The Woven End Page 5

  No wonder the wealthy commit suicide. Too much time to think.

  In the midst of that macabre thought—

  "Sidita," Tapa whispered.

  "What?" Sidita whispered in return.

  "Is the governor our apa now?"

  "Apar. They want us to say apar," Sidita corrected.

  "But, why?"

  "Because that is how wealthy people talk."

  "That's silly. So, is he our apar?"

  Sidita shook her head. "He is still our uncle."

  "Baby Mora won't remember…apar… Will she?"

  "I don’t know. I hope she does."

  In the darkness, Tapa exhaled an exasperated sigh. No one had adequate answers anymore. Life had become too complicated.

  Chapter Five

  Tragedy strikes when it wishes. Nature allows it because that is its nature. It doesn’t care if you’ve had one tragedy too many. It knows you will bear up under the strain because you have no choice.

  Mysteriously, Melee fell sick. Physicians held no power over the illness, and a “lung condition" served as the nearest thing to a diagnosis. It defied understanding. Physicians recommended a good dose of the southern seaside where many patients with lung ailments found relief and, sometimes, a cure.

  Cova acquired a house on a secluded beach and took Melee away for several constellations. When Melee’s condition seemed unmitigated by the sea air, they returned to home and family. A physician examined her once more and concluded that her poor health not only withstood the healing effects of the medicinal air but had grown worse. Her days were numbered.

  The physician suggested that the air ought to circulate through her room during Star light hours, but cooler air ought to be shut out of her room. Cova personally saw to it that the windows were open early in the Star rise before the servants awoke. Cova sat with her to stroke her forehead or hold her hand.

  He visited with the children often, hugged them as they cried over their amar, and did his best to make them forget their troubles with books and frequent rides through the countryside. He put all other matters of business on hold until he was confident that Melee was well on her way to recovery. Business heaped up on his desk while royal summons were politely and bravely refused. Cova did not care if Melee felt affection for him again. All of his passion returned to him the moment he saw her face in the lantern light outside his gate. He would lavish love and concern for her even if it was not reciprocated. She never told him whether it was reciprocated, and now she never would. It was a pity that it had to be this way. It did not shock him, because the Great Soul, while good, was merciless in achieving its objectives. Melee was a distraction from the goal.

  About one star after Melee's troubles began, Cova awoke and, as he was accustomed to doing, rolled out of bed and shuffled off to Melee's room. He opened her door quietly and walked as lightly as a man of his size could manage. He opened the windows and stood at the final window for a moment to watch the rising Star. Wingrays cooed and tweeted in the trees, the fresh smell of Star fall lingered in the air and a breeze carried the fragrance of mint. He felt a twinge of joyfulness tapping at his breast, longing to find a manifestation, but he simply could not bring it to the surface. It would drown there in his soul. Perhaps the numbness to all but Melee was a gift intended to strengthen him through this trying time. He turned away from the window to look at his wife.

  He was not shocked by what he saw. It seemed the most natural and expected thing in the world to see her as she was this day: pallid and husk-like, with nothing there but skin, bones, and the makeup of her physical appearance. Her eyes were closed, her face, peaceful. She must not have suffered.

  He could take time to look at her because women needed no shroud, being made of nothing but spirits that anyone might possess. After having his look, he covered her with a sheet for his own sake, and sat down to try for tears. A few tears fell, but true grieving had to wait. He pulled himself together and sent for servants to prepare Melee for the star water.

  #

  Sidita's anguish over her ama far outweighed her grief for apa. She did not love one more than the other, but the loss of both was too much. She was now an orphan to be raised by a kind uncle. What would life be like without ama? Ama told her that she and her siblings needed an apa, but what about an ama? They needed one of them, too. Perhaps they needed ama more than anyone.

  Sidita cried on her bed until she felt so weak and thirsty she wouldn't attempt to get up. Her siblings looked on at her, teary eyed, but they didn’t grieve as she did. It troubled her, and she wanted them to leave her alone.

