The Woven End Read online

  Story took a deep breath. "I can do that."

  Why should she, though? Softly left her all alone. She didn't have an advocate anymore. She was trapped.

  "Good. Good," Softly said, smiling. He removed his arm from her and reached for his plate.

  #

  Alone. Somewhere to be really, truly alone. Anywhere. Where? She raced through room after room, wiping tears from her eyes. Someone was in the kitchen, the fire still burned in the tannery where a couple sat, talking.

  The fishery. The fishery! She went through the circle of rooms until she reached the fishery. The stench of fish didn't bother her. She found a corner in the dark room and cried.

  She didn't want to go, but she loved and respected West and Softly too much to say no.

  They took her in from a bi-gender family who kept her until she was eight before they decided they could no longer bear the stretching of their food for two children. They gave her, the oldest, away. Instead of mercifully giving her away as a baby, they waited until she knew she was being given away. She resented them for it, but loved West and Softly just as much as she resented her birth parents. Were West and Softly trying to give her away now, too? No. They had plenty of food. It couldn't be that.

  It was Creed's fault. That vermin!

  She would be true to her word, but she would only do as much as her word. She refused to make herself desirable, and she absolutely would not acknowledge the Red Lady with so much as a smile. She would survive this final reaping, and from then on she would sleep with a dagger! Who would want that trouble maker again if he had no fingers… or other parts pertinent to his favorite pasttime?

  The cold. It was cold enough in the complex, but to go up where the snow blew with nothing to protect them from the wind? It was horrible to go up there to hunt or fish, but to try to survive in a camp for days…weeks…stars! And for what? To compete for the affection of a supposed savior of ten thousand stars!

  Here, Story lived securely with the world’s embrace around her, thanks to the wisdom of their ancestors. She would have a secure mate someday, when the right one showed up, and she knew what was expected of her and who she should trust.

  She could never believe someone existed in that old cellar. She would never believe it. Never! Even if he walked up the stairs and stepped into view, come the ten thousandth star, with the constellation of the starving bear directly overhead, she would suspect foulplay. It wasn't possible.

  Survival was reality. If happiness might be planted somewhere in the middle of survival, a person was all the better for it, but Story expected little more than suffering and flesh and blood. She pulled the flask of blood from her pocket and drank it down. She felt strange inside. Was she being watched? It was an ominous, oddly specific feeling. She felt like a light shown on her so that she might be observed by someone she didn’t want to see her. She sniffed at the flask.

  Something moved. She put the flask back in her pocket and looked up through flooded eyes to see the shadow of a person, revealed only by dim light from two or three rooms down. Well, no wonder. She was being watched.

  "Hello?"

  It was a man. Her clouded mind chose silence.

  "What is it?" Came a girl's voice. She walked in behind him and put her hands on his arms.

  "I was sure it was in this room. I…I don't know. Hello?"

  Story's nose itched. She reached to her nose, slowly, slowly—

  Clank! Thud, clink!

  A knife. She struck a knife off the wall.

  The girl in the doorway shrieked and jumped back. The man laughed at her. That laugh struck a thousand drums in Story’s mind.

  "You!" She shouted as she stood up and pointed in the darkness. His voice was so animated that it was difficult to recognize it without his face at times. Some days he was suave, some days when he was feeling subdued, he spoke low, some days, when he was obnoxious, he sounded nasal. But the laugh was always the same.

  "Me? Who's me, and who are you?" He replied, much surprised by the shadow that stood up and charged at him.

  Oh, she'd show him just who she was, and not who but what she thought he was. She hurried around the tables in the room and, without thinking it through, she pulled her fist back and planted it in Creed's face.

  His head jerked back with the punch, but he swung it back into position, touching his nose.

  "Blood," he said the word behind his hand. "Story?" He waved his hand at the girl behind him, "Idea, I'll talk to you later. You should go now."

  "Go? I will not go so you can talk to a girl."

