The Cartographer's Daughter

By Karen L. Abrahamson

"Romance, adventure, a courageous heroine—and one of the coolest fantasy concepts you'll ever see.  THE CARTOGRAPHER'S DAUGHTER is an epic tale of a young woman with the power to destroy or create, simply by redrawing the map of the world.  Lianna's story will sweep you away to a world you've never experienced before—and one that might disappear before your very eyes." Robin Brande, Author of Evolution, Me & Other Freaks of Nature; and The Parallel series.

A GUTSY YOUNG WOMAN MUST CHOOSE BETWEEN SAVING HER LOVER AND EXPOSING HER FAMILY'S FORBIDDEN POWERS TO THE HATE OF THE SPANISH INQUISITION IN THIS HISTORICAL FANTASY FILLED WITH ROMANCE AND ADVENTURE.
 
Like the rest of her kind, Lianna Reinel has the power to redraw the earth. Living secretly amongst humans, her kind have made a pact never to use their power for fear of the repercussions exposure could bring.
 
In fifteenth century Portugal, Lianna's love for a human faces opposition not only from her family, but from Prince Henry, rogue brother to Portugal's king. Determined to defeat the Moors in North Africa, Henry makes an alliance with Lianna's wealthy uncle in order to finance his venture.
 
The price?
 
Lianna's hand in marriage.
 
When the Prince sends Lianna's human love on a doomed mission to sail to the ends of the earth, he sets events in motion that threaten to expose and exterminate Lianna's family.
 
Now Lianna must choose: rescue her love from the ends of the earth, or preserve her family and community. Whatever her choice, Prince Henry stands against her.
 
If you like historical fantasy, you'll love The Cartographer's Daughter, a story of love and the magic that holds the world together. Click buy above.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Twisted Root Publishing
• Release date: Jul 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781927753071

Book preview

The Cartographer’s Daughter

Karen L. Abrahamson

Includes a special excerpt of Terra Incognita, a post apocalyptic fantasy.

Copyright

Electronic edition published by Twisted Root Publishing August 2011 The Cartographer’s Daughter Copyright © 2011 by Karen L. Abrahamson.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part in any form. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Central cover photograph © by Cristina Otero Pascual, used with permission. Find more of Cristina’s work at www.senju-hime.deviantart.com.

For more information about Twisted Root Publishing, please visit our website at http://www.twistedrootpublishing.com

For an excerpt of "Terra Incognita" click HERE.

Acknowledgment

This book grew out of an idea that arrived like a lightning bolt at an Oregon Coast Writer’s Workshop. From there it became an obsession that took me to Portugal and back in search of information about the real people who contributed to the Age of Exploration. No one was as instrumental to that as the real Prince Henry of Portugal, or, as he is known today, Prince Henry the Navigator. If you stand on the cliffs of Sagre in southern Portugal, you can understand where the urge to explore came from.

I would like to thank Dean Wesley Smith for putting up with too many versions of this idea, and Kristine Kathryn Rusch and Dean for talking me through the bad times. Many thanks to Adrian Phoenix for steadfast belief in my writing, to the Big Book Group (you know who you are) for so much good advice, and to Cristina Otero Pascual for her fantastic cover image. Finally, thanks to Robin Brande for her enthusiasm for this manuscript. You helped me believe it might be worth publishing.

Prologue

Ancient History:

It had to stop.

The wind blasted Lazar back a step and he reeled from the pain. His rough robes whipped his frail body as he grabbed hold of the standing stone to steady himself. His white beard and long hair lashed his face as he stared westward over the roaring Ocean Sea.

Waves boiled. Salt spray flew from the maelstrom of water at the base of the dark cliffs at his feet. Angry clouds streamed overhead, pouring from the new place—Pius’s country, Atlanas.

Pius, his son, had turned against him and the ways of the First Cartos. Pius, consumed with power and its use, had brought the wrath of the humans against all Cartos kind!

Lazar had to stop him.

But already Pius’s power built. The standing stone he clung to, and the earth’s lee-lines, hummed with it. Already it might be too late, because his love had blinded him to this danger at the very heart of Maur, their homeland. Lazar squinted at the distant green-blue floating on the sea.

Pius, don’t do this! You bring destruction on us all!

The wind shattered his shout.

