Always October

by Bruce Coville

  “But, Mazrak, what will happen to you?” called one of the monsters.

  My half-uncle shrugged his massive shoulders. “I know not whether either the baby or I will survive. If death is to come, let it come. Freedom is not earned without a price!”

  “That may be true, but you don’t get to pay that price with Little Dumpling!” I muttered fiercely.

  Listening to Mazrak describe what he planned to do had my guts churning. The idea of Always October dissolving—which Keegel Farzym and the Poets believed would happen if Mazrak and the Unravelers had their way—was horrible to think of. The idea of the human world descending into a crippling dark age of fear was terrifying. The thing was, I couldn’t fully grasp what either of those events meant. They were too big for me to comprehend. But thinking of what Mazrak was willing to do to Little Dumpling filled me with a mix of rage and terror that drove out all other thoughts. How dare he?

  It was two minutes until the clock would begin to chime. The crowd of monsters grew ever more excited.

  Creeping from stalagmite to stalagmite, I led my little band toward our captive friends. As we moved, I kept one eye constantly on the gathering at the center of the cavern.

  I longed to attack on my own, to try to destroy that sphere and free Little Dumpling. But I knew I would be stopped before I could get anywhere near it. Our only hope was to free Keegel Farzym and the others so we could attack together.

  Mazrak, still holding the baby, walked to the bubble. Like a magician demonstrating the trick he was about to perform, he rapped on it with his right hand. A clear, bell-like sound rang out. Placing his palm flat on the surface, he began to chant.

  The clock chimed, a deep, slow bong that struck terror into my heart. As it did, the bubble let out a burst of light so strong that I had to turn my eyes away.

  When I turned back, Mazrak and the baby were inside the sphere.

  That was when Little Dumpling began to scream.

  37

  (Lily)

  BAD VIBRATIONS

  Little Dumpling’s screams pierced my heart. Looking toward the sphere where Jacob’s half-uncle was clutching the baby, I saw that both of them had begun to vibrate!

  Because the drama at the Silver Slicer had completely captured the attention of the gathered monsters, we abandoned stealth and raced to the stalagmites.

  My grandfather was the first to spot us. His eyes widened, but he did no more than turn his head to the side and quietly inform Mrs. McSweeney we were there. Soon all four of our friends were aware of us.

  As the second chime sounded, we darted behind the imprisoning stalagmites and began to slice at the ropes binding our allies. Jacob worked on freeing Keegel Farzym. Toozle was attempting to release Teelamun. I was torn between my grandfather and Mrs. McSweeney, but figured that with her magic Mrs. McSweeney might be more use in the coming fight. If only there were one more of us so we could free them both at the same time! Then Luna leaped up. Sinking her claws into the rope that held her mistress, she began gnawing at the knots.

  The clock chimed again, a long, slow, sonorous sound.

  I went to work on my grandfather’s bonds, glancing around the stalagmite as I did.

  LD was shaking so fast, he was little more than a blur.

  On the next chime the silver blade began to swing. Back and forth it went, swish, swish, dropping slowly toward the tapestry.

  It hit the fabric, and the threads began to part. As the blade descended, the pincers on each side of the tapestry plucked at the severed pieces of weft. Strand by strand the yarn was pulled outward, leaving a six-inch-wide patch of warp threads at the tapestry’s center. They looked like the strings of a giant harp.

  The nature of the world began to change. Things became less clear, less focused. Cutting the ropes that held our friends was made harder by the fact that knives and rope alike were becoming … mushy.

  “It is as we feared,” murmured Keegel Farzym.

  With a burst of horror, I realized what he meant: Always October was starting to dissolve!

  The fear gave me new strength. I slashed downward with the knife, then felt a wave of relief as the ropes parted. With a small cry of triumph my grandfather pulled his arms free. At the same time I heard a grunt of satisfaction from Keegel Farzym as he, too, pulled away from the stalagmite where he had been bound.

