The Woven End Read online

  A longer letter soon follows.

  Your Obedient,

  Y'Armos son of Etetuol

  #

  20th Star rise, Image of Esar,

  26th Star of His Majesty, King Persenimos, son of Trimos

  To: Prince of the Trilands, Nat, son of Persenimos, the King of the Trilands

  Having my concerns truncated but, at the very least, said and sent, permits me a more leisurely approach to responding to the other matters in your correspondence to me.

  I am glad to hear that you have arrived and settled in the governor's residence safely.

  Your aunt Tapa! My dear prince, it's a pity you've not known more of your amar's family until now. I've heard little of her except that she seems disinclined to marry. It could be that she simply has not found the proper suitor.

  I have not seen the mansion of Sakat first hand. I've heard it is a particulary severe edifice, but quite delicately adorned and welcoming within. Is this how you have found it?

  It is strange, indeed, that there were nobility in attendance who were strangers to you. I wonder at this. As you yourself said, you've gone to Sakat on errands for your apar many times, and, in all of those times, I think you would be introduced to all of the nobility. What were their names?

  You will find, dear prince, that your uncle has quite a reputation as an Alchemine and so did your amar. This is reason enough for people, especially nobility, to be inquisitive about it. There has been a long-standing, but altogether unspoken, rule concerning royalty learning the Alchemine art. Your amar's practice of the art was permissible because she was not born into royalty or nobility and had no say in how she was brought up. It seems a good thing to me that the boorish visitor kept you from answering the good woman. It would not have been something to announce publicly.

  You see, Alchemines who are not ruled by their conscience will not abide by the guidelines that are laid out for the practice of this art. I know there are some who are said to do evil things with the art, and there is much power in their hands. The idea of someone who may sit on the throne while practicing an art that is potentially dangerous is, as you might imagine, not a pleasant thought for the common man of the Trilands. If I understand correctly, you are only to learn this art for your amar's sake. At least, that is what I've been told.

  So, if you have not already been advised to keep silent on the matter, let me be the first to do so, with all due respect. If you are told otherwise by your apar or your uncle, then take your liberty, of course, to dismiss my advice without worry of offense.

  My new charge is a feisty young boy of eleven stars. I sometimes have a mind to take a switch to him, but his indulgent apar would never allow such drastic measures. I suppose I have been spoiled by you. Not a student I may teach in the future will ever compare, and it may be so terrible from here on out that I’ll give up the occupation until you have children of your own for me to tutor

  I might fill the shoes of a butcher quite well for a decade or so.

  Your Obedient,

  Y'Armos son of Etetuol

  #

  8th Star rise, the Isle of the Center,

  26th Star of the King Persenimos

  To: Y'Armos Son of Etetuol

  My Dear Y'Armos,

  My letter is reaching you much later than I intended. I wish for you to know that I have tried writing numerous times, but my uncle keeps me quite busy. I've made several little balls of cool fire called wingfires. It’s the first weaving Alchemines learn. The ones I’m making do not look quite as my uncle expects. They seem larger, brighter, and often different shapes. I feel I must be doing something wrong. He seems pleased, but confused.

  We were all alchemines once! Why did you never teach this? I understood that Alchemines existed, I understood that the stars unleash our spirits to inherit, but this! It's an entire world! I hardly know how to explain myself to you. What a wonder! The Sálverøld—which I found very simple to enter—is black, but there are so many wriggling, writhing, flowing, bouncing, and beautiful spirits of every color you can imagine. The black is only there as a piece of paper for the spirits to live on.

  The sky is filled with shimmering silver. My uncle says that is where the heart and blood of life comes from and, when life unravels, their piece of silver sky returns to its place.

  What's more, I see silver cords ascending to the sky from the direction of the star water. I watched as the life blood and heart of fellow creatures returned to their home.

  The soul creates your body. While you may move in the Sálverøld, your physical manifestation remains in time and space, nearly unmoving. My uncle says that an example of an exception is marital consummation. Time and space are necessary because the physical act performs the weaving. You can not weave it without the physical act. It is the same with eating.

  I sent for a physician as you insisted and, as I expected, they have nothing to say to me. He listened to my heart, thumped at my chest with the back of his hand a few times, asked me to breathe deeply, and shrugged his shoulders just as every other physician has done. He gave me glottit pills, intended to strengthen the heart, and I am taking them on a regular basis now. I suspect that if the best of physicians didn't use these pills, they had good reason. Nevertheless, I take them.

  Tell me, what think you of this idea? Do you suppose that there is a way one might utilize the Sálverøld to repair my health? From what I have learned thus far, I suspect that nearly anything can be done if one possesses the skill. My heart, my infections, and all of the things that have caused me so much misery could, perhaps, be relieved with something like the pull of a string or the knotting of a thread. What say you?

  You asked for the names of the unknown nobility. I remember a few, but not all.

  Flato the son of Eera, his wife Clovid, and their daughter, whose name I don't remember. They sounded like Bositian names to me.

  Lasat son of Duchoy was another. There was a good lady named Naskat. Who she belonged to, I can’t recall. The strange woman who asked questions was called Hadate. That is all I remember at present.