Pius called the earth’s power to him—would rid the earth of Lazar and the other First Cartos—so that he, Pius, could rule all. He used power like a sword to destroy the rich country Lazar guarded.

The air stank of ether, lightening, and fear. Power ran in the earth. It shimmered around the standing stone and trembled under Lazar’s feet. Far below, coastal villages faded. The beach sank away, the people extinguished like candles.

No! Lazar straightened and touched his quill to the precious mappamundi weighted with pebbles on the top of a standing stone. The wind tore at the vellum. He had placed much of his power in the map to make Maur strong.

Swiftly he drew, retracing the existing lines. The coast did not fall. The coastal people did not fade. He held them in his mind—as he had since he woke naked with his brethren at the dawn of world.

Golden power cycloned over the green distance. The air crackled as Pius wrote a new map.

The ocean rose. Rose higher and higher. A tsunami roared toward the coast.

Lazar grasped the shimmering earth power. Sank into the maelstrom beneath the earth’s surface and felt Pius’ power. Too much. Too caught in anger and power-lust.

"My son!" he sent through the power. He felt Pius’ awareness.

Stop this thing. It will only lead to your destruction.

Laughter bubbled through the burn of power. So much power. Lazar’s ancient legs gave and he leaned on the standing stone.

The wave tore toward the coastline. His people saw and screamed. This was no gentle change. This was inundation, a destruction that would take human and Cartos alike!

Lazar’s map lines glimmered as he focused the power. Power of creation. He hung in the sky and saw what came. Pius—he was much stronger than any of the Firsts had thought.

Lazar’s quill scratched across the vellum. Breakwaters. A hooked peninsula. Something to stop the tsunami’s power.

The seabed near the coast stirred. Land lifted. Yes, a barrier reef, a line of islands.

Something smashed into them.

Not wave. Power.

Power withheld. Power negated. The islands fell. The reef smoked away. Lazar’s legs collapsed and he clutched at the standing stone. Across the distance his son’s heartless laughter assailed him.

Power blasted Lazar’s cliff. It caught him in its core. His back arched. Power burned through him—blasted him. His flesh blackened. His teeth shattered. The stench of his burning seared into his brain.

The map caught fire, the oils of the vellum wicking the flame. The lines charred, winked out.

No! he roared and fought free of the flame, of the power, but the wind caught him again. It tore his legs out from under him and rolled him across the bluff to the sharp edge of the cliff.

Lazar’s hands scrabbled on twigs, a stone, sand. They melted to nothing in his grasp and he hung over nothing.

He fell. His robes and hair streamed behind him. Soil and stone spun into the abyss around him.

Creator, he screamed into the wind. I call down an Edict! Let those who destroy, feel the weight of their own destruction!

The wind, the earth, ate his words as he plunged into the power. It burned around him and he fed awareness to it. Awareness of intent. Awareness of destruction. Destroy the destroyer, he commanded. The earth stirred. Power twisted.

The tsunami slammed into Maur even as Lazar crashed into the shore, as the earth heaved.

Broken. Drowning. Maur was gone. The earth crumbled, fell away, left a void.

And earth rage.

In the darkness, a surge of power rose in a green-gold vortex. The earth reared up and destruction recoiled.

Lazar rose on the power-swell, saw the stars stream above, the darkness below. The edge of the earth redefined.

On the wave of power he rode toward Pius.

Atlanas and his son would fall.

Chapter 1

1432: Lagos, Portugal

Lianna Reinel could only hope the darkness hid her actions.

Evening filled the manor house’s stone-flagged courtyard with ominous shadows as the red sunset bloodied the sky. In the dim light next to the sweet-scented nightblooms, she knelt to run her hand over the twisted leg of the small kid goat. It bleated softly at her touch.

Come now, Wubby. We’ve done this before and it hasn’t hurt.

The small white goat went still under her gentling, but fear still gleamed from its wide, moss-brown eye. She held its gaze and slowed her breathing, and gradually Wubby’s quick panting matched her calm.

Satisfied, she checked over her shoulder.

The courtyard was quiet. Cook’s hearth radiated heat in the cooling Spring air, but even the hens were penned and Uncle Pedro’s hounds were safely with him at hearthside. Near the garden gate grazed the rest of the small herd of white goats Cook kept for milk.

