The Woven End Page 4

  “Nonsense. Everyone knows what the shadings mean,” Cova scoffed.

  “Very few think of it after they learn it. Trimos was purple. That is all they know, and then they forget,” he answered.

  “Not exactly purple. It was more indigo, like my tunic. I have never seen the mask being put on. I wonder what it is like,” Cova said, tying the belt once more.

  Oma said nothing. Atenos, the Tician governor, picked up the conversation.

  “My apar told me it is slow. Everyone sat at Trimos' coronation, waiting and watching, afraid to breathe. His color never changed in all his stars.”

  “A consistent, predictable man. Let us hope his son is the same,” Cova said, turning away from the mirror, at last settled on the way his belt ought to be knotted. “His soul is colored pleasantly. If he remains as he is, all will be well.”

  Oma looked over Cova’s shoulder into the mirror.

  “I'm very fond of Persenimos. I am certain he will be a good king. He is determined to do right in all circumstances.” He turned his face to the left and right, stroking his jaw. “I have never seen a better behaved palace brat. Kind and gentle to all but the queen. What color is he, Cova?”

  “A muted, dull kind of green. Like the underside of a Dolobor leaf. Blue of sympathy, kindness and compassion. The firm resolve on right that you speak of comes from the ochre traits. Yellow offers a firm resolve on right, but of course ochre has some red and blue in it, which indicates that he is given to anger occasionally, but it is always tempered with the kindness and compassion. Usually, that results in a man prone to righteous indignation. He has the makings of a great hero.”

  “How did Trimos attain to purple then? Had he no firm resolve on right?” Asked Oma.

  “Indigo,” Cova corrected. “I don't believe he did. He wavered often, if you recall. Unwilling to anger this group, he let another suffer. Unwilling to sacrifice comfort, he allowed others to do so. Very human, but certainly not a characteristic of the ochre. Ochre compels people to live above their base instincts. To live boldly, passionately, and to suffer hardships well.”

  He turned to look out the window. The mass of Trilanders continued to grow to a size beyond sight, beginning at the edge of the palace grounds.

  He laughed, “This is why he and his mother have troubles. She’s a mighty vermilion. A glorious thing to behold if tinted with some blue. She hasn’t any of it. She’s a brand straight from the Great Soul’s fire. She looks lovely and sweet, but I don’t think she has fooled anyone.”

  Atenos approached Cova and stood beside him.

  “What is your view on the story of the mask? You know more of the spirits than most do, and I've heard that the Alchemine story is different from the one that Trilanders commonly teach.”

  “Those nasty, secretive Alchemines, hm?” Oma sneered as he looked himself over in the mirror again, fluffing his chest hair up over the collar.

  “The commonly believed story is that a powerful Alchemine woman created it with Susu wood and wove the supposed spirits of strength and endurance into it. Then she gave it as a gift to the king for the protection of his power strand. Is this not true?”

  “Yes.” Atenos nodded.

  “It is false. That is all I can tell you.”

  “Snub swill. ‘False and that's all I can tell you?’ Come, man!” Oma spat.

  Cova smirked. “Interested? I never thought you would be, Oma.”

  The door opened and the little blue-clad man stepped in.

  “Are you ready?” He asked.

  Cova looked at his companions and replied, “I think we ladies have sufficiently primped.”

  The governors followed the man and took their place in the long procession.

  King Trimos lay on a gilt raft, covered by a shroud of white velvet with the Triland embroidered in purple on its center.

  “Indigo! Curse the stars!” Cova muttered.

  Men carried the raft on their shoulders while the female servants and family followed the governors and the prince.

  Singing women beat slowly on their rawhide drums as they sang:

  “Under the stars, the unknowingly wise stars,

  We gather to unravel.

  Let one soul become many once more.

  May the beauty of them find safe passage to travel.

  Stars, stars, under the stars

  We find our sorrow at ease.

