The Woven End Page 33

  "Done? Hate? Why, nothing!" She answered, her tone far kinder than Story expected.

  Truth's voice could have shook the room."As I was saying, I don't care what you're trying to cultivate in her. This is unacceptable and never would have happened if I were here."

  Hadate threw an order of silence by way of a quick, sharp jab of her eyes.

  “You weren’t here, and by your own choice.”

  "I wouldn't even treat you like this, Your Majesty!" He replied.

  Sweetly returned with a heap of clothes draped over her arm. She thrust the clothes—and her arm— into Story's chest.

  Story handed the parka back to Creed and made a hasty exit with downcast eyes.

  She hurried to her room and closed the door.

  His image was there in her mind when she closed her eyes. She had garnered such hopes, feelings, and confidence that, no matter whether or not the Ilians presented her to Nat as their recommendation for bride, she would be his because he would look for her.

  It must be more than a matter of emotional complications to earn this kind of demotion.

  Healthy, tall, golden and that scent… She covered her face and cried into her hand. She would give up her entire life just to be near him. She would never have it if the entire world seemed set on not allowing it. Her mind turned to the visions Truth showed her.

  She didn’t understand how it all worked, but she could tell it was authentic. She saw a true account of history. Did that make all of this wrong? What was happening to her? It was not that long ago that she scoffed at the Ilian faith, that she felt she was a strong-minded woman who relied on no one. Here she sat, desperate for an unseen ten thousand stars old prince.

  A cold, unlike any cold she had ever felt, struck her in the face and traveled down into her gut. Her insides were being torn apart by an iced knife. She needed help, but she didn’t know why. Her body shook with the cold, and she wrapped her arms around herself, hunched over. She gasped for air, aggravating her cough.Who would hear her?

  “Creed,” she gasped.

  #

  While Truth argued with Hadate, Creed looked on disinterestedly. All of the abuses that Story endured were old news to him. His mind remained on the events that were unfolding outside. The weaving was coming undone, and Nat was to emerge. Was there any way out of this at this point? Then he felt it. A small trembling in his chest. He heard her voice, like a whisper. He never felt that before, but it was clear that it meant something. He threw his hand out to his dad’s arm and grabbed it.

  “Dad…”

  With that, he flew up the stairs, several steps at a time, and sprinted through the hallway to her room. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. He entered the Sálverøld and saw her indistinctly through the spirits. He pushed through the walls—what kind of damage he was doing to the walls, he could only imagine. She lay on the floor, her silver cord dangling from her soul, torn. A slyte covered her, thrusting something into her soul again and again.

  He pried the slyte off of her. The slyte had to relent or else he never would have gotten it off. A sharp black weapon remained in her soul.

  “Frosts!”

  He removed the weapon from her soul and set it aside. Truth and Hadate arrived presently. Truth assessed the situation. The slyte would not advance again once those of stronger souls arrived.

  “Dad, she’s dying.”

  Truth ordered the slyte to stay, then he turned to Story. If he let her die, then everything would be right. He was not supposed to play favorites, and he was not supposed to care. The goal was to let nature take its course. Right? He looked at Creed’s face. His soul flashed through a hundred different colors. It would kill Creed to lose Story.

  Truth would have mercy, even against his better judgment.

  He laced her silver cord back into place with a careful and skilled hand.

  “She needs blood.”

  “Take mine,” Creed said.

  “When I take some, you must tend to your wound, immediately.”

  He took a strand from Creed’s silver cord and wove it into Story’s. He saw there were a few lose strands in her soul. He wove them back together and made her well.

  Creed left the Sálverøld to see how Story fared. She was shaking and scared, but when she opened her eyes and saw him there, she smiled and reached out for him.

  Truth, however, remained in the Sálverøld.

  “What are you here for, slyte?”

  “It is the hour. You have failed to make her love secure, and we had to do something.

  “This weapon. Where did you get it?”

  “It is the same material as the pike.”