No one to spy on her.

Uncle had called everyone including the servants inside for some announcement, but she’d feigned a woman’s headache and escaped to her rooms and then quietly out the kitchen door.

She leaned close to the little goat, inhaling his sweet baby scent that was too quickly being replaced by the musk of goat.

Let’s hope this works. It had to work or Uncle Pedro was going to have his way and Wubby would become dinner one night.

Her fingers dug into the damp soil as her mind reached deep beneath the stone that made up southern Portugal. Through the rock darkness came a golden light that still sent her blood racing with excitement and her body trembling.

Steeling herself, she plunged closer, and light congealed into a golden river of molten—power. At least power was her best guess, given what she knew of Cartos history. Inconceivable power, like blood that pulsed through the golden veins of the earth.

Unbearable heat and a little fear made her retreat. Golden vapors seared her but she held firm. Surely it wouldn’t take a lot of power to do what she wanted. Wubby was such a small goat.

She caught a small tendril of escaping gold, twisted it satisfyingly with unseen hands into a small thread, and carried it up through the soil.

The nightbloom roots hung heavy in the soil and she felt their radiating presence, ghostlike in the dark soil. Up past the roots and there was Wubby’s shimmering presence like a small golden candle. If she could only use this power for a purpose.

She opened her eyes and her palms radiated golden. The air smelled frighteningly of lightening flash. She ran her hands over Wubby’s leg, trying to imagine the leg straight as Wubby’s other front leg, trying to imagine the bones softening for a moment, reforming under her hands.

You’re not supposed to do that.

And you’re not supposed to know. It came out automatically as Lianna leapt to her feet to face her twelve-year-old cousin, Vincente. She almost fell, her body suddenly tingling with exhaustion.

Vincente was still a slight youth, but already she could see his promise as a young man—if he lived that long—because right now, regardless of the fatigue these experiments brought, she was thinking of killing him.

Fear cut through her defiance. You’re not going to tell your father, are you?

Maybe.

It was clear he took too much pleasure in his advantage.

Well your father’s wrong to want to butcher Wubby. She’s going to get better. She’s going to be a fine milker when she’s older.

You’ve named it? Vincente gave her an incredulous look.

She glanced back as the little goat clambered to her feet, but the bad leg was still splayed out too wide. Disappointment flooded in.

But then Vincente stepped up to her, so close the sweetness of his childhood sweat filled her nose, but it had a bitter caste.

I don’t care about the goat. You can fill the courtyard with them for all I care. You used the power. I want to know how.

Shaking her head, Lianna stepped away from his presence. It was one thing to defy her uncle herself, but quite another to incite her cousin’s bad behavior. You’re too young.

You’re only five years older than me. I’ve a right to know how.

Then ask your father. It’s his role to teach you.

And you know he won’t. Vincente’s gloating defiance faded into pitiful desperation so she almost felt sorry for him.

Come on, Lianna. What harm’s it going to do?

You know the rules just as well as I do. Besides, it didn’t work. She motioned to Wubby, scampering back to her family, her game leg swinging wide with each step.

But you break the rules.

Lianna looked away, suddenly not proud because of the too familiar yearning she saw on Vincente’s face. Yes, I do, and I shouldn’t. There are reasons for the rules, Vincente, and you know them as well as I do. It’s not my place to choose for you—only for myself.

But…. That cajoling that always seemed to get him his way.

No buts. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t involve him, even though they’d played together when she was younger. "I’m old enough to choose my life and who and what I am."

He was silent a moment, then: But what does it feel like?

The cajoling won. She shook her head, because just to talk about it brought a surge of warmth.

Think of the taste of a grape warm off the arbor, bursting in your mouth with so much sweetness all you want is more. Or of a draught of your father’s cool wine on a sweltering day. It’s like that. It came out more reverent than she’d intended and she was sorry she’d spoken when the yearning returned to Vincente’s face.

He nodded more sagely than his years suggested and she grinned and caught his shoulders, snugging him into her as she always had.

Don’t worry, the way you’re growing, it won’t be long. The change will come. Look at you. Your shoulders are even with mine, now.

A glum glower was all he gave her, but he held himself a little straighter. It felt strange—not like it always had before. She released him and scrubbed her hands on her thick linen skirts, not sure what she was reacting to.

