nathaniel.”
Arria immediately regretted the words upon seeing Nathaniel wince, but she could not take them back. They were the complete truth and both of them knew it. Instead of replying, Nathaniel took a sip of his wine and signalled for the footmen to begin serving the food, keeping his eyes focussed on his wife. She could feel them boring a hole into her forehead while she desperately tried avoiding them.
“If you wish to speak with me about something, Arria, please do.”
She wondered if her face mirrored the scowl that was usually upon his. “There’s nothing the matter, my lord.” She spoke his title as though it were an insult.
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips. Something was indeed troubling her, he could see, but if she wanted him to know about it, she would tell him when she was ready.
“If you say so, my lady.”
Both picked at their meals, too distracted to be bothered by hunger. The only sounds in the room came from Arria’s fork against the dish as she pushed the food around her plate and the wine bottle clinking against Nathaniel’s glass as he refilled it once again. Although his thoughts were frequently drawn away by the mere presence of Arria, they would only go back to the map that now lay safely in the locked drawer of his desk. He could picture the colourful drawings and the mysterious words that still plagued his mind...
“Marcus told me there was an accident with the window this afternoon,” Arria said suddenly, breaking the silence much like the cricket ball had shattered the window earlier that day.
“Indeed there was.”
“He also mentioned that you acted strangely about it.”
Nathaniel put his wine glass down on the table. He knew where this conversation would lead and silently debated whether or not he should tell her about the map. It was quite possible that, together, they could discover more about the map and the places it depicted.
“Did he?”
She knew from his vague answers that he had found something of great interest in that last set of books he had purchased. It explained not only his tardiness before dinner, but also the vague answers and dead end conversations.
“So what is it?” she asked him.
He frowned. “What is what?”
“That thing you’ve found.”
“Who says that I’ve found anything?”
“Everything.”
“Everything about what?” The impatience in his voice was enough for Arria to know that she was getting on his nerves, but she was not about to back down, not when there was something to know, something that he was trying to hide from her.
“The level of distress this thing is causing you.”
“It’s nothing really, just an old map,” he said, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.
“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t have told me that it was merely nothing.”
“Are you calling me a liar, Arria?”
She snorted. “Of course not! I’m simply trying to say that you’re being difficult.”
The scowl reappeared on his face. “It’s a map. Why would I create so much fuss over a silly piece of parchment that is purely fantastical, since it doesn’t show any real location.”
So that was it! Arria thought, the wheels in her head spinning madly. Any normal map would hardly catch his interest, but this one had, and for good reason. Something about it disturbed him and the fine balance that was the basis of his reason. She had to see the map, just to look upon the thing that had brought back a shadow of the person she had known long ago, the man she had chosen to spend her life with.
“So I suppose you’ll show it to me when I go up to repair the window,” she said firmly, taking a ladylike sip of water.
He shrugged, picking up his fork once again. “If that would satisfy your curiosity.”
As soon as the meal had ended, Arria sprang from her chair, fussing with her skirts as they threatened to trip her up. She walked down the hallway beside a coldly silent Nathaniel, continuously plucking at the fabric of her dress with anxious hands.
“If they bother you so much,” he said in what could have been called a growl. “Why do you wear the blasted things?”
Arria sniffed, smoothing out the embroidered silk. “I like them, that’s why.”
He didn’t bother to reply.
Upon reaching the library, Nathaniel gallantly opened the door for Arria, who swept into the room and surveyed its pristine neatness. All the books had been tidily placed on shelves; the new ones stacked on a table in order of size. The pieces of parchment that had previously covered the desk had been filed by date, author, and subject in a locked cabinet. Only the broken window revealed the fact that humans resided in the room; otherwise it was cold and almost menacing. Hardly the sort of place she’d spend all of her days in.
Resisting the urge to shudder, she picked up her skirts and strode over to the window. The glass from the window still lay on the floor where it had fallen. She hoped that every piece was there, otherwise the magic would not take hold properly. Whispering the well-known words under her breath, she held a limp hand over the glass shards. They began to glow slightly, the light forming within them pulsating like the beating of a heart. Her hand twitched and the shards rose from the ground, putting themselves back together like the pieces of a puzzle.
Nathaniel watched all this from the doorway, the expression of boredom on his face not revealing his actual feelings at that moment. The strange light that shone around Arria while she performed the spell made her hair glow as it never did in the sunlight. The dull yellow locks turned into spun gold while her regularly freckled skin almost looked translucent in the fiery light. Only while doing magic did she become truly beautiful, though something within Nathaniel told him that she always appeared that way if he bothered to look hard enough. As the final piece of glass was fixed in place, he drew his eyes away from her form and went to the desk to remove the map from its place of safety.
