Never Follow a Map That Knows Your Name

“The consortium in Veth,” Nimriel said. “They hired you.”
“They did.”
“They’ll use it to fix trade routes. Lock geography in place for profit.” Nimriel’s tone was not accusatory. It was simply accurate.
Halina looked at the Stillpoint. She thought about the men with the rings on every finger. She thought about her debts. She thought about the map, which had moved and moved and moved for three days and then stopped only when both of them were standing in the same place.
“What would you use it for?” she asked.
“There are Vaelhari settlements in the eastern highlands,” Nimriel said. “The Collapse moved the land beneath three of them. They’ve been rebuilding on ground that shifts every season. Children grow up not knowing if their home will be in the same place when they return from the market.” She paused. “I would fix the ground under their feet.”
Halina was quiet for a moment.
Then she held out her hand, and Nimriel placed the Stillpoint in her palm, and Halina placed it back in Nimriel’s.
“Then take it,” she said. “I’ll figure out the debt.”
They walked out of the vault together, back through the ravine, back up into the plateau’s open air. The maps, left in their slots, did not follow them. Their job was done.
By the time they reached the ridge where Halina had first noticed the map changing, the sun was setting across the Ashen Flats in long horizontal bands of copper and rose. Nimriel stood with the Stillpoint held loosely at her side, its glass sphere catching the last of the light and holding it — not reflecting, not refracting, just holding it, the way still water holds the sky.
She turned east.
Halina turned west.
And the ground beneath both of them stayed exactly where it was.