Half of her weight had returned to her body, which made Vivian’s jump shorter and less powerful than she had expected. She stretched out her arms towards the moving slab of stone, and in a frenzy of complete panic, she barely grabed onto the stone ledge.
The audience screamed at the sight of her dangling off the edge of a moving platform. A hundred feet down, Acciper stopped making the funeral shrouds, his expression frozen with horror. Somewhere in the audience, a mane of silver hair was nervously lolling from side to side.
The halopad-Vivian soared past, a look of triumph in her face. Vivian looked down at the ground and felt a nasty cold feeling tricking down her spine, as if someone had just tipped cold lemonade down her front.
Back on the ground, the Weaver-Vivian seemed to be wrestling the knife-Vivian, while the boomerang-Vivian flexed her muscular hands and sent the boomerang spinning her way.
‘Watch out!’ screamed the audience, and Vivian swang right just as an enormous boomerang passed over her left shoulder, turned in mid-air like a tumbleweed, and plunged back towards its owner.
It missed her by a hair, but only just a hair. Moreover, the Featherweight Philtre seemed to be diminishing its effects because she could feel the weight slowly filling up into the frame of her body.
‘Hold on, dear! Hold on!’ urged a voice from below.
A plump, dark-skinned, middle-aged woman was shouting words of encouragement from below. It was Lady Saah, from the Golden Goose Haijk, her dark leather clothes particularly distinguishable among the sea of white first-aid cloaks.
At the sight of her, Vivian very nearly let go of the platform. How was the Artisan allowed at the Trials? How was it even possible?
With new-found verve, Vivian tightened her grip on the stone slab and pulled herself back onto the platform, just when the large boomerang flew out of nowhere right at her neck. Without pausing to think, Vivian dived forward, narrowly missing the pink-hair Doppelgänger atop the flying halopad, and landed safely on another vertically-moving block, somewhere at the edge of the arena.
Vivian stopped for a moment to catch her breath and noticed the halopad-Vivian was the only competitor who had left the ground. What had happened to the others? The other three Vivians seemed to be more interested in finishing each other off than completing the goal.
Her feet firmly on the moving slab of stone, Vivian narrowed her eyes, trying to understand what was happening. The boomerang-Vivian was arguing with the knife-Vivian about something she couldn’t really hear. The Weaver-Vivian was pinned to the ground with blood gurgling out of her open mouth, unmistakably dead. High into the air, the halopad-Vivian was also facing difficulties.
A couple feet away from the end goal, with fists desperately knocked against a blank stretch of empty space was the halopad-Vivian. An invisible obstacle of sorts seemed to be preventing her from reaching the highest platform and winning the Trials. What was going on?
Vivian pushed herself flat on her stomach, just as the largest of the Alter Egos gave the boomerang another dangerous spin. This time, the boomerang cut through a large block of stone as though it was no more than cottage cheese, and unperturbed by anything in its path, continued to come straight for Vivian. It was going to cut her in half.
She had to jump again, but jump where? The boomerang had just destroyed the closest platform nearest to her, and the next one was on the other side of the arena, an impossible-jump away. She was more than a hundred feet high and the Featherweight Philtre no longer worked very well. With only a quarter of her body weight affected by the brew, she now had to rely mostly on muscles and general agility.
But the boomerang was closing in, its rotating fins like the blades of a jetengine and Vivian didn’t have a choice. She had to attempt the jump.
Just then, the Æbe’trax-Vivian gave her knife a well-placed flick. The spiralling boomerang quickly strayed off its path, ricocheted against a massive slab of stone, and lodged itself into the highest platform. This seemed to have dispersed whatever invisible obstacle kept the halopad-Vivian from reaching her goal, because she lunged forward, determined to reach the highest platform and win the Trial of Paths.
But the Vivian wielding the knife seemed to have other plans. She aimed her polished blade of Æbe’trax at the sky. Boom! The halopad exploded and the pink-haired Vivian perched on it, tumbled over the edge and fell.
