Vivian Amberville - The Weaver of Odds

by Louise Blackwick

  PART III

  At the Twilight of Gods bides the Weaver of Odds.

  The Trial of Paths

  There was a violent sound of metal knuckles bashing against wood. Vivian quickly pushed her Antigravity Boots under the bed and out of sight. She would not let anyone confiscate her only way in and out of the tower.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, and was surprised to hear how shaky her voice sounded.

  The two armed sentries posted at her door had squeezed themselves into her chambers. One of them opened the visor in his helmet and said, ‘The Trialmaster orders you to bring along any item you consider using during the First Trial.’

  Her heart beating in her throat, Vivian snatched the crystal bottle containing her only chance of survival, and with trembling fingers, fastened it at her belt, next to her knife. If she had messed up the percentages… if the Philtre would fail—

  With two guards at her heels, Vivian descended the five hundred and twenty nine steps of the Tower of Lords, which for some reason felt ten times more numerous, and was promptly lead along a cobbled path that finished in a towering wall of granite in the side of the mountain. The guards signalled something and the mountain split along a seam, revealing a door made from a metal so dense, it needed pulleys the size of cheese rolls to budge it.

  ‘In we go’ urged the guard, and Vivian stepped through the solid metal door into a cavernous corridor that looked to have been dug right through the heart of the mountain. The large pulleys creaked and the mountain closed behind her, leaving behind a seamless darkness.

  From the other end of the corridor, Vivian heard what sounded like the buzzing of a stadium; some cheering, some screaming, some applauding, but the guards lead her into an adjacent room instead, where a girl Weaver no older than Kate, welcomed her with a wide smile.

  ‘Welcome to the Trials, Your Grace! I am a former Weaveress and current Trialmaster for the annual Weaver Trials!’ said the girl Weaver, shaking her by the hand. Vivian noticed the girl’s hands were covered in hundreds of cuts and burns, and that her eyes were slightly off-colour, as though partly covered by cataracts. ‘I am Ærinna, Your Grace. At your service.’

  ‘Call me Vivian,’ she said, trying her best to hide her shaking hands.

  ‘I’ll take it from here,’ Ærinna signalled the guards, who promptly left the room, their polished armour noisily creaking at their side. The young Weaveress quickly turned to Vivian and gave her a look of complete awe.

  ‘By my Thread, it is wonderful to meet you, Vivian!’ she chirped in genuine enthusiasm, which would have made for a perfect encounter if Vivian’s day wasn’t about to get ruined by near-certain death. ‘You and I met, you know?’

  ‘Umm—’ said Vivian, whose voice shook just as badly as her hands. ‘My memory is not all back. I seem to forget faces—’

  ‘Oh you wouldn’t remember mine,’ said Ærinna, shaking her head apologetically from side to side. ‘You had just been born, and my late pa dragged me along for your Name Day festivities. I was one of the thousand kids allowed to see the princess—’ she returned another wide smile. ‘I used to work at the Pattern, though. Watched over you, day and night. Your biggest admirer, I was. Am! I still am!’

  Ærinna laughed, clearly embarrassed. Vivian stared. Why someone who could Weave Threads into the fabric of reality would ever admire her .

  ‘Of course, I didn’t recognize you for what you were. Your Thread, though, that was something special. Something amazing,’ Ærinna let another dorkish laugh. ‘You may look all skinny and small on the outside but—‘ she let out a loud whistle. ‘But on the inside, you are— Æbekanta preserve me, I would know, wouldn’t I? I have seen your Thread. I’ve seen what you look like on the inside. Your potential, I mean. Your great life purpose—‘

  ‘Umm—’ said Vivian, but quickly found out her words wouldn’t come. As far as she was concerned, Ærinna must have mistaken her Thread with another, because none of those descriptives matched at all.

  ‘The Weaver Trials... they’ve got nothing on you,’ said Ærinna through a reassuring smile. ‘You’ll be a spectacular Weaver, I’m sure—oh, right, right, right. Tight schedule. The procedure—’

  Ærinna rushed to the other end of the room, and begun digging in a messy stack of papers. Vivian collapsed on a nearby chair fighting against crippling anxiety and feeling a hundred times worse than before. Here was an ex-Weaver, claiming to have seen her “Thread”, her “potential”, her so-called “life purpose” and expecting great things from her, and here was the spectacular Vivian, trying to steady herself against a chair.

