“The return can be rough for some,” Eyrie explained as she carefully lowered Halwen to the floor.
“I know. I’ve experienced it, remember?” Ryna said bluntly, stepping forward to wrap an arm behind Halwen’s neck. A few seconds later, Halwen’s eyes opened wide and she gasped. Tears suddenly began flowing down from her face and onto Ryna’s sleeve.
“Halwen?” Ryna said, alarmed by the unexpected reaction. Her friend remained silent, though, and stared blankly at the ceiling, laboring through each breath. Ryna’s free hand unconsciously took hold of the bone weapon at her side. “What have you done?” she demanded, glaring at Eyrie.
“Give her time,” Eyrie reassured her. As she spoke, Halwen’s ragged breathing suddenly shifted into soft laughter. The tears continued to fall, but Ryna could see that her friend was profoundly happy because of whatever she had witnessed in the Thoughtcaster.
“So beautiful,” Halwen whispered, still staring into the distance of her own thoughts. She laughed again, then seemed to notice Ryna’s presence for the first time. “It’s a lot to understand at once, but it’s worth it,” Halwen smiled. Ryna helped her stand, and Halwen quickly pulled the Thoughtcaster off over her head. She brushed several strands of her brown hair back into place above her shoulders, then Halwen offered the Thoughtcaster to Ryna.
Ryna stared down at the strange device warily. In the span of a few seconds, her entire belief structure had been altered during her first use of the Thoughtcaster earlier that day; based on Halwen’s reaction, now it seemed Ryna’s understanding of life itself was about to change. Maybe I’ve already learned enough for one morning… Ryna worried, but then she thought back to the incredible sensation of witnessing the ancient Cultivator forge firsthand. It felt like a memory now, as though she had actually lived through the events she saw.
The desire to know more about Eyrie’s mysterious secret burned in Ryna’s thoughts, especially after seeing the way Halwen responded to it. Ultimately, curiosity overshadowed any lingering doubts Ryna had about accessing the Thoughtcaster. She slid the chain down her long blonde hair and felt the small relic’s disproportionate weight as it came to rest against her chest. “Ask about families,” Eyrie reminded her, then Halwen passed Ryna the stone. Ryna felt a surge of tingling energy cover her skin as the familiar blue glow washed over her. The sound of wind returned, and in the next instant, Ryna felt herself drift away from the physical realm.
---
“Welcome back, Ryna. How may I assist you?” the Monitor asked cheerfully as soon as Ryna’s sight returned and the wind subsided.
“I need to learn about families,” she replied hastily. Eagerness and curiosity aside, accessing the Thoughtcaster was still a very unnatural experience that left her uneasy. She glanced at the motionless water as it infinitely cascaded in the fountain behind the Monitor’s silver robes, but she quickly looked away when her thoughts started to become wrapped around its impossibility.
“That’s a popular request today, as you already know,” the Monitor said with a smile. “Are you prepared to witness this information now?”
“Yes,” Ryna answered, and darkness once again swept across her vision. She knew immediately that this was different than her visit to the forge, though—no images formed to explain her surroundings, there was only empty space. Something isn’t right! Ryna started to panic.
Patience, the Monitor reassured her, and as his comforting thought receded, a faint sound filled the emptiness around Ryna. She strained to listen, but it still sounded like little more than wind rustling through treetops. Suddenly, a glimmer of light allowed her to distinguish that there was indeed something in front of her, but it was still too dark to identify. The sound grew louder, and she realized it had a distinct rhythm—it reminded her of the drums she heard played at the festival, but its pace was much faster and never varied. The light increased again, and Ryna gasped when she found the source of the noise.
What is that? she asked in complete shock. In front of her, a small child—even smaller than the one Eyrie had rescued—was curled into a tight ball and seemed to be floating in the nothingness. As she watched, its chest pulsed in and out with a strong, fast heartbeat that generated the rhythm Ryna now heard thundering all around her.
