The Sail Weaver

by Morrigan, Muffy

  The corridors were nearly empty as he headed towards the parking area. One or two former students nodded as he passed. Since he’d become Master Weaver of the Guild, and a member of the council, he had less day-to-day contact with the students, although he did try to attend at least one class of each level a week. It also meant he spent less time working on the Weaving, and more time overseeing those he’d trained. The more important projects did fall to him, but there hadn’t been a flagship launched since the Constellation. That ship had been destroyed in the Jupiter Incursion. The frigate Jupiter had been attacked in the space between the Rim stations and the inner system. The battle had left the Navy crippled even though the Vermin had been beaten back. In fact, since then the Navy had seemed to withdraw into itself, and had only been requesting smaller ships and light cruisers—fast ships designed as escorts for a larger ship.

  Tristan paused for a moment, wondering when they’d gotten stupid. Every sail was for something small, every Warrior Weaver assigned to a frigate or smaller. Why hadn’t they seen it? The Navy had been planning something all along and the Winged Victory was obviously at least part of that something. She was huge, the largest ship ever attempted, and in her graceful lines and massive masts, Tristan sensed something more. He still couldn’t put his finger on it; neither could Darius even after long and careful questioning. Dragons lied to humans all the time, but Tristan knew Darius wasn’t lying to him. This was too important to the dragons for a lie to stand between the two Guilds. Whatever was going on would affect them both.

  “Good morning, Master Tristan,” Erica, the security guard on duty at the parking docks, said as he approached.

  “Good morning, am I set to go?” he asked. He’d requested his shuttlecar be ready for an early departure.

  “Yes, sir! I even made sure there was a cup of hot coffee waiting for you.”

  “Thank you.” Tristan walked through the building to his parking stall and stepped into the vehicle, flicking on the engines and waiting as the portal over his spot opened and he was given the okay for take-off.

  Once he cleared the compound, he turned south, carefully setting a course, then leaning back to sip his coffee. He planned to head deep into the desert, an area that had remained miraculously untouched through centuries of warfare. In order to Weave the sails and then contain and control them, he would need Elements. Each set of sails required a unique set, and choosing them was one of the most important steps in their creation. If the Elements were wrong, the sails would never fly, in fact the willowisps might “die” before they ever had a chance to become sails at all.

  When humanity had first started working with the willowisps, there had been some concern about the fact that they might be sentient life forms, and the ethical question of slavery had loomed for several years. The dragons had explained, repeatedly, that the willowisps were the by-product of something else. They had their own energy, and they definitely had a feeling of “life”, but Tristan, in all his years of Weaving, had never felt that the willowisps were unhappy with where they were or disliked what they were doing. It was almost impossible to explain, even to another Weaver. There was a spark of something in them that reacted to the spells of the Weaver. If the spell was wrong, if the Elements were wrong, sometimes even if the Warrior Weaver was wrong, the ship would not fly. The Weaving was a delicate task, mixing the magic with the willowisps to create the spells, moving the particles in such a way that they fit. It took years before a Weaver attempted their first sails—the magic also drained the Weaver, sometimes dangerously.

  The console beeped, Tristan’s destination was coming up fast. The area was now designated as Wilderness, and a Dragon Sanctuary. It was off limits to humans except members of the Weavers’ Guild or those who had been given a permit by the Guild. Even Weavers were required to walk in to the canyons so as to not disturb the wildlife or the inherent magic of the area. The entire area had a proximity alarm, if anyone tried to fly too low—or land—the alarms would go off. Violating a Sanctuary was a very serious offense.

  The Guild and dragons had carefully protected the remaining places. Many had been destroyed during centuries of war, but some had survived because the land wasn’t deemed strategic, or it had been so inhospitable that it just wasn’t worth fighting for, and in a very few cases monuments had been saved because they were monuments and it was recognized that they had value. That hadn’t stopped various governments from holding those places hostage, but at least they had survived. Things changed when the Guild came into being, and now all those places deemed “special or sacred” were under the protection of either the Weavers or the Dragons.

  Tristan grabbed his pack out of the back and secured the shuttlecar. Taking a deep breath he listened to the world around him, letting the sounds flow into him for a moment, before one tugged at him. He turned in that direction and started along a path that led towards a deeply cut canyon, the walls rising up over his head, dark red and black against the bright blue sky. A bird circled above him, its call echoing through the air.

  Tristan stopped.

  He sometimes forgot what it was like, being out in the wild and silent places. When he’d first joined the Guild and been sent out on his first search for an Element, he’d left the safety of the compound hesitantly. The wild places of the Earth were generally avoided by humans. His second night away from civilization he’d sat beside his small fire and listened to the sound the world made, the soft whispers of the magic that had always been there, but had been lost in the noise of technology. It was that night he realized that this had been a test, to see if he could sense what was there and if he was willing to find it—and come back alive. Some students walked into the wilds and never returned.

