The Woven End Read online

  Story heard the familiar voice, but she wouldn't look. She licked her wind-burnt, cracking lips, closed her eyes, and fought back the awakening of affections.

  Never mind that. I'm fine.

  The wind snatched the rest of his words from her ears, though she strained to hear what the elder said to the Father. Her eyes remained steadfast on her pages. She would not let Truth stop her. Sometime in the next two weeks she would know warmth, food, and happiness without being hauled back home, shamed. The voices stopped, and drills proceeded.

  Anyone but them.

  She bore down on the pages, reading nothing, comprehending nothing. Only the thought of who was here, and why, consumed her thoughts.

  My wrists. They're so thin. She looked at them with suddenly lucid eyes.

  They can't see me like this. She pulled her hood forward to cover her thinning face and laid her hands in her lap. She trembled.

  I'm so hungry.

  She whirled around and slid off the chair. She threw herself at the windows and pressed against the dingy glass to look down on the marching, chanting Guardians. No one of interest stood outside. She looked off into the snowy distance. No one walked away from the complex, and the Father was nowhere to be seen. That meant they were either in a snow home with him, or they were in the building, which would be the worst—

  The door creaked open. She spun about to face them, well fortified with tight lips and icy eyes. The tight expression cracked a lip. She licked it. The iron taste of blood humbled her. She was a mess, and she could not pretend to be anything else.

  The Father entered first. He faced her with a conciliatory expression about the eyes that spoke volumes of his view of her. She was pathetic, and everyone chocked it up to a rejection complex and madness. She assumed so, anyway. She considered that the fact that thi thought came to her mind might mean that it was true.

  They pity me. I don't want to be pitied. I'm not pitiful!

  She quickly concealed her hands beneath her cloak, clutching it to herself from the inside.

  Creed and Truth followed.

  A cheerful voice issued out of the group.

  "Hello, Story!" Truth said as he strode over to her and pulled her to himself with his no-sense-in-resisting arms. She couldn't help smiling a little, but no one saw that. She felt comforted.

  Life, however, was more than comfort.

  "Hello," she said.

  The Father bowed his head and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  "How are you?" Truth asked.

  Her eyes flitted to Creed. Her hood felt like it was falling back. She grabbed her hood but released it when she realized that the hood did not fall, but was pulled. Truth withdrew his hand from her. His face betrayed nothing when the hood fell back between her shoulder blades and brought her emaciated face to light.

  "How are you bearing up under the news of West and Softly?"

  She forgot. "Oh, that. I'm okay." She turned back to her podium and pages. "It's interesting that you knew about that and never told me."

  "I tried to tell you, Story."

  "Only as I was leaving."

  "It's not my way. I try to let things happen naturally. I don't tamper with people’s lives too heavily. Are you angry with me?"

  She looked at him and smiled a little. "Not until you brought it up. I've been here for several constellations, and you're only now coming by to see me just to pick at an old scab."

  "Well, I'm sorry if you're angry at me for that. I suppose I might be, too. I hoped for a better alternative to telling you about West and Softly. A marriage would have saved you from all of that.”

  "How… how did you know, anyway?"

  He laughed nervously. "Well, that's what I'm here to talk with you about."

  "Oh, you mean there's something besides scab picking?"

  "Yes, a few things."

  "Let's hear them so I can get back to my studies."

  The men questioned each other with their looks before Truth proceeded, "I don't think these are subjects to be discussed when you are in this mood."

  "This mood? What does that mean?" She murmured, looking at the pages.

  Truth grimaced. "Don't, don't, don't. I don't blame you for being in a foul mood. Please, if you have any respect remaining for me, try to focus on that. I'm not here to condemn you for anything. We are here for the ascension, actually. I wanted to see you, first."

  She stared at him blankly. "Just say what you want to say."

  Truth sighed and scratched his head. "Our time is limited, there were tremors in the Sálverøld today. I’m going to take you somewhere. It will show you what I might take hours to tell with words.”

