Mouru asked about exactly what she was reminiscing over, so Unen answered him naturally. “Milosh was asked to mediate a quarrel between brothers a year ago. As I understand it, their father passed away and the brothers were divvying up the land among themselves, but they had completely different ideas about how much farmland there was to distribute. Milosh was put in a tight spot because they refused to even talk it out, so I suggested they start by making a precise map of the land first.”
Stuck in a stalemate with the brothers, Milosh had requested Unen make a map as soon as possible, so she gathered whatever tools she had been able to get a hold of and commenced surveying their family’s land.
They had met her finished map with skepticism at first. However, the actions of the suspicious oldest brother eventually overturned any remaining doubts. He had gone out of his way to seek a mystic’s assessment, who had in turn confirmed the validity of Unen’s map.
The sole mystic of Yezero could use bird familiars, and they had the mystic squealing in awe that Unen’s map was “precisely” as they saw from the eyes of a falcon flying above the brothers’ land.
“I have the eyes of a falcon, but the tiny one here surely has Sparrow Eyes,” the mystic had declared.
Still yet to be convinced, the older brother had then measured every nook and cranny of the land from one end to the other by counting his steps, and consequently confirmed that Unen’s map was truly as accurate as the mystic’s evaluation of it. Jobs requesting Unen’s mapmaking skills had come falling into her lap occasionally ever since.
Mouru smiled at Unen when she finished telling him her story. “All things considered, it’s amazing you taught yourself how to make maps from the surveying techniques written in a folded book. Not only can you read and write, but you’re good at arithmetic too. You really are spectacular.” His eyes suddenly narrowed on her.
Unen’s heart skipped a beat. Calm down. Calm down, she told herself as she slowly inhaled.
“Dad gave me a book he received from one of his trades and said I had to learn enough to earn my keep when I get older, so I also learned from that.”
“Your dad the peddler?”
“Yup.”
“I see.” Mouru nodded, acting as though he were convinced. But then— “Milosh is pretty amazing too.” Another fake smile lit his face. “I mean, he asked a child like you to take on the difficult, important job of making an accurate map. That’s not something most people could do. Means he’s got an eye for talented people. Or maybe, he’s just reckless.”
It had taken until now for Unen to finally realize that the entire conversation, beginning from the moment he picked up her bag, was all a ruse to draw information out of her. Mouru had gotten her to share important details without her knowing it.
A single line of sweat trickled down her back.
“I’m not a child. I’m fifteen now.”
“You were fourteen a year ago.”
“A year doesn’t make much of a difference.”
“Really now? I was an amusing level of childish at fourteen.” He went on to add information about himself she didn’t ask for, “I’m twenty-three and Ori is twenty-two right now.”
Unen sighed as loud as she could. “I don’t think Milosh would’ve ever considered asking me to make a map if it hadn’t been Hereh’s book with the mapmaking techniques recorded in it. And it just so happened to be that only I had read it so far.”
“Heh. This Hereh guy sounds like he had a lot of trust put in him. Oh, isn’t that where you’re heading for, over there?”
Mouru pointed to a sign with an all-black drawing of a woman sitting in a chair reading a book. Plajan Manuscripts and Transcripts Atelier—Unen’s workplace.
“As you’d expect, you’ve got the Witch of the Archives on your sign.”
“She is the guardian deity of books after all.”
It was said that there were a myriad of gods in the world, who ruled over everything from wind to water, fire to earth, massive forests to a single stalk of grass. The guardian deity of books was one of those gods, and it was frequently depicted in old stories as a woman in black clothing with black hair. The old folktales were why she was commonly referred to as Witch of the Archives instead of the Guardian Deity of Books. Every time Unen saw the sign, she felt a little proud to have been born a woman.
“Thanks for carrying my bag,” she said, taking the huge bag filled with sheepskin parchment from Mouru.
“See you later.” Mouru waved and turned to leave, but then spun right back around again. “Oh, right, right. I’ve come to expect great things of your skill and want to hire you to make a map. What do you think?”
Unen desperately wanted more achievements to her name in regard to mapmaking, so she would’ve normally jumped on any job opportunity. But this time she hesitated to answer because she couldn’t see what lay past his ostensibly friendly smile. Much less what a mercenary would need a map for…
“What I want you to make a map of is a bit far from here, but…how about taking it on as a first step toward your world map?” Mouru tempted, unfazed by her reluctance. “It’s a demesne called Roggen. It’s located to the northwest of here, close to the Sea of Trees at the foot of the Great Cordillera.”
Roggen.
Unen knew of that town.
Swallowing back the spit filling her mouth so that Mouru wouldn’t catch on to her nervousness, Unen quietly answered, “I can’t. I can’t go that far away.”
“Oh? You gave up fast. What happened to wanting to make a world map?”
Just what and how much does this man know? Unen felt her bag’s handle grow soggy with the sweat from her hands.
“You’ll be nicely rewarded. And you won’t need to pay anyone because we’ll guard you.”
She stepped from foot to foot trying to keep herself balanced before rushing out, “My boss is waiting, so I have to go now.”
Forcing an end to the conversation, Unen went through the atelier’s door. She didn’t have the courage to look behind her.