Highmoor Maps: World Map

Hello readers! This week I am presenting the first draft of the world map from my Highmoor series. It is very much a work in progress, as you can probably tell from the fog I have applied to the unfinished northern and western regions. However, it has been a couple of years since I published Highmoor, and it’s about time that I gave you readers a visual depiction of the world in which these stories are set. The foggy regions might be lacking detail, but the general shape is there. You should be able to click on the image for a closer look.

Map legend:

The third book is on the way

Since the start of this year, I have been providing progress updates for the third book in the Highmoor series. I’m happy to announce that the book is now in the final stage of editing, and it should be hitting the electronic bookshelves soon. The title and book cover will be revealed at some point in the next few weeks.

I have been promising a world map for a long time now, and finishing the third book finally prompted me to get it into a half-presentable state. The plot spans a larger geographical area than the previous books, so the need for a map is greater than ever. As such, I decided to share this unfinished version of the map, just to give you a better picture of this fantasy world.

It’s… Round?

The world from the Highmoor series is relatively small and contained, existing as a roughly circular landmass within a boundless ocean. Although its exact age is unknown, the inhabitants know that this world has existed for only a few millennia. It was raised out of the sea by seven gods, who fashioned it as a home for the living creatures they had created. There are still some records and artefacts that survive from these early days, and nobody disputes the nature of the world’s origin – only the timing.

The seven gods lived alongside their people for centuries. Very little is known about this era of peace and prosperity – only that it ended when Eldingar turned on his fellow gods. His actions sparked a lengthy, bloody battle, which resulted in him being imprisoned deep beneath the ground. The six remaining gods continued to live alongside their creations, but over the centuries their powers waned, and they lost their physical forms. The world entered an age of darkness, bereft of its guiding deities. People started to fight over land and dwindling resources, and then foul creatures started to appear, sent by Eldingar from the underworld.

Every corner of this world has been mapped and explored. In fact, many places have been rediscovered over the years, having become desolate and uninhabitable since the gods first created them. It doesn’t bother people that their world is manufactured. Neither are they too inclined to search for other lands across the sea. A few ships have tried to reach the lost lands of Lofaria, where the gods were born, but none have ever made it back. Instead, the people see the world for what it is: the only habitable place in their universe.

The world is round, but is it spherical?

Fantasy authors rarely explain whether their worlds exist on spherical planets or flat planes. Terry Pratchett is very much an outlier in specifying that his world is a disc supported by four elephants standing on the back of a giant space turtle – and this detail lends itself perfectly to the irreverent tone of his stories. In most fantasy novels, it is accepted that the shape and size of the universe doesn’t matter, because it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference to the plot.

However, in the Highmoor series, the nature of the world does matter. The characters believe that their world is flat, because they have no evidence to the contrary. The landmass is approximately 2000 miles in diameter (the approximate distance from northern England to Tenerife), and every location experiences days and seasons at roughly the same time. Although a few academics have floated the idea that their world exists on a spherical surface, this knowledge has no real impact on society. If the world is on a sphere, then this sphere is so large that its curvature feels insignificant. So, for the purposes of mapping and navigating, the world is essentially flat.

I’ll stop here before revealing too much. But it’s worth noting that the size, shape and position of this circular landmass aren’t attributes that I conjured on a whim. They might have started out that way, as all ideas do – but by the third book, the nature of this world is an integral part of the story.

The problem with edges

The edges of fantasy maps have always intrigued me. In many cases, we are presented with only a small region of a larger world, with the map bordered by an ocean on one or two sides, then hemmed in by mountains or deserts on the others. This is true of Tolkien’s Middle Earth, the mother of all modern fantasy maps. Most of the story unfolds near the western coastline, and we never get a good sense of what lurks on the enormous landmass to the east.

It is very easy to find similar examples, because Tolkien’s work made maps something of a requirement for all subsequent fantasy media. Just look at C.S. Lewis’ map of Narnia, Christopher Paolini’s map of Alagaësia (did he really force me to find an ë in symbols?) or Stephen Donaldson’s map of “The Land” (full marks for creativity). Similarly, George R.R. Martin implies the existence of other landmasses besides the continents of Westeros and Essos (again, creative genius), and in Earthsea, Ursula Le Guin leaves multiple landmasses overhanging the edges of a map which is mostly ocean.

All of these maps provide the sense that the story is unfolding in only a small corner of a much larger world. But for me, having a map bounded by deserts or right-angled mountain chains always raises questions. What is going on beyond those strangely rectangular limits? How does this world function as a geological entity? What is going on in the hastily-named Vegetable Kingdom, squashed into the corner of the Land of Oz?