  Taking another deep breath, he moved on, stepping carefully along the path, all his senses open for the touch of an Element. He didn’t expect to find one on his first day, in fact he was hoping he wouldn’t, but they came when they wanted to, and he had to be ready. The sun was beginning to warm the rocks and some of them were humming a little in the light. He stopped to pick up a piece of quartz, but it wasn’t right so he set it back down, carefully positioning it exactly as it had been. It was tricky business, finding the totality of the Element. A cross between a computer interface and a wizard’s staff, it functioned to link the computers and technology of the ship with the magic of the Weaver and the sails. It was all a very delicate business.

  The place he was sure he needed to go to was still several miles further in the canyon and it would take time to get there, walking over the uneven stones. What looked like a short distance on the map was a long day’s travel in reality. Something told him at least part of what he needed was there: the spot was ancient, a stopping place, a sacred place. It was a spring at the base of an enormous cliff, and when he was there he could feel the magic that buzzed through it. Tristan had been there before looking for Elements, but never had found the right one for the sails he was Weaving at the time. He knew that it would be there this time.

  A dark shadow momentarily blocked the sun, then was gone before Tristan could look up.

  When he looked down, something caught his eye—a gnarled piece of wood, so long exposed to wind and weather it was a soft silver-gray and glinting in the sun. He picked it up and felt the soft thrum of magic in it. Gently closing both hands over it, he spoke quietly and felt the magic build. This was it, the first part of the Element. He opened his eyes and really looked at it. The wood was beautiful, shining in the sunlight like quicksilver. It was perfect.

  The dark shadow flickered over the sun again. Tristan looked up, shielding his eyes with his hand. If a buzzard had decided to follow him, it wouldn’t be big enough to cast a shadow. Rolling his shoulders, he tried to settle a feeling of unease.

  Opening his pack, he carefully wrapped the wood in a piece of linen and silk and tucked it away before slinging the bag back over his shoulder and walking on. The heat was beginning to shimmer over the land, intensified by the close wall
s of the canyon. It was going to be warmer than he expected, and Tristan decided that he would stop at the small spring about halfway to his destination. Even though it was dry most of the year, a huge cottonwood tree shaded the area, and there was a deep cave that was always cool, even on the hottest days.

  Edging a little to the south, he headed towards the spring. A rock rattled down the ridge behind him, tumbling down to land with a loud thump where he had been standing moments before. Tristan walked back and looked at it, one side of the stone showed a fresh break. He glanced up the canyon wall, nothing was there now, but that didn’t mean some desert creature hadn’t passed through, dislodging the stone. The last time he was out here there was a small landslide in almost the exact same spot. That one had been caused by an earthquake on a fault north of the area. Shrugging, he turned away and headed on towards the spring.

  The shadow flitted between him and the sun again. This time he thought he heard something as well. He paused and looked up, scanning the sky. As he did, he realized he was getting jumpy. There was cover at the spring, so if it happened again, maybe he could finally get a look at what was creating that shadow.

  There were several Big Horned sheep at the spring when he got there. He walked as quietly as possible, so as not to disturb them, then sat down in the shade of the tree, closing his eyes and resting his back against its ancient trunk. The tangy scent of cottonwood filled the air around him, he sighed and let it fill him. This place was full of magic and it was good to feel it there in the earth, whispering around him with the soft breeze.

  A ripple in the wind alerted him to something else moving there. It was a distinctive movement, the brush of immense energy and control like a lightning storm contained in a small glass whirling through the air. The creatures that were resting in the shade around him let out a collective squeak of terror and ran. Tristan even heard the hooves of the Big Horned sheep clattering away.

  A huge puff of air blasted over him. “Suicide!” The anger in the booming voice made the leaves on the tree tremble. “Suicide!”

  Tristan didn’t even open his eyes. “What?”

  “I will not allow it!”

  “You won’t?” Tristan did look now, the dragon nearly filled the canyon with his bulk.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.”

  “You left without telling me,” the dragon continued, offended, his head tufts trembling. Most humans would turn the other way and run in the face of a dragon that was obviously that angry, but this wasn’t just any dragon. Tristan and Lokey Fenfyr of the Guild Dragons knew each other, more than that, they had formed a friendship beyond the formality of their Guilds, perhaps the only one between their two species.

  “Fenfyr? What is it?” Tristan asked, sitting up.

  “Now you ask!” Fenfyr huffed out a breath of frustration, then the dragon settled down. “There is something wrong with this, the sails are too big, the Naval creatures are evil, this thing smells of rotting flesh and…”

  “And?”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t like it?” Tristan asked, amused.

  “No, I don’t. There is wrongness.”

  “Wrongness?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you care to be more specific or are you just going to sit there huffing at me?”

  The dragon lowered his head and let his chin rest on the ground beside Tristan. “I’m worried.”

  “That still doesn’t tell me much.”

  “Something was following you.”

  “Yes, a large dragon.” Tristan laughed.

  “No! There was a vehicle. They followed you from the compound,” Fenfyr said with a low growl.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They followed you almost all the way here, they turned off right before you reached the canyon, but they were there.”

  “Who was it?” Tristan looked over at the dragon.