  Story nodded as she flipped the corner of a page between her fingers, expressionless.

  “Story, will you meet us in the Sálverøld? All will be clearer there."

  She hesitated, but closed here eyes and stepped in. She gasped at the sight of Truth in the Sálverøld: burgundy and a vibrant, shining gold; beautiful. She had no reverence for him a moment ago, but she was awestruck now.

  Truth slid his hand up and down, tugging at something very small, invisible to her soul’s eyes. He pulled this way and that, meticulously selecting something in one place, not in another, pulling a little, putting back a little. She watched as the blackness tore open, and swirling, white light poured out from it like the Starlight in her dreams. She stepped nearer to it, feeling the warmth on her soul.

  Truth stepped into the opening, followed by Creed. Creed reached his hand out to Story. She took it and stepped in, also.

  Words: whispering, loud, screaming, shouting, tender, harsh, hopeful, downcast; they swirled around the three souls.

  The trio was suspended in the middle of darkness.

  “There. Watch.”

  Two bodies, a beautiful crimson, yellow, and golden body, and a burgundy and gold one. They circled round each other, sparks and flecks of light passing between them, flowing and flying. They looked perfect together, as though they were made to be just this way forever. Beautiful words emanated from them as though they were forming them with the chemistry of their spirits. Like children.

  “Creed, take her up close.”

  Truth stayed behind while Creed and Story moved forward.

  The brighter of the two bodies had precious, sweet features on its face. Very feminine. She was a delicate, whispy masterpiece of spirits. The burgundy and gold looked remarkably like—

  Story turned around and looked at Truth. She looked to Creed. Then to the two lovers before her.

  They pressed in closer to one another. The precious glittering sparks and lights erupted into a flame. From the blackness, a word began, but it was cut short by an explosion. Story shielded herself, but she felt nothing strike her. An enormous ball of flames filled her sight. Creed pulled her back from it.

  The burgundy soul threw itself against the flames, struggling with it, uttering terrible sounds that Story had never heard in the world before. The soul emanated a smoky haze of many colors, like steam rising from a hot iron plunged into icy water.

  Story felt the anguish and horror in her own soul. Whatever that soul experienced was so strong that she could not avoid its influence. She clutched at her soul as she watched. The burgundy-gold soul reached into the flames, but it was no use to try to rescue anyone. Its lover was gone. It took a piece of the destroyed soul and held it near to itself, like a glowing ball of snow. It drew fiber from the blackness and wove the shimmering piece in its hand into a new soul, a masterpiece of glorious gold.

  The new golden soul seemed perfect. It was as beautiful as the one who was lost, and the features of the face were the same. However, the soul shrieked in pain. The pain spread up and through with veins which burst open and flooded the soul with blood-red.

  The word that was cut off by the explosion remained trapped in the great fire. The unspoken half survived on the outside. It had been flung far from its birth site, but returned quickly. It was a slytian word. It s
wirled about as it evolved into a figure. The figure screeched and writhed, wriggling in its own shadow, suffering with the pain of its other half, trapped in the new Star. The burgundy soul rushed to it and pulled at the strands of spirit. Story didn’t understand.

  She noticed that the many words that flew about them were changing into something with form, also. The words were becoming sentient. Only the half-born seemed to be in pain. The others surrounded it, touching it, trying to comfort it. The burgundy soul stood back, still steaming with grief.

  Story and Creed returned to Truth’s side.

  “After this, those shadowy words were able to create life,” Truth said. “The warmth allowed physical life to begin. First, life was very small, but the slytes are very good at their art. What was small, grew into something greater. In time, humanity came…”

  “Elder Truth, are you okay?”

  “Some memories are not enjoyable,” he answered. “The Great Soul tried to make his lover again, but it was only a whisper of her. It was a desperate attempt to save her, but it was little more than an attempt to bring the dead back to life by making a doll of her hair. Pain tormented this monster into bitter coldness. He loves her to this day and remains faithful to her, simply because he knows it was his own fault. The slyte birthed from the catastrophe met a similar fate.

