The Map That Woke at Midnight

At twelve minutes past midnight, the map in Mara Vale’s bedroom sneezed.

A small, papery sound.

Then a cloud of silver dust burst from the wall.

Mara sat upright, clutching her blanket. Across the room, the old map shivered inside its wooden frame. Its rivers wriggled. Its mountains stretched. A painted sea monster yawned and disappeared beneath a wave.

Mara stared.

The map had belonged to her grandfather, Poppy, who had vanished seven years ago while searching for a place called Moonmere. Everyone in Bellweather said he had sailed too far north and drowned.

Mara had never believed them.

A red line appeared on the map. It began at Mara’s house, wound through the sleeping town and ended at a black circle in the forest.

Words formed beneath it.

Then the map sneezed again.

Mara jumped out of bed.

“Finn,” she whispered.

A sleepy voice answered from beneath the bed.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“I know the time, and I know you. That’s enough.”

Finn crawled out, his dark hair full of dust. He was Mara’s best friend and had been hiding in her room because his older brothers had filled his boots with pondweed.

Mara pointed at the map.

Finn read the message. His face changed.

“No,” he said again, with greater feeling.

“The red line might lead to Poppy.”

“It might lead to an extremely hungry forest.”

“Forests aren’t hungry.”

The branches outside scraped across the window.

Finn looked at them. “That one is.”

Mara pulled on her boots and took the brass compass from her bedside table. It had been the last thing Poppy gave her.

“If we don’t go now, the path may disappear.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“The message says to bring a light that has never burned.”

Finn sighed. “Your ideas are going to get me eaten one day.”

“Probably not today.”

“You always say that.”

“And I’ve always been right.”

They searched the room for an unburned light. An unused candle seemed too obvious. A lantern without a flame was only a lantern. Moonlight could not be carried, no matter how hard Finn tried to trap it in a jar.

Then Mara opened Poppy’s old sea chest.

At the bottom lay a tiny glass bottle. Inside it floated something like a golden seed.

Finn leaned closer. “What is that?”

Mara remembered the name from one of Poppy’s stories.

“A dawnseed.”

According to the story, dawnseeds fell from the sky just before sunrise. If planted in darkness, they grew into the first light of a brand-new day.

A light that had never burned.

Mara slipped the bottle into her pocket.

Outside, Bellweather was silent. The town clock showed half past midnight, but the bell tower stood frozen at twelve. No bell rang as Mara and Finn crossed the square.

At the forest edge, the red path from the map appeared on the ground.

It looked like a thin ribbon of moonlight.

The moment Mara stepped onto it, the trees moved behind them.

There was no crash or groan. One heartbeat, the town was visible between the trunks. The next, there was only forest.

Finn turned in a circle.

“We’ve been swallowed.”

“We’ve entered.”

“Those are not as different as you think.”

They followed the path.

Silver mushrooms watched them with blinking blue eyes. Tiny doors opened and closed in tree trunks. Once, something enormous moved beside them in the darkness, matching their pace. Mara saw a yellow eye between the branches, higher than the roof of a house.

She did not tell Finn.

After ten minutes, they reached a stream flowing uphill.

A stone bridge crossed it. In the middle of the bridge stood a fox wearing a green waistcoat.

The fox bowed.

“Mara Vale,” he said.

She stopped.

Finn grabbed her sleeve. “The message.”

Trust nothing that knows your name.

The fox smiled, showing too many teeth.

“You have come for Elian Vale,” he said.

Poppy.

“Where is he?” Mara asked.

“Across the bridge. Beneath the hill. Beyond the thirteenth door.” The fox held out one paw. “I can take you to him.”

“What do you want?”

“Only your compass.”

Mara closed her fingers around it.

The fox’s golden eyes followed the movement.

“It is a poor little thing,” he said. “It does not even point north.”

That was true. The compass needle had always pointed towards whatever Mara wanted most.

Tonight it pointed along the red path.

“You can’t have it,” she said.

The fox’s smile vanished.

The bridge stretched.

It became longer than a road, longer than the whole town. The far bank slid away until it was only a grey line beneath the stars.

Finn groaned. “I hate magic.”

“That is why magic enjoys you,” said the fox.

Mara took one step backwards. The bridge shortened.

She stepped forward. It stretched again.

“The bridge wants us to cross,” Finn said. “But it doesn’t want us to arrive.”

Mara looked down at the impossible stream. The water carried fallen leaves uphill, but their reflections drifted in the opposite direction.

“Don’t follow the bridge,” she said. “Follow its reflection.”

“That sounds like the last thing a sensible person says before drowning.”

Mara stepped over the stone railing.

Her boot landed on the bridge’s reflection.

It held.

Finn stared down at her. Mara appeared to be standing on the surface of the water, upside down beneath the real bridge.

He shut his eyes and climbed after her.