  “I don’t know, there were no markings on the shuttlecar. If it had been Guild, there would have been no reason to hide,” he said. “I tell you, this stinks of rotting flesh. Darius is worried. There is something about this ship that is concerning. We are not sure what’s going on, but the Naval creatures have been far too secretive in building it. We saw the dome at the docks, but they denied entrance to everyone. In fact, they have been claiming there was nothing there but two small ships.”

  “No one’s checked?” Tristan suddenly felt like he hadn’t been paying attention to current events, even though he had. “Wait, we did check, there was a small runner in the dome, nothing else.”

  “That was several months ago. No one has been in since. We’ve been watching. There is something wrong. I was just out there, it smells wrong.”

  “You keep saying smells. Do you mean that literally?”

  “Yes. No. I’m not sure.” The dragon sighed. “It’s hard to get a feeling for something when I am in space. I function differently there, so things smell different.”

  Tristan nodded. Dragons were almost like amphibians. They could function in the vacuum of space as easily as in the atmosphere of a planet, even on worlds that would be toxic to humans. What looked like scales were actually small “feathers” that the dragons could extend to allow them to ride the Winds. Sometimes when he saw dragons drifting in space, the dragons reminded Tristan of a leafy sea-dragon with wings.

  “Do you think it’s the Winged Victory in the dome?”

  “Yes, we believe so.” Fenfyr sighed. “Why did you agree to Weave the sails?”

  “Darius asked me.” Tristan shrugged.

  “Not because no one has ever made sails like that before?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not.” The dragon nudged him. “You are lying to me, Tristan Weaver.”

  “What? No, I’m not.”

  “So the lure of creating sails like that has no attraction?”

  “Of course it does, but I am Weaving them because Darius asked me,” Tristan insisted, but heard the uncertainty in his voice.

  “Hmph.”

  “The dragons have never asked us to Weave for them.”

  “True.”

  “And these sails are unprecedented.”

  “Also true.”

  “The Weaving is dangerous.”

  “Yes.”

  Tristan cocked his head at the dragon. “You know me too well, Fen.”

  “Your motives are different than you stated?” Fenfyr asked.

  “No…”

  “But?”

  “It’s…” Tristan paused, trying for the right words, trying to express what he’d felt the first time he’d seen the plans of the Winged Victory. It was almost impossible to explain the attraction for the ship and the desire to be the one to Weave the sails for her.

  “Ah,” Fenfyr said with a soft noise. “I understand.” He shifted his head, peering around the canyon. “You have come here seeking the Elements?”

  “Yes, as soon as I saw the plans for the ship, I knew this was where I would find them.”

  The dragon made a humming noise, encouraging him to go on.

  “I’ve been here before, but never felt a pull like this. I already found a piece.” Tristan grabbed his pack and pulled out the wood he’d found earlier, carefully unwrapping it and showing it to the dragon.

  “I see.” Fenfyr bent closer, his head dwarfing Tristan as he examined the piece. “Yes, very good, very old, very beautiful. The willowisps will love it.”

  “You think so?” Tristan asked hopefully.

  “Yes. When have they ever rejected your Elements? You are the Master Weaver for a reason, Tris,” he said gently.

  “Thank you.”

  “You are worried about this Weaving as well.”

  Tristan cast a smile at the dragon. “Yes, I am. The Navy and Darius asked me to do it. The sails are huge, and you are very right, there is something off in the whole thing. There is more here than we
know and that bothers me.”

  “If it makes you feel better, we have sent someone out to investigate,” Fenfyr offered.

  “You have?”

  “Darius and Rhoads and the Guilds. We are united in this and we are suspicious of the Naval creatures. You do not know, for we have not spoken of it, but there was some… trouble a year ago.”

  “Trouble?” Tristan leaned forward, the dragon was agitated.

  “Yes.”

  “Fenfyr? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “We cannot confirm the information, but there is a possibility that the Naval creatures managed to capture a Vermin ship.”

  “They didn’t kill it?” Tristan asked horrified.

  “That’s the problem, we aren’t sure.”

  “But…”

  “Yes, it violates the Treaty, it violates everything,” the dragon said softly.

  “No, they couldn’t, they wouldn’t! It’s one of the Founding Principles of the Treaty. Fenfyr, if it’s true…”

  “If it is true, our two people could be at war within a year.”

  III

  The small canyon was bathed in long shadows as Tristan reached the spring. He’d left the comforting shade of the cottonwood several hours before, knowing that the cool was almost more illusion than reality. This time of year the rock walls heated up to furnace levels by mid-day. The massive cliff that marked the end of his journey soared over his head. He was skirting the edges as he walked towards the spring that had been sacred since before humans had discovered how to forge metal. It had remained a stopping point for millennia, the graffiti that scarred its bright red walls showed this in intimate detail.

  Tristan paused by one that he remembered from the first time he’d come here. He felt a connection to this man who had lived centuries before him, and it wasn’t merely because of the obvious. “Sgt. Tristan Means passed by here in the co. of Gen. Knox, 1853, lost all but four men, heading west.” He gently traced the deeply etched name and message with his finger, imagining what it must have been like, being alone out here, facing miles and miles of unrelenting wilderness. A dark shadow flickered over him, he glanced up, expecting to see Fenfyr.