  We never shall rest, but become what we were,

  Spirits with no pain or disease.

  We shall not think,

  We only shall be.

  We shall not love or hate.

  In the spirit world we roam,

  At last, at home,

  Beauty to create.

  Stars, stars, under the stars.

  We are calling on you, calling on you.”

  The slow procession stopped at the water's edge where the women fell silent. The raft bearers proceeded into the water up to their waists. Persenimos stepped into the water and quickly untied the silver ropes. He removed the shroud and stood at the foot of the raft as the raft bearers passed behind him to the shore. He removed his mask and extended his arms, holding his apar's shroud behind him, billowing in the sea breeze. He turned his face toward the sky in anticipation of the passing of the hereditary strand of power.

  The records revealed that it was common to experience a painful sensation in the center of the forehead. Though he was not committed to a belief in spirits and strands of power, nor of all this ceremony, he expected the commonly reported sensation to strike him.

  When nothing happened, he placed the shroud over his shoulder and covered his hot face with the mask. He looked on the crowd as they waited for the mask to reveal the shading of his soul. For centuries, the kings exposed their soul’s beauty and ugliness to their people, and now it would end with him?

  They waited for half an hour. Persenimos' face heated incrementally until his skin tingled as if he had been running for miles. His botched coronation stirred in his mind; complete mortification settled. The people shuffled about, nervous, uncertain, and impatient.

  He surrendered to the humiliation and charged out of the water. His wet pants shlicked and shlocked as he went. The palace guards hopped to attention and followed him as he stormed through the city, the people parting as he passed by.

  #

  In the palace, the queen amar flew in upon Persenimos in his bed chamber.

  “Did you uncover his face when no one was with you, Persenimos?” Her voice, lower than usual, carried fire with it.

  It burned his ears, his sensibilities, his emotions, and above all, his temper.

  He paced back and forth like a caged animal as he raked his fingers through his hair and finished with a furious growl and tousle of the honey curls. He did not give her the satisfaction of stopping. He shot an acrid look at her.

  “Come now, woman. Don't tell me you believe in that superstition,” he said, hotly.

  More like her usual façade, she wrung her hands and nearly cried.

  “Persenimos, you did, didn't you? You uncovered him after he was dead. Oh, Persenimos, how could you! We must send for an Alchemine. An Alchemine will recover your strand of power, surely.”

  “Do whatever it is you think necessary. I will reign without the superstitions of a berry-lipped murderer.”

  The queen amar’s eyes lit up like lightning as she returned to the fire-like demeanor and left with a flourish of her gauzy white cape. She stormed down the hall.

  Persenimos' voice rang out, louder than any bell he might ring, “Koro!”

  After a few minutes, a man wearing purple livery rushed in, panting.

  “Your majesty.”

  “Send the captain of the guard to me.”

  Chapter Four

  No matter how she begged, the head of the house would not give them any tasks. She only wanted to be useful and prove to Cova that she was humble enough to accept anything. She was not here to look for a great favor from him when serving in hi
s home would be sufficient for her needs. She had no right to expect anything more from him than this.

  "I have orders from the master to treat you as visiting royalty."

  Ama would not rest. She assembled her children for a meeting.

  "The governor has not settled on what he will do to help us. We must prove that we are valuable to his household. Do you understand, children?"

  They nodded their heads.

  "Sidita, I’ll acquire a shears. You must cut our burlap bags into rags. We will use these to clean. They’re not ideal, but we will do our best. I will find buckets, get water and oil, and we will scrub the floors and oil the woodwork."

  Ama searched the house for oil and pumped water from the kitchen despite the arguments of kitchen staff. Before long, she and her brood were scrubbing, polishing and dusting everything within reach. They did this until the governor returned from Tici. The governor had not sent ahead to announce his return, therefore, no one was there to greet him at the door. He didn't mind because he didn't feel like talking to anyone. Dark in expression and troubled in demeanor, he opened the door and sulked into the hall. He stopped and took a step back before gathering his wits and closing the door behind him.

