The Woven End Read online

  "Very well. We will have the want for a partner distributed. Are you willing to transfer to another complex, or do you wish to stay here?"

  "I have no preference."

  He pulled out a hide with names on it and added hers.

  A tear came to her eye. "I can barely stand the wait."

  He smiled at her. “When we find a mate, you’ll both receive your ration plate then.”

  Life thanked him and walked out.

  Truth sighed. Life grew up as the third child in a bi-gender family. Needless to say, in the present system, her family often knew want. They rarely had enough food, but her parents stubbornly held on to every last one of their children. It made sense that she would seek to be a unigender family. Truth remembered a time when men and women sought out advantageous marriages. It was never anything like this. Now, food was wealth, and the only way to be wealthy was to marry one of the same sex. It bothered him. Some were attracted to their mate and lived in the way of bi-gender families, and some simply chose a mate as a partner for life, with no inclination beyond close friendship. Such a thing would never have been accepted in the past, but he resigned himself to it. He understood the reasons. He understood human nature better than anyone. He accepted the necessities of surviving in the current era. Still, it never stopped bothering him.

  No one stood in line behind the girl, so he reclined and tipped his chair back against the wall, put his feet on the desk and closed his eyes.

  He wanted to be a fisher. The water was his blood, but he had to be here, and the blood was hard now, anyway.

  #

  "Are you glad to see me?" asked Creed.

  "Delighted," Story replied.

  Creed smiled as he shed his outer coat and hung it on a hook beside Story's.

  "You're not really mad at me. You never have been."

  Story raised her eyebrow at this but said nothing.

  Whoever worked the day before was lazy. Creed went to work on half finished boots. Just a little bit of work after hours and those would have been done last night. Creed sat down with the little mallet and began hammering nails into the bottom of the boot while Story removed the tanned hides from their racks and laid them in a pile.

  "Did you tell West what happened?" Creed called back to her.

  She stood in front of him. "Look," she said, "If we are going to have a tolerable day here, I think your mouth should stay closed."

  Creed smirked. "Tut, tut, tut! Aren't we feisty today," He said, twitching his eyebrows, smiling.

  Story stared at him, biting her lower lip and shaking her head.

  "I hate when you do that face. I hate it. I’ve hated it since we were children, and yet you still do it," she muttered.

  "No, you don't. Nobody hates that face," Creed said seriously, directing his attention to hammering at the unfinished boot.

  “I can’t stand your nasally voice when you’re in an annoying mood, either.”

  A snow frosted hunter entered the room with a fresh pelt over their shoulder and emptied intestines over her arm. Story hurried over to take the pelt and dust the snow off of it. She placed it on a rack near the fire. She took the intestines and placed them on a table.

  The hunter took her mittens and boots off and pulled the hood back to reveal a wide, dark, woman's face, much like Story's. She smiled a perfect, vibrant, straight smile.

  "My mom didn't think I could do it," she said, stepping up to the fire to warm her hands.

  Story laughed, incredulous. "What? Why?"

  "She thought I was too fragile for the outside. I went out early, and I speared that bear. I had it cleaned up before half of today's hunters were out of their bags."

  "I've hunted. Almost everyone has. Why would you be too fragile?" Story asked as she sliced the intestines in sections, turning them inside out, and scraping them.

  Creed laughed. "Because she whines," he said. "She makes everyone think she can't do anything so that she doesn't have to do anything. It's the perfect plan for a woman with no ambition to use her existence for more than breathing and flirtation—Oh, look! Intestines. My favorite.”

  The hunter took notice of Creed for the first time. "Him? You're working with him?"

  "You two are the only girls who claim they don't like me. No one else can resist my charm and insulting wit," Creed said, putting the new boots in a box by the wall.

  He sauntered over to Story’s side. “My! Those are big intestines.”

  "Wit?" The hunter said with a scoff. She cast a disbelieving glance at Story. Story shrugged and rolled her eyes.