That is a human child, just before birth. Your life began in this way too, Ryna, the Monitor explained. Ryna had no reply; her thoughts were lost as she studied the intricate and tiny details of this strange little creature that would one day eat and talk and play just as every child did. She smiled inside her thoughts any time its arms shifted position or its lips parted briefly. Then there was a sudden sensation of pressure, and Ryna noticed discomfort on the child’s face.
What’s happening? she worried.
The transition has begun, the Monitor answered, and with the next surge of pressure, Ryna felt herself shifting to a new location. For an instant, she reached out desperately with arms that she knew didn’t exist in this place. Part of her wanted to remain close to the child, to hold it, to comfort it, but all too quickly it had slipped away. Intense sadness swept over her, but Ryna couldn’t fully understand why.
A new image then resolved from the swirling darkness: a woman, clearly in pain, lying on her back as a concerned man stood beside her. Though it was evident that they were suffering, Ryna could feel that these people were both happy about whatever was happening. She glanced around this new location, but everything seemed blurred and without form. Other figures came close to the man and woman several times, but these other people remained indistinct, just as the surroundings were. Fear and confusion crept into Ryna’s thoughts the longer she looked around—there were too many unknowns here.
Those details are unimportant, the Monitor said in the back of her mind.
What’s wrong with this place? Who are these people? Ryna wondered.
Those details are unimportant. Focus on what is clear, the Monitor advised, and Ryna forced her attention back to the man and woman. Again and again, the woman’s body bent around her swollen belly, and each time she cried out in agony. Ryna was frightened at first, but then she felt the woman’s thoughts.
This pain is fleeting. It will be forgotten. Each time a new wave of pain surged through her body, the woman repeated the phrase in her mind. This pain is fleeting. It will be forgotten. This process formed its own rhythm, and as Ryna observed, she realized suddenly that the earlier rhythm was still present. It had no audible form for now, but deep within areas of this woman’s mind that not even she could consciously access, she could feel the drumming pulse of her unborn child. The patterns of the two sounds intertwined until it was impossible to distinguish one from the other; the pace was constant, the song unending. With a final cry of unfathomable pain, the image of the woman faded and Ryna felt her viewpoint change once again.
When the shifting colors settled, Ryna stared in awe at the little creature she had seen, now a baby resting against the woman’s chest. Though the woman looked incredibly tired, her beautiful eyes laughed with silent joy any time she gazed upon the child. Her child, Ryna realized, and the full implications of those two words at last made sense. She thought of the Woven Wall, of the connections from one sima to those beneath it, and of the miraculous process that each connection represented. Birth, she said in amazement.
Exactly, the Monitor replied.
But how? How does such a thing happen? Ryna asked in breathless fascination. Then the woman glanced up at the man, and Ryna’s view shifted a final time so that she was joined with this woman’s thoughts. As she stared at the man, there were no images—only sensations and memories—but that was still almost more than Ryna could bear. These two people cared for each other deeply, trusted each other, both longing for the other’s touch. That passion had formed its own rhythm countless times in this woman’s memories, and it, too, echoed with the unmistakable sound of the child’s heartbeat. The sensation was euphoric, like a dream that somehow found its way into reality, and it left Ryna’s mind with a lingering fee
ling of delightful exhaustion as the darkness returned again.
“Incredible,” she breathed, staring at one of the intricate white tiles that lined the walkway of the Interface. “We can create life. I can create life.”
“That is correct, Ryna,” the Monitor smiled. “And, just so you have no doubts, that man and woman saw one another without robes thousands of times. Not once did she feel ashamed for revealing her form to him, nor did he for doing the same.”
Ryna nodded slowly in stunned understanding. “Thank you,” she said, tears welling in her eyes as she smiled back at the Monitor.
“It is my pleasure to serve you, Ryna,” the Monitor said with a bow. “I can tell that you are eager to get back to your friends so that you can discuss this experience. I must caution you, though—use what you have learned here carefully. The situations you witnessed are all connected, and bringing a new life into your world is a tremendous responsibility. Please do not forget that in the midst of your enjoyment of this newfound truth.”
Ryna wiped her tears away and considered the Monitor’s words. “I understand,” she said sincerely. “Thank you again.” With her mind and heart still racing, Ryna thought of returning to Cynmere. As the blackness swirled across her vision and the howling wind returned, Ryna smiled to herself. Quite a morning, she thought. Quite a morning indeed.