  "What is this?" He barked.

  "We are in this house, we want to be an asset," Melee said, leaning on the broom and brushing sunshine hair from her brow.

  "You are my guests. Who allowed you to do this? Who gave you the supplies?”

  "We did it ourselves. What were they to do? Bind and gag us?”

  "Yes!” He cried.

  He stared hard at Melee and straightened up. “Mhm, I see. Put your foolish cleaning away and come speak with me," he said.

  Ama sent Cothos to sit in the room where his siblings were cleaning. She picked up the basket with baby Mora and followed Cova to his study.

  He was silent, but she took the liberty of sitting down. She knew he wished it. Mora whimpered and ama picked her up to soothe her at her breast.

  Cova had a modest desk with a small lamp and many papers. The low ceiling met with dark bookshelf walls. It was a cozy little room.

  "I suppose you have heard what happened with our new king?" He said.

  Ama shook her head. "King… King Persenimos?"

  "Well, the details are private, but the public matter is that something went terribly awry. They summoned me for my peculiar knowledge of the ways of the Sálverøld to discover the problem. The trouble is that I haven't any ideas. I don't have so much as a guess to stall with until I think of something."

  Ama looked up at him with rueful scolding in her eyes.

  "Dealing with slytes creates shadows over your eyes to all else. You know this."

  "By the stars, I know it not!" He bellowed.

  "We came from them, but we should not return to them. Their creative power becomes destructive when met with the warmth of love such as only the Great Soul and humanity possess. It is restrictive and stifling to them. They cannot help being destructive, for they are like wild animals. Their very being is blank, empty spirit, designed only to be filled and offered as creation or destruction. They are paper for ink and metal for a blade. They are cold. Humans are warm, Cova.”

  A weight lifted off of him and curled the sides of his mouth upward. "Ah, my name at last. Thank you… Melee."

  She proceeded, "It only tells you what it wants you to know and withholds other things for its own need to create destruction. Be certain it knows, but it has no conscience. Twelve stars and you have not yet discovered this truth?"

  Cova sniffed at this. After several moments he came back to the conversation with a lighter attitude. He leaned his forearms on the desk and looked at her.

  "Melee, I have decided what I will do for you and your children, if you will have it."

  Tears filled her wise, brown eyes. "I will accept whatever kindness, no matter how small."

  She looked to the floor, gently wringing her hands in her lap. "It is wrong of us to impose upon you after all that has happened, but…"

  "Nonsense. You would have spoken up for me if your voice had not been feminine. I know you."

  "What they caused you to suffer was too heavy a punishment." She wiped at her eye. "If they would have given you time to repent. Perhaps reasoned with you, rather than cast you out as they did…without pity."

  He smiled. "Ah, but look where I am now! I sup with the king. There is not one thing that I desire and cannot have. There is but one thing that I have not yet found, because I have been spoiled, in the past, on the finer of its kind. Once you have tasted royal Tician wines, there's no going back to Bositian."

  He paused, lips parted, then quietly, “Once you’ve loved one particular Bositian woman…”

  Cova swallowed hard as he shifted in his seat and assumed a businessman's demeanor. It was, after all, a business transaction, and merely a way of supplying for a widow and her children. It could not—must not— be mistaken for a romance, or the consequences for all would be dire. He tried to hold fast to that in his thoughts, but his remembrance of Melee was all too potent for romance to be obliterated by practicalities. His brother's death meant little to him. Gova was, to him, a thief and a traitor to his own blood. Still, it meant everything to him, for it brought Melee to his gate. His mate knew its true owner and returned to him after all of these stars. Not to mention, this was a fortuitous turn of events in a long battle.

  "We have three options. I have considered each. We can set you and your children as servants in my household and provide you with shelter, food, and clothing. Adequate, but not honorable.

