The Woven End Read online

  "I haven't one. He sits on the throne and rules the Triland well, does he not?"

  He laughed a brief, breathy laugh and sighed. He looked down at her."Many would say so."

  "Then he needs no mask to confirm his power."

  The boatman smiled. "Such training. May the best come your way, good woman. I hope all goes well. If it's your name I hear called out, and your face I see on the palace balcony someday, I'll be cheering for you. What is your name by the way?"

  "Sidita daughter of Gova ward of Cova.What is yours?"

  "Brádach son of Sannindi."

  Brádach nodded, smiled and returned to his boat.

  #

  The brief journey to the palace set Sidita's stomach to violent flips and flops. It became impossible to determine if her stomach was in her heart or her heart in her stomach. She poked her head from the carriage window to stare at the white palace.

  Cova took her hand and gave it a squeeze which she acknowledged with a warm smile. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  Cova rested his head on her head. "Don't be afraid. No matter what decorum requires him to appear as, or what he seems to be before you have been tried, he is a good king and an even better man. You will be charmed by him once he is warmed to you.”

  She squeezed his hand this time.

  The palace gate opened for them, and the driver delivered them to the palace’s main doors. The tall, double-arch wood doors were bolted with brass, and above them, engraved deeply into white stone,

  "JUSTICE FIRST, RIGHTEOUSNESS AS WELL, AND TRUTH ABOVE ALL. IN THESE THREE, THE TRILAND MUST BE RULED."

  The doors opened for them and, presently, servants in white and gold livery attended to them, taking their luggage.

  The servants' supervisor escorted them to their rooms.

  "The king will see you this evening before supper. He wishes to meet you in his own bedchamber."

  Cova nearly choked on his own throat.

  "His bedchamber?" Cova said. "Such informality?"

  "It is the king's wish."

  "We will be there," Cova said, astonished.

  The servant quickly shot back, "Only the good woman is to go. Governor Cova, you will be summoned in due time." The servant turned to address Sidita again. "We will send a servant for your use, good woman."

  The day passed slowly while Sidita waited for her meeting with the king. She had cherished a hope that the discomfort of the meeting would be lessened by her uncle's presence.

  The announcement for dinner came to her door. A servant ushered her into a lovely little room where the nostalgic scent of delmeo tea soothed her nerves. Bos offered it as its finest tea, but it held no place of prominence for the wealthy, much less royalty. Her amar kept a small garden specifically for delmeos. The happy lot of picking them often fell to Sidita who could sit in the delmeos all day for the pure pleasure of their fragrance and the sweet taste of the fresh leaves.

  "Someone knows I am from Bos?" She asked Cova as they sat on the chairs around the table.

  "Well, certainly the king knows you’re from Bos. I've never liked delmeo tea myself, so it must be for your sake," he said, reaching for a large, golden crusted roll.

  Cova seemed calm.

  He kept a constant, steady flow of questions, leaving Sidita very little time to eat.

  "The last ten kings of the Triland."

  Sidita rattled off the reply.

  "You bow once…?"

  "At the door."

  "Bow again…?"

  "At the stairs of the throne."

  “And the third time?”

  “There is no third.”

  “Aha! Good girl! You must not speak unless he…?"

  "Invites me to speak by a question demanding a reply."

  "But before you answer at all you must…?”

  "Proclaim his glory."

  "In what manner?"

  "Express appreciation for being allowed personal audience, while referring to him as his highness, great king, or the like."

  Cova's finger went up in the air in the midst of chomping at a scratcher leg.

  "Remember, as a woman, don't refer to him by his name, even accompanied by the appropriate title of king. Above all, do whatever he asks you to. Don't be afraid. This excessively informal meeting is to test your mettle, I am sure. Even with the power strand, he may not marry you. He is stubborn, and though you have the face, voice, and demeanor of the Star itself,” He reached out and held her face in his hands, “He would not take a coward. You, my girl, are no coward."