---
“Beautiful,” Ryna whispered, echoing Halwen’s earlier thought. She laughed, then turned just in time to see Halwen racing towards her with outstretched arms. They embraced, and Ryna realized that she, too, now had tears streaming down her face. “Beautiful,” she repeated softly. A thought occurred to her a moment later, and she gently pushed Halwen aside. Halwen was confused until Ryna motioned for Eyrie to join their embrace as well. Eyrie smiled, then complied with the unspoken request. “Thank you so much,” Ryna breathed once the Bloodsister’s arm was around her back.
“Now you understand what we are fighting to protect here,” Eyrie said with a final squeeze of both Halwen’s and Ryna’s shoulders. She walked over to the Woven Wall and gripped the end of one of the eight long spokes that supported the dozens of concentric rings with sima tied to them. Then, to Ryna’s amazement, Eyrie began to spin the Woven Wall slowly around its central hub. “Eight Kindred Orders, separated by eight posts, yet all connected,” she said as the Woven Wall creaked and groaned. “Each can trace its Order’s history back to the founding of Cynmere, and every sima tells a different person’s story. That’s why I brought you here to access the Thoughtcaster. Now your stories will be added to it as well. That is, of course, if you’re ready to accept your true name again, Unwoven.”
Eyrie’s brilliant green eyes fixated onto Ryna with intensity to rival a stare from one of the Guided, but Ryna still shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“Even with all that you know now? About the Cultivators? About yourself?” Eyrie asked incredulously.
“I can see that I’ve made many mistakes, and from what the Thoughtcaster has shown me, I know that Unweaving myself was one of them. That isn’t something I can change, though—whether it was right or wrong at the time, I made the choice. I am Unwoven,” Ryna said with sad resolve.
Eyrie’s gaze didn’t waver for what felt like minutes to Ryna, then at last the Bloodsister nodded. “I understand. You own your past actions no matter what, and that takes incredible dedication. Halwen, when you are ready to join an Order, we will add your name to the Wall.”
Halwen smiled excitedly, then glanced at Ryna with a pained frown. “I want to be part of this, but I know you feel like you can’t,” Halwen said apologetically.
“It’s fine, Halwen. You’re right for wanting your story to be remembered,” Ryna replied. Then Ryna was struck with a sudden realization. “There is a name I would like you to add, Eyrie,” Ryna declared. Eyrie regarded her with a look of skeptical curiosity but said nothing. Ryna reached into the innermost pocket of her robe and removed Celina’s sima. She stared at the brown braid, remembering all the turnings spent with her friend and fellow Bannuc Wright. “She deserves to be remembered too,” Ryna said softly, then shut her eyes and offered the sima to Eyrie.
Eyrie accepted Celina’s braid and smiled down at it sadly as it rest in her hands. “I was wondering if I would see this again,” she said. “She was stung by the haugaeldr just after your Casting, yes?”
Ryna nodded. “It was during our fight to save the Mainwright and the others who were cast with us. She fought the little monstrosities alone until Halwen and I reached the shore.”
Eyrie’s face took on a look of distant thought as she stared at the sima, then she finally turned her attention back to Ryna again. Her green eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “If the Voice of War agrees, I will add her as an honorary Bloodsister. She was a fighter, that much is clear, and it’s only right for her to join my Order since I was forced to take her life.” She tucked Celina’s sima gently into a pocket beneath the overlapping layers of her Sreathan plate. “You’ll likely never forgive me for her death, and I accept that. I promise you, though, if there had been any way to save her, I would have gladly done it.” Eyrie then took hold of the Woven Wall again and spun it from one spoke to the next, until arriving at the section Ryna could clearly see belonged to the Order of Blood.
“Violence and death are not what we seek; we avoid them whenever possible,” Eyrie said quietly. “You can see why for yourselves.” She pointed to a sima two rings away from the edge, and Ryna instantly recognized the pattern as belonging to Eyrie herself. Ryna found no surprises in the knots she saw there, but her eyes grew wide when she studied the connections around Eyrie’s sima. Eyrie’s mother was dead, slain by the Smokedwellers, but more surprising was the second sima tied beside Eyrie’s.