Spreading the map out on the well-worn surface of the desk, Nathaniel read aloud the words written upon it: “Hic sunt dracones. I assume you know what the words mean.”
She came to stand beside him. “Yes, of course, but how can those words be written on there? Dragons? It can’t be true.”
“Exactly. There’s never been any proof of them in the Southern Lands and there haven’t been any concrete reports of them elsewhere, not in the last four hundred years, at least.”
Arria was staring at the words. “Do you think it could be a fake? The fact that the words are out of order could easily mean that they were written more recently by someone with a lesser knowledge of the language.”
Nathaniel shook his head, acutely aware of the way her arm was brushing against his as she bent over the map. “It’s possible, I suppose. But does it really appear to be a forgery?” His finger traced the lines of the coast. “If it is, I admit that it’s very cleverly done.”
When she tilted her head upwards to look at him, she realised how close they had been standing. Swallowing anxiously, she quietly said, “It’s very beautiful.” Her hand pointed to the realistically drawn mountains and rivers. “Do you think any forger would put so much of himself into his work?”
He stepped back, finding it difficult to breathe. Just standing close to her was a test of his will. He had forgotten how much of a test it had always been, even in the days they had been rivals for the attention of their teacher, continuously trying to outdo each other in everything they did. The events that had followed their schooling both threw them together and forced them apart, yet somehow they came to a truce. A truce that eventually led to a partnership. All of those moments had been lost with time. The memory of them had crumbled, leaving only the knowledge that such an event once occurred without the memory of the emotions that had been felt at the time. Like a skeleton that once held the soul of a human being, these empty memories had been cold and lifeless for many years. Yet the map had changed all of that with three simple words.
“Do you have any knowledge of which lands it shows?” she asked him, seemingly oblivious to his well-concealed emotions.
Pushing his dark hair back with one hand, he shook his head. “Possibly the lands to the far west, but that is only a guess.” He walked over to the newly-mended window and gazed into the darkness, hands clasped behind his back.
She gave him a quizzical look. “You were never one to guess anything.”
“Did Flavius ever tell you about his journey to the Far West?” Nathaniel asked after a moment, remembering the story told around a dying hearth. Although the room had been cold and damp, the story had kept them all warm.
“No, he hadn’t,” she whispered, picking up the map to hide the envy she could feel growing within her heart. Her old master, although a brilliant man, had treated his apprentice far differently from the boys who came to learn the most basic magical skills. While she had been set to reading ancient books of spells, they had been told stories of great heroes and creatures of fantasy.
“He probably thought I wouldn’t be interested,” she added nonchalantly, turning the map sideways, intently staring at the geography. “This could very well be the Far West. There are no maps of that part of the world here, not even at the castle library in Haemlyn.”
“Our people were never ones for exploring. The very thought of going beyond our own borders strikes fear into the hearts of even the greatest warrior,” Nathaniel said thoughtfully, still staring out into the darkness. It was as though he could actually see beyond the mountains which hung in the distance like menacing shadows.
With a swish of silken skirts, Arria came to stand beside him at the window, still holding the map in her hand. “Did Flavius tell you that he had really seen dragons?”
“He said that he left to travel after he received his robes from the Magi of the Watery Plain,” Nathaniel replied, seeing out of the corner of his eye the frown that had appeared on his wife’s face. Even though she had more than enough magical power to join the Magi, the fact that she was female had kept that path closed to her.
“Two weeks into the journey,” Nathaniel continued. “He said that he came to a mountain without a peak. Smoke drifted up from where its peak should have been and there were no plants or animals to be seen for miles. When he climbed the mountain, he saw strange winged creatures that could only be- ”
“Dragons,” Arria finished for him, eyes filled with wonder. “Though I’m sure he told the story with much more eloquence than that.”
When he opened his mouth to reply, she laughed and placed a finger on his lips.
“I admire your brevity all the same, my dear. Knowing Flavius, the story would have been filled with sword fights and magical battles with the sole purpose of keeping his audience from growing bored.”
“So then you think the dragons were only part of the story, nothing more?” he asked, removing her hand from his lips and holding it fast within his. He could feel upon it the single ring she wore. The knowledge of what it symbolised, although it had not been blessed by one of the Magi, forced him to remember why he had tied his life to hers. It was something he had not thought about for a very long time.
“Every story has some truth to it,” she answered. “Flavius was never one for an outright lie, no matter how much he enjoyed stretching the truth. No, there are dragons out there, we have only to find them.”
He turned to face her, raising his eyebrow. “‘We’?”
“Who else? Surely we of all people can confront such creatures as dragons without fear,” she said teasingly, moving closer to him. “Anyway,” she added, “I wouldn’t dare go without you.”