  After dinner, Sidita returned to her room. Aided by a servant, she changed out of her traveling clothes to take a bath. She dressed herself in a long sky blue tunic and white silk pants embroidered with silver.

  The servant brushed Sidita's long blonde tresses and slid a silver comb into her hair. The servant gave her a necklace of Colo bark. The sweet, spicy smell of the Colo bark soothed her beyond the powers of the Delmeo tea. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes.

  "Thank you. You may go."

  The servant left her alone.

  Sidita slid her feet into soft, white slippers and sat on the bed, waiting for her moment.

  "Remember Ama and Apa will be there," said a familiar non-voice.

  "Yes. As will you be, I suppose?" She answered.

  "I will."

  Someone knocked on the door. She stood to her feet and brushed her clothes flat with her hands, touched her hair, and permitted access, fidgeting with her colo bark.

  "Good woman, it is the time," said the servant.

  She forced her small hand away from the colo bark and stepped forward to join the servant and followed him into the hall.

  They walked in silence until Sidita ventured to ask, "What may I call you?"

  The servant, an older man, looked back at her in surprise.

  "I am ashamed that I did not already tell you! So much business today, and your visit is such a high occasion. I forgot my manners. If you need me, you may call me by my name, Koro."

  "You are from Bos?"

  The servant laughed. "Ah, many years ago. I have since converted well to Tician ways. I thought of changing my name to suit, but I could not bring myself to do it."

  "Koro is a good name. My parents almost named my little brother Koro, but they chose a Tician name instead."

  "And his name?"

  "Cothos.”

  The servant smiled and nodded. They continued walking for several minutes before stopping abruptly at a door on the first floor. Koro entered the door and gestured for Sidita to follow. She stepped inside.

  "The king will be with you shortly. Remain at this door and make your first customary bow here. Because there is no line to make the second one, approach until you are three arms length away and make the second bow there. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes."

  Koro left her alone.

  Two tall windows across from her, framed by damask curtains of crimson silk, permitted thick shafts of light to streak the floor. The light permeated the room with some illumination, though, on the whole, the room was fairly dim.

  A table and crimson chairs created a small dining area to the left. To the right was a sitting area with a large snuffler rug by a fire place which, at the moment, held no fire. Ahead, between the two windows, a four posted bed, dressed in a luxurious sea of crimson and furs, dominated the room.

  Paintings of landscapes and various governors and kings of the past nearly covered the walls from top to bottom. A Sakatian depiction of the birth of the Triland, featuring the concept of the Great unknown Soul drawing the islands up out of the water, beautified the ceiling.

  Last of all, in the shadowy left corner of the room, a grand organiom with buttons of the purest white and crystal rings of sizes Sidita had never seen.

  Sidita startled a bit when a door beside the organiom opened. A figure entered in a casual manner and stood in the shadows. She could not see him well in the shadows, but distinguished a hard stare, alb
eit a good humored one. The paradox eased her nerves by replacing them with curiosity.

  Sidita did not notice that there was another door before now. It opened so abruptly, and the king entered with so little decorum, Sidita hardly knew what to do.

  He emerged from the shadows and sat down in one of the chairs of his personal dining area.

  Sidita gathered herself together and bowed, stepped forward to the mark Koro instructed, and bowed once more.

  The king exhaled long and loud through his nose. He tapped his fingers on the royal mask which he held, somewhat loosely, upon his lap. Sidita averted her gaze from his face and clasped her hands together, awaiting the invitation to speak.

  "I already know it, but let me hear it from your own mouth. Your name?" The king said, at last.

  "Sidita Daughter of Gova Ward of Cova. My sincere appreciation to you, Your Highness, for permitting me access to your person in private audience."

  His head acock, he narrowed analytical eyes.

  "You are, I suppose, aware of the purpose of this audience?”

  "Yes, Your Majesty."

  "Let me hear the purpose from you. I know what I've been told and how I feel on the matter, but what have you been told? What you feel on the matter, we will forego until the result of our meeting becomes evident."