  “The rest of what I want you to know is important, but you do not need to see it so fully. I’m going to give you something like a dream. Will you accept this?”

  Story nodded.

  He pulled open another hole, drawing things out from it, carefully weaving them together. He reached out and swirled them around the seat of Story’s consciousness. She opened herself to the thoughts.

  Her mind rushed by the present into the past. She saw a dark shadow, falling upon another and destroying it. Its roars of delight and triumph haunted her through the rest of the dream. She would never forget the terrible sound. She watched as the same dark shadow caused a woman to bleed in order to weave something within a golden orb she held in her hands. She watched that woman die. She watched her husband steel himself against the grief. She watched the familiar Prince Nat, laying upon a bed, reddened in face, struggling, twitching, eyes rolling in his head, suffering an unending death. He staggered his way through a hallway to kill a beautiful young woman and—

  Story cried out, “Enough. I can’t…”

  The visions stopped. She awoke in time, space, and cold. She opened her eyes and looked on Truth and Creed.

  She looked to Creed. "This is what you believe?"

  He bowed his assent.

  "For thousands of stars the Ilians believed what they believe. Shortly before the savior's ascension, you want me to believe your version?" Story asked.

  "Their story was invented in the woods by none other than the Father himself. They called him the White Monster because he was so pale. He is Nat’s Great Uncle."

  "He would be ten thousand years—"

  Was it Truth's manner? His expression? Some mystical transmission of feelings or thoughts within the Sálverøld? Whatever it was, she felt a chill in her soul, a great cold.

  "How is that possible?"

  "The same way it is possible with Nat. Hadate, however, was made that way by the Great Soul. She struggles… She believes she will fix everything and maintain her life by doing this. Still, something in her calls out to the Great Soul. She does not know why, because she is not his first lover, but she is the whisper.”

  "You!" Hadate burst in upon them.

  "Aren't you happy to see me? It's been a long time," Truth said, stepping forward to greet her.

  She glared at the room's occupants, finally landing the glare firmly on Truth. She smiled smugly.

  “The weaving is nearly worn away. The prince will be ascending by night. Very funny that your presence should coincide with this momentous occasion. Is there anything you want to tell me, Truth."

  "Do you really want to know it, Hadate? If I told you, would you believe me? Are you afraid enough to accept the truth, even if it hurts?"

  Hadate sneered. "Give me my girl." She lunged toward Story.

  "You gave her up to starve herself and lose her mind. I don't think you deserve her. Go get your Sweetly," Creed said. He stood his ground as a wall in front of Story.

  She rolled her eyes. "You know as well as I that she doesn’t qualify, boy. Out of my way!"

  "No."

  Hadate looked over her shoulder to seek Truth's aid, but Truth had no aid to give her.

  "Why would you look to me? I think I must agree with the boy."

  "Well, that's just fine, isn't it? Whose side are you on, Truth? I’ve been asking you for stars, and yet I can’t figure it out.”

  “Indeed. I’ve wondered the same about you.”

  "No matter. We don't need her. She can't make up her mind what she wants, and I'm not going to fret myself over it. Enjoy."

  Hadate pulled her red hood over her head and blew out like a scarlet squall.

  "Let's get her away from here," Creed said, pulling Story to the door by her wrists.

  "No. They’ll come for us. They are not going to let her go so lightly.”

  "Can we try?”

  Truth gritted his teeth, rubbed and yanked at his bearded chin, and sighed.

  “Yes. Will you go, Story?”

  Creed turned back to Story, his brow wrinkled.

  "I don't know. I don’t feel like I can think properly, I’m so tired. I must choose the thing that seems most right and feels the most anchored in me. Nat is it. Nat is all that I am now and… I know I sound crazy, but I feel obligated to present myself to him."

  Creed let her go.

