The Woven End Read online

  The Woven End

  By Sarah VanDeBogert © 2016

  Contents

  Glossary & Pronunciation Key

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Glossary & Pronunciation Key

  Agama(r)/Agapa(r)- Ah-Gah-Mah(r)/Ah-Gah-Pah(r)- Grandmother and Grandfather

  Alchemine—Al-kah-mine- Those who practice the art of weaving spirits.

  Ama(r)/Apa(r)- Ah-Mah(r)/Ah-Pah(r)- Mother and Father

  Bos—Bahs-One of three of the Triland’s islands. The island of agriculture.

  Brádach—Brah-Dakh- definition of name is “spirited”, boy’s name of unknown origin.

  Çephel—Seh-full- Divining bowl for communication with slytes.

  Çephelar—One who reads the çephel.

  Corsico Trotter—A thorough-bred trotter of the Tician City of Corsico. Known for its beauty, strength, and stamina. Highly coveted among trotsmen.

  Cozer—Coh-zer- A feline, approximately 2’ long.

  Hadate—Hah-Dah-Tay-Girl’s name of Tician origin.

  Kreev—Kreev-A wild canine, approximately 6’ long.

  Nat-Scrios—Nǎt-Skree-ohs-Name of Slytican origin.

  Nidita—Nih-dih-tah-Capital city of Sakat.

  Sakat—Sah-Kaht- One of three of the Triland’s islands. The island of art.

  Sálverøld—Saw-ver-uhld-The world of spirits.

  Sathas—Sah-thus- Capital city of Tici. The Royal City.

  Scratcher—A domesticated bird raised for meat and eggs. Grows to be app. 9” long.

  Scratter—Tree-dwelling rodent with webbed arms and long fluffy tail. Approximately 6” long.

  Sidita—Sih-Dih-Tah-Girl’s name of Sakatian origin.

  Skovel—Skah-vuhl- Scavenger rodent, approximately 1’ long.

  Slytesly-t- Offspring of the Great Soul. Creative forces in the spirit.

  Star—1) The Star is a large star that serves as light and heat source of the Triland. 2) One cycle around the star; a measurement of time..

  Tici—Tee-See- One of three of the Triland’s Islands. The island of business.

  Triland—Three islands, unified as one kingdom.

  Trotter—An equine-like creature that is approximately 7’ tall.

  Y’Armos-Ee-Ar-Mohs-A boy’s name of Tician origin.

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Some people believe the light, and some people will only believe what they think is in the darkness. They must stand when it is time to hide. They must attack when it is time to retreat. They must dig when their treasure is beside them. They will not take advice. They must learn for themselves. If they suffer for it, it must be true. If they worked hard for it, it must be good.

  So it is with Gova, son of Neeled. The truth watched him as he blindly groped through the darkness for justice. He stumbled through it, thinking himself very wise. He marched through the streets of Lanalava, past street vendors, homes, and inns. He turned several corners, winding his way through the cobblestoned, skovel infested back alleys. His hand gripped the knife at his waist and squeezed the bone hilt tightly as he ducked beneath a line of drying clothes. He turned another corner. He was almost there.

  A strong hand emerged from an alleyway and took hold of Gova’s tunic, pulling him in face-to-face with a rough, bearded man with angry, sea blue eyes, and a strong scent of fresh air, women’s perfume, and the star water.

  The bearded man looked down at Gova’s knife.

  “Do you think that will matter? They want your daughter, and they will have her if you die. You may stand a chance if you take them and run. The Great Soul isn’t on your side, Gova. It’s on nature’s side. Run.” His eyes widened with fervor. “It won’t be comfortable, but it’s your only hope.”

  “I will not die,” Gova hissed through his gritted teeth. He shook himself in an attempt to be free from the man’s hand.

  “You go to your death. You wish to meet with that red menace for the same purpose she wishes to meet you.”

  “I can’t fight her and her shadow anymore. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “She cannot die, Gova,” he tightened his grip on the tunic. “Do you hear me? Not even the Great Soul can kill her. She has defied it. The Great Soul has no rules, but it has facts. Its place in the world makes it limited. You—“

  “You’re wasting my time, Brádach.”

  Brádach pressed his lips together and scowled. He shoved Gova away from him.

  “Wasting your time? Saving your life. Saving your family’s lives. I know what they’re doing! Why must you stumble around in this fight by yourself? You will leave them defenseless. Do you think it’s bad to be haunted by a slyte? Think what it will be like for me to watch your family flee to the enemy, to the Named One—blindly, ignorantly— in order to survive? What will I do then? What can I do?”

  “Brádach, Gova, so funny to see you both here.”

  A woman stood at the end of the alleyway. She wore common clothes, but carried herself like a noble. Black hair, dark eyes, and berry juice on her lips.

  Brádach became a different man. He raised his eyebrows and smiled as he sauntered up to her.

  “I encountered him coming along this path, and we stopped for a chat,” he said.

