‘She seems generous.’
‘It’s only fair I get paid for my work. After the Trial of Paths I asked Lady Saah if she was willing to teach me Artisanship, and she agreed.’
‘Wait, what?’ said Vivian, dropping all her three black dressed on the ground.
Kate picked up the pile of dusty fabric and automatically placed it with Lucian, who complained with a little “hey!”.
‘Yeah, forgot to tell you, Lady Saah is here on the Guild’s invitation. She is to provide all participants in the Trials with healthcare and medicine, but she can’t tend to everyone by herself. Lady Saah said she needed some extra hands, so she’s going to train me as her assistant.’
‘Out of all the Alarians girls, why pick you?’ Vivian asked, but she gave herself the answer as soon as her words left her lips. ‘Of course! Sneaky clever Lady Saah knows you and Lucian are allowed to visit me in the Tower of Lords.’
‘Catching on quickly— ouch, Lucian, watch where you’re going!’ said Kate to a staggering Lucian, who was beginning to have trouble seeing where he was going due to the mountain of clothing between his arms. ‘If Lady Saah wanted to pass you a potion – say the solution to the Second Trial – without anyone noticing, it would be only too easy.’
‘See you ladies bought new clothes.’
It was Acciper Sparrowhawk, wearing what looked like a hundred dead badgers. There was a mess of twigs in his dark-auburn hair, as though a large bird had nested in it, which might have explained the lingering odour of wet feathers and bird droppings that followed him around like a scorned ghost. Tied to his torso was a see-through bag filled with dead mice and the occasional rat.
‘Good idea to smarten yourselves for banquet,’ Acciper told the others, scratching his unshaven cheek with a very dirty fingernail that made Kate jump.
‘Banquet? What banquet?’ asked Vivian.
Kate nudged Vivian in the ribs. ‘Hello, the banquet for Daimey’s betrothal? Tonight in the throne-room? Reckon I mentioned it, didn’t I?’
‘Oh, that banquet,’ said Vivian quickly. ‘We’re not honestly expected to attend, are we?’
‘Don’t think about skipping!’ said Acciper, threateningly shaking the bag of dead rodents. ‘Daimey is nasty piece of work, but she is regent and she expects her sister there, no later than Red Eve.’
‘Red what?’
Acciper gave a deep sigh, placed a hand in his baggy trousers and removed a small hourglass on a gold chain which had three tiny compartments, instead of two.
‘A Triglas!’ Lucian explained. ‘It’s what the Alarians use to measure time.’
‘A Triglas, yes,’ Acciper held up the triple-hourglass for all to see. ‘Sand flows through Triglas and changes colour according to compartment it’s in. Right now, it’s mid-afternoon – or Noon – so sand is halfway into middle glass. Notice its colour is bright orange.’
Vivian indeed noticed the tiniest streak of orange sand, flowing with near-imperceptible speed into a central compartment the size of a pea.
‘Sand turns red when it reaches bottom glass, which makes it Red Eve,’ Acciper continued. ‘One resting – or Dali – ends when all sand finds itself into bottom glass and turns from red to black. Simple enough?’ he pushed the tiny Triglas into Vivian’s hand, who nodded. ‘Don’t let it turn black. Again I say, Red Eve.’
Acciper gave a tiny nod and disappeared into a crowded alley, the bag of dead rodents bumping against his chest. Vivian pressed the Triglas into her pelerine. A little hairy hand detached from its leathery fabric and the time-device disappeared into the depths of its folds.
‘Can you unburden Lucian too?’ Vivian asked the empty air, and before Lucian could open his mouth, the pile of clothes was removed from his arms only to be swallowed by Vivian’s dark pelerine.
‘I can never get used to any of this!’ said Kate, giving Vivian’s pelerine an apprehensive look. ‘People who can weave into the fabric of reality, copies of oneself from alternate universes, freaks, telepaths and shape-shifters... Can this world get any weirder?’
‘I think it just did,’ said Lucian, wiping his glasses clean. ‘Look!’
Crossing the marketplace was the largest procession Vivian had ever seen. Hundreds – perhaps thousands – of people wearing uniforms of an eye-soaring turquoise and carrying matching banners were marching in tandem with the drummers and horn-blowers leading the group.
