"Show me where you found it."
Moses did not waste time answering with ceremony.
He opened his hand again. A violet pulse crossed his gauntlet, and a faint blue frame flickered over the back of his wrist for less than a breath before the storage call answered. The old map dropped into his palm with the same dull weight as before, dark stone wrapped in pale mineral veins, ugly enough to look useless and strange enough to make every man in the chamber know it was not.
Moses caught one edge with his other hand and pulled it open.
The map widened between his palms. Lines crawled over its surface, rivers and ridges dragging themselves into place. The first version appeared in broken strokes, with northern paths open and a cluster of valleys sealed under a mass of dark markings. Nothing about it looked friendly. The Dead Meridian apparently had no interest in being readable unless a person had already survived long enough to deserve an opinion.