  Ærinna returned within seconds, holding a large rotulus scroll and two empty trays – one black and one orange. Then she urged Vivian back on her feet.

  ‘Before I let you into the arena, I must clear you for the First Trial. As I understood, you’ve been instructed to bring any items you might consider using during the First Trial. My job is to make sure the items you intend to use conform to our Alarian regulations. Now, kindly turn out you pockets, remove every item you carry upon your person and place them on this stone plinth.’

  Vivian removed her knife and the Philtre, and placed them on the stone slab before her.

  ‘Jewellery too,’ said the Weaveress, indicating the vial around Vivian’s neck and the bracelet around her wrist.

  ‘Oh, those aren’t items I plan to use. They’re mementos of—’

  ‘I’m sorry Vivian, but those are the rules.’

  Vivian disgruntledly removed the woven bracelet from Mama Vadda and the Phial o’ Tears from Matijas, and replaced them onto the plinth.

  Ærinna closed her eyes and placed a hand over each item in turn.

  ‘A bracelet that can change your appearance. Yes, some people sell those in the harbours of Solidago, but we don’t think much of such trinkets. Item approved,’ she said, and moved the woven bracelet into the orange tray.

  ‘A shard of Æbe’trax... ah yes, I heard about the special circumstances. Be that as it may, I’m afraid I will have to confiscate it, for you see, I cannot let you use banned items at any time during the Trials. It would be unfair to the other competitors, who doubtlessly have no access to crystalized Kaalà.’

  ‘Right you are then,’ whispered Vivian in a dying voice. She wanted to kick herself for bringing that knife.

  Ærinna returned her a smile and placed the knife into the black tray. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll get your knife back after the Trials are over. Let’s continue.’

  She now placed her hand over the flower vase, whose ceramic body contained the Featherweight Philtre. Vivian bit into her fist and held her breath.

  ‘Ah... clever thing. Very clever indeed,’ mumbled Ærinna. ‘First time I see traditional Artisanship being used in the Trials,’ said the Weaveress, moving the ceramic container into the orange tray of approved items. ‘I hope you know your concentrations, Vivian. It would be disastrous for you, if you didn’t.’

  Vivian felt a great leaden weight drop into her stomach. She wished Ærinna hadn’t made that last comment. The Weaveress didn’t seem to have noticed Vivian’s slight change in colour, and proceeded with examining the last item.

  ‘Well, well, well... a vial of Seer Tears...’ muttered Ærinna, her eyes suspiciously narrowed to a thin line. ‘Composed, not sorrowful. Uninterrupted and flawless. A fairly dangerous amount, I dare say. One hundred and fifteen — tsk, tsk, tsk, another banned substance,’ she said, dropping the Phial o’ Tears into the black tray.

  The Weaveress statement temporarily drove Vivian’s crippling anxiety out of her awareness.

  ‘Banned? Why is it banned? I got that from a sick kid!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Vivian, but I don’t make the rules, I only apply them,’ said Ærinna, placing her hand over the black tray and giving it a shake. A dark hole materialized at the bottom of the tray, and both confiscated items floated towards it a
nd disappeared into its midst. ‘You’ll get them back after the Trials, I promise. Now, between the bracelet and the potion, choose the one most likely to aid you in the Trial of Paths.’

  The young Weaveress held out the orange tray before Vivian, who pocketed the Philtre without even thinking.

  ‘Just tell me why Seer tears are banned—’

  ‘Shhh! You hear that?’ Ærinna interrupted. ‘They’re ready for you now. Go, go, go!’

  Vivian was half pushed, half stirred out of the room and back into the stone corridor. The shiny-armoured guards grabbed her crabwise and urged her to walk, which was very fortunate, since she doubted whether her legs still worked. A massive metallic door similar to the first one, divided the serene silence of the corridor from the buzz and verve of the Pentahedron. Her heartbeat in her throat, Vivian took a deep breath, closed her eyes and stepped through the metal door.