You’re more stubborn than those darn nightblooms. That’s what father says.

Lianna hid her smugness behind a smile, because she’d played no small part in the flowers winning the war her uncle waged against them. Secretly she’d collected and spread the bushes’ ubiquitous seeds, and more secretly, her first forays into using the power had been to feed earth magic to the plants.

I shall take that as a compliment. They were my mother’s favorite flowers.

You’re going to get in trouble, Lianna. You can’t keep—everything secret from Father forever.

That made her look at him closely. His gaze was far too knowing.

What are you talking about? She knew she’d asked it too sharply when his eyes grew sly.

You didn’t sneak away just to heal the goat. I know you. You’re going to see him, aren’t you? Gil?

Any gaiety disappeared in a trice. Lianna’s heart pounded so loud she was sure Vincente would hear when she pushed him into the shadows against the wall. A strange tingle where her palm met his chest.

What are you talking about? Does Uncle know? Or your mother? Her stomach clenched and for a moment she thought she’d be sick. She yanked her hand away and the sensation subsided.

So I’m right? You and Gil—you’re more than friends?

Lianna turned away. This was at least as bad as him knowing she performed the forbidden magic. Her uncle had barely permitted her childhood friendship with Gil.

I love him, I think. It was the first time she’d said it so simply to anyone, and somehow it made it more true. He’s a good man, an honest sailor, no matter what your father says.

She looked up at the sky. Sunset’s last red fingers faded. Usually a red sky would be a good omen for men of the sea, but tonight it sent a shiver through her. Cold moonrise was not far away.

I have to go.

Vincente caught her hand. Lianna, are you sure? I like Gil, but….

But he’s no one your father would choose for me, she cut him off. Well that’s too bad, but I have to be true to myself, Vincente. That’s the most important thing in life—to be what and who you are.

She left him fuming in the shadows, and prayed he wouldn’t raise the alarm when she slipped out the garden gate. She pulled it carefully to so she could get back in, but the goats couldn’t get out, and paused, listening.

The evening grayed the rolling green landscape. The air carried the dampness of spring, the last hum of bees, the bleat of her uncle’s sheep, and the low of his plowing oxen in their biers. No one was about. A nod and she hefted her long, brown skirts, and hurried down the path between the lines of Uncle Pedro’s grape vines.

As darkness swelled at the eastern edge of the earth, Lianna ducked into the grove of lovely twisted oak and olive that sat in a sheltered hollow on her uncle’s lands. The tall grass swished around her skirts as she fell back against a tree, her laughter ringing through the silence.

No one could tell her this was wrong—not the way she felt. Gil was the best of men—even if he were only human.

The friendly cast of the twisted trees dissolved in the lowering light and still Gil didn’t appear. Underfoot, old leaves crackled like the broken spine of one of her uncle’s books of maps and charts. The cry of an owl, the whisper of bat wings, and her own breathing were too loud.

Gil?

Nothing. The pungent scents of salt dust and cow paddy, sheep wool and woodsmoke carried from Lagos—the town that ran down the slopes of the hill beneath Uncle Pedro’s house, toward the sea and the harbor where Gil’s boat docked.

It wasn’t like Gil to be late.

She reached out with her Cartos senses and the flash and sizzle of Cartos presence came to her like candles in a darkened room. There her Uncle Pedro and Aunt Ximena and Vincente in the manor; beyond, in Lagos, a smattering of others, but so few. Others spread across the land, the world, scattered amid humans. Living secretly, lest there be another purge.

She shivered and pulled back her senses, seeking something closer.

Small flickers of life told of slumbering magpies, a squirrel. A fox wakened from its burrow under the rock pile and now stood trembling at the edge of the trees. From the fields came a small bouquet of warmth—her uncle’s sheep, lambs curled in the clover.

She frowned, concentrating. Humans were different, burning with a darker fire.

Strong arms came around her and a mouth found her neck.

Lianna squeaked, pulled loose and stumbled away, but then familiar laughter whirled her around.

Gil Eannes! By the Creator, that was cruel!

And oh, so lovely besides. You can’t fool me, Lianna. I felt the warmth of your skin. Or perhaps ye thought I was the Mad Man of the West?

