The Woven End Read online

  "How could you withhold this from me? If it's true—what you're suggesting—then we are doomed. You traitor!" She hissed. “I thought the Great Soul was missing, and yet it might be right under our feet, around us, near us…”

  “In your bed,” the Father said.

  She glowered at him.

  He breathed deeply, gratified.

  "I asked, how could you withhold this from me?"

  "Well, because I hoped it meant nothing. I could not tell you, for I knew you would mock me, but this seemed like the right time.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments. Hadate burst out, "Oh, bah! Why should it matter? There have always been wine colored souls."

  "It is not the matter of a wine colored soul of a human, it is the disturbing fact that wine is a blend of colors. Only humans have souls of blended colors. That means that, as we understand things, only a human soul can form that color. Is the soil a human?"

  Hadate’s face expressed nothing, but he noticed stress in her neck and jaw.

  He continued, "I investigated. I've looked for souls that give the illusion of physical wine when they are together. I've found nothing except the tint of wine in everything I look at. It has driven me to such a state that all I see is this color."

  Hadate launched into a low, threatening tone, shooting her words rapidly, "Let us hope it means nothing. I'll be working on that girl. Perhaps we should send the boy home. We will work our weaving on her another way. Perhaps, Bear—"

  The Father snorted. "You are a woman, yet you seem oblivious to women. Bear! She couldn’t care less about Bear. The weaving is there between Story and Creed. If I send Creed away, it would present a double standard. If I do that for one, I will have to do it for all. Many would love to leave us. That would be very bad."

  Hadate raised her voice to a shrilly pitch, indignant,"You don't have to do it for all. You're the Father. You say 'no'."

  "To think I once esteemed you as an excessively intelligent, majestic woman." He scowled at her. "There would be outcry. They'd try to kill me, and then what would they learn? Mmmm? Nothing good. What would happen? We don’t want to know."

  Hadate grimaced. "You're right. Just… just watch him. We must keep an eye on Truth. He's a sticky fellow, and has become all the more sticky in these last few moments.”

  “Keep an eye on yourself. I think someone is whispering to us as we have whispered to others.”

  The Father pulled his hood back over his head, turned, and padded softly into the hallway, out the door to his camp.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The dim light of the morning shone on the anomalous white skin of Creed’s chest. His hands were relaxed at his sides, his bare feet sunken in the snow, and his back still bruised from his first few days among the Ilians.

  Instead of breakfast, they were to watch a flaying. Seeing this justice in action might fill their religiously zealous bellies just as well. The entire camp of guardians and ward of brides stood outside to watch.

  The Father announced the crime and waited as those near the front passed his words back by designated messengers. After a few seconds, the message reached those farthest away. No one needed explanation of what to expect, except those, namely Story, who had not yet seen a whipping.

  The Father pulled a rod out from under his cloak. It was a straight black rod, thick as an arm bone.

  "If any of you should think of sympathy for this young man I beg you to reconsider…"

  The words were passed along.

  "Guardians are just what they are called, and they will someday be an army… "The message journeyed back."…and so I ask you brides to look upon me as your humble servant… For the time will come when I will be exactly that… and you will expect me to defend your honor. This is just, right punishment… traitors deserve no less… and it is the rod that will beat folly from a fool and make him a wise man."

  When the last word left the last lips at the back of the crowd, Story closed her eyes. She winced at heavy blows and the controlled, but necessary, shouts from Creed. She was impressed with his restraint.

  Four… Five… Six…

  How many blows did the poor fellow deserve for being inattentive? How could he be proven inattentive when he was right there with nothing else to do? She saw him. He was just sitting there.

  The thud of firm and solid against the semi-firm flesh, muscle, and bone of a human being made her feel sick.

  Nine… Ten… He was losing his restraint. Blood vessels were breaking and his threshold being reached.

  Was that the point? Beat them until they've broken? It was getting to be too much for her. But, he was just a foul stupid boy with no respect for—

  She cried out, weeping. She had to get away from it. She pushed aside every girl that stood in her way. Her emotions were too raw for this dreadful place, and at this rate they would never heal. Besides that, she'd been up all night. Her nerves were sensitive, and she possessed a keen awareness of disgust for her situation.

  He was a despicable human being, but he was a part of home, he was familiar, he was her friend, whether she wanted him to be or not. This cold, white world where no one could trust each other was not home. She remembered Creed's often-smiling face in a warmer, soft, generally happy place. Home.

  She stirred up a flurry of activity as she shoved her way out, leaving a trail of protesting, muttering women. Her face grew hot, tears drizzled down her face. She ran until her sides ached, and when she could no longer ignore it, she stopped, clasping her sides with her hands. She looked back, gasping for breath. No one followed her. Oh, but someone was watching her. She knew that much. She didn’t know how, but she knew it to be so.

  The cellar was just ahead. It was not so frightening in the Star light. She hurried down the stairs to the very bottom and sat on cold, hard soil, her face, hidden under her hood and pressed into her knees. She had no doubt that she would be disciplined for this.

  All of these years of Ilian traditions: beaten men and women, sleepless nights, and so many sacrifices of what is good in humanity, for the sake of a savior who did not and can not possibly exist.

