Vivian Amberville - The Weaver of Odds

by Louise Blackwick

  ‘Let’s start from the beginning, please,’ she munched on, her mouth full with tasty patties. ‘You said you were an… an Artisan?’

  Lady Saah unwearyingly resumed her explanation. ‘Yes, dear. I’m an Artisan. I heal people, and this is my healing practice. I call it the Goltgoss Haijk .’

  The Artisan lifted a finger and pointed at a worn wooden plaque, on which a large yellow bird had inexpertly been painted by rather amateur artists. Below Vivian spotted a line of highly-calligraphic runes which seemed to refuse to settle upon a definite form, but danced and jumped and flickered until Vivian gave up trying to read them. The animate writings told her nothing and only gave her headaches.

  ‘Eat, dear. Before it gets cold.’

  Soon enough, Vivian was astounded by how many pastry goods she could fit into her mouth.

  ‘Thank you, Lady Saah – for mending my leg, I mean. Thought it was done for,’ Vivian added politely – at least, as polite as one could sound through a mouthful of quiche.

  ‘It proved most easy to mend.’

  ‘You said something about different realities… and me falling through a Shroud—’

  ‘It would appear so, dear. The Shroud – Shääj , as we call it – is supposed to separate our reality from the one you belong. And still, here you are…’ Lady Saah blinked her quicksilver eyes in rapid successions.

  ‘But how is that even possible?’

  ‘It isn’t. Humans belong to one reality – what you may call universe – and us Alarians belong to another,’ said Lady Saah. ‘We’re on different planes of existence, your kind and ours. It’s not natural, see, that our realities should mingle. Your presence here is… atypical at best. Something must have disrupted the soul of the world.’

  Vivian keenly bit into something which looked suspiciously like giant grilled toadstool. It tasted amazing.

  ‘I keep hearing this phrase. What exactly is this “soul of the world”?’

  ‘You ask no easy questions, dear,’ said Lady Saah with infinite compassion. ‘Before you fire your inquiries, I must say to my defence: the art of mending that which is ill – of Artisanship, of Nasitra’nëja – is all I’ve ever known. As humble Artisan, I am learned in neither customs nor lore pertaining to your civilization. I am limited in the subject of your species. You are the stuff of legends, dear. Although I will do my best to clarify this world to you, there are some things I am forbidden to speak and others well beyond my simple comprehension. I cannot explain what I do not know.’

  Vivian nodded, dragging her way a large bowl of dark-glass. It was filled to the brim with an unfamiliar species of orange chickpeas.

  ‘I understand, Lady Saah. Please tell me what you can.’

  The Artisan leaned back on her woven chair, her quicksilver eyes dancing in the purple light. With the corner of her eye, Vivian noticed Kaap’s fur shifted a shade lighter. Likely enough, he was listening in.

  ‘In our belief, all of reality, all living creatures are intertwining sinews of a larger, amorphous body. We call this body – this living cosmos – Fyrtorria. In Æurlek, the common tongue of our world, Fyrtorria is not one universe, but four. A four-layered reality which describes the cosmos as we, the Alarians, have come to understand it. Its breath is Kaalà, its flesh is Æbe’trax and its blood is Shäängrija.’

  At the sound of the word Æbe’trax, it had briefly crossed Vivian’s mind to interrupt. She quickly decided against it.

  ‘Four realities to this cosmic incarnate, four layered universes, one within the next. Beyond the four stretches the Great Black – an infinite nothingness of dark desolation. These four planes of existence we have named “Orrias”. They exist and evolve interdependently, one within the next, separated from one another by a thin layer of space called the Shroud.

  ‘As we regard Fyrtorria, the whole of cosmos, as a living organism with a will of its own, you may also expect it to be in our belief that Fyrtorria has a soul. That’s what we call “the soul of the world”. A hard-to-comprehend model of the cosmos at large, I imagine.’

  ‘So what you’re saying is,’ Vivian coal-black eyes reflected the Artisan’s quicksilver, ‘you imagine the cosmos as four distinct dimensions, one inside the other, separated by a Shroud, bound by a “soul”. Beyond is infinite darkness.’