  "I was told that your power strand has escaped your inheritance. My uncle believes that I possess it and that a union between us will secure all of its benefits to you. If I am treated as a man when I unravel, the strand will pass on to the present king.”

  "You believe this?"

  "I believe that my uncle would not lie to me, Your Majesty."

  "But all of this power strand, soul, and unraveling business?"

  "Whole heartedly, sire."

  "'Whole hearted-ly,' she says." The king chuckled a little, shifted himself in his seat and tilted his head to the other side as he looked on at her.

  "You grew up in Bos?"

  "Yes, sire."

  "What is the view of the king among the common people of Bos?"

  "I'm afraid I do not know, Your Majesty. I was a child when I left it, and I have not returned since. Even as a resident, my family's home was in a small, nearly abandoned Alchemine community. I had little interaction with common people of Bos, and I was too young to think much of politics."

  “Alchemine. Ah, yes, you have the power to strip my soul bare, do you not?"

  "I do not claim such power in the art, Your Majesty, and have no desire to. The Alchemines do not believe in doing these things, generally. When a person trusts you, they will strip their souls bare for you in the way nature intended."

  She spoke too much. Her sensibilities smote her.

  The king leaned forward onto his knees, exposing his face to a bar of light from the window. A good, handsome face it was, outlined with thick wisps of hair like golden iron-work, and a face of symmetry, except for the very small scar beside his mouth.

  "I am a skeptic, good woman. I have never believed in the spirits, and they say it is for that reason that I was humiliated at my coronation. This vile thing," he shook the mask, "will not change color as it has for my predecessors. If I put it on your face and its color alters even the slightest, you will have made a believer of me without a word. What say you to this?”

  "I say that it is a good thing to believe in what is right and true, Your Majesty."

  "And you insist that it is right and true? That the spirits exist and that all of this nonsense is, in actuality, sound reason?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty."

  "And why?"

  "Because, sire, I have been to the Sálverøld. I have woven spirits and made beauty with my own soul's hands. I cannot deny what I have seen and heard."

  "Heard?" His face lightened with surprise. "Sit, please." He pulled a chair toward him.

  Sidita smiled a little and sat knee to knee with the king.

  "I have heard some spirits and souls in the manner of hearing that exists in the Sálverøld," she replied.

  "I have seen a good deal of the Alchemine work. Some of your kind who betrayed their basic tenets and became entertainers. They turn themselves into scratters and such to make wealthy drunkards laugh. How do you feel about this?"

  "I cannot judge. Everyone must do as their conscience directs, Your Majesty."

  "Showmen, the lot of them. Magic tricks. I have not yet learned how they accomplish these tasks, but I know of great magicians who do similar miracles without the aid of any spirits besides their own lively imagination and cleverness," he proclaimed. "But, again, if this mask…"

  He stopped, tearful for a moment. He cleared his throat and proceeded, "I have every intention of being a worthy king, but I feel disrespect from them—I am opening myself to you because I think you are sincere. You seem good." He sighed and sat back in his chair.

  "It is sad to hear, Your Majesty. A man can be powerful without a power strand."

  She spoke without being asked a question, but the king did not seem to mind. He smiled at the mild impertinence and thanked her.

  "Yes, well, what is a power strand anyway? What is the mythology behind the idea? I know what they tell most of us, but I also know that there is something you Alchemines are hiding. I've been told so.”

  "The story I was told says that when the Great Soul made all things, it saw that there must be leaders and gave them a piece of itself to make them great. It condensed some of what it is that makes it great into one strand and bestowed it upon a worthy human."

  "Mhm. Queen Nuneh is the reason for this mask, is she not?"

  "Yes, Sire. Queen Nuneh made the mask with wood and a slyte.”

  "Slytes… They're evil, aren't they? I don’t recall a helpful slyte in the story."

  "The Alchemines think they are," Sidita answered. “They are simply the offspring of the Great Soul. They are creative forces without conscience, but much honor.”