  He held her face and kissed her before he took his place by her side.

  “Let’s be done with it. I’m hurting too much for chit-chat. Two men in one day.” She heaved a mocking, weary sigh.

  Her pupils constricted to pin points. The two men saw that she had entered the Sálverøld and quickly followed. Their forms stood in the alley with unearthly stillness. Brádach’s arm twitched. The woman’s face contorted with rage, though her eyes stared into nothing. When her body convulsed like a tossed marionette, Gova’s face caved in as if a smith’s anvil fell upon it. Skin unbroken, blood not spilled, he fell to the ground.

  Brádach and the woman’s pupils expanded and contracted as their bodies were restored to natural, fluid movement. Brádach ran to Gova and slid his hand under the limp form. He took Gova’s shroud from its place at the small of his back. He laid it over him before slipping his hand under the shroud to feel for a pulse.

  “He’s dead,” he whispered.

  “Was there any doubt?” She laughed.

  He knelt, holding his own face in his hand. He took a deep breath.

  “Well, you got him,” he called back to the woman. “We know what they’ll do next. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “A matter of time,” the woman said, waving her hand flippantly. “Well, I have to go grieve before someone notices that I’m
not there. He’ll be gone in a few hours, I’m sure.”

  Brádach stood and faced her. He nodded, “Go on. I’ll take his body back to his family.”

  “Bring it slowly. He cannot be in the water before my husband dies. I have to guide the strand to the girl.”

  “Aren’t you afraid your soul will be burned? Are you sure this is worth it?”

  “I’ve been burning for millennia because of his embrace. I think I can handle a piece of the Great Soul in my hand.”

  She approached him and stood pressed against his body. She looked straight up into his face. He looked down at her with a saucy smile, but she narrowed her eyes.

  “Why did you try to stop me from killing him?”

  “Impulse. I believe there are other ways to take care of the situation.”

  “I have always been suspicious of you, boatman. I can’t prove anything, but my trust for you has taken quite the plummet today.”

  “I’ll have to earn it back.”

  She scoffed. “We shall see.” She walked away, calling back. “Don’t tell Cova!”

  #

  Whispers and movement ceased upon the king’s last breath. The loose threads of his existence were detaching and coming apart beneath his shroud.

  The gauzy white curtains fluttered with a cool breeze. The prince gazed through an open window before his apar’s desk. His mind was alive with dead thoughts, and he saw nothing beyond them. He did not see his inherited kingdom, nor the moon, nor the stars.

  “Persenimos.”

  The queen approached with silent steps. The sweet voice fell on his ears as a hand touched his shoulder. He shrugged her hand away.

  She gasped. "Surely, you do not—"

  “I do,” he said.

  “Persenimos—” She pouted, chiding him.

  He faced the queen. “Why speak to me? You have what you want: your flesh and blood on the throne, a position of real authority…”

  His eyes flashed, his expression altered.

  “My first act as king will be to eliminate the power of your position. Curse tradition! You will have no part in my reign, woman. Why bother me? Go feign yourself a grieving widow. A grieving widow who bothers with berry lips! I wish to be alone with my apar.”

  He turned to address the company of mourners.

  “Everyone leave.”

  The room emptied. He was glad to be rid of the oppressive presence of hired mourners and so-called friends.

  King Trimos would be uncovered and his soul released adrift upon the star water.

  Persenimos looked toward the star water, shimmering in the falling light. Only upon the star water should a dead man be uncovered. It is the only location from which the spirits will depart to their rightful places. It was ordained by the greatest of all souls—whatever or whoever it might be—that the insentient stars were the masters of unraveling. They were only able to do their work if a soul was in the star water, floating upon their reflection.

  Most believed there would be tragic consequences for the royal line if this practice not be observed, but Persenimos was merely a respecter of his people’s ways. He was not superstitious in the least.

  Persenimos took time to breathe and settle any jagged feelings before he approached his apar's bedside.

  “Look on him once more. Go ahead.”

  He pulled the shroud from his apar’s face.

  The king’s face, chiseled with harsh lines and wrinkles of authority, made him look much older than his stars.

  Many kings before Trimos treated their heirs as little more than the result of an important business transaction with the queen. A prince might be tossed to the side like a message from a pesky governor, or ignored like a list of dismal statistics on a fine Star rise. King Trimos, however, saw Persenimos as the Star of his eye and loved him more than his own soul.

  Persenimos spoke to his apar one last time.

  "My love to you, apar."

  The shroud in its place once more, he strode away through the tall wooden doors.

  #

  Sidita sat in the Cargalel field behind her family's hut. She finished the errands, finished her chores, and now she must practice. She sought privacy beneath the cloud-like, white flowers, and hid within long golden stems.

  She closed her eyes and held her hand out in front of her, palm up. She gazed into the Sálverøld as it swirled and tossed spirits of every color. The spirits in the field and air rose and crashed like a wildly hued, tempestuous sea. Tiny, glowing orbs tossed from the spirit waves like splatters of foam. When cargalel fluff flew on a breezy day, the countryside was the wildest place in the Sálverøld.