  "Wit. You know. It rhymes with flit, hit, and spit. It does not rhyme with haughty or its synonym: Pearl the vixeny girl."

  "Oh, Story. I'm so sorry. If he were actually funny, it might be more bearable," Pearl said, putting her mittens back on. "I would love to talk and stay by the fire for a little while, but I am clearly not welcomed by your work partner. I'll find you later."

  "I understand."

  "I don't," Creed said, dusting the snow off of Pearl's coat, a mocking concern on his face. "Was it something I said?”

  Pearl glared at him, pulled her hood up, and left.

  Story didn't need to say anything. She looked at him, narrowed her eyes, and went on to the next task. They spent the rest of the morning in silence.

  Their second meal arrived at midday: A fish, a bowl of bone broth, a chunk of pemmican, and a portion of keefla, a fermented root juice.

  After washing their hands, they took their food to opposite ends of the room and sat down to eat. It took only a few minutes for Creed's admirers to arrive. A young girl came first and sat down to talk with Creed as he ate. She pulled a piece of cheese out of her pocket and handed it to him. He thanked her and smiled as he reached out to touch her face.

  Story gagged quietly and looked away.

  The girl left.

  Before long, two new girls, older than the first, arrived. They crouched down to sit on either side of Creed, and they all laughed uproariously several times.

  "Obnoxious," Story muttered to herself. She finished the last of her keefla and put the dishes in a bin to be picked up by dish washers. She kept her head down and proceeded to work. She glanced sideways toward Creed and whatever girlfriend he had with him at the moment. She wiped the sweat off her forehead. The sweat made it more frustrating to watch Creed being Creed. While she ate her food and went back to work early, he sat there with half eaten food, flirting.

  Creed jumped up and left his plate on the ground to take his current visitor, a girl named Idea, by the hand and lead her out.

  Story stood up straight, stunned, motionless. She closed her mouth and willed her hands to work and her feet to move.

  After dropping the intestines in a solution, she set the new fur up. "It's not my concern," She mumbled, as she scraped the tissue away.

  Creed returned several minutes later. He seemed a bit over-excited, but had no look of guilt or indication of regard for what anyone might think of him. He stuffed his face and guzzled his keefla. The work drums thundered just as he dropped his dishes into the bin. He rubbed his hands together and scanned the room for a task.

  “What did that hide ever do to you?” He laughed.

  Then he caught Story's eye.

  Story couldn't help herself. She knew what happened, and she couldn't find the reigns of her spirit. She glared at him.

  "Do you need something?" Creed asked, serious and snippy this time. His voice lowered when he was serious.

  Story balked. Her tongue waited behind her teeth to slap him with a selection of words perfect for the occasion, but she didn't like his smile and knew him too well to allow it.

  "No."

  #

  Truth shook his head. He looked into the Sálverøld, hoping for some hint regarding the hunter’s murderer, but there were no additional clues to be found. He looked around the Separtarium and sighed.

  “I just have a feeling that they’ve done this, somehow. West and Softly wouldn
’t…”

  Elder Clarity spoke up, “We will have to watch her closely. I feel the tremors, too.”

  Truth pressed his lips together into a straight line, and exhaled through his nose. He would have to observe them more closely.

  “I don’t understand why she’s doing this. It’s not necessary. The plan works as it is, but she’s doing something…She’s always been crazy” He contorted his face in frustration. “You can take him,” Truth called out to the Separatium worker.

  They covered the hunter’s body and wheeled him away for bone removal.

  “We will wait,” Truth said. “And take them back with us.”

  #

  Story stopped the çephel and looked up. "Your nose," she said.

  "My—my nose? What's wrong with my nose?" Bear asked.

  "Nothing. Orchid seems to think there is, though."

  "Is it—is it too big?" He wondered aloud, touching the offensive protuberance.

  "I just read the words. Ask Orchid."

  "No! You're crazy," Bear said, shaking his head violently. "She doesn't even know I care for her much less that I go to one of the çephel readers to ask about her!"