As a child, I thought that these maps looked unfinished. I assumed that the undefined regions beyond the edges existed because the author couldn’t come up with anything to fill the space. This is probably true, of course, although it isn’t a bad thing. You can’t ask an author to devise a detailed geopolitical history for regions beyond the scope of their story. Still, as a kid I never understood why authors felt the need to suggest that their fantasy world was bigger than the region where their story occurred. What does it add to the narrative?

After a bit of digging through Reddit threads and other blogs, I now realise that my childhood opinions were at odds with popular consensus. People love fantasy maps that exist within tiny corners of much larger worlds. According to various comments, having a “here be dragons” wilderness at the edge of the map adds a sense of mystery. Mapping the entire world implies that it has been fully explored, which many people find dissatisfying for some reason. Other comments suggested that seeing the whole world removes the sense of awe, in the same way that horror films become less scary once you have seen the whole monster. A final point is that undefined map edges allow the author to add new regions whenever they fancy writing a sequel in fresh but familiar surroundings.

It also makes sense from a quantitative standpoint.

Another reason that most fantasy maps exist within a small region of a larger world is due to their absolute size. Most fantasy stories occur in regions the size of Europe, which makes sense when you consider modes of transport and the time taken to get anywhere. With medieval technology, it makes sense that political scuffles remain fairly local (although this doesn’t hold true if you have instant magical communication or international dragon airlines).

Additionally, the fantasy worlds that we create are based on the real world that we know and understand. If an author comes up with a fantasy realm the size of Europe, it feels natural to have connections to larger landmasses, just as Europe is connected to Asia and Africa. Many fantasy novels are re-imaginings of medieval conflicts, which makes it difficult, or undesirable, to shake off the shackles of real-world geography.

The final argument, from a quantitative standpoint, relates to the lengths of days, the timings of seasons and the presence of climate zones in fantasy settings. These are almost always heavily reminiscent of the conditions we experience on Earth, so it is reasonable to assume that these fantasy realms exist on planets of a similar size, with a similar atmosphere. By extension, we expect a similar proportion of landmasses, and so it is natural for authors to imply the existence of land beyond the regional scope of their story.

So, why bother mapping the whole world?

With all that in mind, it might seem odd that I decided to create a map of the entire world. Have I robbed the readers of the sense of mystery? Probably not, as the stories are heavily character driven. Have I limited myself in terms of sequels? Maybe, but I also wasn’t intending to write any. But isn’t a fully explored world boring? I suppose it depends on your definition of boring. My love of the London tube map doesn’t stem from its sense of mystery, but from its completeness, which allows me to feel as if I am observing an entire system. I reckon that there must be other readers like me, who seek comprehensiveness and certainty in their fantasy maps.

Of course, I’m not the first author to present a map of an entire fantasy world. The first example that sprang to my mind was actually Tamriel from the Elder Scrolls (thanks Todd), but thankfully I then remembered Brandon Sanderson’s continent of Roshar, which has an amazing shape described by some very complicated maths. I hardly think that this map robs his books of their intrigue. If anything, having defined limits provides a sense of completion, and will attract the sorts of fans who like learning fantasy history and geography in excruciating detail.

Finally, some thoughts on Pangea.

As with many fantasy maps, the world in the Highmoor series is reminiscent of Pangea, in that most of its landmass comprises a single continent. Isn’t it strange that so many fantasy maps end up in this state? Earlier, I was arguing that fantasy worlds are essentially re-imaginings of Europe, and yet most of them have a noticeable lack of sea. I suppose that the majority of fantasy stories involve journeys on foot or horseback rather than boat, so authors faced with a blank sheet of A4 will naturally fill it with walkable land rather than impassible water. Of course, this is the same thought process that produces right-angled mountain chains and linear strips of desert, which always look unconvincing. I appreciate that in fantasy novels, mountains can take whatever shape the author wants – but do we really want them tracing rectangular outlines? Maybe we do. They make good posters, after all.

Finally, it isn’t infeasible that a world’s landmass would be clustered in a single lump. Our planet has spent a significant proportion of its life hosting supercontinents, such as Kenorland, Rodinia, or Gondwana. It does seem odd, though, that fantasy authors lean more towards supercontinents than archipelagos. For the Highmoor series, I have a very good reason for choosing a large, circular landmass – but for now, this must remain a secret.

In summary…

Hope you enjoyed my ramblings about maps! If you want detailed maps from the first two books in the Highmoor series, they can be found in the Maps category of the Post Archive. The world map can hopefully provide some context for their setting, and it might be helpful for later books in the series (book three is arriving very soon). Happy reading, and have a lovely week!

Find my books on Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0BGCRWBTH