  ‘Catching on quickly, dear. I’m truly rapt,’ beamed Lady Saah, and looked the part. ‘Now, of the four realities, I will only speak of two – Lorria and Ælorria – since these will point your whereabouts. As for the other two realities – Tylorria and Nilorria – Karura spare my Thread, the law of the land forbids me to speak of them,’ she shook her head, as though trying to shake off a fly. ‘Yet know they are of no real relevance to your inquiry.’

  ‘ Lorria , or Existence, is the reality of your home; the universe as you may know it. I believe the reason behind its naming had something to do with the abundancy of life forms found in your universe. Many advanced civilizations are known to inhabit it.’

  Vivian caught herself frowning again. Was Lady Saah suggesting what she thought she was?

  ‘Hold on. There are… other civilizations out there? Advanced civilizations? In… in my universe?’

  The Artisan beheld Vivian with an air of disbelief. ‘You doubt the existence of other worlds… of other beings? And yet here you are, on a different world, talking to me.’

  Vivian fell silent, feeling utterly embarrassed. Lady Saah went on.

  ‘ Ælorria , the Non-Existence, is the reality at hand; the universe underneath Existence. Not quite as vast or abundant as yours, I’m afraid, yet we do have our points of pride. The Alarians – what we call our people – are the oldest civilization in cosmic history. Unlike your kind, we are alone in our reality. This tiny world – Ærria – is the only world baring life in all Ælorria.

  ‘The other two realities are hidden – and forgive me dear for not wishing to discuss them. They are called Tylorria and Nilorria: The World Below, and the World Beyond, or in more popular terms, Subexistence and Inexistence. These hidden dimensions are small and twisted, yet very, very dangerous. But I’m digressing—’

  As Vivian seemed to be visibly struggling with the multiple realities concept, the Artisan stormed out of the kitchen, just to return a moment later with a large mug of bubbling liquid. Dipping a wide tube in the mix, she drew breath and blew into its dry end.

  A large golden bubble expanded from the end of the pipe. It immediately reminded Vivian of how Neds used to idle away the hours, blowing soap-bubbles into the wind. Lady Saah’s however, did not pop, but hang in mid-air, its large golden body defying all laws of mass and of gravity.

  ‘Lorria…’ whispered the Artisan ‘…Existence as you know it.’

  As soon as she spoke, the image of uncountable clusters of stars and of galaxies appeared on the great bubble’s surface.

  ‘And right below, Ælorria, Non-Existence… cosmic reality as my people recognize it.’

  An orange shadow materialized inside the bubble. The bubble now outwardly glowed bright with the light of countless stars, while its inner-membrane stayed a faultless orange.

  ‘As you can see, Vivian, our realities populate the same membrane of space and time. Existence above,’ she pointed the dark, starry layer; ‘Non-Existence below,’ she now indicated the orange stratum directly underneath the stars. ‘Our realities, our branded universes, are literally—’ she pulled a hairpin from behind her ear and drove the floating bubble through ‘—one pin-prick away.’

  The large bubble popped, dispersing a strong smell of overly-matured mead. The Artisan smiled at the sight of Vivian’s mesmerized face and resumed her place at the table. She now looked concerned.

  ‘Now dear, I have shared with you all I know,’ said the Artisan, her quicksilver eyes agleam. ‘Having stowed you away from the Hollows, I am risking incarceration at b
est. If I am to help you any further, you must do me the courtesy of clarifying a few things.’

  Vivian leaned back on her chair, her belly slightly more rounded. After so many days of food deprivation, she felt slightly queasy and very full. She replaced the empty bowl on the table.

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘I must know how…how did you find yourself in Ærria?’

  Vivian told the Artisan everything: how she had suffered waking visions about Ærria while at the Manor; how the fabric of space seemed to have shredded apart; how she survived the impossible fall through the hole in reality. Next, she elaborated on her escape from the mines, chased by pale, freakish, bloodthirsty beasts known as Tuuk’ta’ne, only to be rescued by the shapeshifting creature she now travelled with.

  ‘It’s a Hole-in-the-Wall,’ said the Artisan, eyeing the bundle of fur currently snoozing on the kitchen counter. ‘I didn’t first recognize his kind. Had one myself, a long time ago. Female, she was, and females look like a whole different sort. But I checked his markings in “ Extinct Creatures of Ærria – An Illustrated Bestiary— ”’

  Vivian put on a surprised face. ‘Extinct?’

