The Children of Wisdom Trilogy

by Stephanie Erickson

  “I wasn’t always like this,” he continued in a more subdued voice. “I enjoyed weaving. I was good at it too. But I kept hearing the gossip about Penn. He was totally idolized. He was a born Spinner, they used to say. Like he was some kind of god. But it got me to thinking. Isn’t being a Spinner the closest a heavenly being can get to God? They make the threads—I only wove them into the tapestry. It made me want to try harder and do better. After all, why would I just accept that Penn’s better than I am?”

  My voice leaves me for a few heartbeats. What is with these grey threads and wanting to be like God? “I…Penn isn’t better than you, at least not in that sense. Is he a more skilled Spinner? Yes. But he isn’t a worthier soul. Surely, you must understand that, Webber.”

  When he doesn’t respond right away, I press on. “Penn was always groomed to be a Fate, Webber, just like you were groomed to be an excellent Weaver.” I’m not sure I understand his feeling of inadequacy. It’s totally irrational. The role of the Weaver is just as important—as crucial—as that of the Fates.

  Rather than respond, he continues as if I said nothing at all. “I should’ve been content. I was happy with my life until Penn showed up. And seeing the three of them working so flawlessly together… Well, it wasn’t something I could ever be included in. The jealousy consumed me. Everything became about being better than he was. Proving myself. But it was a contest he always won… Until Kismet.

  “I knew I had something special when I couldn’t get her to meld into the tapestry. No matter what I did with her, she stood out. She was the most beautiful thread I’d ever seen. Michaela, she was more than one in a million. She was one in infinity. When I saw him staring at her thread in the weaving room, obsessing over her, I knew she’d be my in—my way to show everyone once and for all that I was better. All I had to do was bide my time.

  “And it didn’t take as long as I thought it would. He slipped up, and I was there to take his place. But the reality turned out to be…” He trailed off. I wasn’t sure he was going to finish the sentence, but before I could speak, he picked it back up again. “Well, it wasn’t easy. I was—” He swallowed hard. “I was wrong. I was a good Weaver. Some might even say exceptional. But that didn’t make me a Spinner. I didn’t innately know what I was doing like Penn did. I wasn’t made to spin. I was made to weave. But after all the effort I poured into getting the job, I felt committed to it. I had to prevail, to show everyone all the things I’d said for years and years were true.”

  “Why? Why not just quietly go back to weaving? Be the bigger soul?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t just accept failure, Michaela.”

  “Why is succeeding as a Weaver automatically a failure?”

  “Because I wasn’t a Weaver anymore. I was a Spinner. I am a Spinner.”

  “You can be anything you want. And as a Spinner, you’re doing more harm than good. Why didn’t you say something? I think everyone would’ve been happier. Even you.”

  “I just couldn’t, okay? You don’t understand,” he snaps.

  “You’re right. I don’t. I don’t have that much pride. I’ve seen what it does to humans. It’s dangerous. It often leads them to the black gate when it goes unchecked.” I didn’t intend to sound so self-righteous, but it certainly came out that way. “What I mean is, well…” I sputter a bit.

  “What you mean is I’m selfish.” I hear a clunk. I imagine he let his head fall back against the cinder block wall behind him, but I’m really not sure.

  I don’t respond. There’s no point. He is selfish. It’s the quality that grates on all of us. And here he is now, trying to save himself by saving me.

  “Is that why Ryker brought you here and then left? So you could redeem yourself?” I ask, trying to fit the pieces together.

  “You’d have to ask him why he didn’t come with me. I assumed he had other things to do. We didn’t talk much on our walk through the mists. He did say he always liked gray threads.” He paused. “The man has a flare for the dramatic. Before he left, he also said, ‘Don’t waste this chance at your redemption, Spinner.’”

  So, Ryker had at least a little faith that Webber would succeed. But sitting in this dark basement, across from my assigned savior, it’s not much comfort. For the first time ever, I find myself questioning the judgment of my superiors.