Vivian shut her eyes and pushed her fingers deep into her ears, but that didn’t block the dull thud of a body hitting the floor and the many screams of outrage coming from the stands. The Vivian wielding the Æbe’trax knife had turned towards the last standing Alter in the arena – now deprived of her boomerang – and with a sudden swish of blade, removed her head clean off her shoulders.
The audience continued to shout in protest. The Guild seemed revolted, and it took Vivian a while to understand what exactly they were shouting about. Apparently, Vivian’s Alters had been acting very out of character. Not only were they supposed to try and win the Trial of Paths for themselves, but also try to kill or sabotage the original Vivian. It wasn’t normal for an Alter to eliminate the competition while allowing the original clear passage. Vivian and her knife-wielding Alter were now the only competitors left in the Trial of Paths.
Trying not to think too much about what she had witnessed, Vivian waited for a nearby platform to float closer to her, and after taking one deep breath, she lunged forward. The Featherweight Philtre had long exceeded its effects, and for good measure. The brew was designed to temporarily lighten the burden of the Artisans while transporting a patient on a stretcher, not for death-defying acrobatics. Every long jump Vivian had been executing had cut the effects of the Philtre in half. She now had a little over twelve percent decline on her total body weight, and the end goal was a long way away.
Vivian lifted her head and gave the highest platform a surveying look. The Philtre was only going to allow for one medium jump – two at most – but her course included three more platforms, which meant she had to jump at least three times. For her last jump, she would have to dive in dry, full weight and all. Vivian pushed her fingers into her hair, waited for the next platform to get closer and with the sun in her eyes, she jumped.
She wasn’t going to make it. She was going to hard-crash like the halopad-Vivian. In just a few moments, the white cloaks would rush forward and scrape her unsightly body off the arena’s floor, and Kate, Lucian, Acciper and Lady Saah would be forced to remember that image forever—
No, that’s not what will happen!
Vivian screamed at the mean commentator living inside her mind, while altogether falling further and further away from the platform.
You are not going to make it , said the mean voice in her head. See, see? You’ve just missed the platform. You’ve missed it by a yard, and how you’re going to fall. Now, you’re going to die!
No! Vivian thought to herself, closing her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to see the mean voice being right; so that she wouldn’t get the confirmation of her approaching death. No, I have defied odds slimmer than that! I can roll a 23 for any amount of times. Reality is what I say it is! And I say I will not die! I say, I’m going to make it—
Her feet touched down on a hard stone surface, and Vivian opened her eyes only to find herself standing on top of the platform, while the audience below cheered and screamed strange things, impossible things: “Did she just… teleport?”, “The fabric of space contracted!” and “She must be cheating!”.
Vivian exhaled in relief, but she was not yet out of the woods. Only two more platforms... two more jumps to go.
Once more, Vivian closed her eyes, tryin to visualize a picture of herself on top of the next platform. Just go into that picture, Vivian. Weave some odds. Hold up that picture and step into it , she kept repeating to herself, and the more she imagined her end goal, the more she felt the distance between her and the n
ext platform shortening.
Her eyes shut tight, she jumped into the unknown. The warm wind rushed through her long, velvety hair and Vivian closed her mind to everything but her destination, disregarding the impossible odds; shrugging-off any reality in which she could fail; ignoring and ignoring and ignoring the infinite emptiness underneath her feet.
Her feet found solid ground again, and the audience exploded in a fit of joy and celebration. Vivian’s confidence was go great she gave the public a large wave, without knowing, without realizing her feet rested so unstably, so precariously on the edge of a platform.
‘Vivian, lean forward! Lean!’ said a voice that sounded as her own.
She leaned forward, but that didn’t stop her from tumbling over the edge. Vivian waved her arms in alarm, fighting to restore her balance, but to no avail. She was no longer weightless. She fell backwards.
At that moment, she felt a warm breeze on her back as something soft, something gigantic, caught Vivian in mid-air and pushed her back full-feet onto the stone platform. Once more, the stands erupted into a loud rage.
“What’s the meaning of this?” someone in the audience screamed.