  Cova stepped into the room. "Children, go with your nurse. I wish to speak to Sidita."

  The nurse ushered them out of the room.

  He sat on the bed beside Sidita.

  His presence comforted her. She felt better in the company of someone who might understand the extent of her sorrow. She reached out to take Cova's hand. He accepted this gesture with a firm, tight grip.

  "What is it, uncle?" Sidita croaked, shuddering with repressed tears.

  "I couldn't let you cry like this alone. You feel this more keenly than your siblings. I—I want to help you. What may I do for you, Sidita?"

  What did she want from him? What was in his power to do for her?

  "Don't make me go to the release in the water," was her sole request.

  "I won't. You don't have to go. I wouldn't dream of forcing you."

  "Thank you."

  "Is there anything else?"

  She shook her head and turned her face into the bed.

  "You're a treasure, Sidita. The stars dealt you a wonderful array of spirits," he said, squeezing her hand. "Or, perhaps, the stars were bypassed altogether."

  #

  For awhile the mansion carried itself with stillness. It seemed to Sidita that Ama's presence remained in the mansion, though she would never be seen in it again. She tried to comfort herself, imagining her ama stood just behind the wooden door to her bed chamber. If she refreshed that fancy every time she walked by, she might forget the fact that ama never seemed to come out. She had longed to live in Sakat, but she imagined living there with the people she loved. Advantages and disadvantages battled against each other as she contemplated if it would have been better to stay in Bos. Back home, they may have been hungry, but they would find a way to stay alive.

  Out of some remote instinct for duty, she reached out to be a comforter to the littlest ones, but she found herself far out of her depth in extending the hand of compassion and gentleness. Tapa soon took over and tried to comfort the little ones with the softest hand she could manage.

  Uncle Cova had put off a great deal of business during Melee's sickness. It could be put off for only another couple of weeks after her death. He promised a time when he and the children might be together as a family, but he was a busy man now. All of them were left in the care of nurses and tutors most times.

  Sidita used her free time to wander, doing very little, thinking very little, and feeling as little as possible. When Cova was home, she felt that she had a companion in grief, but when he was gone, she was lost. Why couldn't she be enticed to forget ama? Her siblings could play in their nursery and laugh the day away until Star fall. Then they might think of ama and shed a few tears, but Sidita could not be distracted, and preferred not to be. To pretend ama could be replaced by the trappings of wealth would be a dishonor to her.

  #

  On her thirteenth birthday Sidita received word that Cova wished to see her alone for the first time in the three constellations since Ama’s death. She was awake, but just barely. She quickly washed her face, brushed her hair, and dressed.

  She rapped on his study door and peeked in.

  "Uncle Cova, you sent for me."

  "Come, sit down, Sidita." He gestured to the chair across from him.

  Sidita obeyed.

  "Sidita, you are what age?"

  “Thirteen stars, Uncle."

  "In three stars you are o
f marriageable age. Is this not true?"

  "Yes, uncle.”

  He nodded his head. His tongue rolled about in his mouth, poking into his cheeks and finally ended its activity with a "tch" against his teeth. He looked at Sidita again.

  "You have a gift, Sidita. I suspect you know nothing of it?"

  She saw no package in her room that morning. She shook her head.

  "Your parents were training you as an Alchemine, were they not?"

  Sidita nodded.

  "How far have you advanced?"

  "Not far. I designed a wingfire. That is all."

  Cova seemed disappointed. "So little. What principles were you taught?"

  Sidita thought on this one. What was he looking for, exactly?

  "Well, the code, I suppose.” She recited it, “Nature is completion, creation grew from slytes and may not return. We weave for peace, not for war. We do not weave to keep or restore life. We do not weave the weather, for the weather is the business of the Great Soul. We do not tell of the soul’s shading. We do not change the soul’s shading nor the soul’s manifestation. We must not weave upon other souls. If it violates the rights of the Great Soul, we must not do it.”

