The Woven End Read online

  As is the way of worlds, empires, and people, apocalypse falls on us all. Within a generation, the dream dies with its resources. Technologies which were once essential, were no longer sustainable, proving they were not so essential.

  Laws, programs, systems, governments, and life were no longer available the way they once were. The coldness of the world increased, the resources failed, animals teetered on the brink of extinction, many of the animal kingdom fell. Humans were next.

  Infrastructure crumbled: panic, desperation, disease, crime. It was time to retreat to the wisdom of the ancestors. When science confirmed doom, the Ilian faith surged in popularity. Scientists tried to manufacture ways to preserve the world, but announced, after all, that humanity would see another three thousand stars, at the most.

  When the world became darker, crops would not grow, spring and summer refused to appear, the cold homes were no longer a novel, educational experience. They were a humbling, educational experience. The doom-day homes were now a warm, accepting and wise, friend. Within them, humanity re-discovered primitive techniques for survival. There may be hope for the planet to survive another thousand stars, but at this point, humanity faced, at best, a few hundred.

  The religion of the Ilians was popular now, but it was not fully believed by most. Still, it gave everyone hope. Even if their hopes were dashed, the world was going to end anyway. What were dashed hopes to dashed lives?

  #

  She didn’t expect him to come, but she hoped. She placed her head against his chest, but she couldn’t bring herself to put her arms around him. Her coldness became warm. She almost forgot about the pain. Why couldn’t she trust him? She wished she could, but she was so afraid to be wrong.

  “Your soul glimmers with blue and gray when I’m with you,” Brádach whispered.

  “I feel it,” she said.

  They had been through hell and heaven together. Storms and peace, love and hate all had their part in the relationship. He was the only one who saw both sides of her.

  He put his arms around her. She had not felt the masculine touch in so many years, it seemed like a touch of the Star on ice. She melted, the water leaking from her eyes.

  “You must stand with me. Come away from the dirt dwellers and stay here.”

  “It’s important that someone be there,” he answered. “You know this. When you bring her here, I will come.”

  “I miss you.”

  “Why are you so afraid?”

  “It’s getting so close. What if I’m wrong?”

  “Hadate, are you softening up?” He asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  “It’s life or death,” he said. “You’d better be sure you know what you’re doing.”

  She put her arms around him.

  “Stay… Just for a little while,” she said.

  #

  “She will be well cared for, I assure you.”

  The anxious mother looked back to the room where her darling girl slept. Her heart ached at the thought of parting with her. The family’s rations were starving them and this was an opportunity for the sweet girl to have all she wanted to eat. Her health would suffer if they continued this way.

  “Why her? Why not from a family of three or four children? Surely, there must be a descendant elsewhere,” the father said.

  “Yes, and why not yours?”

  The mother put her face in her hands and sobbed quietly. She looked up, “I would rather tarnish my own soul with human blood, than let her go”

  “That can be arranged.”

  The husband put his arm around his wife. “White wolf or not, you will not talk to my wife that way.”

  “My brother, my sister, you have no choice in this matter. We will supply compensation, and you will rest easy knowing your child will be safe and healthy. Her future will be heroic. There will be time for reunion.”

  #

  The vocational hunter led the new hunters to the edge of the dead forest. The first-time hunters who came to train were always in the way, but he had to accept the training responsibility if they were to provide enough for the people.

  Nevertheless, good riddance to them.

  Four people, bundled against the cold, waved and headed back to their complex.

  "Is that everyone?" The hunter mumbled to himself. "Four. Weren't there five? Ah, probably four." He shrugged.

  The hunter looked out over the fern covered plain for a moment, then up at the cold gray-black sky. It was a clear night. Most nights were clear now. He remembered a time when it was different. The world was ending, and it seemed that the closer it got, the more quickly it went. Well, the savior was coming very soon. So they said.

  He yawned. Training wore him out. He readjusted the strap on his shoulder. Maybe he ought to turn in. The temperature was dropping, and he didn’t feel like bearing with it. His underground home was shielded from the below freezing temperatures. It was cold, but not quite as cold. Yeah. Time for fire and rest.

  A quiet shuffle caught his attention. In a flash, he nocked an arrow onto his bowstring and swung around. His broadhead caught on the fifth trainee’s coat. The hunter laughed quietly, putting his arrow away. The fifth trainee was short, thick, and possessed a large nose that peeked over his seal skin scarf. His eyes didn’t laugh with the hunter. He held a thick tree branch.

  The hunter noticed this. He moved quickly to preempt the attack, but he was old, and his assailant was not.

  #

  Story sat up. Softly and West slept curled up together only a yard away from her.

  She looked at her feet. Her boots were gone. Her ancient, well-worn, and thoroughly patched and repatched woolen socks remained, but the boots…

  She worked hard in the fishery room all day, and as one might expect after working in the fishery, she collapsed under her fur, yet to be sewn into a bag, and fell asleep instantly. Only one person would think of the fact that her fur was not sewn into a bag and felt familiar enough to creep in and pilfer a girl's precious boots.