“You have a sister,” Ryna exclaimed as she read, then her heart sank. Beneath the woman’s name—Cailla—Ryna read the final knot aloud. “Captive.”
Eyrie nodded somberly. “A twin sister, actually. Before I came to live in Cynmere, my family was part of the Distant Watch. We survived by raiding convoys from Dism Slyde and through whatever else the Plateau Desert would offer to us. It was a difficult place to be a child, but it was the only life Cailla and I knew for three turnings. Then the Smokedwellers found us, and in one night it was all gone. My parents were dead, our camp was destroyed, and my sister was taken with the rest of the children. Why the Smokedwellers chose to leave me, I’ll never know, but they knocked me unconscious and when I woke up they were gone.
“I have faith that Cailla is still alive somewhere in Dism Slyde, and I know if we keep disrupting the convoys we’ll find her one day. That’s why the Cynmeren only use violence when we are left with no other option: every person we rescue, every person we fight, is someone’s sister, someone’s child, someone’s family.”
The three women stared at the Woven Wall in silence; Ryna’s eyes found the word ‘captive’ over and over again affixed to other simas. Countless people had been lost to Dism Slyde throughout the turnings since Cynmere’s founding, and it appeared the majority of them were never recovered. Eyrie stepped away from the Woven Wall with a quiet sigh. “Come, we should get back to the mainland. I need to seek out Tilia so she and I can discuss the addition of Celina to our Order. Also, we completely missed First Meal in the midst of all the excitement and now I’m starving.” Ryna’s stomach rumbled in loud agreement with Eyrie’s sentiment.
“Could we find some Melsca to go with that food?” Halwen asked hopefully.
Ryna was stunned by the request for an instant, but then she realized the delightful drink might be just what she needed to settle the storm of thoughts vying for her attention. “That sounds wonderful,” she agreed.
Eyrie smiled in surprise. “Melsca with First Meal…I suppose it has been that kind of morning for you two. I’m sure we can find a barrel somewhere.” The three exited the Council Chamber and began the trek back to the boat landing.
“Do you think Wyand knows the truth abou
t families?” Halwen asked as they walked.
“I doubt it,” Eyrie replied. “At least, not to the level of detail that you both now understand. If he does, then he’s shown incredible restraint.” Ryna nodded in understanding at first, but then she exchanged an incredulous glance with Halwen. Neither knew exactly what Eyrie meant by her last statement, but the implications were astonishing. Ryna realized she was becoming more and more eager to find a warm cup of Melsca before any other aspect of her life changed unexpectedly.
29
Wyand shook his head in disbelief as he watched Eyrie, Halwen, and the Unwoven walk away together, still laughing about whatever they found so funny this morning. Wyand wasn’t in the mood for humor—he’d started the day confused, and it seemed to only be getting worse. For reasons they weren’t willing to discuss, the group of women had “borrowed” the Thoughtcaster and the stone from him sometime during the night, and now, hours later, they expected him to just accept them back without any questions. When he had pressed for information, all they did was laugh and walk away. It was infuriating.
To make matters worse, a runner had been the one to awaken Wyand with the news of the Thoughtcaster’s absence. Wyand knew he had frightened the boy—and most of the men sleeping in the Blood dwelling at the time—with his angry string of questions that never gave the runner time to respond to even one of them. “Bloodsister Eyrie has it,” was all the child managed to say before running out of the dwelling in tears. So, not knowing what else to do, Wyand had waited at the entrance of the Blood dwelling for Eyrie to return. He missed First Meal and whatever tasks Holt had planned for him at the Order of the Axe, but at least he had the stone and the Thoughtcaster back now.
Wyand exhaled slowly, resolving to ignore women and their strange ways for the rest of the day, then he went in search of any remnants of First Meal. Before he’d made it ten strides, though, a familiar and timid voice called to him from the direction of the main path. “Bloodbrother Wyand?” It was the same runner as before.
Kingdomturn Page 64