  Story laughed. "Orchid's not good for you, Bear. She's silly."

  “She's beautiful!"

  “She should be glad to have a lover like you. Her family could use a suitor for one of their children before they starve. Talk to her dad. He'll give her away without trouble."

  “Better to be in love and unmarried, than married and hated. No," Bear said, inspecting his nose with his fingers. "Well, I'm going home. I'm on fire duty tonight. I need a nap. Elder Truth brought a new box of bones that I have to get, too. Better get those first so he doesn’t have to wait long.”

  Bear pulled his satchel open and pulled out a small flask, he held it out to Story.

  Story took the flask and opened it to sniff. "Blood? Really? You…how did you—?"

  “I brought a pregnant lady her ration during midday meal and she refused it because she was feeling so ill. So, I thought it would be a good payment for you." Bear smiled and stood up to leave.

  "Quiet evening," he said.

  "Quiet evening."

  She read the çephel for several people today. She had roe cake, a bit of marrow, and now blood, for compensation. Not a bad night. Her readings were accurate, and she drew in more than other çephel readers. She'd never been proven wrong, therefore many from other areas of the complex braved the cold just to come to her.

  She looked through the gaps in her partition. Everyone was going about their business, relaxing after a hard day of work. She decided to put the çephel away. She felt strange and wanted to rest, too. She reached for the çephel to slide the stone bowl aside, but it began spinning on its own.

  Never. That never happened.

  It wobbled, insisting she read it.

  She moved her hand slowly, letting her fingers linger a few inches from the center. Her fingers grew ice cold as they descended. She placed them in the bowl. The bowl stopped. It spun and stopped, spun, and stopped. The word, in Slytian, was Kotön. She understood it to mean danger.

  “What’s dangerous?” She asked.

  The çephel began spinning again.

  She sensed someone outside of her partition. She placed her fur on top of the spinning bowl and stood to open the partition and face them.

  Truth and Creed.

  "Story, we need your services. In private," Truth whispered.

  She raised her eyebrows at this, glancing back at Creed. He donned an air of forced nonchalance. Whatever Truth wanted from her was embarrassing to Creed.

  Story smirked.

  "Yes. Where?"

  "Follow us. We'll need your çephel," Truth said.

  She ducked into her room and snatched up the çephel. Truth led the way to the elders' room for privacy.

  "This is a private matter, Story. You can keep secrets?"

  "Yes."

  "There has been an accusation against my son here. I won't tell you what it is. The shadows who speak through those letters will tell you the truth. Ask them what my son did during his midday meal hour today."

  Creed groaned. "Dad, this is—"

  "Absolutely necessary," Truth said, throwing his hand up. "You deny the accusations. We will be done with it and know the truth."

  Creed laughed. "A çephel? This is your idea of getting the truth? Superstitious, ancient nonsense!"

  "You are disgraced in your own right, and you presume to insult my faith, you weak armed girl?"

  Creed scowled. "I don't have weak arms and you know it! And that was a girly slap in the face if ever I heard one!"

  Story didn't want to get involved, but she had to confess. "Elder Truth…I…I know what he did today. You can't ask me this. It wouldn’t be fair." She stepped back a little. Mild mannered Truth never behaved like this.

  "Whether you do or do not—"

  "What do you mean you know what I did?" Creed asked.

  "I saw who you left with, and I saw your manner. I know exactly what you did."

  "As I was about to say," Truth continued. "I believe you are honest. Creed and I know the çephel as well. It will be your hands. We will watch. It is the shadows who will speak. If they repeat to you what they told me, then we will know."

  Creed leaned back against a wall, angry.

  Story set the çephel on Truth's desk. She bit her lower lip, looking on to Creed, questioning.

  Creed nodded his consent. "Just do it. Let's finish this."

  Gravel, gravel, gravel. Stop.

  "Lalat," Story and Truth spoke together. Truth looked at his son.

  Gravel, gravel, gravel. Stop.

  "Snitet."