  She pulled back the ragged fabric hanging from the ceiling and entered the main room. A fire burned for the benefit of all. Boon sat at the watch tonight. The poor fellow worked with Story in the fishery that day, but there he sat, slumped over the box of bones for fuel, snoring. The fire didn't need attention, so she let him sleep.

  She padded softly through the room and into the hallway which brought her through three other buildings of the same style: large, dome-like rooms edged with little partitions for the privacy of family units. She did not stop to ask any of those on fire duty whether they saw her suspected thief. She knew who it was, and there was no need to ask.

  The third room, the fourth partition to the right.

  The room's fire keeper looked on, amused.

  She pulled the partition aside.

  Creed lay in his bag, sound asleep. Truth, Creed's father, lay on the other side. She didn't see her boots. She hesitated, second-guessing herself, and then, "My boots, please!" She ordered.

  Creed awoke and sat up. "Story?"

  She stuck her tongue out at him. "Give me my boots, Creed. Now.”

  Truth awoke. "What's this?" he asked, propping himself on his elbow.

  "Your boy stole my boots. First my gloves, then my hat, then–on wash day— my drawers, and now my boots. Hand them over, Creed!”

  "Do you have her boots?" Truth asked.

  "Do you see her boots anywhere?"

  "No, but I see you, and that's quite enough. Give her the boots."

  Creed laughed as he pulled the boots out of his bag and slipped out to give them to her. She grabbed them with a hard yank as he resisted with his own grip. She scowled at him. He smiled and let go.

  "Haven't you any sleeping to do?" Story asked, putting her boots on. "I'm glad some of us have the energy to waste precious hours of sleep on silly pranks. I guess someone has to have fun. Aren't you training in the Separatium, Creed?"

  "No. I couldn't bear to train with Nettle. I traded wit
h her sister."

  Story slumped and let out a small puff of air. "You did what?"

  Creed smiled. "I thought you'd like that. Believe me, I wouldn't have chosen it either, but I knew Hyssop was the only one who would work with Nettle—willingly."

  "You'd better be up to the task then. You have no idea how angry I will be if you leave me to the hides and guts because you took my boots in the middle of the night. Go to sleep!"

  #

  The next morning, Story awoke to the smell of fried bear meat and the sound of bone meal cakes sizzling in bear fat, along with the quiet murmur of the morning’s first greeters. Softly and West were not in their partition. They must be in the main room.

  She sat up, wiped the crust from her eyes, and yawned. She resolved in her mind to make time to sew her bag today. It would be harder for Creed to repeat his prank that way. Ten or twelve of her building's inhabitants sat with iron pans hanging over the fire in the main room.

  A scattered greeting met her, "Glad waking, Story."

  "Glad waking," she answered as she made her way to West and Softly.

  "Dear one," Softly said, giving her a hug. West nodded his greeting as he flipped the bear meat over.

  Story splashed her face with water from their ration and sat beside Softly to wait for the cakes and meat.

  "Glad waking," the group said again as another person peeked out from their partition.

  "What is your job assignment today?" Softly asked Story.

  "Tannery," she said.

  "Oh! Who are you working with?" He asked.

  "Creed."

  West laughed at that.

  Softly gasped."Oh? Oh."

  "The worst part of it is that he traded to work there. He stole my boots last night, so I went to him and demanded he give them back. Then he tells me that we're working together today because he didn't want to work with Nettle. He asked Hyssop to do it and Hyssop happened to be my partner today. Awful. My guess is that he and I will end up training together in the Separtarium, too."

  The prospect of having a good day was quickly disappearing as Story thought about its potential events.

  "Stole your boots!" Softly said. "That's not nice. Mittens and hats are one thing, but one should never steal someone's boots, even in fun."

  West brought the cakes and meat to his family.

  "I'll have a talk with Truth. I think his boy is out of control."

  "Don't do that, dad. He's obnoxious, but harmless," she said, taking a cake and the smallest slab of meat.

  West grunted, twitched his thick black moustache, and cleared his throat.

  "Oh, don't West. Don't embarrass her," Softly whispered.

  "I wouldn't be embarrassed, I just don't think it's a worthy endeavor," Story countered.

  "I still say we ought to send you to the Ilians," West grumbled.

  Story stopped chewing."Oh, don't talk about that again."

  Softly murmured, "You know she doesn't feel as we do, West. Why do you keep threatening?"

  "Threatening! I'm offering her a chance to be treated like females used to be treated. They used to be treated like something special, and now they're treated like, well, like men. I think she would like it."

  "The treatment, perhaps, but the beliefs that she would have to subscribe to and the possible sacrifice—"

  "It's almost the ten thousandth star. If it's true, she may become the most powerful woman alive, and if it is not, we will be disappointed, but she will come back home to us having reaped the benefits of training. What's threatening about that? Besides, it's time that she commit to something. All of this aimless floating through life! She has so much potential to commit. When she decides something, she's settled, and that's that. It's time to put it to good use for a cause."

  "I'm right here," Story said. "I can hear you."