  In time, she would learn to distinguish one soul or spirit from another in busy places or at busy times. She was improving every day.

  The spirits of air, silken blue and shimmering silver, swirled around each other like glittering serpents in the Starlight. She needed to snatch one and create a wingfire with a firm tug-and-release. This was a challenge, since no one could see their own soul. She was conscious within the Sálverøld, but it required skill to weave and work without seeing her hand.

  Quick spirit and dexterity. Quick spirit and dexterity.

  Sidita grabbed hold of an air soul. She tugged and released.

  Failure. The air soul vibrated violently in her hand and fell limp.

  Another try.

  Failure. The air soul flew from her hand.

  After retrieving a new air soul, she tried again.

  In its overextended, enflamed state, she grasped its edges and spread it around ‘til it was engulfed within itself. A cool sensation, like a drop of rain, plopped into her physical hand. The black of her pupil opened wide in her ice blue eyes. Before her, burning harmlessly in her hand, the blue-white flame glowed in a transparent sphere.

  She made her first wingfire!

  Task one: complete.

  Her apa would assign the next lesson.

  She smiled. She stood up with the wingfire in hand and stirred up a cloud of white fluff as she dashed through the cargalels.

  Pain swallowed her smile with a grimace. She shrieked as she fell to the ground, dropping her wingfire to clutch her head. She felt as though a red-hot fire iron pierced through her temples. The pain burned, faded to a tingle, and then… nothing.

  Frightened, she called for ama but ama did not answer. She called out again, louder this time. She would have to get up by herself.

  She pushed herself up to her feet, considered her condition, and seemed to be well. She located her wingfire in the tall grass and hurried to her hut. She swung the leather hinged door wide open. In the warm glow of her hut's hearth fire, she stopped short, her mouth fell open.

  Sidita's siblings sat at their weeping ama's feet, and a shrouded body lay on the floor behind them. Sidita could not be certain who lay under that shroud, but it appeared that only one member of their family was absent.

  The shroud sank in at his face. Curious, Sidita stepped forward to pull the shroud away.

  Ama slapped Sidita’s hand.

  "No! Are you mad?" She shouted.

  Sidita jumped back. Her heart hurt and her eyes stung with vinegar tears. Her hands trembled when she realized what she came so close to doing. She covered her face in shame and ran out the door. She slammed herself against the hut and slid down to the ground.

  Her apa was dead. It was him. She felt it.

  They would take him to the star water this Star fall. Gone forever.

  Apa's soul will be torn into pieces and given to others. Oh, let Cothos inherit his bravery.

  She had always feared death for this reason. Unraveling must mean that consciousness ended. The soul could not exist if the spirits came apart. Only a combination of spirits made a soul, and without a soul, you are conscious of nothing. Could this mean he would be conscious until the very last spirit remained? It was the only conclusion that a mind of Sidita's ten stars could come to.

  She took a few deep breaths and stared out into the darkening
empty village. A few wingrays chirped somewhere as they settled down for the Star fall. Sidita heard it all and listened to nothing.

  The door opened. Ama, containing her emotions with restraint of gossamer, stood in the doorway holding baby Mora in her arms.

  “Sidita, come in, please. I need you.” She took a deep breath. “We haven't money for a raft to send your apa into the star water. We must make one.”

  Sidita rose to her feet and, face downcast, slipped by her ama into the hut, trying very hard not to look upon the shrouded body.

  “We must make haste. To build a raft and carry him to the star water will take a long time. I—” Ama plopped down onto the bed to recover from a rush of grief.

  Minutes passed before ama spoke again.

  “The scratcher coop. We must make a raft with the coop.”

  They were all women except for the one little boy. They were helpless without apa. Grieving and helpless.

  “This world must change,” ama said. “It's not right to leave a widow wondering how to survive when all her soul wants only to grieve. Not even the right to sell our things is afforded to us. That governor makes no steps for the women. Never.”

  Sidita remained silent.

  “Very well. It must be.”

  She stood and crossed the room to lay the baby in Sidita's arms. After a sniffle and a swift run of her hands to smooth her tunic and apron, she braided her hair to get it out of the way.

  “You are to take the children to old Goram's hut. Tell him what has happened. Tell him that we have scratchers for him which he needs to come take straightway. Do you understand?”

  Sidita nodded and gathered her siblings together.

  Although she knocked at his door many times before, her hand trembled. She clutched the baby too tightly against her chest as she gathered her courage to rap at the door.

  Old Goram greeted them with a smile that faded quickly.

  “Ah, the children of Gova look sorrowful tonight. What can make such a happy family as downcast as this?" He asked.

  The words passed Sidita's lips.

  Her apa was dead.

  The worst was over. She'd made her announcement.

  “Oh. Oh,” was all Goram managed to say.

  “Ama has scratchers for you. She says you must come straightway,” Sidita said.