  The magnified screams of raging spectators hit Vivian like an anvil. A curiously-shaped arena the size of five football fields accommodated what seemed like half-a-million people, and a couple of hundred feet up, floating right above the arena, was the rocky bottom of the levitating islet, and its mysterious wonder, the Alarian School of Thought.

  ‘You too early!’ a nearby guard snapped, pulling Vivian to the side. ‘You wait here till I say go. ’

  Vivian didn’t mind waiting. Not when she had so many different things to look at: scores of colourfully-dressed spectators waved flowers and showed their love and support to the participants; tens of Orange Cloaks sat in the jury box, one face looking graver than the next; the royal family was also present, dressed for the occasion in garments of gold – Bastijaan had deliberately chosen the further possible seat from Daimey, who looked particularly pleased with herself. On top of a tall pole perched Acciper Sparrowhawk, his thick eyebrows folded over his eyes, his forehead all a frown.

  Guards patrolled the arena, their shiny armour catching the orange light of Ikko and Jaari. A group of people wearing white cloaks and brandishing strange-looking instruments were busying themselves with a little boy on a floating stretcher. Vivian quickly spotted Kate’s silver-white hair and Lucian’s sun-catching glasses in the box accommodating the participants’ relatives and felt a wave of horror as she pictured what they might be thinking. She waved at her friends, but they didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, their eyes were directed at whatever was happening above.

  The combined light of two rising suns made it impossible to look at the sky for more than a split-second, but Vivian’s curiosity reigned supreme. She gathered her fists into a clumsy pair of binoculars and pushed back her head.

  She had not realized it before that moment, but the First Trial was still in progress. A hundred feet in the air, balancing precariously atop great levitating slabs of stone were five identical competitors, who seemed to be waiting for a large block to move their way so that they could jump off it and reach the highest floating platform. One of the competitors jumped, the audience screamed and Vivian immediately wished she were looking somewhere else.

  A dreadful, wretched noise rang through the arena – a sound like a large sack of melons being crushed against a hard surface. Vivian tightly shut her eyes, but that didn’t prevent horrible pictures from forming in her mind. Someone had fallen. Someone had died.

  Dread like never before grabbed her by the throat and chocked her. Vivian opened her eyes at the sky just in time to see the remaining four people still at the top, disperse into nothing, mere smoke on the wind. They must have been the Alters Acciper had mentioned; astral versions of the dead participant, brought into the arena from the neighbouring dimensions.

  Vivian glimpsed at the public: many of them had placed hands over their eyes, while others looked either sick or disturbed. Kate had pushed her face into Lucian’s shoulder, whose face had turned a nasty shade of white. Daimey looked nonplussed, almost bored, as if the death of a person was beneath her. Acciper had descended from his wooden pole and was now ripping apart a large black sail, making something that looked like mortuary sheets. On the other side of the arena, the Orange Cloaks were scribbling something down, their faces unreadable. People in white cloaks – no doubt, Garlaan’s own version of medics – have rushed to collect the broken body, leaving behind a trail of blood Vivian found hard to ignore.

  In fact, she was silently considering making a run for it. Strangled by crippling anxiety, her plan to use a weightlessness potion suddenly seemed feeble; laughable even. Now that she thought about it, she should not have added so little yarrow to the mix; what if it made her lighter than air, making her float away into the stratosphere? As for the plantain – she was no longer sure – were both foliage and stems needed, or just the flowers?

  Before she knew it, Vivian’s hands were anxiously clawing at the massive metal door, begging the guard to let her out.

  ‘C-can’t pull out now, miss,’ said the gatekeeper, who looked almost embarrassed for having this conversation. ‘They’ve... they’ve just announced you!’

  The gatekeeper was right. The jury had already called her name, and every pair of eyes were now on Vivian, no doubt wondering why one of their participants was trying to break through a door instead of stepping into the arena. Vivian’s eyes found Kate and Lucian’s pale and mortified faces, and her hand released the door handle right away. She suddenly felt ashamed for having gone to pieces like that.