Arranged in perfect rows of five marched knife-jugglers, fire-breathers and sword-swallowers; people with painted faces and people with faces veiled by layers of turquoise fur; people marching on foot and people atop elephant-nosed woollen creatures Vivian recognized as Pelsinn Mounts.
Footsoldiers with large claymores at their hips carried large turquoise banners that repeated the same emblem, a thousand times over: two white, uneven triangles on a dark backdrop.
‘That’s Karri and Hikori,’ she heard Lucian whisper. ‘I recognize those mismatched mountain-peaks everywhere. Their coat-of-arms was literally on every other rotulus about Hoarfrosta— a cold, insular realm, northwest of here,’ he added in explanation, under Vivian’s confused look.
‘Have you noticed how they’re all males? Even the dancers?’ Lucian observed.
‘What in sod’s name is that language?’ Kate frowned, covering her ears. ‘It sounds bloody awful. I’ve never known Æurlek that could hurt my head so badly!’
Vivian, whose Thread of All Tongues had already identified the language, turned to the others and said, ‘it’s not Æurlek, it’s Miramesh , an Alarian dialect of the north.’
‘On earth are they saying?’
‘They’re... they’re singing,’ said Vivian. She could almost feel the Taal’kai in her spine wrenching and writhing as it translated each word in real-time:
“Sons of frost, sons of frost, adrift the vast sea of rust,
We will see, we will have, our cold glory at last!
Sons of fjords, sons of fjords, drive your longboats ashore,
All aboard, all prepared, to bring pride to our lord.
Sons of fjords, hearts of frost, we break free from our past!
No more toil, no more sweat, Queen Daimey we beset.
Our warlord, he is here, her meek heart to endear,
She must turn, sworn ally, or by sword she will die!
Sons of frost, be prepared, for a love undeclared,
We bring steel, we bring hell, we bring war, Citadel!”
The echoing song in Vivian’s head was suddenly interrupted by Kate shaking her arm and pointing at something.
‘Is that the prince of Hoarfrosta?’
‘Must be.’
The only carriage in the procession was making its way across Lantana’s marketplace, dragged by twelve Pelsinn Mounts. The poor animals seemed to be collapsing under the weight of their reigns, their hooved feet dragging across the dusty flagstones, their long fur dripping with sweat.
‘Those poor beats,’ said Lucian compassionately, watching the dozen animals drag the royal carriage along the path to Palas Unor. ‘Never really understood why they even allow people to ride them this far south. Pelsinn Mounts are of the north. It’s simply much too hot here, and they’re not used to— to—’ he made an outraged gesture towards the orange skies above, which displayed a slowly-disappearing Ikko and Jaari.
Lucian suddenly jumped, looking alarmed.
‘Oh, no. The Red Eve! We’d better head back to the palace!’
Vivian barely had time to pull her velvety-black hair into a tight bun and slip into a dress of shiny black velvet – Kaap had the sudden inspiration to disguise himself as a neck-scarf – when her escort of guards pulled the door from its hinges and told Vivian she was already expected downstairs.
Apart from a dozen very large tables that had been fitted in for the banquet, the throne-room looked mostly unchanged. A central chandelier suppli
ed the room with a cold, purple light, reflected a hundred times over by countless mirrors, large and small, that peppered every empty stretch of wall. Roses of a vibrant orange blanketed the path leading to a throne that could have fitted a giant, and upon that colossal throne sat Daimey vin Gar, her beautiful defiant face reflected in every mirror in the room.
Vivian pictured herself sitting on a chair fifteen sizes too big, with nothing else to look at but her own haunted expression and felt suddenly disgusted with herself. And yet her own sister, her breathtakingly beautiful sister, born into wealth, privileges and power – who never had to earn anyone’s love or respect; who commanded the power of life and death with a simple nod of her head; who not only had a whole country at her fingertips, but a loom that controlled the destiny of every being in the cosmos – still found solace in sitting higher than everyone else in a room.
‘Hey Vivian, come sit with us!’ cried a voice, and Vivian turned to see Bastijaan waving frantically his hand from across a large table where Kate, Lucian, Acciper and a few younger people Vivian didn’t know, were sitting together, chatting.