  "Ice daggers, woman! Go!"

  Idea shrank back and, hesitant, turned to leave. Creed waited until the sound of her footsteps disappeared before he grabbed Story's hand and quickly dragged the unwilling and resistant assailant behind him and into the light.

  They stood in the dying fire light of the tannery. Story couldn't help feeling triumphant at the sight of blood on Creed's face, but there was a dull, undeniable twinge of remorse. She looked away from him.

  "I'd like to discuss the matter of violence upon my person," he said. His voice was low now.

  "I'm supposed to stay in the open when the Red Lady comes because of you, you wicked boy!" She said, looking him in the eyes.

  He burst into laughter. "It's come to that, hm? Your fellows have finally offered you up to the Iliots! I mean—Ilians."

  "They're not idiots. They're believers. There are thousands of believers out there."

  "Not in our complex."

  "Other complexes."

  "By the frosts!" He hissed. "Where did you learn to punch? Perhaps I ought to be nicer to you. I might need your loyalties in a fight. There was that time when we were about ten… Do you remember?"

  She couldn’t help laughing. She decked Bear right in his big nose because he made fun of Creed’s motherless status.

  "That's not likely! I'm probably going to be gone."

  "What makes you think the Red Lady will want you?" He asked, as he leaned back and stretched his long legs out before him.

  "The çephel. People will tell her about me or she will see me. I know that is why they want me to behave normally. I always read the çephel after work hours.”

  "Clever, clever. Why are they doing this on my account?"

  "They don't trust you. They think you pay too much attention to me, and they are afraid that if you steal my boots one night, or my mittens, or my… Well, shall I go on with the list?”

  "Underwear. I took your underwear on wash day."

  "They fear that your constant and harmless pranks on me will turn into a theft of a more serious nature."

  "Wha?—What! Now, look here. You're a very attractive lady, and I will never deny it, but really? You hate me and I hate you, isn't that how it works? Besides, I suspect you'll end up with little nose boy."

  "Bear?"

  "His proboscis will look wonderful with your baby ears on the little creature you birth."

  "I have no interest in Bear."

  His laughing face sobered mockingly. "Neither do I." He turned suddenly to stab at the fire with a poker.

  "I understand my dads' reasons. I can't say I haven't thought about it myself," Story said.

  Creed laughed. "You're an idiot, too."

  "You have a reputation that leaves room for suspecting almost anything debauched, Creed."

  Creed gasped and clutched his heart. "I am hurt! Right here. See? I can't believe you would say that."

  "You're disgusting."

  "And you're not. That's why we get along so well and why—most importantly— the nightly contents of your unsewn sleeping bag need not fear my grubby hands or any other grubby part of my perfect body."

  Story gagged audibly.

  "What's your dad going to do to you?" She asked.

  "Do to me? He's not doing anything to me. I volunteered. I'm going to stay with hunters for awhile."

  "You volunteered?"

  "Absolutely. Idea has gotten out of hand with all of t
his. She acts like she's the only girl in my life. I'd marry you sooner than her! That might sound like a compliment, but I'm sure you realize that you are synonymous with moose or—“

  "You are stupid."

  He giggled. Downright, giggled. "I need to get away from her and will gladly take a trip away for a few constellations."

  "Constellations?"

  Creed stood up and brushed his rear off. "Weren't you supposed to sweep this hearth?”

  "Constellations?" She repeated.

  "Yes."

  "There aren't any vocational hunters who are women. How will you survive?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe I'll be a unigender family man after all."

  "Well, I hope you don't die. When are you leaving?"

  "How kind of you," He said, batting his eyes and smiling. "Tomorrow. Thanks for the nose adjustment. I will find a way to express my reven—gratitude soon. Watch your back."

  He walked away, gingerly prodding at his nose.

  Story clenched her fists and grumbled to herself, "That was too friendly. I was supposed to slash him to pieces and eat his liver, not talk. North winds blast him!"