They walked along the reflection. Above them, the fox paced on the false bridge, snarling. The farther they went, the smaller he became.

At last Mara and Finn climbed onto the opposite bank.

The fox’s voice chased them between the trees.

“You will give me the compass before the night is done!”

The red path led them to a round clearing. Thirteen doors stood upright in the grass. They had no walls around them.

One was made of iron. One of ice. One of feathers. Another had a silver handle shaped like a sleeping cat.

Above the clearing, the moon moved much too quickly.

The first bell rang somewhere beneath the earth.

BONG.

Every door opened.

Behind the iron door, Mara saw Poppy trapped in a cage.

Behind the ice door, she saw Bellweather buried beneath snow.

Behind the feathered door lay a garden filled with dragons no larger than butterflies.

Finn approached a plain blue door.

On the other side, his family sat around a table. His brothers were apologising. His father placed a huge chocolate cake in front of him.

“That one is definitely lying,” Mara said.

Finn wiped a tear from his eye. “I know. My brothers would never apologise.”

The second bell rang.

BONG.

The doors began changing places.

The compass needle spun wildly. Mara tried to watch all thirteen doors, but each one showed a different wonder or terror. A city beneath the sea. A ship sailing among the stars. A crown floating above an empty throne.

The iron door still showed Poppy.

“Mara!” the man called. “Quickly!”

Mara ran towards it.

The compass needle stabbed backwards so sharply that it cut her thumb.

She stopped.

The figure behind the iron door wore Poppy’s face and coat. Yet Poppy had always called her Little Star.

Never Mara.

The thing in the cage smiled.

Its mouth opened from ear to ear.

The third bell rang.

BONG.

“The doors know what we want,” Mara said.

Finn backed away from the blue door. “Then how do we find the right one?”

“Choose something we don’t want.”

“That is a terrible system.”

“It’s a magic system.”

“Same thing.”

They examined the doors again.

Twelve offered something: safety, riches, answers, adventure, revenge or reunion.

The thirteenth was small and grey.

Behind it waited a dark staircase descending into the earth.

No treasure. No friendly face. No promise that they would return.

Mara opened it.

A freezing wind rushed up the stairs.

The other twelve doors screamed.

They did not creak or slam. They screamed in human voices, begging Mara to choose them. Poppy called from the iron doorway. Finn’s father called from the blue one.

Mara entered the darkness.

Finn followed.

The grey door closed above them, cutting off the voices.

They descended.

At the bottom waited a cavern filled with stars.

Thousands of them hung in the air: blue stars, red stars, white stars as bright as lightning. Some were small enough to fit in a thimble. Others were enormous and distant, as though the cavern had opened into the night sky.

A narrow path crossed the darkness.

Far below, something breathed.

The fourth bell rang.

Cracks of golden light opened along the path.

Finn stared at the stars. “Are they real?”

“I think they’re lost.”

“How does a star get lost?”

Poppy had once said that everything lost went somewhere. Socks. Names. Memories. People.

Perhaps stars did too.

They crossed the path.

Halfway over, a voice spoke behind them.

“Mara Vale.”

The fox stood at the cavern entrance. He was no longer small.

His green waistcoat had split across his huge chest. His red fur brushed the stone ceiling. His teeth were as long as knives.

“Give me the compass,” he growled.

The fifth bell rang.

Mara ran.

The path cracked beneath her boots. Each golden break spread towards the darkness below.

Finn stumbled.

A section of the path collapsed. His hands caught the edge, leaving his legs dangling over the stars.

Mara dropped to her knees and seized his wrist.

The giant fox approached.

“Compass,” he said.

Mara tried to pull Finn up, but the fox’s magic was inside the stone. The path tilted beneath her. The compass slid from her pocket and skittered towards the edge.

The fox lunged for it.

Finn swung one leg upwards and kicked the compass.

It flew over the edge.

“No!” cried Mara and the fox together.

The compass fell among the stars.

For a moment, its brass case flashed gold.

Then a thousand lost stars turned towards it.

The compass needle was still pointing at what Mara wanted most.

It pointed not towards Poppy, but towards Finn.

The stars rose.

They struck the fox in a glittering storm. He snapped at them, but each star he swallowed shone through his fur. Golden cracks spread across his body.

Mara pulled Finn onto the path.

They ran as the fox burst into a cloud of red leaves.

The sixth bell rang.

At the end of the path stood a single black tree. Its roots twisted around a glass sphere, and inside the sphere sat an old man with a bald head, a neat grey beard and round amber glasses.

This time, he did not call Mara’s name.

He pressed one hand to the glass.

Mara placed her hand against it.

“Little Star,” Poppy whispered.

Mara laughed and cried at the same time.

Finn searched around the roots. “How do we get him out?”

“There’s writing here.”

The seventh bell rang.

Poppy pointed urgently towards Mara’s pocket.

The dawnseed.

Mara pulled out the bottle.