  Her tears renewed themselves in a paroxysm of sobs. She rocked back and forth, tensing the muscles in her body, fighting the cold, feeling the—

  Someone called from above ground, "Story?"

  "Go away!"

  "Story, come out."

  She knew Creed's voice now that she expected it.

  "Go away!" She repeated.

  "It's okay that I'm here. They sent me."

  She looked up and saw him, smiling in a grimacing sort of way. He had all his clothes on.

  "Come up. I will take you back."

  She sniffed and shook her head. "No."

  "You don't have a choice. You're not in trouble. Hadate felt very bad for you."

  She did not respond.

  "I'm cold, Story. Come up. I can't go back without you."

  Story shuddered out the residual emotion from her tears and stood to walk up the stairs to him. She wiped her eyes and looked at his face.

  "Don't laugh at me. I know I'm spineless. Maybe… maybe you shouldn't go back? Let's go. Let's leave. Why not? Together we can survive. You can't tell me you want to be here."

  They said nothing to each other for a few moments. The way he looked at her made her feel like a puzzle he was trying to solve. She frowned at him. "What?"

  He smiled. "We can't do that. Not now," he said. "You're not ready for it, and we will end up in a worse spot than we are now."

  "That makes no sense."

  "Just trust me."

  She rolled her eyes. He gestured with his head that they should walk. After a few moments of silence, he spoke.

  "I'm flattered," he said.

  "Flattered. Flattered, why?"

  "You were distraught for me."

  She sneered at that and expressed her disgust with the statement by a mutilated, uncertain blast of air. An uncomfortable scoff.

  "What was that?
Are you having a seizure?"

  She smiled and pulled her hood forward to cover her face. No smiling. She mustn't give him that. He'd never let her live it down. "You're a terrible person and I hate you!" She said.

  His laugh ended abruptly with a wince.

  "Here we are. Get back in there. You’re a descendant of warriors. Don’t give up. Go in this door and turn right."

  She nodded her head, but before she took even a few steps, she stopped. Her hesitation brought him to a halt. "Yes?" He asked.

  "It's awful what they did to you, and I'm sorry."

  His lip twitched a little, but he silently walked on.

  Story took a deep breath and walked in, pulling her hood back from her head. Hadate did not look up at Story. She looked in a mirror and smoothed her hair.

  "Are you recovered?" Hadate asked.

  Story nodded, sitting in a chair that seemed to be there just for her.

  Hadate smiled coldly, looking at Story. "It is not an easy thing to watch when the person being corrected hasn't the pride to keep their mouth shut. Most of us are accustomed to it, but I judge by your reaction that, perhaps, we ought to keep you from witnessing any further corrections. I've never seen anyone respond so passionately."

  The calloused view of her mistress made her angry. What kind of monsters lived here? Did the snow make entirely different beings out of people?

  "I've never seen violence inflicted upon a defenseless person," she replied.

  "It is that part that bothers you? That he was defenseless?"

  "Maybe."

  Hadate paced as she spoke. "He submitted to it. He could have run or fought back, but he stood there, freezing, and submissive to all of us. Was he defenseless or was he weak?"

  Story's eyes shot back and forth as she processed the question. A new thought occurred to her.

  "No, he wasn't defenseless. He wasn't weak either. He was… he was… meek.”

  Hadate's eyebrows arched up. "Oh? How is this?"

  "I know him well. He's a strong person. He could have turned and beat the Father senseless, but he controlled himself."

  "You have interesting thoughts. You think our corrections unjust? Speak freely. We are discussing."

  Story sat up and lifted her head."Yes."

  "Good. You will make a perfect bride."

  "What?"

  Hadate smiled, warmly now.

  "That's the secret, Story. That's the secret in this last star. This is what we want and what we are looking for. Until now, we have looked for Illesses who are strong leaders, capable of learning well, good examples to carry on the movement and gain momentum for this crucial time. Now…now it is the star when the Illess matters. Now we are looking for something different and more suitable for queenly garments. Compassion on someone you do not like much—what an example of wise impartiality.

  "All these years the Ilian goal has been to try the hearts of youth. Your heart was tried, and in all the stars of the Ilians there has not been one who has lost her composure as you just did."

  "I don't understand. I don't—"

  "Everything we do and teach is either to inculcate or to test. We speak hard words, we do hard, harsh things, we impose severe restrictions and laws which come with even more severe repercussions for violation. It has been with a critical eye, watching for just one hint of a tear or one whimper of pity. But, there are so few women who come here with a desire to be anything but a queen. They look around themselves and think of all the authority they will have over these wretched sisters they are forced to endure every day. They think that the Ilian way truly is hard and unmerciful, but necessary. It is only a test to draw out the worthiest and is, at best, a crucible. We squeeze you like a sponge, and for stars we have been parched. You have given us water.”

  "What are you telling me, lady?"

  "I'm telling you that you did not respond to a rock with a stone. You responded to the rock with a sinking, sickening thud. The sound of something solid and heavy, landing hard and fast on something dense, solid, whole, but very soft." Hadate smiled. "Which is exactly what will make you the new Illess once you are familiar with our ways."