Gil stood with strong arms open, welcome, his angular face in moonlight that exposed a sadness she didn’t like to see.

You scared me half to death. Do you want to see me faint?

A look of old pain she couldn’t bear crossed his face.

Ye see? I did nothing more than I did when we were kiddies. He stopped and gave a rakish grin. Well maybe t’was a little more—but maybe I’m not the man ye want kissing you. Gil turned away, shoulders stooped, shaking his head.

Gil! No! Lianna crossed the space between them and pressed her cheek into his broad chest. His wind-roughened cheek found hers as her fingers reveled in his dark hair that seemed to always fall over his eyes. At his warmth, a part of her trembled inside. Never say that. Never. An emphatic whisper.

So ye love me? The quiet question had a suggestion of mischief in it that made her step back, though the loss of his touch was almost painful.

Ever since you found me crying after my father died. I just didn’t know it then, and I might be forgetting it now if you’re going to goad me. She stood with hands on hips until Gil burst out laughing in that wonderful guffaw that seemed to come right up from his soul. He needed to laugh more often.

She stood on tiptoe to place a kiss on his lips, ignoring how forward she must seem, but Gil’s face went serious with that look she loved that always suggested he saw to the edge of the earth—and beyond. He cupped her chin, a wistful smile illuminating his eyes.

Ye have so much, Lianna. So much, and ye come from much, an’ I come from… nothin’. Are ye sure ye want me?

How can you ask that? His heat was like a wind to a strange golden flame that burned inside her. She stepped up close, suddenly hungry for the man-warmed-leather scent of his jerkin and the faint scent of salt and sailor’s grog. She wanted to press into him, become one with him; and that wasn’t anything she’d contemplated before.

The not-at-all-unpleasant sensation made her separate from him. You’re Gil Eannes, the perfect, most honorable man for me. Besides, I’m the same as you—the plague took both our parents. Only luck separated our station—and the fact you worked hard to prove your worth. What have I done except been a niece to the mayor?

His gaze said he couldn’t quite believe.

Gil. She leaned in to him, cautiously kissing him, because the way she felt she might do something regrettable. We played together as children. We’ve known each other longer than anyone. Would I feel this way when our lips touch, if I didn’t love you?

Dangerous words to say to a human when she was not.

More dangerous when he groaned and he wrapped his arms around her. Oh God, Lianna, I love ye! But how can we be together? You’ll have nothing, and yer uncle will never agree to that.

Too true, for far too many reasons, but that golden flame leapt higher so she would not let him go. This was the touch she needed.

I don’t care what Uncle Pedro wants. It’s you and I who matter. Our love and the honesty we have with each other. I won’t go through a maddening courtship like he would have me do. I know what I want and so do you.

His gaze burned her skin, the dark eyes of a dreamer. Then he grinned. Yer a dream, Lianna. From a bright-haired child that made me smile, ye’ve turned into a beauty. I’m a lucky man.

He buried his face in her hair, the heat of his breath, his strong hands on her back sending the golden flame searing through her. He ran his cheek beside hers, and nipped lightly at her ear. She couldn’t breathe and she recognized it for what it was. Desire, delicious and dangerous, and somehow connected to her Cartos blood.

That—was odd and bore consideration, but the warm glow built, like a heady drunk. She leaned into him, lost in his kisses.

In the darkness their fingers caught, tangled until they laughed, as he found her bodice closure. The earth seemed to pulse under their feet and she knew in all creation they were alone, blessed to do what they would.

The rattle of hoofs on rock stopped his busy fingers.

Lianna froze, listening.

Not close—yet.

Horses—more than one—more than twenty. Coming this way—on the road that ran past the grove to the country household of the mayor of Lagos.

Is your uncle expecting anyone?

Lianna shook her head and sought other skills.

A flame in the night, coming this way like a torch carried on the wind. At least one Cartos. And coming with purpose by the swiftness of his travel.

Gil pressed her behind him and turned to face the darkness. We can’t be discovered.

She stepped beside him, refusing to be protected this time. Is that so bad? Is it, when we plan to be together?

Gil drew his knife from its sheath, its blade catching the silver moonlight. I’ve to make something of myself first. I must be respectable, understand? A worthy suitor.

So Uncle can’t know—yet.

He