‘My sister, everyone... who walked both Nonexistence and Existence alike, and lived to tell the tale,’ said Bastijaan through a proud smile. ‘Vivian Amberville. We were just talking about your performance at the Pentahedron.’
‘Were you?’
Her eyes fell on Acciper, who had ditched the horrible fur-coat he wore every day in his smithy in favour of something even more horrific: a cloak that looked like it was fashioned out of fifty dead cats tied to a chainmail. Acciper accidentally caught her eye, and mistook Vivian’s revolted look for an interest to sit down. He scooted over.
‘T-thanks,’ she mumbled, and feeling cornered, she immediately sat down between Acciper and Lucian.
‘You were utterly, utterly amazing!’ said a small voice from across the table.
A round-faced girl, whose hair was so short and stumpy it might have been inexpertly-cut by one of Angus’s old gardening shears, extended a plump hand. Vivian automatically shook it.
‘Ann’Ka,’ said the stumpy-haired girl. ‘Ace here told us this is how you make one’s acquaintance in your world?’
Vivian nodded without really being sure what the girl had meant.
‘I’m also participating in the Trials,’ said Ann’Ka. ‘I saw your unbelievable performance. Mine was right after yours. And right after me, came Eerik—‘, she pointed at a skinny boy sitting right next to Kate, who shook Vivian’s hand with such enthusiasm, he knocked several goblets over.
‘Oh, and this is Luus—’ once more, Vivian stood up to shake the hand of a gorgeous boy with ebony skin and aluminium-gray eyes; and then she stood up again, to shake Jaan’s hand – a dark-haired lad, who seemed to be the oldest of the bunch; then Tatee – a massive boy with a tall forehead; next came Elisja – a girl with red-hot, curly hair and olive eyes; and finally, Yamme – a tiny girl with tip-tilted eyes, who shook Vivian’s hand with such force, her wrist made an ominous crack sound.
‘Your friend Lucian was just telling us what it is like to live on the other side of the Shroud,’ said Bastijaan eagerly. ‘What teknolojee did for humans. How it improved their quality of life—’
‘—umm, that would be “technology”,’ Lucian corrected him. On Vivian’s righthandside, Acciper snorted in his fist.
‘Tech-no-lo-gy,’ repeated Bastijaan in a voice that seductively savoured every sound of the word. ’Vivian, you’ve lived there a long time so you must know — is it true you have something very similar to our Pattern? Kate said it was like a web with invisible wires – a web that can manipulate the thoughts and even freewill of every person connected to it?’
Everyone sitting at the table, including Acciper, leaned forwards, their eyes hungrily pasted onto Vivian, who scratched her forehead.
‘Umm... it’s sort of like that, yeah,’ she said shrilly, ‘they call it the hypernet and it’s indeed like a wireless web containing the accumulated wisdom of all humankind. Humans connect to it through the Neuro.’
‘Is it true you can access it at any time of the day or night by just thinking of it?’ the skinny boy called Eerik asked.
‘Umm, yes and no. You see... there are tiny devices implanted into our earlobe – well, I don’t have one yet... and neither does Kate because she— but Lucian, he... he can show you—’
There was a small pause during which Lucian pushed his blond hair aside to allow everyone at the table to see a barely-noticeable metal chip sticking out of his earlobe.
‘Well, everyone who’s earmarked – who’s got one of those earlobe nanochips – can access the hypernet remotely by sheer force of thought—‘
‘So it’s a bit like... like being woven upon?’ Elisja asked, her olive eyes widened in mounting curiosity. ‘Like... the way the Taal’kai in your spine lets you tap into all the languages of the Pattern?’
‘Yeah,’ said Vivian, who couldn’t help for a better analogy. ‘If a human is earmarked, they can access the hypernet through the Neuro using only their thoughts, but it also means the Neuro can access them back... put certain... certain thoughts back into them.’
‘Like the Pattern trying to make you do certain stuff? Control your choices?’ the handsome black boy named Luus interjected. Vivian was immediately reminded of little Matijas.
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Vivian, wishing she was better at explaining such things.