  A moment later Teelamun was free, then Mrs. McSweeney.

  As the seventh chime sounded, my grandfather darted forward to snatch up his pickax.

  And the Silver Blade continued to swing, back and forth, back and forth, parting one by one the threads that bound the worlds together and, in doing so, bound Always October to existence … and Humana to sanity.

  Keegel Farzym knelt before us and said softly, “Our only hope is to stop that clock. When I give the word, we attack. Whoever can fight through to the clock, do your best to destroy it.”

  Tense, grim, we all nodded. The High Poet stood, then with a bellow of “Release Dumpling!” raced forward. Clutching my knife, I screamed and followed close behind him.

  When I reached the line of monsters, I suddenly realized that my small size compared to them was an advantage. They were so focused on the Silver Slicer they didn’t even notice me as I slipped between two of them. Then one monster—a hairy beast with a face like a plate full of death—did spot me. He snatched me up, and I thought I was done for. Suddenly a huge blue arm wrapped around my captor’s throat.

  “The clock!” roared Keegel Farzym as he freed me from the monster’s grip. “Get the clock!”

  Grampa, Teelamun, and Mrs. McSweeney were working to clear a path toward the clock. Each fought in his or her own style. Grampa, shouting curses, swung his pickax in a big arc. Mrs. McSweeney had pulled a knitting needle from somewhere and was blasting away with it. Teelamun was like some avenging angel of beauty who had spent several decades learning martial arts. With quick kicks and devastating blows, she knocked aside monsters twice her height. Luna had become a hissing, scratching, clawing bundle of energy, leaping from monster to monster.

  I spotted Jake to my right. He nodded and the two of us shot forward, dodging between furiously roaring monsters.

  At first I feared they would tear us apart. To my surprise, they ignored us. Then I understood why: They had come to the horrified realization that Mazrak had been wrong. With Always October trembling between being and not-being, threatening to dissolve into nothingness, they were confused and terrified.

  Jacob and I reached the clock and flung ourselves against it as it was chiming for the eleventh time.

  It stood solid. We backed up for another run, and I saw that Toozle had joined us. No, not just Toozle—he had somehow found his other half! We threw ourselves against the clock. It wobbled. Both halves of Sploot Fah scrambled to the top of it. The combined weight of the two bodies overbalanced the clock. It fell backward, landing with a crash.

  The blasted thing was still ticking!

  As the twelfth chime sounded I leaped into the air, then landed on the clock’s face. My feet smashed against the glass. It shattered, and I sank into the clock. The hands stuck up between my ankles, which were bleeding with cuts from the broken glass.

  We had stopped the clock before the thirteenth chime. Would it make a difference … or were we too late?

  I looked up, and gasped. The Silver Slicer had moved nearly halfway down the tapestry. The monsters were like shadows, crying out in fear as they lost substance. Mazrak was roaring, but I couldn’t tell if it was because we had stopped him or because he finally realized he had been wrong and had doomed his world.

  He was in worse shape than the other monsters; I could see right through him, as if he were a ghost. He was no longer holding LD, who was on the cave floor in front of him. Like Mazrak, the baby was looking frail and ghostlike.

  Bellowing with fury, Jacob ran to the sphere and thrust his hands into it. He tore it open, stepped inside, snatched up the baby.

  Weeping, he carried LD back
to where I stood.

  The only ones not growing misty around the edges were Gnarly, Mrs. McSweeney, Jacob, and myself.

  And Luna, of course.

  No, there was one more: Toozle and his other half—were they Sploot Fah again yet?—weren’t dissolving either. Puzzling, but I had no time to think about it … too busy wondering what would happen if the world continued to dissolve.

  Would we be left floating in nothingness?

  Then I thought of one last, desperate strand of hope. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out Octavia’s silk, which I had put there after I’d unstrapped LD from Jacob’s back the last time.

  “Give me the baby,” I said.

  Jacob looked startled. “Why?”

