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The Cartographer
by Terrie Relf
e was a cartographer traveling from afar, and she didn’t know north from south, and gave him vague directions. Perhaps it was a test to see if he’d be able to journey the distance to her realm. The terrain expanded in all directions: it was invisible to radar, undetectable to satellite photos, star charts were a possibility, but road maps? Unlikely.
But he did find her. As I said, he was a cartographer, not a wandering bard. When he arrived, still exuberant despite his long trek, his anticipation at the hazards posed by her landscape was apparent.
He lay supplicant before her (an unusual posture for a conquistador who sought to claim her in the name of foreign kings and queens). She, the New World of Legend, was only slightly amused.
She didn’t know east from west (except philosophically), but since he was a cartographer, he circled around to ease down the cliff face. Down, down, down, occasionally marking his distance, testing the strength of his resolve.
Should she cut his cord? Unlock his grappling hooks? Watch as his brains are dashed against the rocks?
Instead, she smiles, offers a hand, pulls him over the ledge to safety.
Grateful, he kisses her palm, takes her in his arms. Fingers, hands, arms linked together; toes, feet, ankles, legs curled to anchor.
Strategically circling her perimeter, noting the rise of an unearthly sound punctuated by his echoing, "shh" against her protests, against her moans, against her flesh…
white rapids pounding.
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