  “You… you tore a piece of Nat-Scrios?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have lowered yourself to the Named-One’s tactics? You ought to feel great shame for what you have done. Get out of here.”

  Hadate stood, watching.

  When everything seemed settled, Hadate hissed,"We shall miss it if you are not quick."

  Story was afraid to follow Hadate. Creed and Truth had saved her life while Hadate stood, watching. One side offered her safety, the other…

  Would nothing ever feel clean and good again? Would any choice she made feel like the right one?

  “Come along, Story,” Truth said.

  This surprised her. She looked up at him with questions in her eyes. He saw them, but he wasn’t going to answer. Hadate reached out and took Story by the arm.

  #

  Torches speckled the landscape, just as the night of Story's initiation. It was as intimidating as the last time, especially considering the event. Hadate dragged Story along at a rate only long legs could comfortably maintain. They did not need to push their way through the crowd because white wolf demanded respect upon sight. The Guardians parted like snow for fire

  Hadate led Story to the front. Truth walked with them and stood beside the Father.

  Only a foot or so behind her, Creed took his place among the Guardians.

  "Now, get behind us," Hadate said, indecorously shoving Story behind the wall of the Ilian ministry. Having little remaining to fight with, she submitted to it and stood in her place of shame.

  The crowd of believers stood ready, waiting for the expected savior to emerge. Each, by the command of their own nerves, stood painfully still, anticipating, dreading, wondering, and breathing. Story felt something in her hand. She closed her fingers around it. It was another hand. She looked over her shoulder to Creed and remembered that she was the reason he had a bloody rag around his arm. She held his hand tightly.

  A loud, stone crack arrested the attention of all, eliciting a collective scream. Hadate's eyes turned back to Story. She took her arm and held on tightly.

  "You're hurting—"

  "Sh!"

  The sound, like a thundercrack, crumbled into the sound of rocks rolling and tumbling. Only those in the very front could hear the rocks shift, rolling and tumbling again, and again and again as someone stumbled over them.

  Instead of rapture, Story's heart filled with cold fear. She writhed and wriggled in an attempt to loose herself from Hadate's firm grip. This only drove long, strong fingernails into her skin. Someone was coming up those stairs. Screams strangled in her throat.

  A head appeared in the stairwell, shoulders, then a torso dressed in very light-weight clothes. If they were as old as she was told, it was a wonder that they survived. They must have a way to do that, too? She remembered the well-preserved wool she was wearing. Animals who produced wool had long been extinct.

  The whole man stepped into view.

  She couldn't take her eyes off of him. He looked like the man in her dream, but very thin.

  Oh, that poor man. He's bewildered.

  Her heart went out to him through the fear, and she reached up to wipe a tear from her eye.

  Trapped for thousands of stars, unfed, uncared for, and now freezing in a world unlike the one you knew.

  The Father walked out to mee
t the young man at the top of the stairs. He put a fur cloak over him and clasped it with metal hooks across the collar bone. Nat looked at the Father, squinting his eyes.

  "Who are you?" He asked, his voice a mere croak.

  The Father pulled back his hood to reveal a thick mass of curly black hair joined to a dense black beard on his face.

  Nat's eyes grew wide as the dawn of understanding came over him. All happened so quickly, the Ilians hardly knew what to do.

  Nat screamed, and with a quick flail, twist, and jerk of his hands, the Father lay on the ground, dead, untouched. Nat fell upon him and, to the horror of all, latched his mouth onto Cova's neck. The word spread to the back of the crowd by way of hundreds of girls shoving, kicking, and trampling anyone who stood in their way as they fled. Story would have been one of them if Hadate's unyielding grip had not renewed itself.

  In the midst of the tumult, Nat stood up and laughed. "Does anyone else have a connection with me they wish to be proud of?" His voice came through clear and strong to those close by.

