The Woven End Page 28

  Story grimaced. "How can you expect anyone to believe that someone lives down in that cellar without food or water for ten thousand stars? Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? And yet you've twisted my life around, like a hastily made rope, for the sake of this impossibility."

  Hadate walked back to the chair at her desk.

  "I cannot tell you why, because it would be just as unbelievable to you, but let me just say that I am certain, beyond any doubt, that Nat lives, and I know why and how."

  "You will pardon me if I am not convinced by that."

  "My, a little truth and anger can make you an awfully feisty girl."

  "No different than you would behave, I think, should you find that a band of zealots have tampered with your life based on unfounded beliefs. I am not a bold, brazen person, but if you test me I can be. I am approaching the limits.”

  A soft chuckle. "Close your eyes."

  "Why? Are you going to beat me with a rod like you did that—?”

  "Ab-so-lutely not. I resent that you would say such a thing. What do you see?"

  "Black."

  "Think about it, and use your thoughts to press yourself into the black. Not too hard, now. Overthinking will get you nowhere. It is your soul's task, but you must use your mind because it is the rudder of a wise human soul. You must use it lightly, however. Do you understand? You should understand. You’re the only one who has successfully read a çephel, besides your Elder Truth, in years. You have a special contact that I think indicates you will manage this with ease."

  "Why are we doing this?"

  "So that you will know the truth and believe it." Her voice was smiling.

  Black. Just black. Story tried to "press" into it— however one does that. She clicked her tongue and exhaled, exasperated. She opened her eyes. "Is this my first lesson? Do I fail if I can't accomplish this?"

  "This is your first lesson. None of the other girls know about this. The Sálverøld is reality. It is where the spirit exists. Everything has a spirit, and some things become souls by the combination of the right spirits. You and I are souls. Of course there are different kinds of souls. A human soul is not the same as an animal's soul or an air soul or any such thing.”

  "This is what you want me to go into? The Sálverøld, a spirit world where—" Her eyes widened with an idea. "Whoever answers me on the çephel, are they in this Sálverøld?"

  Hadate nodded her head, a closed-lip smile brightening her face.

  "Who is it? What is it?"

  "Slytes. Unfortunately," she said with an air of spite. "The Ilians are not in good standing with the slytes. There was a disagreement between our bands long ago. They may not answer you any longer. There is one Great Soul, however. It is the Great Soul's approval we need to worry about. We are in regular contact with it, and it guides all of our doings."

  "Will I meet this Great Soul?"

  "Oh, yes. Some day you will meet it. It is within me and within the Father. It has a special connection with Nat. I would say that Nat has become an incarnation, of sorts."

  Story stared into the air, blank, mouth hanging open. Irresistible weariness shrouded her mind. She closed her lips, swallowed, and turned her attention to Hadate.

  "I am very tired and this is a great deal for me to absorb."

  "Quite right.Quite right. This has been a much more productive day than I anticipated, and we haven't even had a midday meal. I will see to it that your meal is brought to you. Go, sleep. You have the entire day free for rest and… I would very much like you to try to reach the Sálverøld. I do not recommend that you consult your çephel for help because the slytes may help you, but they will meet you and, perhaps, bring harm to you. It is best that you not arrange anything with them. You have it in you to accomplish this on your own. You are dismissed."

  Story blinked her strained eyes a few times and nodded her head. She pushed through the fog of sleep as it descended, stood up, and left. She was not sure how she found her room but she did. She fell asleep despite the chill, curled up on the floor.

  Chapter Thirty

  The Star was bright, golden, warm, joyful, and unlike the dim, silvery, sorrowing Star she knew. She looked out of a window just to stare at it and feel it on her face, neck, and arms.

  A meal was set on a table cloaked in a rich purple cloth. She could not identify the food, but it smelled delicious.

  The snowy waste land was no more. She looked out over homes above ground, and fertile fields laden with crops ready to harvest. Green, gold, orange, beauty, beauty, beauty.