  After what feels like another eternity of silence, we hear movement outside the door. I stand and hiss at Webber. He shuffles around, and I can only hope he’s standing too. We need to pounce on whoever is on the other side of that door.

  The lock screeches as it slides open with agonizing slowness, almost as if the person on the other side is struggling with it.

  “Something isn’t right,” I whisper as the door swings open. Webber springs, but I hold back.

  The light streams into our little room. Once my eyes adjust, I see he’s got a hold of Shiloh.

  I rush over to them, growling at Webber, “It’s Shiloh, you idiot.” He lets the boy go and gives him an apologetic shrug.

  As Shiloh straightens his t-shirt, I notice something remarkable. He’s complete. This is neither his empty body nor his wandering soul. It’s him. Whole.

  “What happened?” I ask, concerned by the thought of what his mother might have done to bring about this miracle.

  “Nothing. Sometimes, I can come back to my body if I want. Mom likes me to talk to her every once in a while. Not about what she’s doing, of course. She gets upset when I talk about that.”

  He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask him to. His tone turning urgent, he says, “I can’t stay long. It takes a lot of energy to walk around, and she’ll know I helped you if I can’t talk to her.”

  His face is gaunt, and his legs don’t look like they should support his body. His clothes hang off him, and he sort of shuffles out of our way.

  “Webber, carry him back upstairs.” I still have no idea what would happen if I touch him. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

  “Don’t worry about me. Just go,” Shiloh urges as he sinks down to sit on the step nearest to us.

  “Webber,” I urge. For once, he doesn’t argue. He scoops the boy effortlessly into his arms and starts up the stairs.

  “You can let go, Shiloh. Save your strength for your mother,” I urge. I don’t want this poor boy to suffer any more in this life.

  “Mom and Nathair left a little while ago,” he gasps out. “You should have time to get out. But not much. You need to move,” he urges.

  Webber reaches the top of the stairs and rounds the corner to the boy’s room.

  When I follow them into the bedroom, Webber is placing him gently back in his bed.

  “I thank you for your sacrifice,” I say to the boy’s trapped soul. “I will come back for you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. I know that,” his soul says as he sits up in the bed, leaving his body behind. He swings his legs over the edge.

  “You still deserve peace. Everyone does.” I look at Webber, who’s already standing in the doorway, ready to go.

  “Maybe,” Shiloh says, his eyes following mine. “But it’s their choice to take what’s in front of them. Or not.”

  Thirteen

  Penn

  We keep walking for miles. For ages. A brooding silence has fallen on our small group, and we stopped paying attention to the scenery long ago. I’m not even going in any particular direction. I’m just putting one foot in front of the other, hoping it’s bringing me closer to her rather than farther away.

  “Do you think we should turn back? Reevaluate?” Horatia asks. I can tell she’s not a fan of the aimless wandering. She needs a plan. Anxiety hangs around her like a cloud.

  “I’m not sure,” I say, not wanting to speculate at the moment. I can’t shake the nagging feeling that Michaela is close. We’re going to find her if we just keep going. But that notion sounds ridiculous, even to me.

  Just when I’m about to give in to H
oratia’s request to turn back, the woods start to thin, revealing the first sign of civilization we’ve seen in hours. We’re at the edge of a clearing in front of a medium-sized log house. I smile to myself, somehow knowing Michaela is inside.

  We hide at the edge of the woods for a bit, trying to decide what to do.

  “Why would a human want to live out here? So isolated?” Galenia asks.

  “Probably because they’re hiding something.”

  “Like kidnapped Reapers?” Horatia finishes for me.

  I stare at the home. It’s probably about fifty yards away, surrounded by green grass, and there are more trees beyond. We’re standing on one side of it. I can’t see a road leading to it from here, but there must be some way to get in and out.

  “If this is Mara’s home, she needs privacy for whatever she’s doing, and she’s got it.” We’re so far from the house, there’s no way Mara can hear me, but I find myself whispering nonetheless. She’s a powerful woman, and I don’t yet know the limits of her power. I’d rather not test her before we even get into the house.

