The Woven End Read online

  “You think I would risk everything on hope?”

  “That’s all you have been doing for millennia.”

  She placed her soul against his. “If it was not for the necessity of avoiding the end, I want you to know, my good man, that I would have…”

  She faltered, melting into him a little more.

  “Yes?”

  “I would have devoted my passions to you, and grown old, only to die happily in your arms, if you would have had me. Palaces and royal blood aside, I’d have served you as a common woman, gladly.”

  “And I want you to know, that no matter what it looks like, you must trust that I have your best interest in mind and always have. I stopped fighting fire with fire. I joined you, and we blaze on together.”

  “You aren’t fire to me anymore,” Hadate answered. “You’re water, I fear.”

  #

  The work was not easy. Story felt that she was busy more often than the other girls, but she didn't have time to think about it for long. When girls stood in the hallway, retired, or even taking walks, she hurried to another instructor. The Father taught her sometimes, Hadate, the Illess, the head guardian… some random girl, another random girl. How to bow, how to smile, the history of eleven thousand year old kings, geography, geology, etiquette, politics—Politics? What were politics? She had that explained to her.

  Her taste for the Ilian camp improved little. A constellation passed. Her memory of that dream and her moment near Nat gave her hope that the end of it all would be good. Perhaps her presence here would be for a cause greater than herself, just like her instructors told her it was.

  At the end of the day, she flopped to her bed of furs and fell asleep without difficulty or woeful thoughts. No matter how hard her instructor was that day, how sore she was, how weary, or how cold, she could endure it because she knew that she could escape into her dream. Every night, dreams waited for her. The Sálverøld proved to her that there was something beyond physical sight, and her dreams proved to her that Hadate was right. She was destined for something, for someone. She would get through this.

  Three constellations passed.

  She saw West and Softly often, but could not bring herself to talk to them. Softly smiled at her occasionally. West didn't look at her. It crushed her heart a little every time she saw them, but when they passed by her and disappeared, they took their memory with them. They were about as valuable as her birth parents. She had another in mind who would not sell her or give her away. She held on to that.

  Hadate taught her little of the Sálverøld. Story didn't know how much there was to know and never thought to ask. She walked around in it to look and touch, but she was left in a blissful ignorance concerning the skills she might acquire with those pretty little things she admired like icicles and snowflakes. The Sálverøld was lovely only and a sure way to learn about the character of her fellow human beings—nothing else.

  Creed disappeared. She saw him only once during the three constellations. Why should she expect to see one more than once during her time here when there were hundreds of Guardians? She'd already seen him three or four times.

  However, one night, she saw him in a dream.

  Creed was digging in dark, black soil. The star was bright and warm, as it was in her dreams of Nat. Creed's bare torso was darker than she'd ever seen it. She looked at her own clothes and saw them to be coarse material, but serviceable. Creed turned to wave at her and smiled. She felt something tugging at her clothes and looked down to find four little hands pulling on her; four little hands that belonged to four fat arms, attached to sturdy little bodies with beautiful, chubby faces.

  She couldn't help smiling at them. All around her, fences contained an assortment of animals grazing in the grass. She smelled a mellow, grainy, sweet smell, as well as more unpleasant odors that seemed strangely appealing to her.

  She asked one of the children, "What is this place?"

  The child laughed at her. "It's home."

  "But, where is home?" Story asked.

  The other child laughed, too. She said, "Wherever daddy is, of course. That's what you always say."

  The words clutched her heart and lungs with dread and thrill at once. She looked back to Creed where he continued turning the soil. Maybe she would try to talk to him about why she felt so confused. She took a few steps forward and, quite suddenly, found the dream ripping in half as though it were an old hide. She felt like she tore with it. She blinked a few times and awakened to a dream like the ones she'd been having almost every night. Nat stood with her, and all was as it usually was, but now it felt empty.

  Creed was a dream—a good one—that she could not shake from her mind even with Nat.

  #

  The room was full. She was late. She'd taken a few wrong turns as her mind wandered away from her feet. She smiled sheepishly and sat down in the back. The Father continued reading.

  "…Cruelty and dishonor are your names. Oh, Nature, foolish and selfish, you have made an end and have tied us to it. We will not be owned, we will own. We will not be defiled, we will defile. We will not end with you, but we will create our own nature.

  "What does this mean?" Asked the Father. "Can anyone tell me what it is to create our own nature?"

  Isle raised her hand. "It is to create one nature, one body, one heart, one soul with Prince Nat. We will create a new world, a new time, a new beauty that does not rely on nature as we know it now. It will be a new nature."

  "Ah, excellent answer.”

  By Rote.

  “Yes. After all, is not love the unity that will restore the Star? It will be a new Star, and it stands to reason that a new nature will follow. The end has potential for destruction or creativity. If bound,” he slammed his hand on the podium. “It destroys. If free! Free! If free, this blackness becomes a blank piece of parchment with both ink and quill in its hands. It will be free from destruction, and a key element to the Star will be gone and perhaps released into the world. Hm, such a change is beyond comprehension. We will know it when we see it."