  She looked down at herself, marveling at the gauzy, shimmering layers of deep blue fabric that draped down her body to the floor.

  The door of her richly tapestried room opened. A bronze man of fine features strode in. He displayed his full height along his erect back and squared shoulders. He exuded the glory of a man possessing great dignity. He wore foreign clothes of the same deep blue as hers. What a strange, enticing man with hair as golden as the Star.

  Though she felt the man was a stranger, she also felt that she knew him before her birth. She knew she loved him, and this was her commitment. He was her commitment. She would look for no one else.

  He smiled at her and gestured toward the untouched food with an inquisitive expression. She smiled and moved toward it, but her eye caught on movement in the corner of the room. She looked.

  Nothing.

  Then it happened again, to her left. She recoiled and drew her arms into her torso, unnerved. She looked up to this man with full expectation that he would make it right.

  He laughed and shook his head as he approached her and wrapped his solid, safe arms around her. An instinctual submission came over her, despite her own strength. She was not masculine, but strong, and she felt not the least degraded by submitting. It was not a demeaning of her strength, or a denial of her healthy, sturdy frame, but a complement to it. This was the right course of nature which organically brought out of her the sensation of being treasured. She sighed in herself and closed her eyes. He had fragrance about him that she did not recognize. It certainly wasn't the natural human odor. She grew up in a world without the fragrance of plants, trees, spices, or flowers, and she could not identify it no matter how hard she tried. She remembered a place at home where she spilled water when she was a child. This dry, clay soil area of the building offered up a sweet fragrance long after it dried, almost like the scent she breathed now. She had often returned to the place just to smell the sweetness. They didn’t have a lot of sweet things, so it was a treasure.

  She heard his voice even as she felt it in his chest and sensed the slight vibration in his neck. It was a different kind of voice. Most men that she knew had thick, deep voices. This, however, was lighter and open. Creed and Truth had a similar quality to their voices, but she never thought about that before now.

  "All of this because you chose to love me, Story," he said.

  She looked up at him and met his blue eyes.

  "Who are you?" She asked. The anwer would not make any difference. She was smitten, regardless.

  "Who do you think I am?" He asked.

  "I think… I think you are—"

  Another dark something—or someone—caught her eyes and pulled them away from his face.

  "What are those? They're black. Just black—"

  He took her face and turned it back to himself. "Who do you think I am?" He repeated, ever smiling.

  She laid her head on his chest again, clinging a little more tightly, uncomfortable, but willing to please him with an answer, "You are… you are—"

  "Yes?"

  Rap, rap, rap!

  Story's eyes opened wide and she awoke.

  Rap, rap, rap!

  She looked to the door, scrambled to her feet, and flung it open.

  Creed stared at her. She had a great red mark on her face and eyes wide and wild.

  "I—I uh, forcibly coerced the guardian bringing your midday meal, because I wanted to speak with you," he said.
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  "Aren't you supposed to be training or doing something else? Will you get in trouble? Oh, don't get in trouble again."

  "No!" He said, shaking his head furiously. "No. I'm fine. They let you rest after a good lashing. Uh, especially when you unveil the future bride of Nat. We need to talk about all this, I think."

  "Is this my meal?" She asked, pointing at the plate of food in his hands.

  "Yes. Here." He extended it to her. A cup of water, a white root of some sort, raw, and whole fish, cooked. She took it and set it on her bed. Her door stayed open. Creed stood just outside of it while she fell upon her meal.

  "You ought to know that no one is going to like you once they find out what it means. Girls have been killed for the position," he said.

  "Killed?"

  "Yes, by other girls."

  Story's eyebrows raised, and her chewing slowed to a halt. "Frosts. This place is a never ending nightmare."

  "Imagine how I felt coming here. My goodness, it's supposed to be a beacon of chastity. It's enough to mash a man's roe and throw it straight in the fire."

  "That's an interesting way to describe it," she answered, disemboweling her fish.