  Somewhere around the corner Creed laughed.

  Apparently, he was an eavesdropper, too

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Impervious to the wintry chill, the Red Lady wore only a thin dress and a red hooded cloak as she rode her bear across the snowy plains. She was a fearsome thing to behold and a dreadful thing to speak to. Those who were less respectful to the Ilian ways referred to her as “The White Wolf”.

  Very few ever saw a white wolf, but when they did, they were forever altered or maimed and–even so—fortunate to be alive to describe it to anyone. They were vicious brutes that snapped and snarled at the sight of you, never shrinking back in fear and never, ever running away. So it was with the Red Lady, and the world acknowledged it.

  Her skin, nearly as white as the snow, her hair as black as the eyes of the white wolf she was in the bearing of, and her face, ageless. Not once had anyone known her to change with the stars.

  The snow covered mounds of the complex, the only complex on this journey, came into sight.

  With the silent communication of nods, shrugs, and jerks of the head, one of the Red Lady's well bundled companions prodded his bear to hurry on to the complex to notify them of the Red Lady's imminent arrival. She was, after all, three Star rises early.

  The elders greeted her at the main entrance of the complex. Three elders tied their bears to posts in the animal shed.

  The Red Lady descended the stairs, scrunching her nose at the distant smell of the tannery. She could not seem to get accustomed to the tannery odors no matter how many times she walked among the dirt dwellers. She lifted the edge of her scarlet cloak to her nose with a delicate white hand.

  "My apologies, Your Majesty," Truth said.

  "Your Majesty. Really, Truth, you're too obviously flattering me," the Red Lady said with an icy smile and warm eyes. "This is the star of our Savior, and I have but two hundred days, at the most, to train any further bridal candidates before the starving bear's constellation hangs over us. I want to be on my way with her at once, if she exists. Tell me, you know the people here better than anyone. Do you have any recommendations?"

  "No, Lady. We have a good stock of women here.”

  "Ah, here are the other elders. I shall ask them," the Red Lady said.

  She turned about to the shuddering, snow frosted elders as they came down the stairs. Elder Clarity drew his hood back and pulled his long black hair, tied in a blue strip of cloth, out from under his coat. He blinked at her with blind eyes.

  "What did you say? My hood over my ears—"

  "I said," the Red Lady replied, annoyed, "I have a question for you that Truth will not answer. Have you any women you wish to nominate? Surely you have been pondering this. I ask every time I come." The Red Lady snapped.

  "Well, yes, Lady. We have," Gladness, another elder began, "but there are so many—"

  "Bah! Dirt dwelling men are so coarse and stupid."

  Clarity spoke up, "Excuse me, Lady. I suggest you simply perform your task without expecting us to select one from among our own daughters and sisters. Between the four of us, you can be certain that there will be no agreement except for a woman of our own family."

  She rounded on Truth. "You haven't a woman in your family, Truth. I demand a recommendation."

  "Do you not divine the chosen ones by the spirits, Lady?”

  "Ah! And here is the matter in its entirety. You must rejoin the Ilians, Truth. You will be elevated to a great position when our savior emerges."

  Truth stepped in close to the Red Lady and looked straight on at her hard, feminine face. Her eyes darted back and forth, then directly at him. She gave a quick, huff of a smile as she looked away to the ground. She heard his voice, however, low and familiar.

  "I need no great position given to me," he said, smiling. "I have a position for you."

  She gathered herself together and sneered at him. "You are perverse and perfect in one blow. I hope you are pleased. Let's get on with it."

  The Red Lady charged away, followed by her companions. The elders grouped together and went after her. Gladness nudged Truth with his shoulder. "You're reckless."

  "I am?"

  "You speak so discourteously to her. I've never seen anyone treat her as you do, and I have never before had the courage to speak to you about it. Do you know what an honor it would be if the bride came from our complex? You risk everything with this bizarre behavior toward the Lady."