  I held up the silk. “You’re the son of a weaver,” I said. “Weave!”

  38

  (Jacob)

  TIKKUN

  I stared at the silk thread Lily had pressed into my hands. “You can’t be serious!”

  Keegel Farzym spoke up. Though his voice was hollow, and sounded as if it came from some great distance, his words were clear: “It might work, Jacob. That silk has wondrous qualities. If you really can weave, you’d better start now!”

  I turned to Mrs. McSweeney. “You work with thread,” I said. “You can do this.”

  She shook her head. “Blood calls to blood, Jacob. This was all put together by Mazrak. You share blood with him. We’ll have a better chance if it’s your hands that do the reweaving.”

  I stared at the silk, feeling as if I would crumple under the responsibility. The fate of Always October, and maybe Humana, had just been dropped into my hands.

  Not to mention the fate of my baby brother.

  As if he knew I was thinking of him, LD cried out again.

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “I’m the son of a weaver. I can do this.”

  I stepped toward the tapestry, then stopped, stymied already. “We’ve got to get that blade out of the way if I’m going to weave this thing back together.”

  “I think I can take care of that,” said Gnarly.

  He hurried to the wall of machinery and stared at it, muttering to himself. Suddenly he cried, “Aha!” and began working levers and switches. After several minutes, and some extremely colorful cursing on Gnarly’s part, the blade began to swing. The sight terrified me, but I soon saw that the blade was rising rather than descending.

  “Thanks, Mr. Carker,” I called. Trying to hide my trembling, I studied the tapestry as I waited for the blade to lift out of the way. As I did, I realized I had one more problem, a big one: I couldn’t reach the spot where I needed to start the repair work!

  Before I could say anything, the High Poet stepped toward me. He looked blurry, like an out-of-focus photo. Moving behind me, he placed his massive hands on my waist. I wondered if, in his current state, he could actually lift me. His hands widened alarmingly when he pressed them to my sides, and his fingers looked doughy, but he managed it.

  “Repair the world, Jacob,” he said, his voice soft, urgent, hopeful.

  A moment later I found myself facing the place where I needed to start my work, at the bottom of the long gash made by the silver blade.

  I was doing my thumb-finger thing so fast that my right hand looked blurrier than the circle of monsters who were watching me with such intent and fearful eyes.

  Stop! I thought furiously.

  I managed to hold my hand still. But doing so was like building a dam in front of the flood of fear rising inside me. The fear was growing, threatening to make my head explode. Then I figured it out—what I needed was a ritual I could use to help me accomplish this task. With a feeling of “Duh!” I remembered how I used to go into almost a trancelike state when Mom was teaching me to weave and I would get into the rhythm. I had my ritual right in front of me … all I had to do was figure it out.

  I studied the division in the fabric. The warp yarn, the strands that ran up and down, were intact; the Silver Slicer had been fine and true, cutting precisely between two of them without damaging either. It was the side-to-side strands, the weft, that had been severed and then pulled apart.

  I couldn’t reweave for color, of course. And I had no shuttle to shoot back and forth. This would be a sloppy repair at best.

  Then I realized another problem: It would not be enough to simply reweave the area that was open. I needed to anchor it to the main tapestry if I was to reconnect the worlds.

  Mrs. McSweeney must have seen the problem at the same time. Reaching into her sleeve, she withdrew a long, silvery needle, about half the thickness of a pencil, and handed it up to me. I realized it was hooked at one end—not a knitting needle, but a crochet hook. Perfect! I thrust it through the weave at the right, the Humana side of the tapestry. With the hook, I grabbed the end of Octavia’s silk, then pulled it back through. Now I could knot the silk to hold it in place. This was not professional, but that was not the point. The point was to bind things back together.

  With one end of the silk anchored, I began the work of weaving it in and out of those parallel lines of yarn. There were thirty-six of them in that six-inch gap that now divided the worlds. I know, because I counted them over and over again as I wove. Passing the entire coil of Octavia’s silk under and over each of the vertical strands of yarn made the work slow and tedious.