  "It's me that’s anchored in there. I'm not lying. He's there, that's certain, but any duty or obligation you feel toward him is there just because of your pride. Can't you feel me in there? Solid. Come. Please. For me, for you, for everyone." He reached his hand out to her.

  The tears that rolled down her cheeks encouraged his next step. He touched her downcast face. Thoughts moved his eyes side to side, he bit his lip, hesitated, cringed, then bent over and brought his face in and upward to meet her rough lips with a chaste but significant kiss.

  She burst into tears.

  The unexpected display startled him. He stood up straight, confused. She looked up at him. "Thank you very much for everything." She rushed away, past Truth, and out the door.

  “Grab her?”

  Truth exhaled, puffing his cheeks out. "She’ll scream like a blizzard. You can’t violate her. She’s impenetrable if you lose her. Brace yourself. The end isn't going to be pretty. We have to stay with her to try to protect her."

  "She kissed me in return, if that helps.”

  "Sometimes a returned kiss is just a sweet goodbye."

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The girls bathed in groups, scrubbing themselves with lye until their skin squeaked and their hair shone. Story laid her clothes on the table with the other girls' things and immersed herself in the warm water. In the corner, she waited for her turn with the lye. The other girls made her the last, and as Sweetly reached to give it to her, she let it slip from her hand, into the water. Submerged in four feet of stirred up, opaque water, the lye would not be found easily. Story looked at Sweetly, questioning, but she didn’t see it because she was already out of the water and getting dressed.

  Story felt for the lye with her foot.

  There… It was there…

  She pinned it to the ground and carefully slid it toward the wall of the tub and up, up, up. She reached over with her hand and grasped it. She closed her eyes and wet her hair.

  BOOM!

  Story stood up straight, her eyes wide open.

  "Oh, I bumped it as I was leaving. Oh!" Sweetly said, covering her mouth with her hand. The heavy wood table could not be upended easily, but there it lay. Story's clothes floated in the water, threatening to sink. Sweetly reached in and pulled them out before they sank. Sopping wet, she wrung them ou
t mercilessly and laid them out on the ground, drenched and crinkled.

  "I'm sure there will be other clothes for you to wear. Maybe someone can get some for you," she said as she flounced away.

  A new group of girls came into the room.

  "Help. Someone!" Story called out.

  A girl peeked around the partition. "Yes?"

  "Could you… Could you find someone who can get me new clothes? Someone dropped mine in the water."

  The pathetic pile of clothing could hardly be missed.

  "That's too bad! Yes. I'll find Sweetly."

  "No! Not Sweetly. She's the one who did it.”

  That perplexed the girl. "Well, then I'm sure she's going to find some for you."

  Story shook her head. "No, she did it on purpose."

  "Oh! I'll go."

  Story scrubbed herself and surrendered the lye to the new girls. She climbed out of the water and covered herself with a towel while she waited. The girl returned with apologies in her eyes, and empty arms.

  "They won't let me."

  "They?"

  "Hadate and Sweetly. They were together, and they won't send clothes or let me get them."

  "What kind of a game is this that they're playing with me?" She growled. "Fine. I'm through with this. I don't need them, and I don't need any dry clothes, either! I've had it with all of these mysterious, old, spirit people!"

  She picked up her sopping garments and pasted them on. She strode into the hallway, dripping a trail of water behind her. Cold nipped at every inch of her skin, but her anger kept her warm. She hurried down the stairs to Hadate's room. Story burst in.

  "I demand some clothes!" She roared.

  If she was cold, she didn’t feel it now. A blush rose to her cheeks as a sensation, not unlike being too near a fire, flashed through her face.

  Sweetly giggled.

  Truth, Creed, and the Father stood around Hadate's desk.

  Creed laughed and applauded with an enthusiastic, “Yeah!”

  Hadate gaped at Story.

  "Sweetly, get her some clothes."

  Creed put his parka over Story's shoulders. She grasped the edges and pulled it closed around her.

  "What have I done to make you hate me so, Hadate?" Story ventured.