  "Accurate. So, what is the plan? What is Hadate working on with you?" He ventured, appearing only half-interested.

  "Sálverøld?" She said through a bite of root.

  "The Sálv—" he laughed, incredulous.

  "What?"

  "Nothing. Why is she having you do that?"

  She scowled. "Do you think I'm too stupid to do it?"

  "Did I say that?" He asked, palms out and up.

  "Well, no. But you laughed a sort of disbelieving laugh. How else should I understand that?"

  "I'm disbelieving of the actions of Hadate. Why is she having you do it?"

  "I don't think I'm going to tell you more," she answered, continuing her meal, no longer interested in company. She drank her cup of water in several gulps at once and put it on the plate and handed it back to Creed.

  "Here. Good bye. I hope you recover quickly."

  The door closed in his face, tapping into the plate. The cup wobbled. His shoulders slumped. He sighed and looked down at the remnants: an eyeless head, some of the innards and a tail.

  "This will take work. Lots and lots of work."

  #

  Story shivered. A fire would be nice. She looked in a cabinet beneath the metal fire place. It was the only place where anything could be stored out of sight.

  Wood, bones and a tinderbox, yes!

  Perhaps they supplied the rations while girls were occupied elsewhere. She took some of the wood and put it in the metal basin. She struck the flint and steel into the kindling and with a few gentle puffs of air, produced a small fire. Smoke from the fire wafted upward into a small, darkened vent above it.

  She laid down and closed her eyes. She tried to think of the Sálverøld, but her mind wanted to think about something else. She thought only of her dream of the golden Star and his golden hair. She resented the darkness that entered it, uninvited. She preferred to ponder the mysterious man, yet could not get past the shadowy figures that so frightened her dream-self.

  She closed her eyes again. This time, she felt something strange. She felt a pulling sensation. She felt she was being led through a dark passage. It was no passage, but it was a way in. Colors burst in on her darkness. A world of active, flowing, writhing, wriggling life in colors she'd never seen before.

  A wraithlike figure of a woman, all of red, stood before her. Her skin, her clothes, her hair, alive with… what were they?

  She moved her soul’s hands out to look at them, but saw nothing. She felt herself, but could not see it.

  "This is the Sálverøld," the woman said. "I came to help you."

  "Who are you?" Story's voice startled her. She could not hear it as she would any other time, but she heard it just the same: Musical, gentle, whispery, disturbing.

  "Hadate, of course."

  "Did you pull me into here?"

  "Oh, no, no, no. You were on your way, I just made it easier. But, now you know the way, don't you?"

  "Yes. Somehow, I think I do.”

  Hadate's laughter carried along the preternatural air and went chiming into Story's consciousness.

  "What do you think?" Hadate asked.

  Story looked around her. "I think… I think I am confused and…" She stopped.

  Why should she tell Hadate anything? Hadate knew her life story, perhaps even made her life story. She had lived her life like an oblivious, hunted animal whose sense of smell was impaired, encircled by hunters, closing in—

  "And?" Hadate prodded.

  "Confused. Why do you want me here?"

  "To prove Nat's existence. Come."

  Hadate took Story's soul by the hand.

  They stood outside of the cellar. Story saw through the weakened cellar walls. A person was in there, a strange person with a black soul. It moved back and forth, gesturing wildly. It sat down. Story looked to Hadate.

  "Go down and see him. He cannot hear you. The weaving is heavy. The spelling makes it a very strong weave. It is wearing out because the time is approaching, but it is still a barrier.”

  She felt no fear. Everything was light here, and it seemed that nothing could harm her. She descended to him and put her hand on the disintegrating strands of the ancient weaving. It was an intricate, beautiful net.

  He stopped and looked at her.

  The blackness leapt off his soul and swirled about him, leaving a gold soul behind.