  "It’s a threat because she's a good girl, and she’ll do whatever you want," Softly replied.

  West's dark brown eyes stared hard at Softly before turning to Story, "Do you feel threatened, Story?" West asked.

  "It's not threatening."

  "The Red Lady will be here in a week. It will be the last reaping before the savior comes. I think Story will impress the lady."

  Softly shook his head. "I just don't think it's kind, West. All of this over a stolen pair of boots! You look for any reason to send her to the Ilians. I realize that she is something to be proud of, but to force her to our faith— I just…I just don't think it's right. Who wants glory without happiness?"

  "Ah! She's hardy as a bear, but pretty enough to be Nat's bride. Don't you think?" West asked, forcing a smile.

  "Yes, pretty. I agree," Softly said.

  West took a sloppy bite of meat. "So who cares about faith and glory when she's hardy enough to withstand the cold and have happiness with the greatest of all mates?"

  Someone else came out of their partition.

  "Glad Waking!"

  "We will talk about this again," West said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The entire population of Story's compound knew their assigned occupations for the day. Some were assigned to fishing on the ice. Some were assigned to the fishery to clean and gut the fish before delivering them to the kitchen.

  In the kitchen, the workers busied themselves with boiling broths, fermenting what few vegetables they managed to grow indoors, grinding bones to meal, and cutting up bear and moose that hunters brought in. They prepared meat for the day, and cured any excess for less prosperous days. They sent the hides to the tannery where the heat, smell, and smoke were enough to choke a moose.

  In the tannery, hides stretched out over smoky fires, and strips of tanned hides were balled up in boxes. Boots, racks with and without hides, bone knives, razors, scrapers and brushes hung on the wall. From here, furs, hides, boots, and clothing were given to the elders for storage and assignment.

  In the elders' room, small piles of fur and clothing were depleted by the end of most days. Some days they had none to give, depending on the hunters’ success and tanners’ haste. This room was the heartbeat of every complex. People came here for rations of every kind: food, clothing, water, and mates.

  The life of an elder was not desirable and, unlike the duties of almost everyone else, the elders never rotated positions. Every day the elders remained the elders, whereas most might be a fisherman one day, a hunter the next, a tailor a week from then, and maybe a cook the next day. The elder faced his friends day after day as an authority who often must say 'no' to what their hearts wholeheartedly said 'yes' to. Duty came first, affection and loyalty to individuals came later. After all, this was the Great Cold, and strict adherence to rules, rations, and orders were the only chance of surviving for another few generations. The busy, joyless elders found reprieve only at night. Unsolicited night time visits to an elder were not allowed.

  Truth sat at his table. Person after person came to bring him their problem, need, or request until the midday meal when everyone lined up for their food rations.

  When Truth saw Dweller’s expression and body language, he knew there was going to be a problem. He groaned in himself. He was going to have to tell the good fellow “no” about something. He had enough on his plate right now with the dead hunter mystery. A murderer on the loose was a danger to all, and the people in the world as it was had to live in complete trust with each other. This stress was enough, he didn’t need Dweller’s hurt feelings, too.

  Dweller leaned down on Truth's table. He spoke quietly, glancing askance a few times as he did so. "Truth, I need you to consider our relationship and do something for me.”

  "What is it, Dweller?"

  "Lonely is pregnant."

  Truth cringed.

  "It would destroy her to give the child away but…"

  Truth was used to these kinds of things. Someone was always trying to ask a favor of him based on their relationship. He straightened up and cleared his throat.

  "I can't do anything for you. I'm sorry. I must
tell you what I tell everyone else that makes the request you're about to make. You have your ration of food for a bi-gender family, and I cannot grant you more no matter how large your family grows. If you want the child to be healthy and happy, I suggest you—"

  "Give the baby away to someone in a completely different complex. No! Come, man. We have one child, and the ration is already just enough for the three of us. It will never stretch for four. You have tender feelings. I know you—"

  Truth leaned back. "Yes. However, I must work in the system as it is, and I am not in a position to change it. I assure you that a unigender family is a good solution and will provide your child with all it needs to thrive. You may keep the child, of course, but no extra food will be rationed to you."

  Dweller winced. "Truth—"

  "I can only give you my sincere encouragement and sound advice. Unigender families receive double rations. This would be the best course of action as things are.”

  Dweller spat the words, "What's the sense in controlling the population when the world is going to freeze? We're all going to die before long, we may as well die happy!”

  Truth smiled a sad smile and touched Dweller's hand, resting on the table. "Come and see me when you and Lonely decide what to do. If you wish to arrange an adoption transfer, I will personally interview the potential family to see that they are quality people."

  Dweller scowled, shook his head and, with a snort, turned away.

  The next person in line stepped up.

  "Life. I have passed my first cycle and wish to be placed on the list for unigender family union, Elder Truth."

  "Life, very few make this decision so quickly after their first cycle. You're only seventeen. Are you sure you wish to—"

  "Yes. I do. "

  "Yes, but you may feel affection for someone and—“

  "No. Put me on the list. I have my mind settled."