“Alters aren’t supposed to help!” yelled another.
Her Alter Ego, the one of the ground, had used the Æbe’trax knife to revert Vivian’s fall. Why was her Doppelgänger trying to help her? It didn’t make any sense at all.
And yet, now was not the time to debate ethics. The final platform was forty feet away, its golden rim reflecting Ikko and Jaari’s tangerine light.
Fifty feet away… three times more than any of her previous jumps…
She would never make it.
‘Step off the platform, Vivian!’ said a voice identical to her own. ‘You don’t have to jump. Just step off. You’ll be perfectly safe!’
It was the other Vivian on the ground. She was shouting instructions, at the top of her lungs.
‘JUST. STEP. OFF!’
Of course she wouldn’t listen. Her Alter Ego wanted Vivian to fall to her death so that she might win.
The again, if her Alter hadn’t caught her mid-fall, Vivian would be—
‘YOU CAN TRUST ME, VIVIAN. STEP OFF!’ her Alter Ego continued to shout, and the louder she shouted, the more it triggered the audience to shout even louder, and shake their fists, and complain about the obvious bout of cheating—
Such was the noise coming from the stands that Vivian could barely hear her own thoughts. The tumult of protests quickly turned into pandemonium, as various spectators began calling for Vivian’s immediate dismissal, as a form of protest. The chaos of noise continued, wriggling into Vivian’s heaving chest like a mechanical worm, winding up her heart to beat faster and faster; casting a tight knot down her throat; making Vivian feel faint. She couldn’t focus. She couldn’t even think.
Her eyes involuntarily found Lucian and Kate, and felt a sudden surge of sadness at the thought of never seeing them again, should she fall. Acciper appeared to be hugging a small funeral shroud, visibly too afraid to watch what was going on in the arena. As for the Artisan—
The Artisan was doing something strange. She was pointedly looking at the Alter Ego – who continued shouting “step off the platform” at the top of her lungs – and immediately nodding, as if in approval.
Vivian didn’t know what to think of it. How could she simply accept her death and step off? She drew herself near the edge of the platform, testing the vast distance with the tip of her feet. The stands of spectators had suddenly fallen quiet, and now a million pair of eyes watched Vivian weighing her options, and through the sudden window of silence, Vivian heard it: a voice of truth and innocence; a voice she trusted above her own.
‘Kaap is here, Vivian. Good Lady Saah smuggled Kaap into the arena when no one looking. Kaap right under your foot, unseen to everyone present. Vivian can step off now. Kaap not let Vivian fall.’
No longer in doubt, Vivian closed her eyes and with her heart pounding in her ears, she stepped forward onto the emptiness below...
Lucian averted his eyes. Kate screamed. Acciper pushed the black shroud into his eyes, obstructing his sight.
The audience, however, let out a loud cheer at the sight of Vivian walking on seemingly empty air, supported by nothing but sky, and cloud and sheer nothingness. And yet, that nothingness was Kaap, who in his ingeniousness had bridged the distance between Vivian and her goal.
The Alter on the ground gave Vivian an encouraging wink and vanished into empty air. And yet the remains of the two dead Vivians lingered in the arena, bloody and broken, and except for the white cloaks, not a soul paid attention to them anymore.
The audience was too busy cheering Vivian, who had finally stepped onto the highest platform, driving the crowds into frenzy. Kate and Lucian were jumping in their seats, tears of joy in their eyes; Acciper had finally unburdened his eyes, and was doing a sort of victory dance that was attracting a lot of looks; the Orange Cloaks had stood up from their judging seats and were bowing in Vivian’s direction, their right fist at their breast; the Artisan was trying hard not to show her joy, and was busying herself with helping the white cloaks dispose of the Alter Ego’s remains with dignity.
Back in the royal box, her brother, Bastijaan, was fluttering Garlaan’s coat-of-arms, and looked beside himself with joy, under the stern looks of his royal escort. As for her sister, the ceremony of celebration seemed to bore her. Vivian noticed Daimey showed no sign of relief or even interest at her sister surviving the First Trial, and was currently locked in conversation with her chambermaid.