  Story jumped. She didn’t understand what happened, but she overcame the start quickly. The beauty of the soul touched her. She didn’t know how to explain the feeling to herself, and the best she could think of was that it felt like music. It shimmered like golden water and stood up to approach her. The soul in the cellar put its hand to the barrier. She met it with her own. They could not touch, but she felt warmth exude from him. Was it really warmth? She looked at his hand, then at him. He remained expressionless. She felt like she might cry, something inside of her soul swelled like smoke in a kiln.

  A fragrance. A fragrance like…if she could cry she knew she would. This was unexpected. She withdrew her hand to cover her face. The instant reaction of a human, unnecessary for a soul. She ran from him and threw herself into Hadate's arms.

  Hadate held her tightly.

  "What is the matter?" She asked.

  "I've seen him. I know him," Story wailed. "I smelled him.”

  Hadate's soul glowed. She was happy.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Father entered Hadate's room and closed the door behind him.

  "You sent for me?"

  Hadate looked up at him. Straight to business. "Yes. Truth's boy must be done away with. Keep him away from Story. It's necessary."

  "Done away with?”

  "Truth has let someone who is mortal come to understand what is happening. He's threatening our cause. I won't have it. Story is in a perfect position now, and I won't have her contaminated. I waited in her room for her to reach out for the Sálverøld. That scoundrel showed up at her door.”

  "When did you become queen of the Ilians, my dear? Never have we been on unequal footing. Yet, here I stand, summoned by her royal majesty. Nonsense! I won't do away with him. I realize you have no attachment to him, but I won't kill the boy," the Father said, drawing the line with a swift stroke of his hand in front of him. "Strategically, it is wiser to have him here. If he was not, we would be less likely to catch him in the Sálverøld. We would rarely have a chance of overhearing him. Nothing."

  "Something!"

  "He's your own son, Hadate. Have you not an ounce of motherly sentiment?"

  "What is your point? She was your own niece; nearly a daughter. You practically sold her off to breed your precious savior."

  He pulled his hood back at that so she would see the fire in his eyes. "You dare to throw that in my face."

  Scoff! "You listen to me, little man. I am
a queen! I always have been and always will be, and I am not going to let some offspring of Truth's take me down! This is not the time to play. We have only so much time to have our bride, and she is the only one who might succeed. They interacted. Did you know that?”

  "Who?"

  "Story and Nat. I tampered about in her mind with a dream which our old slyte friends tried to thwart. So, we went to the cellar where they nearly touched. She wept. She recognized him from her dream. It was a good dream," she said with a knowing smile. "It planted love within her. The moment he steps out of that cellar he will be loved, if all goes well. It is a delicate thing as it is. Do you see my point?"

  Cova sat down, deflated. "I had no idea how far you took her. Do you think it wise to bring her to that point so soon? We still have almost a Star ahead of us. How will you maintain so delicate a balance of love when she cannot see him or be near him?"

  "I will keep it alive. You needn't worry about that," she said, smirking. "But, you must do something about the boy. You can easily make it look like natural causes."

  The Father shook his head. "Frosts! I will not kill him, and I will not send him away. Besides my conscience not permitting, his father would make our lives into death without killing us. If we are to maintain our tenuous relationship with Truth, we had better not break his trust so utterly. Not without more evidence against him. I will see what else can be done. And, you know, Hadate, having him around may still be good for Story, even now. A challenge to the affections—”

  "See what can be done. Good."

  #

  “We are having success.”

  “Fantastic.You sound thrilled,” Truth answered.

  “Can you explain your boy?”

  “Our boy? What about him? Is he not doing his job?”

  “What does he know?”

  “He has knowledge of the Sálverøld. He’s aware that he must challenge her affection.”

  “Something has been bothering me, Truth.”

  “Oh?”

  She stretched out her soul to him, and ran her fingers lightly over his spirits.

  “Why we still trust you.”

  He laughed. “I didn’t know you did. I’m working with you because you need me. Your only issue is not whether you trust me, but whether our relationship will actually work in your favor. You need me on your side, so you hold on to us and hope.”