‘Well then, your hypernet and Neuro are no different than our Pattern,’ concluded Jaan, running his fingers through his dark hair. ‘The Weavers have imprisoned everyone’s freewill. They control everyone’s every choice and decision – yours, mine, everyone’s— making sure the outcome is always in congruence with what the cosmos wants,’ his voice dropped to a whisper, ‘and by “the cosmos”, I obviously mean the Guild. ’
‘Jaan!’ Ann’Ka pressed her chubby hands over Elisja’s ears and gave the lad a warning look. ‘Don’t go about saying things like that! All of us here are trying to get passed the Trials so we can someday become Weavers!’
‘Then you all know what you’re getting yourself into,’ Jaan shrugged. ‘In fact, that is why most of you are risking your lives, isn’t it? To be free of the Pattern? To have the freedom to make your own choices... and live your life the way you would want to, without being conditioned by what the Weavers have Woven into your Thread? Everyone knows Weavers are the only ones with freewill—’
‘Jaan, take your tinfoil theories elsewhere!’ snapped Ann’Ka, before turning her round face back to Vivian. ‘Tell us more about those earlobe implants. What else do they do?’
‘They’re umm... they’re also identity chips,’ said Vivian, who secretly wished Annn’Ka hadn’t shut Jaan up so she could hear the full extent of his “tinfoil” theory. ‘They store everything a person is – everything that makes them unique – from age, sex, birth, family, DNA, to... to heritage, personal history and even information about one’s brain-patterns—’
‘—so it is exactly like a Thread!’ concluded the large boy named Tatee.
‘Well, I don’t know about that. Once you get earmarked, you can no longer change who you are... not just your name but the identity they brand you with.’
‘You can’t change your own Thread either,’ said Tatee. ‘Someone born with an destructive nature will always destroy. What is in one’s Thread at birth will power one’s life, one’s destiny.’
Vivian felt an uncomfortable lurch in her stomach as her thoughts unwillingly wandered over the gaping hole in the Pattern of Threads and her being the reason behind it.
By her side, Acciper lifted a hand and pleaded for silence. ‘Prince of Hoarfrosta is here!’
Bastijaan removed an ornate Triglas from his pocket and gave it a small shake. ‘Well, I hope my sister will turn this one down a little faster than she did her last dozen suitors, for all our sake. Nearly lost my
patience listening to the Lord of Dassaria’s stupid accent and very broken Æurlek. And when the heir to Ratseel Islands took a full-rounded resting to get his marriage proposal across, I had to go to the bathroom inside my own pantaloons – twice — before my sister finally—’
‘Always come prepared, Bast,’ said Acciper, giving his right buttock a little slap, which made Vivian pull away from him and move closer to Lucian, who returned her a weak smile. On the opposite side of the table, Kate had flushed pink.
‘You’re actually wearing diapers?’ Bastijaan said in a strangled whisper. ‘You crude savage.’
‘A savage who hasn’t wet himself in the middle of Aka the Solemn’s legendary speech,’ said Acciper through a grin.
Vivian turned her attention back to the proceedings. She had missed the formal introduction of Prince Runar Silfrista, and his cortege of fifty turquoise-wearing bannermen. Cursing to herself, she focused her eyes upon the tall northerner now standing before Daimey.
But for the unnatural paleness of his face, and the strange coldness of his gaze, Runar would have made for an exceptionally handsome man. His mess of raven-dark hair complemented his otherwise gaunt and lifeless complexion centred around a tilted pair of cold-light eyes. His speech was rough, his choice of words unchiselled, and yet he carried himself with the confidence of a great man, neither boastful nor modest, but proud and fearless, and strangely composed.
He spoke of a forlorn land up north called Hoarfrosta; an insular land of fjords, where nights were eternal and ice coated the land all year round; a frozen wasteland, where food was scarce and hard to swallow, and its people even more so; a land so unhospitable, so utterly extreme, it made for the toughest people off the face of Ærria.
‘...the Kingdom of Hoarfrosta is one of the earliest civilizations of Ærria,’ said the Prince.
The conversation between Runar and Daimey was not shallow and teeming with compliments as Vivian had expected, but deep and intriguing. Daimey had asked the northern Prince what made Hoarfrosta into the most powerful kingdom in the world—
Vivian kept missing large chunks from the conversation on account of Acciper and Bastijaan doing comical impersonations of Runar and Daimey in a whispered voice.
Vivian Amberville - The Weaver of Odds Page 31