  Nat laughed once more, a high, wild laugh, but he stopped abruptly, and with a grand sweep of his arms to the left and the right, he brought in a wind that blasted the remaining believers to the ground. Story, laying on the ground, looked up to see that Nat used the wind to raise himself into the air with his arms held high, his face to the sky, and an exultant, gleeful expression on his face. A flash of anger crossed his visage. He swept his arms about in quick circles and thrust his fists in front of him over and over. Daggers of fire stabbed the earth, striking several Guardians and a few brides. He continued with a punch, punch, punch…

  The wind incapacitated the remaining crowd. If he chose to strike them with the fire from the sky, he would. They had no choice in the matter.

  He stopped punching, landed firmly on his feet, and with another sweeping gesture, brought a downpour of water from the sky. It felt warm in comparison to snow.

  Nat's face turned in her direction. She looked down.

  It didn't matter what he was doing or had done, she felt as though she was his and there would be nothing that could change the fact. He was the authority now and demanded her reverence, regardless of all. She felt something pull on her from deep within and entered the Sálverøld.

  He stood in front of her, golden, weeping, reaching out for her. She dared to reach out for him, but he swatted at her extended hands with his iridescent, transparent fingers.

  "I can't. I can't,” he cried as a black mass reached from behind him and wrapped itself around him, and through him, as though the night had come to life and sharpened itself into so many bear claws, piercing through his soul.

  Story's soul screamed. She flew at the black thing and ripped at it, tearing chunks of it and flinging them behind her. An unknown presence pried her off. She whirled about and saw Creed and Truth.

  "You can't do anything about it," Truth told her.

  "It's killing him!" She screamed.

  Truth held her fast. "I know because I know what that thing is. It's not killing him. It's part of him now. There's only one chance for him, and you have to talk to us about it first."

  She could not escape from Truth's strong soul, so she removed herself from the Sálverøld.

  The ancient youth eyed Story momentarily before he turned from them and stomped away through the snow.

  The sky flashed with fire several times, and the clouds uttered shocking cracks and rumblings. Though terrified, she dared not move except to look up at the figure walking into the winter wilderness. Where would he go? What would he do? Such a horrific question invoked her sympathy as well as a sense of relief. She was sorry, but she was glad he was gone.

  Her eyes fell on the lifeless body of the Father. Nat fell on him as a bear falls upon its prey.

  You have to get away. Get away!

  What sense is there in that? He exists. He's in your world. Do you think it's going to stop just because you 'got away'?

  Well, I can't love him. I can't.

  You loved his soul. That is sure.

  But what he is, what he is controlled by—a monstrosity!

  And a human.

  A human. A hurting human who is powerless to escape from… From what?

  I don't know. That slyte?

  Slyte. I—

  Hadate struck her. "Get up. Go to him!" She whispered.

  Her stomach troubled her

  "He… He just killed the Father and drank his blood."

  "That's spiritual. You drank human blood, did you not? Are you worthier than he?”

  Story stammered a pointless reply.

  "Go before he disappears!”

  A man's voice interrupted, "Mmm, no, I don't think so."

  Creed. He stood over them and extended his hand to Story. She took his hand and stood up.

  "Let's get out of the rain," Truth said.

  "Rain?"

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  "It's amazing how quickly everyone's loyalty disappeared when he killed someone. What did they expect from a person who had been locked up for thousands of stars with a slyte?" Truth asked. He sat by a fire in an abandoned snow home. Creed and Story sat by the fire, too. Silent.

  "Fools. I knew it would be bad, but I didn't think it would be that bad. Maybe I'm the fool. Maybe I ought to evolve, change, violate myself…”

  "What are you talking about?" Story asked.

  "Nothing," he grumbled, waving his hand back and forth over the flames' tips.

  "I'm not sure what's worse: end the world or let him loose on it? Either way it's an end," Creed said.

  "If we can get the power strand away from him, he'll be much limited. We need a slyte to do that, and I can't imagine any slyte getting through Nat-Scrios—"

  "Nat-Scrios?" Story insisted on being involved. The name was familiar, but with so much information coming at her these days, she could not seem to remember why.

