Oswin Merrick's Arc

Chapter 6 of 9

They cleared the bog at dusk, the beetle heaving onto solid ground with the disc still lashed to its shell. Oswin cut the cords and knelt over the metal in the last light. The engraved lines still ran off the edge and stopped at nothing. Open ground had not helped. The map on the disc was only part of a map. He needed someone who read old engravings, and he knew where such work was done. "There's a place two days out," Oswin said. "A workshop full of maps and tools. A cartographer works there. He'll know these marks." Garret hefted the disc onto the beetle again without a word. The blacksmith had helped pry the wall loose and now owned a share of whatever the map found. He walked behind the beetle the whole way, one hand always resting on the disc, checking the cords when they didn't need checking. The workshop sat at the forest's edge, its walls hung with charts and compass roses. Inside, an old man bent over a table crowded with quills, ink, and rolled paper. He looked up as they carried the disc through the door. "Off the table," the cartographer said. "Set it flat. Let me see." He ran his fingers along the engraved lines. The parrot hopped to the table edge and watched with its one good eye. The old man traced where the marks left the metal and frowned. "This isn't broken off," he said. "It was never meant to end here. Look." He tilted the disc toward the window. Faint lines circled the rim, worn nearly smooth. "Symbols. Same hand as the map. They tell you the next disc's bearing and how far." Oswin leaned close. Under the grime, he saw them now — tiny figures pressed into the outer ring. "The next disc." "There's more than one," the cartographer said. "This is a piece of a larger thing. The rim points you onward." He copied the worn symbols onto fresh paper, then set his quill down. "Deep in the trees. Past where I've charted." Garret straightened. His hand went to his pocket, the way it did when something touched him. "How far?" The old man measured against a scale on his wall. "Farther than the bog. Days, not hours." Oswin took the copied symbols and held them to the light. His three-year path had led to a disc. The disc led to another disc, and another road he'd never walked. He had wanted an ending. He had found a second beginning. Garret watched him fold the paper. "A share of whatever it finds," the blacksmith said quietly. "That's still the deal. However far it runs." Oswin met his eyes and nodded. He tucked the symbols into his jacket, beside his own worn maps. The disc could be read now. The road it named ran deeper than any he'd drawn.