Prologue

Dear sister,

To understand this story, consider that maps have always been my passion. It's an uncommon human interest, but it saved my life.

At eleven, I joined my brother on a fishing expedition. We skirted the Great Reservoir from the lighthouse west of the Spadian Range to the port of Sïlenia on the Cardian Peninsula. Magisters now call it the Alluvial Sea, but I knew it only as the one waterline I might be able to course.

Fishing seemed wild and cruel to me, so I resorted to drawing the surrounding coast. It was a unique opportunity to see the rough, snowy peaks transform into lush oak forests, and finally blossom into a vibrant confluence of rivers.  When our ship capsized after colliding with what some claimed was a sea monster, my knowledge of the currents and the area allowed me to navigate the whirlpool that swallowed it—along with many men, including my brother.

Once I became an exiled explorer, whenever the Ailanthus returned, the crew would leave me at an undisclosed edge, beyond the borders of Terräfirma, where I'd refine the cartography and document the customs of any inhabitants. 

While waiting for the ship, I'd recite my documentation to the almond and coconut trees as if they were great magisters; the crabs were their novice pupils trying to infiltrate the temple hall. I fancied that waves provided a symphony of awes and applause to praise my rhetoric as I addressed the Magisterium—something I never thought I’d do again. I couldn’t have imagined I’d be kidnapped, tricked, smuggled, argued, or fought back into the kingdom.

I did try to return once, upon learning of Mother's death. But the captain stopped me—fortunately. The guard invaded the Ailanthus as soon as they arrived. Had he found me there, the king would have dismantled our ship and institution, my only family and home.

From a distance, Terräfirma seemed irrelevant, and its name inappropriate and naive. A small territory with humans who knew nothing else, and misinterpreted remoteness as being the center of the surface.

It’s taken me a long time to tell this story. I write now, older—perhaps wiser—and finally able to recount it, because I need you to understand my journey. But I also ask for your discretion. For now, you must safeguard the enclosed correspondence.