  Story stood up. "What? What? No. I don't—"

  "No? What do you want, if not the honor of such a position?"

  She spat the words out with the force of a curse. "I want to go home."

  The smile fell from Hadate's face as though it had been slapped off.

  "Impossible. It cannot be. You are the one that we've been waiting for, and I will not allow it. I will not. That must be clear."

  "I can't bear the hardness you speak of. I want to go home to my dads. I want to be warm again and work with my hands."

  "Your place is here," Hadate said, with a finger pointed at the ground.

  Story looked down to the ground. She wouldn't cry any more, but she would not hide her disappointment either.

  Hadate drew close and placed a light hand on Story's shoulder. "Listen to me. You should know something about your West and Softly. You need to know the truth of your life, of why you are here, of… of all the things that have caused you so much pain and, at the same time, so much thankfulness. Perhaps it will convince you to stay here willingly, to know that there is nothing waiting in your complex for you."

  "What do you mean?"

  Hadate pressed her lips together, searching Story's eyes for something. With a resigned sigh and a cast away glance to the floor, Hadate removed her hand from Story's shoulder.

  "Stay here. I will return shortly."

  Story waited for several minutes, alone. The outside door opened behind her, feet shuffled and stamped off snow. She looked back. Softly and West..

  She jumped up and ran to them to hug and kiss them.

  "I want to go home, please."

  West and Softly exchanged sheepish expressions. West gently removed her arms from around his shoulders.

  "Sit down, Story. We need to talk to you."

  With her eyes on West, she sat down. He leaned against Hadate's desk while Softly stood to the side, uncomfortable, sad.

  "This is the truth, Story. We didn't want to tell you, but Hadate thought it was important. We…uh…Softly?"

  Softly rolled his eyes and took the leap. "Story, we gave your mom and dad a great amount in food and clothing in return for allowing us to adopt you.”

  "You what?" Story sat down.

  West picked up the confession. "We raised you specifically for the purpose of being Nat's bride. We…well we are Ilians ourselves. This is where we lived before we took you in, and it’s where we live now. This is our home this is— Oh, don't look at me like that." He looked aside to Softly. "Hadate shouldn’t have us do this."

  "Adopting me was your job?"

  As if the tale of her life wasn't bad enough, it had to be that the best thing that happened to her was only a matter of duty and strategy.

  Softly sighed and came near to Story. He sat down at her feet and put his hands on her knees. He smiled up at her.

  "Listen to me, this changes very little. We did our job, and I'm sure you could tell we grew to love you. Our duty was not a drudgery, but a joy. The only differences are these: your parents did not give you up out of distaste or a sudden change of heart—“

  "No, they gave me up for a price." The filling eyes overflowed.

  This was worse than being adopted only for duty and strategy; this was slavery. Purchased, trained, and trapped.

  "No. They were convinced when we told them what your course was set for. The food and clothes were just symbols of gratitude for the sacrifice. We convinced them that you needed to be under the care of Ilians. It was fortunate they were believers in the Ilian doctrines. They did the most unselfish thing they could have done in giving you up to a more privileged upbringing than they could offer."

  That appeased Story a little, if it was true. How could she be certain of that?

  "This is a lot for you in one day," said Softly. "Hadate is a woman who thinks little of the finer
details of protecting the hearts of others. It is important for you to know that there is nothing for you in the complex. We are here.”

  Two options lay before her. She could be angry about this lie of omission, or she could be grateful for the truth. She wasn't in a mood to be grateful, but she knew it would be better.

  She sighed.

  "I'm glad you told me. It will give me the strength to endure this from inside myself. Until I found what liars you are, I endeavored to make you proud. Now I have only myself to make proud because…" She stood up. "I have no regard for earning the pride of dishonest men."

  Hadate announced her presence. "Well, that could have gone better, don't you think, good men?"

  West went directly for the door.

  "You and your ideas. You'll keep her here, but you risked ruining her." He stopped and pointed in Hadate's face. "If you ruined all our hard work for this whim, you will have the Father to face."

  Hadate lifted her chin and squared her shoulders in silent indignation at being addressed in such a manner.

  "Oh, I'm not afraid of you, you bristling white wolf," West said.

  He stormed out of the room.

  "You may go, Softly," Hadate said, maintaining her indignant pose.

  Softly stood up and approached Hadate. "I understand why you did this, Hadate. I think it is best she knew. I doubt you will have any troubles with her. She is a good girl." He slipped out the door and Hadate closed it behind him.

  Hadate looked Story over from her place at the door. Her own stance was not unlike Hadate's. Hadate smiled.

  Less blubbering. Some dignity at last.

  She walked around to face Story.

  "Tell me, does this change anything?" Hadate asked.

  "It changes how I feel about my owners."

  "Now, Story, you're being rather harsh on them," Hadate said.

  "Harsh on them?" Story scoffed at the idea. She reached up to wipe a tear that betrayed her.

  "Sit, please."

  Story sat down.

  “Why did Bear give me human blood?”

  Hadate’s eyes grew wide. “He… he gave that in order to prepare you for things you will learn. There are spirits who are fed by this means.”