  Creed explained, "That's Nat's slyte. The spirit he has incarnated."

  Truth continued, “Nat-Scrios has itself in everything. It is so strong now that I think no one can get into that soul—except maybe Story." He looked at her briefly, eyes shifting up and down. "I saw Nat exposed to her for a few moments before Nat-Scrios saw us coming."

  She said, "Is it the only way?"

  "I don’t know. It’s too great a risk. The two of you have to be kept apart.”

  "Where does that leave us?" Creed asked.

  "We'll have to kill him."

  "The pike?"

  Truth nodded.

  Story straightened up. "Kill him? You can't do that. You can't!"

  Creed looked at her, angry."He killed the Father, he drank his blood, he struck people with lightning, he—"

  "Yes. I know. I…I know—" She had so much to say, but it sounded so childish and idealistic. She tried anyway. "But, I've seen him. Whatever that thing is, it's not really him. He's good. He's trying to get away from it. How can there be no other choice than to kill him? I've seen him in dreams. I know—"

  "Story, those dreams were fabricated. Hadate gave them to you to cultivate love for Nat," Truth explained.

  That offended her. Was he trying to make her feel like a twit?

  "No! I don't care what she did. I saw his soul through that cellar, and he is the same as he is in the dreams. You know… you know how things are clearer? Like you hear words even though there aren't really any words? Everything you say in the Sálverøld is so perfect, and the feelings are full and rich and… Well, I could tell what he was like, and he matches my dream perfectly. You can't kill him. There has to be a better way."

  Truth shook his head and stared dead-eyed into the fire, "It's just not my way. It's disgusting. However, we can't leave the world in his hands as he is. Nat-Scrios is the one we want to kill, Story. It's not about Nat."

  "Well, then… then… then make it a rescue, not a destruction!" She looked to Creed for support and found nothing. "Oh, please. He's not evil. Would… would you kill me if I step
ped into a trap of some dark spirit? Would you say, 'oh, I guess we'll just have to kill her, there's nothing else to do.' Or would you try to find a way to save me?"

  She looked back and forth between the two of them, waiting for response. A flinch? A wink? A twist of the mouth?

  Nothing.

  "Or maybe I'm flattering myself in thinking that you two are honest and care about me. Maybe this love thing was just a part of your plan, Creed? Maybe, Truth, you only care for me as far as I reach into your spiritual business?"

  Time to pacify. "Story—"

  "Nevermind, you don't know him. That's all this means."

  "Now you stop right there, woman," Truth roared. "First off, you don't know one frost blasted thing about this. I knew Nat before you were born.

  "Second: you've been enemies with my boy since the day you came to our complex. I think it's safe to say that I care about you like my own daughter. However, no one can fix this any other way, and there comes a point when I have to put my foot down and say, 'I care about you but—the north winds blast me—I won't bend on this for your sake.’

  “And third, I could have let you die in there. A lot of problems would have gone with you. But you are far more than business for us. Having you alive and with us is more important to me than being inconvenienced. Even if it means I have to give my own life to make all of this right."

  "It's just not right," she murmured.

  Truth's voice lowered. "I know it's not. It's a shame that it's come to this. However, I have rights that you don't know about. It won't make sense to you but… but it's not a crime for me to do this. I have laws that are higher than your conscience."

  Story scoffed at that. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "I am ruled by the laws of nature. You're ruled by the laws of conscience."

  She stared at him, open mouthed. There was nothing to say to such an arrogant, bizarre declaration. "Okay. I'm finished. I think I need to step outside," she said.

  She crawled out. The rain was over, and no fire flashed in the sky. She sat down outside the mouth of the snow home and took in a deep breath of cold, moist air. The rain melted much of the snow away, revealing patches of earth. The rain and melted snow were freezing rapidly. She'd never seen dirt above ground. It was just a dark, lifeless, colorless surface, but amazing to see. She crawled over to a patch of soil and touched it. She looked at her gloved hand and tried to smell the residue on her fingertips.