Free The Mapmaker's Sons by V. L. Burgess Page B

doesn’t work?”
    â€œIt will,” Porter said. “My father swore it would once the two of us were together.”
    Tom frowned. There was a sharp edge to Porter’s tone, anunderlying tension that was impossible to miss.
My father.
As though Tom were an interloper to some private, personal ritual. Clearly for Porter, the map wasn’t just a guide to an ancient sword. It was a physical testament to the years he’d spent with their father. Tom pictured Porter at their father’s side as he sketched the map, telling stories, sharing secrets, teaching the art of cartography. Always Porter. The son he’d wanted. The son he’d kept.
    The injustice of it welled up within him. He placed his fingers lightly against the edge of the map, watching as Porter did the same. He glared across the table at his brother and was stunned to see the same bitter resentment reflected back at him. But there was no time to consider it.
    The parchment came alive beneath their touch. This was nothing like the spark that had shocked him back in Professor Lost’s office, that light, hand-tingling buzz. This was an electric current jolting through his body, tapping some inner well deep within him and connecting him to Porter. For a brief, blinding moment, they were as one.
    The map began to glow, bathing them in its warmth. As they watched, two bright sparks shot from the parchment near the southern half of The Beyond. The sparks grew until they became a pair of soaring birds, one deep crimson, the other brilliant pearl. The birds wove circles around each other, diving low to disappear into a thick forest. Within the forest, a deep blue lake shimmered through a layer of gossamer mist. The water gently stirred, then parted. From within the lake’s crystalline depths rose a gleaming silver sword. It hovered in midair, emitting a brilliant white light all its own. Then, abruptly, the map flickered and dimmed, extinguishing itself like a candle in a breeze. The sword was gone, leaving the four of them blinking in its absence.
    Tom’s gaze shot across the map. His eyes met and held Porter’s. The simmering hostility he’d seen earlier was gone, replaced by the same shock and reverence he felt within himself. Then he understood. Umbrey was wrong. It had never been a place he’d been looking for all those long nights at the Lost Academy. It hadn’t even been a person. It was this. The feel of ancient parchment coming alive beneath his touch. That waswhat he was meant to do. What Porter was meant to do. Their destiny had been sealed the moment they were born.
    They were the mapmaker’s sons.
    â€œBy God, it works!” Umbrey said, giving a shout of laughter. “And the sword lies to the south, no less! That settles it; we go through Terrum, then the Dismal Swamp.”
    Porter nodded thoughtfully, his pale brows drawn together. “That’ll land us in the center of Djembe territory.”
    â€œOne battle at a time, lad,” Umbrey replied, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. He rolled up the map, shoved it in his hollow limb, and strapped the wooden appendage to his thigh. He gave his peg leg a loving pat. “As long as we have the map and the two of you—and now this bright lad—we’ll do just fine.”
    A door slammed in the room below. The shouts of Umbrey’s men, coupled with the clamor of crashing swords, echoed up the stairs.
    â€œQuickly, lads!” Umbrey shoved them toward the rear stairs. “This way!”
    The Watch stormed into the room, blocking their exit.
    As a group, they skidded to a stop and did a one-eighty. “That way!” Umbrey shouted, reversing direction. “The front stair!” They raced across the room to the stairwell on the opposite side. Suddenly Umbrey jerked to a stop and lurched forward, nearly bent over double. Tom whirled around to see him hobbling in a wide circle, flapping his arms like great, useless