  "Bizarre? She doesn't seem to think it's bizarre."

  "She's a white wolf, man!" Gladness whispered hoarsely.

  Clarity leaned in. "She's not a white wolf. She's a gray wolf; harmless and skiddish when you have the right swagger," he said.

  Truth laughed at this.

  "Fool. Creed is just like you," Gladness answered.

  Truth smirked. "That's our secret," He said.

  The Red Lady stormed onward.

  #

  At Bear's request, they sat down in the main circle for his reading.

  A whisper sounded through the room like a ground blizzard. The Red Lady was here.

  Despite her intentions to please West and Softly, Story’s survival instinct arose.

  North winds on this dummy. We could have been doing this in my room as usual. Just read the thing and put the çephel away. Maybe she won't—

  The room plunged itself deeply into silence. The Red Lady rolled her eyes and lifted her silvery voice to calm everyone into normalcy.

  "Continue as you were. Your silence does not assist me."

  Bear stood up, nodded to Story and left her there with the çephel.

  Oh mercy! Bear, you wonderful man, she thought as she attempted to stand up and casually carry the çephel into hiding.

  It was not to be.

  "You, girl," the Red Lady barked, coming straight toward Story.

  Story continued to walk.

  I didn't hear her. Look like you didn't hear her.

  A cool hand grasped her arm, lightly."You, girl. You read the çephel?"

  "Yes, Lady."

  She kept her hand on Story's arm. "That is rare among those of your age. Who taught you?"

  "Elder Truth," she said, gesturing toward him with her eyes.

  "Read it for me. I'm intrigued. I have met, perhaps, thirty people out of five thousand who read the çephel, and they are all well over forty." She said. “Read.”

  Story looked to Truth for something. She wasn't sure what. The Red Lady was the ultimate authority along side the Father, and Story didn't need Truth's permission to obey her orders, but she wanted his permission and didn't want his permission and—He saw her questioning gaze and reluctantly nodded his head. She sat down with her çephel and placed it in front of her.

  The Red Lady crouched down to eye level with Story.

  "She whispered, "Read the answer to this question, and give it to me
in silence. How many sons have I?"

  Story closed her eyes and sighed a little. Her hands shook as she reached into the çephel and gave it a nudge. It spun and stopped. She read each letter and whispered the response, "Four."

  "Ah, you are correct. That answer could have been a fortunate one. I wish to try once more. I love a mystery, and I have loved only one. What is the mystery that I have loved?”

  That baffled Story, but she kept her face clear of expression and turned her head down to the çephel.

  "Truth," she announced quietly. "It says you love the mystery of the truth."

  "Loved. Mysteries are too dangerous for plans and purposes. I do not seek the truth now any more than I seek another girl in this complex."

  The Red Lady stood up and turned to her companions. "I have my selection from this complex, the only one from any of the complexes this star. What's you're name?"

  She turned back to Story who stood with her çephel under her arm.

  "Story."

  "Have you family to talk to or possessions to gather?”

  Story stammered a few times before closing her mouth and nodding her head.

  "Go, go," the Lady said, waving her hand in the general direction of nowhere.

  Truth parted from the group to walk with Story. "Are you okay?” He asked.

  "No. No." Story tucked herself away into her apartment.

  Truth followed her. Story stood with her hands in her face, shaking her head.

  Truth put his hand on her shoulder. "Story, it's okay. We will—"

  "No. I have to do this for West and Softly. They have always wanted this for me. I will hold myself to it because it will make them happy."

  "Story—"

  "No! I'm going to do it. It will be—what?—A star or so before this is all over? I can handle a star of some cold and discipline."

  "I realize you can take the cold. I’m trying to tell you that you will be okay. Just… Stay strong, keep your mind strong. Remember, they will manipulate you. They will manipulate you. Be prepared for it. They will do it in ways you never dreamed of. Never accept a thought as your own, always analyze it with your good, common sense.”