  "Why would something evil help the king? It must not be very evil."

  "This particular slyte went against nature by naming itself. Naming is not done and slytes are not capable of it. That made it an outcast among its own kind. This slyte tore its own self for a weapon to kill the slyte who stole the golden strand. That sealed its infamy. The weaving to make the mask required that the slyte be involved and be fed. She had to give it a third of her silver cord to strengthen it.

  “It is a terrible creature. I question the idea that slytes are evil, but I know that Nat-Scrios, the named one, is evil. The mask itself is controversial because it is said that Nat-Scrios somehow embedded itself into the wood, and that is why it changes color when it detects the strand.”

  The king laughed out loud. "That's a very different story from the one I know. Very dark. A third of her blood? That must be why she died, hm?" He sat back in his chair and looked around him before turning his eyes back to Sidita.

  "Why do they say this slyte was different from the others? I mean, why could it name itself if slytes are incapable of it?”

  “It is said to be the slyte that was birthed from the fatal union between the Star and the Great Soul. That is the only explanation.”

  "Have you seen a slyte?"

  Her hesitation did not escape the king's notice.

  "Tell me. Have you?" He pressed.

  She nodded. "I have seen many and spoken to one or two."

  "Is it frightening?"

  "It was at first," she said.

  "How could you differentiate between this named one and all others?"

  Sidita hadn't thought of that. "I don't know, Your Majesty. Nat-Scrios has not been seen or heard from in thousand of stars. I suppose I must trust my uncle to guide me."

  Persenimos' eyes grew wide. "I won't deign to ruin your admiration for him, but I will say that he's a bit of a slippery fellow." He laughed humorlessly.

  A few silent moments passed before he cleared his throat and spoke again, "Well, we are so far from the subject! I think we should just take a leap and put this task
out of our minds. Let us do it now, shall we?”

  "As you wish, Your Majesty."

  The king leaned forward and held the mask a few inches from her face, but he withdrew.

  “So, do you believe this evil slyte is in the mask?”

  “Yes, sire.” She gave a wry smile. “Only in material, not in consciousness.”

  He returned the smile and sighed as he looked on her. With a cringe, he placed the black mask on her face.

  Sidita avoided the king's eyes, uncomfortable under such close scrutiny. Then the familiar shadow spoke to her, and nothing else mattered.

  "You have found me out," It announced only to her.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I know your face now. Every countour and line is my knowledge and property. Do you wish to see color? I will show you color."

  It was being unkind, but she knew it was her slyte. Her face burned. She wanted to rip the mask from her face, but she could not make such a spectacle before the king. Her breath shortened, her heart pounded.

  Fear.

  Nat-Scrios. Nat-Scrios was her tutor? Her companion? Her Uncle's inspiration and sole aid in the time of his greatest trouble? That was its voice, and she could tell that it was in the mask.

  "Koro!" The king shouted. His eyes fixed on Sidita, he ran to the bellcord by the door and pulled at it.

  Koro entered the room and gasped.

  "Fetch Governor Cova," the king ordered.

  Koro bowed and hurried out. The king returned to his place in front of Sidita and stared at her. Cova hurried in, flushed and panting.

  Nat-Scrios consumed Sidita's thoughts. She looked at her uncle with hate brewing in her heart. He had not told her. Would he have let Nat-Scrios make demands of her that would harm her as it harmed Nuneh? She fought with tears while the men looked on at her.

  "Ah," Cova began, "There she is. But, Sidita, are you well?"

  "Nay, nay I am not well," she answered.

  "What is the matter?"

  "It is a private matter."

  "Sidita," the king spoke, "The mask's color has changed. A blue with a hint of brown like…like a Lapil stone."

  "Sympathy, kindness, compassion, and an even temper," Cova said proudly.

  The color changed.

  It changed. Change meant what? She struggled to bring her mind to the moment and recall her purpose. It meant… it meant she was to be queen, did it not?