  ‘Yes, dear. Extinct. For cycles and cycles too.’

  As Vivian’s face expressed little comprehension, Lady Saah added. ‘ Cycles , dear. Centuries of your time. I was convinced the last shape-shifter had died in my care.’

  ‘I found him in the dead forest by the mines, in…’

  ‘Kranija’, continued the Artisan. ‘Holes-in-the-Wall used to flourish in places where Kaalà was at its strongest. They were one of Ærria’s earliest creatures. Their precious hide had been extensively used in mining and contraband. It makes one spelunker through dense layers of rock, see? Over the cycles miners had used their skins to reach otherwise impossible to mine ores.’

  Vivian was blandly aware Kaap only pretended to be asleep. At the back of her mind, she could hear the faint buzz of his thoughts. The Artisan’s words somehow disturbed him. Lady Saah continued.

  ‘I don’t know how it’s possible, but this one survived the Great Purge, when hundreds of his kind were slaughtered for game and for pelt,’ she gave the little animal a fascinated look. ‘This youngling must have escaped the Ne’erine mines. Never thought I’d have one in my home again.’

  Vivian noticed the Artisan’s eyes had widened.

  ‘That hide of his – Shadowhide – it can see through walls and through bones; through clusters of rock and bodies of flesh...’ her quicksilver eyes returned a greedy sheen. ‘Imagine its countless curative uses in my healing practice.’

  Vivian felt the temperature in the kitchen raise a notch.

  ‘He’s not some… some medical gizmo,’ she said edgily, all niceties forgotten. ‘He’s an intelligent being – Kaap. I have named him Kaap. I won’t let anyone touch Kaap, whether for healing or spelunking. He’s my friend and protector… and I am his!’

  For a moment, Lady Saah looked sincerely insulted. However, when she spoke next, she regarded Vivian with increased respect.

  ’You don’t trust me,’ said the Artisan, through a smile. It was a statement, not a question. ‘I have saved your leg, dear, and in doing so, I have saved your life. I have kept you from near-certain imprisonment by paying the Recuperators for their silence. I have fed you and I have watered you. By all courtesies, I ought to have won your allegiance.’

  It happened so fast. Lady Saah bent over and swiftly pulled a dagger from her boot. Vivian’s dark eyes barely caught the orange light of its thin, radiant blade when an enormous animal emerged between her and the Artisan.

  The large mammal, as tall as the scullery was wide, had pushed its red-furred chest against the Artisan’s knife, his molten gold eyes narrowed, his large teeth bared. It took Vivian a few moments to recognize Kaap’s gentle features in the sentient protector poised before her. Her little friend, now enormous, had come between her and Lady Saah’s knife.

  But the Artisan’s knife was no regular blade. It emitted a powerful orange glow which filled the kitchen with tangerine light. Vivian instantly recognized it as the forbidden ore, Æbe’trax, just as Kaap’s ethereal voice flooded her mind.

  ‘She’s taken it! Kaap understand not how, but she’s taken your shard! This dagger of hers—’

  Lady Saah did not flinch, nor did she attack. The Hole-in-the-Wall’s yellow eyes remained affixed onto Lady Saah, his sharp teeth bared, his red chest heaving. Vivian knew Kaap was silently passing intimidating words to the Artisan. She could feel and touch his every thought.

  ‘You have won his allegiance,’ said the Artisan after the longest silence. ‘This creature, Kaap… he will protect you to his end.’

  Vivian didn’t know what to make of it. Yes, Kaap had indeed saved her life, but so had the Artisan. And yet, the Artisan had stolen from Kaap – had stolen from her – and used the Æbe’trax shard to craft her own dagger. For all Vivian cared, Lady Saah could well keep it, for it only attracted trouble. Still, whose side was she on?

  Lady Saah stretched out a single finger and glided it along Kaap’s threatening muzzle. At once, the Hole-in-the-Wall deflated back into his gentle dwarfish self, curled into a ball and fell asleep.

  ‘What did you do to him?’ Vivian protested, watching Kaap’s unexpected slumber through unblinking eyes. He seemed quite at peace.

  ‘I told him to get some rest.’

  The Artisan relaxed, her knife hand dropping by her side.

  ‘Beautiful thing, isn’t it?’ she said, admiring the dagger.