The golden seed inside had begun to glow.

She removed the stopper and tipped the seed into her palm. It was warm and very small.

“What do I do with it?”

“Plant it!” Finn said.

“In what? We’re standing on stone.”

The eighth bell rang.

The stars flickered.

The tree’s roots tightened around the sphere. Poppy winced.

Mara searched the cavern. No soil. No water. No sunlight.

A light that had never burned.

A seed planted in darkness.

Mara looked over the edge of the path.

The darkness below was deep enough to hide the roots of the world.

She threw the dawnseed.

For several heartbeats, nothing happened.

Then the darkness turned gold.

A green shoot rose from the depths, growing faster than fire. It twisted around the stone path and opened into a vast flower beneath the black tree.

Morning spilled from its petals.

Warm light flooded the cavern. The lost stars blazed in answer. The black tree cracked from root to crown.

The glass sphere shattered.

Poppy fell forward.

Mara caught him.

The ninth bell rang.

The cavern shook.

“Why is it still ringing?” Finn shouted.

Poppy looked towards the bright flower. Fear tightened his face.

“Because I wasn’t imprisoned here,” he said. “I was guarding it.”

Something moved below.

A hand larger than Bellweather reached out of the darkness. It had too many joints and fingers made of smoke.

The stars fled from it.

“The Hollow King,” Poppy said. “He steals every wonder he cannot control. The fox, the doors and the false paths all served him. I came here to keep him asleep.”

The enormous hand gripped the path.

Stone exploded.

The tenth bell rang.

Poppy pulled a silver thread from his sleeve and tied it around Mara’s wrist.

“The dawnseed opened a road. We must reach the flower before the final bell.”

They ran towards the golden bloom.

Behind them, the Hollow King pulled himself from the depths. He had no face, only a hole surrounded by a crown of black branches. Inside that hole, Mara saw vanished cities, broken moons and creatures whose names had been forgotten.

The eleventh bell rang.

The path buckled.

Poppy jumped first, landing on one of the flower’s golden petals. Finn followed.

Mara leapt.

A smoky finger closed around her ankle.

She slammed against the edge of the petal.

The Hollow King pulled.

Poppy caught Mara’s hands. Finn grabbed Poppy’s coat. The golden flower bent beneath their weight.

“I know what you seek,” the Hollow King said.

His voice came from every crack in the cavern.

Behind him appeared another image of Poppy—young, smiling and safe at home.

“I can return the seven years you lost.”

Mara’s grip slipped.

Seven years.

Birthdays. Winters. Stories beside the fire. All the time that should have belonged to them.

The offer hurt more than the smoky hand around her ankle.

Poppy looked down at her.

“Little Star,” he said, “some doors only open backwards.”

Mara understood.

The Hollow King could offer the past because he wanted to trap her inside it.

She pulled the silver thread from her wrist and wrapped it around the shadowy finger. The thread flashed.

“What are you doing?” Finn yelled.

“Discovering whether shadows can be tied in knots.”

“They can’t!”

“That’s what makes it discovery!”

Mara looped the thread twice and pulled.

The Hollow King’s finger knotted.

He roared. His grip loosened.

Finn and Poppy hauled Mara onto the petal.

The twelfth bell rang.

The flower closed around them.

For one terrible instant, they were trapped in golden darkness.

Then the petals opened.

Mara tumbled onto wet grass.

Birdsong filled the air.

Dawn had come to Bellweather.

Finn landed beside her. Poppy rolled out of the flower last, laughing breathlessly.

The enormous bloom shrank into the earth, leaving only a single golden petal.

Mara picked it up.

Behind them, the forest shuddered.

The thirteenth bell began to ring.

Poppy seized Mara’s shoulder.

“Don’t listen.”

The bell’s note rolled through the trees.

It carried a voice.

“Mara Vale,” the Hollow King whispered.

The golden petal trembled in her hand. A black mark appeared across its surface: a tiny crown with thirteen points.

Then the bell stopped.

The forest became an ordinary forest again.

Mostly.

Mara hugged Poppy. Finn joined them, pretending he had merely lost his balance.

As they walked towards Bellweather, Poppy told them what he could. The map was one of seven. The stars beneath the earth had been hidden long ago. The Hollow King was trapped again, but the thirteenth bell meant he had learned Mara’s name.

They reached the hill above town as the sun rose over the rooftops.

Mara unfolded the golden petal.

Lines appeared across it.

Not one red path this time, but seven.

They crossed oceans, mountains and places that were not shown on any ordinary map. At the end of each path waited a black crown.

Finn peered over her shoulder.

“Please tell me those are picnic spots.”

“One might be.”

“They’re not, though.”

“No.”

Below them, the bell tower rang to greet the morning.

Poppy smiled.

“The world is much stranger than you know, Little Star.”

Mara looked at the seven paths.

“Good,” she said.