  We circle the cabin twice, moving slowly along the edge of the woods as we scope it out, trying to find the best possible entry point. Several minutes pass this way, but there’s still no movement around the house. It’s hard to see if anything’s going on inside from this distance, but one thing’s undeniable—no one goes in, and no one comes out.

  There is a very long, poorly maintained, and empty dirt driveway. From this vantage point, I can’t see the road it connects to, but something tells me it’s probably not in any better shape. A porch stretches across the entire front of the house. The sides of the home are relatively bare, with windows here and there, but there’s another porch in the back, along with a few chairs, a swing set, and what looks like a neglected tree fort at the edge of the clearing. By the looks of things, Shiloh hasn’t been outside in a very long time.

  Rather than circle the property a third time, we hunker down around one of the corners, which gives us a good view of the driveway and the side of the house. The best point of entry looks to be around the back. Of course, I can’t be sure until we can get a little closer and see what—if anything—is going on inside.

  “Perhaps we should take a friendly approach,” Galenia suggests. “You know what the humans say. Sometimes honey catches more flies.”

  I can’t help but laugh. The image of us going to the front door and knocking is just comical to me. “And do what? Knock on the door and ask Mara if she happens to have a Reaper—maybe two—and a wayward Fate in her company?”

  Galenia frowns at me. “I’m sorry,” I say, putting an arm around her. “I just thought it was funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

  Horatia comes to my rescue. “I think a stealthier approach is needed here, Galenia. I’m sorry. There are too many unknowns for us to just reveal ourselves. Surprise is probably our biggest advantage right now.”

  Gratitude washes over me. At least Horatia and I are on the same page, for the moment anyway.

  “Why don’t we get a little closer?” Horatia continues. “We don’t have to go charging in like the cavalry, but we can peek through the windows, get a feel for who is home, and see if there are any easy ways in. Maybe we can slip in and out without being seen at all.”

  “Maybe we don’t want to get in and out quickly,” I say, staring at the cabin. The knowledge that a mere fifty yards stands between one of my dearest friends and me is almost painful.

  “Why wouldn’t we?” Horatia asks cautiously, clearly ready to change her allegiance at any moment.

  “If this is Mara’s home, we need to figure out a way to capture her. It’s the only way to end this for good. But we can’t forget that Nathair is likely with her. When I was watching them in her thread, they seemed…close. Strangely close.”

  They both shift their weight, the leaves crunching beneath their feet as they consider my words. It’s like I’ve placed a huge obstacle in our path by uttering the truth out loud. The truth is supposed to set you free, right? So why do I feel so weighed down?

  Ever since I peered into her thread and saw her at this house on Earth, I knew it would come to this. But now that I’ve said it out loud in her yard, it’s somehow more real. And more daunting.

  “They will make things challenging,” I whisper.

  “Challenging is one way to put it,” Horatia agrees.

  Galenia remains silent as she watches the house.

  A few heartbeats later, I’m starting to think we’re just going to sit in the woods forever, waiting for Michaela to come out herself.

  “She’s in there. I know it,” Galenia says, startling both Horatia and me. “Let’s go.” Without another word, she pushes past Horatia and me and slinks toward the side of the house. She seems like such a quiet and subtle Fate, but even after all these centuries, she can still surprise me.

  We hurry to catch up to her, silently approaching the log cabin.

  Fourteen

  Michaela

  We’re in the kitchen. There’s a door along the back wall that leads outside. Or at least it appears to. Webber is bent on going out. But I’m delaying. We need to stop Mara.

  “I should’ve asked him how long he thought she’d be gone,” I say as I come to a stop in the kitchen doorway, blocking it. It’s very yellow in here. I imagine she was trying to make it feel sunny. She must’ve painted it at a happier time in her life. Maybe she and her husband did it together. The thought makes me smile, but it quickly fades as I think about all she’s lost. The fact that the losses that lay ahead of her are her own fault only makes it worse.