  "I see. The code. Can you still enter the Sálverøld? Have you done it since you left Bos?"

  Sidita shook her head. "I have not."

  Cova leaned forward to rearrange a few things on his desk as he spoke. "I want to meet with you for instruction every Star fall after I come home. I am an Alchemine myself," he looked up at her and smiled, "If you did not know. I would much like to pass the art on to you. Your amar would want you to be an Alchemine. I am certain of it."

  Sidita nodded.

  "We begin the next Star fall. You are excused."

  #

  She sat through the lessons of the Star rise but heard nothing.

  She would be an Alchemine, after all. That would be the sweetest distraction imaginable. Ama would be so pleased to know that the chance for her children to learn the sacred art had not been lost with her life.

  Her tutor's hand laid flat on Sidita's small desk with a slap.

  "Sidita?" He said.

  She looked down at her desk, ashamed. "I'm sorry."

  He turned away and pointed to the words written out on the slate. "Show me where the following cities are on this map…"

  #

  That Star fall, Sidita sat awake in her room.

  “Try to go in.”

  She called on her memory for the way to enter the Sálverøld. She expected to require some honing of her mental discipline before succeeding, but she slipped right in. She took a few moments to get her bearings before she realized she had not lost her bearings at all, rather, the room around her appeared to be thick with blackness. She never saw a slyte, but this could be nothing else. Their appearance seemed well suited for a name like "slyte".

  Expecting the array of waving colors and a sensation of connectedness and peace she remembered the Sálverøld for, she felt, instead, overwhelmed by these dark creatures. In between and around them she caught glimpses of the colors of unconscious spirits that made up the fiber of everything that existed, but she would not endeavor to continue looking. She closed her Alchemine eyes and shuddered.

  "Sidita, you are in danger and the world with you," said a slyte. “Hear us. We are not here to harm or mislead you.”

  She quickly withdrew from the Sálverøld. Her arms and legs trembled like cold broth as she scrambled from her bed and hurried down the hall to sleep with Tapa. She shook Tapa.

  "Let me in, please," Sidita whispered.

  Tapa awoke with a gasp and eyes wide with horror before throwing an array of questions which Sidita would not answer fully.

  "I have just had a frightening vision. I don't want to be alone," she said.

  Resigning to the mystery, Tapa lifted her covers to welcome her trembling sister. Sidita crawled in and closed her eyes.

  Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

  The slytes filled her mind. Why were they here? What right did they have to be here? Only bad people deal with slytes, and her Uncle was not a bad person. She would tell him tomorrow, and he would send them away.

  "Why are you frightened, little girl?" Came a clear voice in her mind.

  Dread gripped her throat. She felt she could not breathe, she could not move. A steel vise seemed to clasp over her body. She thought she could escape by removing herself from the Sálverøld, but her hopes were paralyzed.

  "Because you are evil," she answered.

  "Evil. Who says I am evil?"

  "My ama. I know you are. You are dark."

  "Star fall is dark, too. Is it evil?"

  "No. But it is not just that. I cannot deal with you except you become my master. That is evil.”

  "Master or friend?" The slyte seemed to smile.

  "Ama said—"

  "Perhaps ama was misinformed. Do you know that I can grant you the throne, Sidita? I am capable of bringing you to a place where your sorrow and loss will be forgotten. You will dandle joy upon your knee. You will be loved by a king and wear the richest clothing, and dine on sumptuous meals. It is in you. You possess something that I once possessed. You possess a link to the throne."

  "I have no such ambitions. I…"

  The slyte continued, "Heed your uncle's instructions and you will never want for anything. You will raise the most powerful king that has ever been and ever will be. He will bring true justice to the Triland. Your ama and apa will watch you from the Sálverøld with pride."

  "They know nothing. They do not exist," Sidita replied, emboldened by the lie. The slyte was a deceiver if it told her such things. "You play on my wishes and whims. I'm not a fool."