  He cleared his throat. "…For what is there in your end, except destruction? But in our end is a beginning that is worthy. We will stand firm. We will stand strong and hold the faith even when the star of his ascension is not upon us. We will stand fast and firm, watching for his ascension. We will train our sons and daughters and do so without shame…” The Father looked upon his audience. “Why did Il write this? Holding the faith even when the Star of ascension is not upon us? Why should your predecessors have been trained as you and learned as you, even when there was no chance of their acceptance as Nat's bride?"

  No one raised their hand.

  Story had a thought. She stifled it.

  No. She was privileged. She knew things the other girls didn't know. What might she give away and suffer for after she answered? She knew the answer—she thought she did, anyway. Maybe it would be a stupid answer, and they would laugh at her. She looked up and saw, just behind the Father, the Prince, smiling. Her eyes opened wide. She looked around. No one else saw him.

  He nodded at her, encouraging.

  She raised her hand. The Father looked at her, surprised.

  "You? You have an answer for this question?"

  "I… I think so."

  "Ta-ta-ta. A queen does not think with a gap of time between the assertion and the answer for others to wonder if she really thinks so. Rephrase yourself."

  She swallowed her embarrassment. "Yes."

  "Well then, let me hear it." He said, smiling.

  "First, it is a matter of indoctrination and awareness."

  The Father's eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

  She continued, hesitating at first, but the Prince just smiled so broadly, she… Oh, just say it!

  "The rest of the world must be aware, and the Ilians must be a group for some time before the savior's ascension to propagate the faith. The faith must be out there so that others who are not devoted to a purpose like… like brides are… can co
nsider devoting their daughters to the cause in the future. If they are devoted, their children may be devoted, and so on. It is not just about brides and guardians, it is about a world who is looking for help. Good people with foresight must work in advance for results that they may never see."

  "That is an excel—"

  "…And," She interrupted. The last of her answer was the most important, she thought. "The atmosphere is different here. There is something that is in this place that is not anywhere else on our islands." She looked around. The girls stared at her. Some whispered and giggled.

  "I have a thought that the Ilians must be here long before the time of the savior because… Well, because the atmosphere must be created for the right time and the right bride."

  The Father found nothing to say. He stammered a little. Nodded his head, smiled weakly and finally said, "Yes. That is a very profound observation, and I am impressed you could grasp and articulate it. Beyond sight is a spirit world that is changed by what we do, say, and think. We have attempted to create an environment that would welcome a king and produce devoted, faithful servants."

  No one whispered or giggled now. She was right?

  The Prince disappeared from sight. The Father continued reading. Story smiled to herself. A voice spoke out from the corner behind her to the right.

  "So what happens when there's unity between Nat and a bride? When the Great Soul achieved unity with his lover she exploded. We're dealing with human beings now. What will happen to the skin and bones?" He pinched his own thumb and waggled it about.

  Story turned about to see him. Creed had to come into her moment of glory to squash it.

  "That is nothing to worry about. The Great Soul has it all in control," the Father answered, smiling.

  #

  Story came out of her last lesson with Hadate. Everyone else slept. This was normal, but being in bed later and out of bed earlier than everyone else wore on her. When would there be reprieve? She yawned and dragged herself up the stairs until she reached her floor and padded softly down the hallway to her room. She unlocked it and closed it behind her. The lamp was lit and a fire burned in the basin. How odd. She never—

  #

  Creed hauled a string of fish over his arm, pulling his wool scarf over his face as he slogged through the snow to the snag where he'd tied his bear. He hung the string around his shoulders and climbed onto the bear. Grasping the loose skin at the back of its neck, he gave it a squeeze with his legs and the bear proceeded to do the slogging for him. Creed kept his face down, shielded from the wind.

  Just one more night— that was all—then he'd get to her.

  He ran through the plan in his mind. Fourth would create a diversion that would require the Father's immediate attention. Creed chuckled. No one could make trouble like Fourth.

  Get into the brides' building to see Sweetly. Sweetly had the key and would let him into Story’s room.

  Sweetly was the only way in.

  Just get it over with.

  He tied the bear in the shed and trudged over to the Father's snow house. He'd been required to live with him as a personal assistant for a few constellations.

  Servant is more like it. What did they bring me here for?

  Rarely out of the Father's sight, Creed could not be near Story without making an arrangement like this or getting into her dreams. He'd done it once, but Hadate intercepted it at a crucial moment and seemed to be lurking about every corner of the Sálverøld at all times.

  Three favors for Sweetly, and he would be with Story at least once more. This night would be the third favor. Doing favors for her didn't bother him, it was her choice of favors that he hated. Almost any girl but Sweetly would be suitable for the favors.

  His tools for fish cleaning were in a box by the entrance. He pulled them out and laid the fish on the ground He scraped the back of the bone spoon across the fish's sides, the scales flew off, sticking to his hands and the fur at the edge of his sleeve.

  Maybe dad should come do this himself. She likes him more than she likes me. He'd stand a better chance, that old hussy man. He wouldn't have to do any favors. He's friends with these people.