  Gravel, gravel, gravel…

  The çephel spelled out the misdeed of that day. Truth's jaws clenched tight and twitched as Story apologized to Creed with her eyes. Why should she feel bad? She didn't want him to be in trouble, not trouble this big.

  "Go ahead. Say it, Story," Creed said.

  "Unity with Idea."

  Creed threw his hand in the air. "I didn't invent the misdeed, dad! I just fell in line with millions of men who misdeed the same way I do."

  "She's fifteen stars," Truth answered, hot as a sizzling iron. “She's two years away from her first cycle and you…you—" Truth stopped hunting for the words. Then, resolute, "There is only one solution."

  "What?"

  Truth's mouth opened, but he stifled his words for Story's sake.

  She nodded and left.

  She knew it was wrong, but she felt as if she would explode if she didn’t obey her whim. She went around the corner and stood there, listening.

  After a silence, she heard movement and a sigh.

  “Creed,” Truth began. “If you don’t shape up I will have to formulate a different plan.”

  “Dad—“

  “I get it. I get it. We are getting down to the end here. Too much is at stake. If you had taken my advice, the two of you would be married already. They’re eyeing her up. She’s marked. Why would you risk this with such vile behavior?”

  “Maybe I don’t care,” Creed answered.

  “You should. If you don’t care about The Great Soul, try to find a way to show you care about her. Do you?”

  Creed huffed a bit as he shifted his feet on the gritty soil floor.

  “Yeah. You know how I feel.”

  “Show it then. Get control of your soul, man! I think an emergency intervention is in order.”

  “Dad!”

  “Give them to me.”

  “Give what?”

  “The prophylatics you’ve stolen from storage.”

  “I don’t have—“

  “Of course you do. You wouldn’t be so liberal in your trysts if you didn’t.”

  There was a struggle. Feet scuffled and a few strange sounds indicated that Creed was losing.

  Breathless, Truth spoke, “There. That should help.”

  Their feet seemed to be moving,
heading Story’s way. She hurried off, hoping she was out of sight before they turned the corner.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "I've decided," West said.

  "Decided?" Story set her empty plate down in front of her as she chewed the last bit of meat.

  "Yes. I've heard about Truth's boy. I heard what he did yesterday. He's had a poor reputation in that regard for a long time, but this is the worst…"

  "How did you hear?"

  "Everyone has heard. Softly and I talked about it and came to an agreement after all. You need to aspire to join the Ilians. Creed is much too interested in you. I know what you want to say, and I understand it but…this is for the best.”

  Softly sidled up to Story and put his arm around her.

  "While the Father is very harsh on the guardians, we know that the Red Lady will send any girl back home who wishes to return, and without retribution. Perhaps, after you have heard the words of Il, you will believe. It is love for you that might give our world warmth again," he said, brushing a dreadlock of raven hair behind Story's ear.

  "We want you to have a good husband and, in our opinion, this will give you opportunity for a marriage beyond any other. If nothing else, it will give you some understanding of our belief and get you away from undesireable company for awhile."

  Story's placid expression disguised her sweating palms and the blood pumping hard into her head and hot face. She reached for her water and drank it. That water sat by the fire for hours before she poured it into her cup, but it went down her throat like ice water.

  "But, I thought I wouldn't survive," she said dryly.

  Softly laughed and squeezed her with his arm as he kissed her head. "He's going to steal your boots one night and something else another night."

  "If you two didn't sleep like death…"

  "Bah!" West barked. He smirked a flash of laughter into his eyes. "The problem is that Creed boy creeps like death."

  "I will do what you ask me. The Red Lady might not want me, though."

  "This is true," Softly said, rubbing Story's arm with his hand and giving her another squeeze.

  "But," West interjected, "We ask that you make yourself available and not hide from her. Conduct yourself as usual. Don't try to draw attention, but be available. This is where we find balance. We aren't forcing you to try, but we're firmly requesting that you not avoid her. Let the spirits lead her to the one who is chosen."