  I am glad to hear of your spoiling. I advise you to whip the child soundly then depart to the palace and demand a star's stipend for the ruination of the enjoyment of your career due to exposure to the prince. You know my apar better than I. Perhaps you can say whether or not he would laugh.

  Your Son in Mind,

  Nat

  #

  10th Star Rise, the Isle of the Center,

  The 26th year of His Starlit Majesty, Persenimos

  To: His Royal Highness, the great prince of the Trilands

  My son in mind, I will not be in correspondence with you for some time now. I will be on the island of Bos with my sister. She married Bositian, and her husband died only a Star rise ago. I am her only remaining relative—she was left childless—and so I must go to her. As you know, the period of mourning for the dead among the common folk is lengthier than it is for royalty. Therefore, I will be in a confinement of mourning for several constellations while I tend to my sister and her grief. I write you one last letter until the Snuffler is overhead. At that point I will be free to correspond again as my confinement will be complete.

  However, you are free to write. I would enjoy your letters. You may reach me at the house of Boorzau, the unraveling son of Tolban, in Bos.

  Thank you for seeking a physician. Different physicians will treat you according to a different philosophy. The best physicians of Tici may operate by a different philosophy than those on Sakat.

  I think I have heard of this glottit pill. It contains an herb which is said to improve heart function. It’s a fascinating idea, but no documented proof. I'm anxious to hear whether or not it helps you. Perhaps you might ask your uncle to inspect the spiritual properties of this herb to determine whether or not it might be of use to you? Is that possible?

  I would direct you away from a spiritual cure, however. A lot of people are under the impression that the spirits are separate fr
om nature, but if I understand correctly, the spirits are nature. That is to say, the spirit of nature is in everything and the spirits make up what we call nature. There are certain things of nature that should remain inviolate, but what do I know? My cousin was an Alchemine, but that is all. By all means, ask your uncle. He would know more certainly than I. From what your letter said, I assume that I am correct.

  The names of the unfamiliar Sakatian nobility remain unfamiliar. The names do not sound noble. Lasat sounds noble, but he lacks a noble apar. I once tutored in a noble household which employed a local barmaid named Naskat as one of their cooks. As for Hadate, that is a noble name, no doubt.

  I don't know what to tell you, my good prince. Your uncle, I trust, knows who his guests are and would not expose you to any common persons on such familiar terms in his home.

  Perhaps you might mention this to your apar in a non-alarmist manner. Simply mention your new acquaintances and see what he replies.

  Now, for the great piece of glory contained in your letter.

  It is baffling to me that this art is the answer to all of our questions about the world around us, and yet so few bother to learn and enter it. If only man were good, then we might enjoy a spiritual awakening such as only the Alchemines experience.

  Ah, my prince, you are of such good character that I trust you implicitly to use this art for the betterment of our great world.

  As for my new charge, I will consider your advice, but I fear I haven't the courage for the demand of a star's stipend as you recommended. Your Apar would laugh, yes, but he would never again allow me to be employed under the palace's roof.

  Well, my prince, I depart for sorrowful purposes and regret both the departure and the purpose. Study well, respect your uncle, and continue to feed your inquiring mind. It is a beautiful thing.

  Your Friend,

  Y'Armos son of Etetuol

  Chapter Sixteen

  "May the Stars fall upon me! How did you make these?" Cova examined the variations of the common wingfire he expected the youth to deliver up to him.

  "H—how? Are they right? Please, tell me they're right. I have been agonizing over this for—"

  "Right Your Majesty? Right? They are wingfires such as I have never seen."

  Perhaps his uncle was humoring him. He preferred to meet the expectations with perfection, not create new expectations with strange quality.

  "That's very well then. What have you to teach me next?"

  Cova smiled. A willing and capable student, exactly what he expected.

  Once Nat understood that there were basic principles to the how, he had only to learn what the spirits were and which combination of them made which soul. That was quite a task of memorization. He grasped the principles of the majority of the lawful Alchemine weavings within a few constellations.

  The ordinary things of life could be made extraordinary. If he didn't like the hue of a tunic, he could alter it. He could enhance the fertility of soil. Imagine the increase for Bositian farmers if he were able to weave a better soil for them and improve the quality of their crops.

  What king would not benefit from the ability to see the souls and learn of personality and character? He could spy out those who may prove traitors and select the brave, the compassionate, and the loyal to be his aids.

  The young man's spirits lifted during his time in the governor's mansion. Those who lived with him saw a man at ease who, quite naturally, responded with respect to those around him. He was real and kind and some might even say "good". With a broad, approachable smile, just as his apar's, and gentle eyes like his amar, the servants could not help but favor him.

  Though he was only a student to him, a pupil that must be taught in order to bring about an end, Cova liked him as well.

  Nat did not appear weak, but his careful way of moving, like an old man who had seen many stars and illnesses, gave an air of frailty. Nevertheless, he kept his chin up and shoulders back as a prince ought to.

  By the time the Triland was nearly positioned beneath the Snuffler constellation, the training he was expected to receive was complete. The governor summoned him to his office and the prince went without delay. He was anxious to go home to continue with his apar.