“And why not? Would you be afraid of my wrath if you left me here with my books?”
She laughed again. “The only wrath that came to mind was if you had to leave your precious books behind.”
He began lowering his lips to hers. The close proximity of their faces was almost becoming too much to bear. “If you are there to keep me occupied, however, I believe I might be able to subdue my wrath until we find the dragons.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, pulling back an inch. “We’re just going to see if they exist, not fight them.”
“You know the stories about how they kill humans with their blazing breath,” Nathaniel argued. “But I promise not to disembowel the creatures unless they try to kill us first. Is that fair enough for you?”
With a smile, she moved to fill the space between them. “I think we can make a compromise.”
Their lips brushed at first, as though neither was quite sure what to do. Then one of them - it was impossible to say who - pushed forward so that their mouths crashed together in a burning kiss, unlike one they had shared in many years. Intense longing flowed through their veins as Nathaniel squeezed Arria’s hand, snaking his free arm around her waist. She placed her free hand on the back of his neck, trying to deepen the kiss. However, the strange feeling of the map, which was still in Arria’s hand, tickling his neck, coupled with the sense that they were being watched, forced him to pull away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a small figure standing in the open door, looking puzzled.
With a bitter sigh, he stepped away from Arria and composed himself.
“Hello, Katrena,” he said to his youngest daughter. “And what, may I ask, are you doing out of bed at this hour?”
“I can’t sleep,” the six-year-old replied obstinately. She was perhaps the only one of the children who was not nervous around Nathaniel. “Can you tell me a story, Daddy?”
Stealing a glance at Arria, he saw that she had leaned back against the window frame and was now hiding her laughter behind a hand. Obviously, she was going to be no help to him in this matter.
Trying not to grimace too visibly, he said, “Yes, of course, my dear. I’ll be along in a moment.” He hoped that she would be asleep by the time he arrived to tell the story. Such a plan had worked in the past with the other children.
“I want to hear about the dragons,” Katrena persisted.
“You want to hear about the dragons?” Nathaniel asked in surprise. Just how long had the child been standing at the door, eavesdropping on their conversation?
“That’s what I asked, Daddy. You sound like a parrot when you talk like that.” As much as the child shared her father’s dark hair and olive skin, she was her mother’s child through and through.
After a short pause, Katrena suddenly asked, “Mummy, are you and Daddy going away?” Most likely she asked her mother because her father wasn’t giving intelligent enough replies.
The laughter vanished from Arria’s face as she exchanged nervous looks with Nathaniel. Their eyes travelled down to the map in Arria’s hand. They could leave and maybe spend years searching for dragons and travelling to places many of their people would never hear about. It could be the adventure of a lifetime, but it could also take a lifetime. Indeed, they could leave, but what would be there when they returned? Their children, the eldest already seventeen, might all be grown up and living their own lives, forgetting the parents who had abandoned them long before. Everything came with a price. They would have to choose between discovering new worlds and their children.
Arria swallowed, then said, “Of course not, darling. We’re staying here for a while, at least until you’re older.”
The child brightened. “Then I can come with you? I want to see dragons too.”
Tears came to Arria’s eyes upon hearing this. “Yes,” she said quietly. “You may.”
Katrena cried out with happiness, spinning where she stood and would have nearly fallen over if Nathaniel hadn’t caught her at the last moment.
“Now you have to go to bed,” he said sternly. “I will come to tell you a story shortly.”
As soon as she had left, dancing down the hallway humming a tuneless song, Nathaniel shut the door behind her, leaning upon it like a tired lord shuts the gates against an angry mob. He muttered something about children and insanity, then looked up at his wife.
They did not need to speak in order to express their thoughts to one another. Arria hastily wiped a tear from one eye, trying not to let it stain the map.
“Is it not strange that something as little as that map can change so much?” Nathaniel asked quietly, breaking the silence.
Aria held the map tightly, taking in all its colourful details. “We must keep it.”
“Of course.”
Her eyes rose from the map’s glory. “We’ll save it for a rainy day,” she whispered.
“What was that?” he asked, stepping forward to hear her better.
Face lit up with a dreamy smile, she repeated, “We’ll save it for a rainy day. Then we will go find the dragons and whatever else is out there. We can take Flavius’ path or find our own, but somehow we will go.”
He nodded and turned away to hide the pain that shot through his heart. She remained at the window after he left the room, wistfully gazing out into the starlit darkness, the map still held tightly in her hands. The thoughts and dreams that passed through her mind were filled with happiness and frustration alike. The chance for adventure had escaped her, but she had gained something else. If the map had done anything for her, it had given her hope.
“One day,” she whispered, her eyes on the distant mountains. “One day, I’ll follow you there.”