  “Why? She isn’t here now, so let’s go. We might not get another chance.”

  “Webber…” I hesitate, and he turns to look at me, horror on his face.

  “Michaela, I came here for you, and I’m not leaving without you. We have to go now.” He reaches out a hand for me, beckoning me to come with him.

  “We need—”

  He cuts me off. “We can’t bring the boy. Someone else can come back for him, okay? Send one of your friends after him. Let’s get out of danger first. Then we’ll send others who are more equipped to deal with this situation.”

  “More equipped?” I argue. “Who’s more equipped to deal with her than two Archangels? She vanquished them with a touch, Webber. A touch!”

  “Not us,” he shouts.

  I shoot him a look, imploring him to lower his voice. “Then who?”

  “Anyone else, Michaela! Please, just come on.” He’s actually begging me. I can see the desperation in his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this. All he wanted to do was rescue me, and he’s so close to doing that, but he can see the opportunity slipping away from him. I should probably just let him take me back so he can check his box for redemption. But I can’t leave here without her. Leaving Shiloh behind will be hard enough.

  “Webber, just go. I’ll meet you outside, okay?”

  “What?” He hesitates, and I can tell he’s considering it. His hand is already on the doorknob. But instead of turning it, he says, “If it means that much to you, go back and get the kid, okay? If it’s that or you’re not coming, then fine. But hurry up. We don’t have a lot of time before she comes back.”

  He glances around, as if speaking about her will make her materialize in front of us. Frankly, I wouldn’t put it past her. Her powers are extensive, diverse, and I still don’t fully understand them. I’m not sure I ever will, or that I even want to.

  “Webber, this isn’t about Shiloh. At least, not right now. At any rate, I can’t bring him home. The mists won’t answer my call here.” It’s not something I wanted to admit, but there it is.

  “I bet it has something to do with the dome,” he says, almost to himself.

  “Dome?”

  “What?” He looks up at me. “Oh yeah, there’s this dome shape around the house. Took me forever to walk here. The mists wouldn’t go past it, so Ryker got me as close as he co
uld. I bet that’s why you can’t call the mists in here. But I bet the boy would be able to go home if you carry him out to them. Just go get him. I’ll wait for you here.”

  “What power could she be using to keep the mists at bay?” I wonder aloud. But Webber doesn’t have the answer. After a second, I shake my head. “Please, Webber, just go. How about I meet you at the edges of the mist? Tell me how to find the dome, and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

  He sighs. “Michaela, don’t do this. I came all this way.”

  “For what, Webber? For me? Or for you?” I ask, not to hurt him, but because it’s true.

  His face falls, and I know my words sting. I expect him to fire a quip back at me in true Webber form, but his shoulders hunch over a bit as he turns and leaves the room, heading outside.

  I breathe a sigh of relief, but then immediately feel guilty for it. I hurt him. Deeply. And I’m almost glad I did. It got him to leave. I shake my head, trying to remind myself it’s a problem for another day. Something I can work out with him after everything has been resolved.

  Slipping out of the kitchen, I pad softly past Shiloh’s room. I don’t want him to know I’m still poking around the house, looking for anything that will reveal the key to Mara’s powers. Everyone has weaknesses, right? But it will only upset the boy to think he might have wasted his limited energy on saving us. The hall branches off into a few other rooms, and I peek into the one nearest Shiloh’s.

  It’s a bathroom, and it’s stocked to the gills with medical supplies. Pills, chemicals, gauze, tubes—everything you could possibly want to keep a person alive is lining the vanity, inside the medicine cabinet, and under the sink. I catch myself in the mirror and look at my reflection.

  I look frazzled and tired. My hair is out of place, and my dress is definitely worse for the wear after sitting in that basement and being dragged all over creation. The white on it has become more of a dingy gray color. Sighing, I frown at myself before returning my attention to all the implements needed to keep Shiloh alive. That depresses me far more than my appearance.