But for once, Vivian didn’t care. She had survived the Trial of Paths, Lady Saah was here and so was her dearest friend Kaap – Kaap who had once again saved her life – and Daimey would not be able to lay her heavily-powdered fingers on Kate and Lucian, because Vivian had neither quit nor lost her First Trial.
Vivian faced the orange skies, where the Alarian School of Thought perched mysteriously upon its floating islet, and sensed that things were starting to look up.
Turquoise Banners
Vivian’s public performance during the Trial of Paths had proven to be a curse as well as a blessing. A great many people had interpreted her pursuit of becoming a Weaver as a sign of outstanding morals; a sign of Vivian finally taking responsibility for the hole in the fabric of reality.
‘S’not the poor dearie’s fault, being born to such Thread,’ the Lantanese would often comment, when asked for their opinion. ‘S’not something one can control, is it? Could’ve happened to either of us, really, but it happened to a Queen’s daughter. Methinks it’s admirable that she’s trying to improve her Thread by trialling for Weavership.’
Every time someone asked the Guild for an interview, Ærinna would be the first to offer a statement.
‘Vivian is a remarkable little girl. Alarian by birth, but very human by nature. Only someone of both worlds could open doorways between realities and survive the journey. As a former Weaver, my code binds me to secrecy, so I cannot discuss with you the colour and substance of Vivian Amberville’s Thread. I can, however, reveal that Vivian appears to be quite strong in Kaalà, which in Weaver terminology indicates greatness. Whether Vivian will complete the Weaver Trials and become a Weaveress herself… that remains to be seen, but the potential is definitely there. I’ve never been much of a gambler, but I would bet all my Æns on her.’
But Ærinna was pretty much the only person to hold Vivian in high regards and openly declare it. Vivian was soon caught between average optimists and elite naysayers: while the average citizen would explain why it was necessary to throw poop at everything they did not understand, the elite would go into elaborate rants on how there was too much entertainment and not enough public Unwirings in a modern, emancipated society like the Queendom of Garlaan.
‘Vivian is not doing it for the Pattern, hear. She’s doing it to escape our laws,’ often rang the
opinion of the common naysayer. ‘It’s common knowledge that Weavers benefit from super-immunity; that they needn’t answer to the laws of our Queendom. Remember that shard of Æbe’trax she was allowed to keep? Vivian’s famous knife was confiscated for the duration of the Trials, while the rest of us go to prison all year round for its illegal possession. Where’s the fairness in that, I wonder? Vivian’s not even a Weaver and she’s already woven herself out of some laws. Make her into a full Weaver, and no law will touch her again!’
And just as well, there was the occasional time when a naysayer would side with an optimist.
‘Make no mistake, Vivian is Chaos itself. A gaping hole about to consume us all!’ declared the notorious Aymknut Blaynd, a retired Seer now living in Lantana when interviewed about the subject. ‘Every night, the same bloody dream! A large body of water and a drowning white dove. The waters part, and the great waterserpent swallows the bird whole. If that’s not a clear sign Vivian will doom us all, I don’t know what is!’
‘What about you, sir? What are your comments?’ the interviewer asked the equally-famous Klaus Weaverson, famous philanthropist and acclaimed author of the best-seller: “ Become a Weaver in just 10 restings ”.
‘Vivian didn’t grow up here,’ answered the author. ‘She knows nothing of the Alarian way. Her presence here is as ill-omened as that knife of hers, and twice as dangerous!’
At the centre of all these public talks was Vivian Amberville, who in-between encouraging pats on her shoulder and unexpected booing under her high-towered window was having a hard time dealing with her sudden bout of notoriety.
With the First Trial out of the way, Vivian had secretly hoped that her unexpected reunion with her friend and mentor, Lady Saah, would at least provide some emotional comfort. Little did she know the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach was about to become a vast and visceral void.
Vivian Amberville - The Weaver of Odds Page 29