  This isn’t about you, get over yourself , Vivian told herself, and stepped into the arena.

  A booming voice echoed through the Pentahedron. Brother Haral was introducing Vivian Amberville as the next participant in the Trial of Paths. Phrases like “royal figure of controversial birth” and “child of Chaos” reached her one good ear while the other ear seemed to have taken the weekend off and decided to play a little tone instead. But Vivian kept on walking and did not stop until she reached the arena’s central hub. Her body seemed to be running on autopilot.

  ‘...the Tear of the Goddess,’ someone said, and pushed a little ornate box with a crystal into Vivian’s hands. It was a rather enourmous crystal, bright-glowing and shaped like a tear, which gave Vivian the heeby-jeebies just by looking at it. It took Vivian a good while before she understood she was expected to touch the crystal.

  She did.

  Four ghostly shapes escaped the crystal and rematerialized into four near-identical copies of herself. Vivian would have felt very much at awe with what was happening if her mind wasn’t entirely bent on turning to mush.

  ’...convergence, becoming the best of yourself – or should I say, yourselves – which is what the Trial of Paths is all about,’ Brother Haral’s voice brought Vivian back to reality. ‘You must use any of the talents at your disposal to find a way to the highest platform, before your Alters do. Failure to do so will result in your immediate removal from the Trials.’

  Vivian stole a look from her opponents. One of the other four Vivians was so large, it seemed the whole Ala Spuria starvation had never happened in her alternate reality. Another Vivian was about her size, but might have come from an alternative future, where human rights and freedoms were still a thing; she had short, pink-coloured hair, and more piercings than she could count. The remaining two Vivians could have been spitting images of the original, except one was wearing a bright orange cloak and an ego to match it, whilst the other was slightly taller and carried an Æbe’trax knife at her hip which no one seemed to have bothered to confiscate. It seemed Ærinna only cared about applying Trial rules in the current reality.

  ‘...may use your item of choice,’ said Brother Haral, and Vivian automatically detached the Featherweight Philtre, hoped for the best and drank it in one gulp.

  The potion was bitter and burnt like fire. Chocking and sputtering, Vivian grabbed her cheeks, but was quite surprised her head had not, in fact, floated away from her neck. A wonderful feeling of weightlessness spread through her body, taking
away not only her weight, but all her worries. She was quite confident that should she attempt to jump, she could spring half the length of the Pentahedron.

  The broad-shouldered Vivian pulled out a large boomerang; the pink-haired Vivian, a fully-functional halopad, of whose like the original Vivian had never seen back home; the Vivian in the orange cloak did nothing whatsoever except shut her eyes and roll back her hood; and Vivian’s last Alter Ego predictably pulled out her Æbe’trax knife, whose blade was not the misshapen shard Ærinna had confiscated from the original Vivian, but as smooth and sharp as a real forged dagger.

  ‘On the count of five,’ said Brother Haral, and all the five Vivians took up a ready stance. ‘Four... three... two... GO!’

  The pink-haired Alter switched on her halopad. The knife-Vivian flourished her weapon, her slightly-taller figure bracing herself for action. Above the arena in ascending succession floated a series of limestone-coloured platforms, their massive shape barely obstructing the rising suns of Ikko and Jaari.

  Her eyes on the closest platform, Vivian burrowed her feet into the sandy floors of the arena and pushed hard against the ground. With the grace of a floating feather, the jump catapulted her one level higher than the platform she had aimed for. Vivian exhaled in relief. The Featherweight Philtre seemed to be working well, which meant every jump would diminish its overall effect by fifty percent.

  But Vivian’s longjump was nothing compared to the halopad-Vivian’s flight, whose ascension was so hasty it nearly knocked the original Vivian off her hovering platform. Meanwhile, a noise like a series of explosions reached her from the foot of the parkour, and Vivian fought hard against the urge of checking things out.

  Don’t look down, Vivian. Look up , she thought to herself, fixing her eyes on an up-and-down moving platform floating immediately above her. Her legs shaking like jelly, Vivian kicked hard against the platform and jumped, the orange light of Ikko capturing her slender figure in mid-air. And yet, something was wrong—