  I closed my eyes and thought of my mother, of all the times I had watched her slim, quick fingers doing a variant of this task and of how she had taught me on my own small loom, the one my father had built. I needed to let what I had seen, what I had known from the time I was not much older than LD, flow through me.

  Drawing the silk in and out, in and out, drawing the sides of the tapestry back together, pulling them tight, I tried to repair the world.

  Tikkun.

  My weaving was not beautiful, not tight and even the way Mom had tried to teach me. Despite that, Octavia’s magical silk was doing the job. Glancing down at Keegel Farzym’s thick blue arms, I saw that they were becoming more solid, more in focus.

  The burns on my face began to throb. What did that mean? It didn’t matter. I couldn’t let the pain distract me now.

  Then I realized something else, something terrifying. I wasn’t sure what—the silk itself, the magic of the tapestry, the repair work, maybe all of these combined—was drawing energy from me. Even as I was binding the worlds together, I felt a thread being spun out of me, a thread of strength, of life, that was helping to power the renewal of Always October. Would that be the final cost of restoring the tapestry—my life for the existence of this world? I was too dazed to consider the possible ending. All I could do was keep weaving.

  Exhaustion began to claim me. I wavered. My vision grew fuzzy. But I could not, dared not stop.

  I have no idea how much time had passed when I finally reached the top of the tapestry. As I finished the reweaving, pulled the coil of silk through one last time, then again used the crochet hook to link it to the main body of the tapestry, I hoped the world would snap completely into place.

  It didn’t.

  “It’s not working!” I groaned.

  “The spell needs to be bound,” Mrs. McSweeney said. “You’ve stopped the fading, but we need to seal the magic to bring things fully back to normal.”

  “How do we do that?” I asked in despair.

  “Don’t cut the silk—leave it attached to the tapestry. While it’s still attached to the tapestry, we have to use the rest of the silk to bind something together … to make two things into one. If I’m right, and we’re lucky, a rebinding like that will rebind the worlds as well. But what to use?”

  As Mrs. McSweeney looked around, Lily called, “Toozle! Grab your other half and get yourself over here!”

  “Perfect,” murmured Mrs. McSweeney. “Brilliant idea, Lily.”

  Keegel Farzym lowered me to the floor. At the same time, Toozle and the half of Sploot Fah for which I had no name approached, looking fearful. I couldn’t tell which was which.<
br />
  Lily glared at them fiercely. “You did a very bad thing.”

  “Not my fault!” cried the half standing to my right. “Mazrak made me. Mazrak made me!”

  “Even so, you did it. Do you want to make things better?”

  The two halves of the creature looked at each other.

  “Won’t be two parts anymore?” asked the one I now knew to be Toozle.

  “If this works, you will be just one glorious self.”

  “Might be too much for one body,” said one part of the creature.

  “So much wonderfulness might make it explode,” agreed the other.

  Lily had no sympathy. “That’s a chance you’ll have to take,” she said sternly. “Will you do it or not?”

  The two parts of Sploot Fah looked at each other.

  “Will world stay fuzzy if we don’t?” asked the Toozle half.

  “Without a doubt,” said Lily.

  “Blurch,” said the other half. “Fuzzy world is making stomach go blooey.”

  “Then maybe you should agree to do this.”

  The two halves of the monster looked at each other again, then nodded. Turning back to Lily, they said in unison, “Sploot Fah did bad thing. Now Sploot Fah will save world!”

  She smiled. “I knew I could count on you. All right, Jake, weave them together.”

  It was preposterous. How was I supposed to weave them together without a loom? Or with a loom, for that matter? I stared at the two-part creature for a long time, trying to think despite the fact that I felt as if I might faint at any moment. Or maybe it wouldn’t be a faint. Maybe death itself was creeping up on me.

  Weave them without a loom, I thought. Weave them without a loom.