  He opened the door without knocking. Cova greeted him with a smile as he removed a pair of spectacles.

  "When did you get spectacles, uncle?" Asked Nat, sitting down in the lounging chair against the wall.

  "Ah, yes, well… Age. I had to give in to age someday, I suppose. I gave in with spectacles first. I'd say they're the most dignified sign of aging. The rest is all slop and horror."

  Nat laughed. "Nay, uncle. You haven't aged a day since the painting of you when you were but thirty some stars. I've seen it many times in the palace. I'm certain you haven't changed."

  Cova roared with incredulous laughter. "If that's so, I ought to have to have that artist hung."

  "Oh, stars upon you uncle. Accept a compliment."

  "Yes, yes. Flattery, compliments, their all the same when you're a governor. Now, the reason I called for you," he said, still smiling. "There are other things I should like very much to teach you if you are willing to learn them. They are— shall we say—unconventional Alchemine art."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, I mean that…that the majority of Alchemines reject these weavings because they go against the code, requiring slytes."

  "Slytes," Nat repeated. "I’ve read of those. What are they, exactly?"

  "Sentient spirits. Well, most of them are spirits. There is one… one that is a soul.

  "It is only with the help of a slyte that a human can perform any truly useful weavings. This is why I've chosen the path of slyte weaving myself. I would very much wish for you to learn it as well. Your amar was proficient in this branch of the art."

  "Why do they reject it?" Nat asked.

  The smile faded from Cova's face. "Ignorance mistaken for purity and piety."

  Cova delivered his story to Nat, detailing his community's rejection and the aid of a slyte that brought him success.

  "Slytes. Thinking spirits in the Sálverøld that have no physical manifestation. I find that hard to grasp, uncle."

  Cova nodded. "Oh, yes, yes! You didn't think the Sálverøld consisted only of playthings for humanity! Haven’t you learned the story of Lemanos and Nuneh? It is the only story in our lame attempt at recorded history that pays homage to them.What do you think made the Trilands?”

  "The Great Soul," Nat answered.

  "Aye," Cova said, nodding. "But, what is the Great Soul?”

  Nat thought a moment. “I don’t know."

  "Come into the Sálverøld with me."

  Until this time, Nat-Scrios hid from the prince. It made itself known now, revealing itself in the corner of the room.

  The presence of the slyte gave Nat no little start. He sought a sign from his uncle that the thick, black haze in the corner was a welcome guest. His uncle nodded, so Nat watched the creature.

  "Prince Nat, I have longed to meet you."

  Here, the prince felt that there was something polite that ought to be said in reply, but he thought of nothing he could say sincerely. He remained silent.

  "I will tell you what you want to know," the slyte said.

  The slyte put forth something like a hand to pull back a portion of its being, as if opening a long, black coat. Swirling with colors, like visible gases bottled up in a chamber, his insides were a beautiful chaos. A shimmering whisp of yellow writhed and throbbed. Tendrils sprawled out from the whisp and into the entire being of the slyte like the veins in a circulatory system. Nat-Scrios closed itself up and spoke.

  “You see how I am a soul? I am composed of more than the creative spirit of blackness. Come with me," it said, as it approached Nat and gestured for him to take hold of it.

  Nat glanced at his uncle and reluctantly extended his soul to the slyte. Nat-Scrios shot up into the air, taking Nat's soul with it. In mere seconds, the flight cam
e to an abrupt stop before a great yellow wall.The yellow light swirled with multiple jewel-like colors and the occasional burst of color shooting forth from it and flying by the two souls.

  "By the stars! Where have you taken me, shadow? Return me to my body at once!"

  The slyte drew back its blackness again, revealing the throbbing spirit within him.

  "This is my lover." the slyte said. "I wove an end into her corpse." It gestured to the Star beside them.

  "This… this is your lover?"

  "We came too close. Our beings interacted violently, and now a portion of myself is woven into her corpse, and she is in me. My presence within her consumes her, her presence in me consumes me. Oh, what an error. What a mistake! When I saw that the star’s heat allowed my children, the slytes, to create—" the slyte burst into a crackling, raspy wail. "Oh, oh, I longed to stomp it all out in pity, for I knew that some day they would be a great people who would be destroyed. I had to think of a solution. I cannot let you be destroyed." It shuddered.

  "The world will freeze. Humanity will never exist again. The Star will fade and fizzle out like a dying ember in the Great Soul's fireplace, dark and cold."

  The two souls hovered in the hot, swirling colors radiating from the Star. Until now, the roar of its explosions and spitting of flame and color were a distraction, but Nat no longer heard or saw them.

  “Please, be clear with me,” Nat whispered.

  "It is true. Unleashed, the blackness has great power for creation. Restricted, it creates only death. This may all seem fantastic to you, but I assure you, if you heed your uncle and cooperate with him, you will understand, in time."

  "Time! Is there time to understand? You speak to me of the impending doom of mankind, and then tell me there is time?”

  "Approximately ten thousand stars remain.”

  "I—I don't know. I have to think—I have to think about this. Take me home."

  The slyte obeyed the prince's demand. Nat opened his eyes. His uncle, seated at his desk, looked up to Nat, his face, solemn.