  "Then there's the option of supporting you in your own home on Sakat until you find a new mate. However, Sakat is not a safe place for a woman and children to live alone. I could provide you a male servant, but I wouldn't trust a hired man in a house of women.

  "The third option is marriage. This, I think, is the most convenient and efficient option. I have no wife, and you, I think, will suit quite well. Your children will be raised and educated as governor's children and introduced to aristocratic society. This would be of great benefit to them when matters of marriage and settling for life come.

  “I would expect no more children of you— though who can say. All you need to do to be an asset to me is dress well in the clothes I provide and be a gracious hostess when we have guests. The choice is yours."

  Despite expecting this possibility, she did not feel prepared for it. Now that it was happening it felt like a terrible idea.

  Breathless, she answered, "A widow of only—"

  "I realize this. You came to me in urgency, and I am offering you urgent solutions. Necessity begs an answer of you."

  Shameful. This was a shameful course of action.

  The choice must be made for the children's sake and no one else. What must be done must be done, and she alone could be the doer of it. A widow with all of these children had no right to be selective or hold out in pride, principle, or fear.

  Fear. She did have a lot of fear. She feared looking in the Sálverøld here. She expected it to be swarming with slytes.

  Cova was a good man. He was a desirable man in whose spirits her own seemed to delight. He was intelligent, kind, and generous. Something, however remote, had awakened in her upon seeing him. It was nothing as she once felt those many stars ago, but it existed and was intensified by the concern for her children.

  She had to know just one thing and then she could decide. She took a deep breath to gather her courage.

  She moved away from the sight of her physical eyes and looked at Cova in the Sálverøld. His true self shone with the same gold of babes. A golden adult was not a safe thing. They were stunted or immature. Gold came from the Great Soul’s power. A soul of solid, fresh, new, gold, would be impetuous and naïve.

  He seemed darker than when she last saw him. Was she imagining it, or was it really true? To increase in slytish spiritual skills he would have to drink human blood. Did he? This was vital for her to know. Was he
darker? Was he?

  His slyte mocked her. She felt it, but it would not show itself, nor its power over Cova. Why could she not tell him his soul seemed darker? Why did the Alchemine codes forbid her to describe it to him? It wouldn’t be right, though she felt he should know. Ah, but would he believe her?

  Man should not know his own soul or else his soul will never change. Once settled into what he is described as, he reinforces those characterstics and never grows. Nature made it so, and she had to respect that.

  Melee sighed.

  No matter. At least the slyte was as bound to Cova as he was to it. She and her family would be safe from its clutches as long as they held to their principles.

  "I choose marriage. It is the best choice."

  #

  Melee and Cova married within the week. The children shed their rags to wear intricately embroidered tunics. Their education began after the first week of marriage.

  The girls brushed their hair with snub-bristled brushes every Star fall, and every Star rise they washed their faces with buttermilk and fresh water.

  Despite the loss of apa, the youngest of them were happier than they'd ever been. Uncle Cova was kind to them, gave them what they wanted and needed and saw to it that their ama was a tolerably happy widow.

  Only at Star fall did Sidita, Tapa, and Cothos think on their apa. The baby knew nothing. No one expects them to. Tosel, only two years old, already called Uncle Cova "apar". He looked like apa and he treated her as though she were his own. This bothered Sidita at first. It felt like an insult to apa. She remained silent, content that ama was content.

  When the business of schooling and playing were through, Sidita feared the silence. Silence gave time for thought. Thought led to mourning. She wished to be busy with Bositian worries. Work, work, work, and sleep. No time to think, no time to mourn, no time to grieve.

  When the lights were out, the thought of apa's body unraveling on the water haunted Sidita. She sometimes imagined herself laying on a raft in the star water. It gave her a terrible sense of loneliness. Apa was lonely, too?

  Could he know that ama married his brother? Was he cold? Could she have gone with him and remained with him until the last spirit faded away?