Tales from the Universe
Moral Dilemma: If you could see where every decision would lead, would that make you wiser—or make choosing impossible?
The traveler bought the map from a woman who insisted it was useless.
That was the first strange thing about it.
She had a table at the edge of the evening market covered in instruments whose purposes were difficult to guess: brass circles nested inside other brass circles, bottles containing different colors of sand, a compass with two needles, and a wooden box that occasionally sighed.
The map was folded beneath all of them.
“How much?” the traveler asked.
“For that?”
The woman looked surprised.
“Yes.”
“Three copper.”
He paid her.
She gave him four copper back.
“You gave me too much.”
“I know.”
The traveler stared at her.
“You said three.”
“I changed my mind.”
He unfolded the map.
It showed the city.
Not unusually well. In fact, several streets were missing.
Then he noticed a thin red line moving across the parchment.
It began exactly where he stood.
It traveled through the market, turned north at the fountain, crossed the river, and ended at an inn.
Beside the inn were written three words.
YOU WILL SLEEP.
The traveler laughed.
“That is your magic?”
The woman shrugged.
He folded the map and deliberately walked south.
After several steps he opened it again.
The red line had changed.
Now it traveled south, turned through an alley, crossed a square, and ended beside a tavern.
YOU WILL EAT.
The traveler stopped laughing.
He walked east.
The map changed.
He walked west.
The map changed.
He ran suddenly between two stalls, startling a chicken.
The map changed.
Every time he made a decision, the parchment drew what came next.
So he tried something else.
He stood at an intersection and looked at the four possible roads.
Then he imagined taking the northern one.
Four faint red lines appeared.
He imagined the eastern road.
More lines.
He understood.
The map did not show the future.
It showed futures.
The traveler spent the night sitting on the floor of his rented room.
He tested it.
If he went downstairs and ordered stew:
YOU WILL MEET A CARPENTER.
If he ordered bread:
YOU WILL EAT ALONE.
If he left the inn:
YOU WILL LOSE SIX SILVER.
If he remained:
YOU WILL HEAR SOMETHING IMPORTANT.
So he remained.
Two merchants began arguing through the wall.
One accused the other of watering wine.
The traveler waited for the important thing.
Nothing else happened.
By sunrise he was exhausted.
But now he understood what he possessed.
A person with this map could avoid mistakes.
He could choose the correct road before walking it.
He could know which ships would sink.
Which bargains would fail.
Which strangers would become friends.
Perhaps which wars would be lost.
He began carrying the map everywhere.
At first, his life improved.
He avoided a bridge that collapsed during a storm.
He declined spoiled food.
He purchased a horse from the third stable instead of the first and received an excellent animal.
He stopped gambling entirely because the map made gambling terribly boring.
People began calling him fortunate.
Then people began calling him wise.
Neither was quite true.
He simply looked first.
Years passed.
The traveler became a counselor.
Merchants consulted him before voyages.
Families consulted him before marriages.
Generals consulted him before battles.
He became wealthy.
And slowly, almost invisibly, something peculiar happened.
He stopped making decisions.
Before breakfast, he checked the map.
Before accepting an invitation, he checked the map.
Before answering a difficult question, he checked the map.
Eventually he checked it before saying anything at all.
One afternoon, his daughter entered his study.
She was carrying two traveling bags.
“I’ve been offered an apprenticeship in the western provinces.”
The traveler immediately reached for the map.
His daughter placed her hand over it.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“I haven’t even asked the question.”
“I know.”
She removed her hand.
“I want you to answer.”
He smiled patiently.
“That is what I’m doing.”
“No. You’re asking the map.”
“The map allows me to give you better advice.”
“Then what do I need you for?”
The room became very quiet.
The traveler looked down.
The parchment was already drawing possibilities.
If she stayed:
SHE WILL BE SAFE.
If she went:
SHE WILL SUFFER.
His heart tightened.
“Stay.”
His daughter looked at him for a long time.
“Why?”
He almost said because the map says you will suffer.
Instead he said, “Because I think you should.”
She noticed the hesitation.
“You don’t know, do you?”
“I know exactly what happens.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She picked up her bags.
The traveler stood.
“You will suffer.”
She stopped at the door.
“Yes.”
The answer startled him.
“You understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going anyway?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His daughter looked almost confused by the question.
“Because I want to become the person who can.”
Then she left.
The traveler remained beside the table.
After some time, he opened the map.
He imagined chasing her.
A red road appeared.
He imagined letting her leave.
Another appeared.
He imagined sending someone to watch her.
Another.
He imagined writing to the apprenticeship master.
Another.
Soon the parchment was covered in red.
He searched among the futures for one in which his daughter never suffered.
There wasn’t one.
He searched for one in which she never regretted leaving.
There wasn’t one.
He searched for one in which she stayed and remained happy.
There wasn’t one.
Every road contained something.
Loss.
Joy.
Illness.
Friendship.
Failure.
Love.
Embarrassment.
Achievement.
Grief.
The lines crossed until the map looked less like a guide and more like veins.
For the first time in many years, the traveler noticed something obvious.
The map had never shown him the correct road.
It had only shown him consequences.
He had supplied the word correct himself.
He sat there until evening.
Then he folded the map.
The next morning he walked to the edge of the city.
Four roads departed from the gate.
He did not open the parchment.
He chose west.
Several miles later, rain began.
The traveler laughed.
He had forgotten his cloak.
For a moment his hand moved toward the map.
Then stopped.
He stood beneath a tree and waited for the rain to pass.
A farmer sheltering beneath the same tree offered him half an apple.
The traveler accepted it.
They talked awhile.
Nothing important happened.
And for once, the traveler did not need it to.
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