  He scaled the last fish and got down on his hands and knees to crawl into the entrance to the snow home. A fire burned in the center of the room beneath a small hole in the ceiling. The smooth packed walls blocked the wind and cold, and the ground surface was trampled flat. This home was bigger than most because it belonged to the Father, and the Father was significantly taller than almost any of the guardians. Creed, alone, nearly matched his height. Even so, they had to bend over to move around the home.

  He laid the fish out and plopped them into a bowl. He cut off the head according to the Father's preference and took a pan from a box between their beds. He slapped some bear fat into the pan and held it over the fire. He laid the fish in and dashed some salt on it. The sound of the Father crawling through the entrance sent his gut to a spasm of nerves. He tried to keep his mind on the fish.

  "Hello, Creed," the Father said, weary in voice, waddling like a tired old bear. He did not look like an old man, but his eyes were always very weary. He plopped down on his bed and pulled his hood back. He sighed.

  "Oh, good. I didn’t have a chance to eat today. Some days I tire of food. What a nuisance.”

  You've done this two times. This time isn't much different. Just relax. Give him his food.

  "Would you like me to pour some keefla?" He asked the Father.

  "Yes. Yes. That sounds wonderful."

  He washed his hands with some lye and water in a bucket and poured a cup of keefla for the Father. The Father took it with a weary smile and a, "Thank you."

  "You're very quiet today," he said after a good drink.

  "Am I? I'm tired, I suppose," Creed replied. "Are you hoping for conversation?"

  "Oh, no. No. I just wonder if all is well."

  "All is well, Father."

  The Father scratched the back of his head and sighed. "Good. That's good."

  He smacked his thick lips a little, looked around, and sighed out a loud groan that seemed to have been pent up awhile.

  "Listen to me, Creed."

  Creed tipped his head up a little..

  "I know what you're doing. As in, I know where you are going tonight."

  They locked eyes.

  "Going?" Creed laughed.

  "Fourth will be here soon. True? He will have another riot for me to squelch. I will be gone at least a couple of hours to deal with all those involved. You certainly have a way of earning the affection of your fellows. They're all willing to take a beating for you."

  Creed shook his head and sighed, swallowed hard, and turned his face down to the pan of sizzling fish.

  The Father nodded his head. "You aren't denying anything."

  He looked up. The man knew, somehow. It would be senseless to deny it.

  "No, I'm not denying anything."

  The Father nodded his head again, "Ah, yes. I thought not. Well, here's what I'm going to do for you, if you will accept my arrangement."

  "Oh?"

  "Do you wish to hear it?"

  What choice did he have? Creed shrugged. "I suppose."

  "Rather than give you the usual beating for something like this, I will send you home under the guise of death. I will announce to all that you were dragged off by a white wolf while we were hunting. Tomorrow. You must agree to not return, even in the Sálverøld."

  "What happens if I don't like this agreement?"

  "I don't see what options you have, son. By the stars! I'd say I've given you an excellent arrangement. You'd be a fool to refuse it."

  "I'd be a fool to think that you aren’t accusing me of being a traitor.”

  The Father laughed. "You're after her for yourself for your own purposes. However, she’s destined for another purpose. We can't let you have her. I understand that you are a man like the rest of us. You have feelings, and I understand that they might get in the way of business
. You’ve clearly gone beyond doing your duty, and you feel something for her.

  "I'd rather take the beating."

  “She would not take a beating for you, Creed.”

  “She doesn’t have to. I didn’t ask her to, I haven’t earned that devotion from her. Let me take you back, Father. I will show you why I persist. If you will let me weave time, I will show you, and you will see.”

  The Father's eyes grew large. He stopped chewing. "No! I will not place myself in such a dangerous position with a mere lad weaving time. I won’t even weave time myself for the dangers it presents. I’ve never heard a soul suggest it in all my life.”

  "Fair enough,” Creed added more fish to the pan.

  The Father opened his mouth to speak a few times, but merely took a few breaths without uttering a word. He leaned back against the wall, uneasy, but not showing it.

  “What do you want me to see, son?”

  “The beginning. There are things you do not know, but you will not believe if I speak the words. If you see, it’s impossible to doubt

  The Father smiled. "Brave words. Brave, brave words. Ah, I hear your co-conspirator coming. What shall I do, Creed?"

  "What your soul knows to do and would do if it weren’t so darkened."

  "Darkened—?"

  A youthful voice called out, "Father! Quickly! There's a fight. Dozens of them. I don't know—"

  Shaking himself, the Father shouted in return, "I'm coming, I'm coming!" His eyes turned to Creed.

  The Father pressed his lips together, tipped his head in the direction of the bridal building and nodded. He went to his hands and knees to crawl out.

  Creed called out, "Father, did you not know?"

  "Know?"

  "About your soul."

  He responded quietly, "I did not think it was possible."

  The voices of Fourth and the Father drifted away down the path to the contrived dilemma.

  Creed removed the pan from the fire. "Now," he said to himself. He dropped his dish and pulled his hood up. He shook the discussion off of him and crawled into the open. He looked after Fourth and the Father. They were several yards away now.