As my eyes ran over the detailed drawings and precise writing, the enormity of what I was holding washed over me, making my skin tingle.
If I did not give Council this map, I could be sent to Valhall.
But curiosity overrode my fear. I studied the map closely. Quentin had not marked it with precise distances, but I saw quickly that the Quag was many times the size of Wormwood.
Then my dilemma became obvious. I could never use this map. Every Wug knew that entering the Quag meant death, and even if I managed to survive, where would I be? For all I knew, once I crossed the Quag, I would fall into oblivion.
In his message, Quentin had said I could escape this place if I had the desire. Well, I knew I could not leave my brother or my parents. I didn’t earn much at Stacks, but my meagre wages did support John and me.
I opened the glass folds of my lantern and held the map close to the naked flame. But I couldn’t destroy it.
You can never go through the Quag, Vega, so what does it matter? Just burn it. If you’re found with it, your punishment will be Valhall! You can’t risk that.
I slowly pulled the parchment away from the flames and pondered what to do. I knew I had to destroy the map because if it were found in my possession, my punishment would be severe. But could I destroy the map and yet also keep it?
My gaze moved to my waterproof tuck. I opened it and pulled out my ink stick. But transferring the map from one piece of parchment to another was not the answer to my dilemma.
Another idea came to me – a brilliant one, if I do say so myself.
It took some time, a bit of contortion, and a fair amount of ink, but when it was done, I held the map up to the spark of my lantern and let it ignite, watching it curl up and blacken. In far less than a sliver, it had reduced to ash and floated away on the breeze.
I slipped down the rungs with the extra board in hand, put it back into its metal slot and continued my descent. My feet hit the dirt and I looked around. I now had a map that I could never use. But I also had something else. A mystery surrounding a ring that had belonged to my grandfather. Quentin Herms had once possessed my grandfather’s ring and he had left me the map. So the two must be connected in some way.
This was about my family. This was also about my history, which, in the end, meant it was ultimately about me.
I trudged back to the Loons with far more questions than answers.