  Vivian felt a change in the texture of the air, and with it, a subtle shift in the way things should be. If she hadn’t dismissed the idea as preposterous, she would have thought the knife had altered the way the world was structured. The Artisan ran the dagger through her dark fingers.

  ‘My first thought was to let you die, as punishment for what you are… for what you might do… but I couldn’t— just couldn’t bring myself to it,’ she gave a defeated laugh. ‘Refusal to help an innocent goes against the principles of Artisanship, but that’s not why I saved you.’

  ‘What do you fear from me?’ Vivian frowned.

  ‘It’s not what I fear from you, dear,’ said Lady Saah, her quicksilver eyes reflecting the orange effervescence of the blade. ‘It’s what I fear from the cosmic design, and the good and the bad that comes with it. I must believe – ultimately, I must trust – that it all happens by design and with a higher purpose in sight. I must believe that alla causa regga .’

  ‘And what is that exactly?’

  ‘ Everything happens for a reason … although the reason may not always be apparent to us,’ sighed the Artisan, pushing the dagger back into its sheath and extending it to Vivian. ‘Here. You’ll need this.’

  ‘Why are you giving it to me?’

  ‘Because I had it made for you, in great secret, while you were healing. It’s yours now.’

  ‘So you never really meant to kill me?’

  ‘Hmm, not earnestly. But Kaap was right to react.’

  Vivian’s eyebrows narrowed to a thin line. ‘But won’t it attract the Tuuk’ta’ne? Those beasts can smell it.’

  The Artisan drummed her fingers on the sheath. ‘See this?’

  Vivian narrowed her eyes. Fashioned out of shiny black leather, the sheath looked ordinary enough to Vivian.

  ‘It’s Shadowhide , dear,’ said the Artisan ‘I festooned it with Hole-in-the-Wall skin.’

  Vivian arranged her features into a disgusted look.

  ‘You misjudge me, dear. This one died of old age, like all therapeutic pets in my practice. Agi, was her name. She was unique, and just as clever and faithful a companion as your Kaap. In life, she had helped me cure dozens of sicklings. In death, even more so’ said Lady Saah, her ebony features breaking into a smile. ‘But as much as I need it in my healing
practice, Agi’s pelt must go to you. Your need is greater now. Your blade will seduce many. It needs a place to hide, so there you are…’

  Vivian suddenly decided she trusted the Artisan after all. If she had truly wanted her dead, she would have killed her while she was unconscious. She also decided she didn’t deserve a gift so grand.

  ‘I cannot accept this.’

  The Artisan pushed the orange-glowing knife into her hand. ‘Listen to me, dear. When life hands you something, you take it, for in all likelihood, there’s a large crisis heading your way.’

  This seemed to convince Vivian. She took the knife from Lady Saah’s outstretched hand.

  ‘I’ll name it Agi,’ she said. ‘In memory of your friend.’

  ‘A fitting name, dear. Agi means “biting” in Æurlek. She did that sometimes,’ she smiled. ‘And yet, just as you trust Kaap, I could have trusted Agi with my life.’

  Vivian beheld the blade only to realize it had never been polished. Lady Saah had simply added a bone handle to the five-inch shard of raw Æbe’trax. She gave it a short spin.

  ‘Careful there, lest you chop your arm clean off!’ cautioned the Artisan. ‘This is Æbe’trax, dear. Toughest metal there is. Would cut through an anvil like a hot knife through fat.’

  Vivian maneuvered the knife with added care, replacing it in its Shadowhide sheath. Lady Saah returned to the table and sat down, the sleeping Kaap still curled up at her feet.

  ‘As long as you’re in this world dear, remember this: one can only fully trust another when both are ready to die for each other. Not everyone in Ærria is prepared, endowed or willing to aid your cause. Until you find companions as reliable as yours—’ her eyes pointed at the small sleeping form that was Kaap ‘—believe nothing and trust no one, do you understand?’

  Vivian nodded, and for a while, the only sounds were the bubbling of a large kettle and the soft purring of Kaap’s undisturbed sleep.

  ‘I must find the Weavers,’ said Vivian after a long silence. ‘Will you help me?’

  A look of profound fear had grown on the Lady Saah’s dark countenance. ‘The Weavers, dear? Are you out of your mind?’