  "Ah, you are wrong," the slyte returned. "Have you ever seen the small orbs that float and flit through the air like Cargalel fluff? Sometimes tossed about by the spirits when they are frenzied?"

  "Yes."

  "No one knows what they are, but I do. They are the consciousness of those who have unraveled. Consciousness develops into a spirit of its own, Sidita. It does not go to another soul because one's own consciousness cannot be passed on to another or redistributed. They are not conscious of themselves, only of what they see and hear. Your ama and apa will be with you forever to see and hear your life. Enter the Sálverøld, Sidita. Look on them and believe."

  Sidita hesitated, but she wanted to believe that it was true. She longed to see the remains of her ama and apa. How could she refuse to look and never know? She closed her eyes.

  "Open your eyes. You do not need to close them. You possess the ability without effort," the slyte said.

  Sidita opened her eyes and entered the Sálverøld like slipping into a warm bath. The slyte stood at the side of her bed gesturing with a formed hand. She looked up to a delicate light green orb and a sunshine golden orb hovering over her. Her eyes filled with tears.

  Chapter Six

  Sidita wanted only to tell her Uncle of the slyte's words. Was it tempting her to evil, or telling her the truth? It was tortuous to wait until her lessons were complete The tutor's hand lay firmly on Sidita's desk.

  "Sidita," he said, exasperated.

  "I'm sorry.”

  "As I was saying…" The tutor wrote on the board with chalkstone. "The first rule for a lady of nobility is?"

  "Speak softly and clearly."

  The tutor wrote her correct answer on the board.

  "The second?"

  "A mild smile always ought to adorn the face."

  And so the lessons proceeded until dinner. The rest of her time was spent on the organiom playing uncharacteristically dark melodies. Layer upon layer of the reverberating notes of the organiom built up into a dissonant crescendo. She stopped abruptly.

  Time for a break.

  #

  Her siblings played in the nursery after supper while Sidita paced the floor of the great hall. The sound of Cova’s trotters on the drive resulted in such a paroxysm of giddiness that— to the servant's bewilderme
nt— she opened the door for the governor and waited until he graced the front steps of his mansion. He smiled at her.

  "Anxious to begin, are we?" He asked, hugging her.

  "I have things to tell you, Uncle," she said.

  He put his arm around her as they walked to his study.

  He leaned forward on his desk, and his eyes never wandered as she described her encounter with the slytes and her misgiving about the slyte's words, as well as her doubts about her parents' tutelage.

  A grave expression darkened his face. He sighed. His eyes darted back and forth.What words did he read behind his eyes? What words did he have but would not speak?

  "They are not evil, but dealing with them must come later.”

  That did not answer her question, nor did it alleviate her fears or buoy her hopes.

  She started again, "The slytes—"

  "Enough of the slytes," Cova said gently, but firmly. "We will begin elsewhere. The nature and truths of slytes must be discussed at another time."

  So they began as he wished.

  They reviewed wingfires and Sidita formed one with ease.

  They proceeded with many other harmless Alchemine weavings. They did silly girl things like adding tint to the lips and cheeks or eliminating frizz from the hair. Sidita mastered these. She wasn't a farmer anymore, so she resigned to silliness.

  Star fall after Star fall, she met with her uncle for training and skipped lightly through his lessons. The subject of slytes never came up again until one foggy Star fall, several constellations after the subject was first mentioned. As Cova gave Sidita her lessons, he seemed contemplative and gloomy. He dismissed her at the end, only to call her back as if he had either forgotten or changed his mind about something.

  "You haven't spoken with any slytes since that star fall a few constellations ago. Have you?" He asked her.

  "Nay, uncle."

  "Have they attempted to communicate further with you?"

  "Nay, uncle."

  He nodded his head, satisfied. He offered a thin smile.

  "It is a pity you cannot see your own soul. There is something you possess that must be the cause for all of this, but I do not think it right to tell you."