Vivian Amberville - The Weaver of Odds

by Louise Blackwick

  ‘All my doing, this banquet. My sister wanted to be treated more like a queen,’ Bastijaan breathed in Acciper’s ear, ‘so I sort of promised her off to Runar, to strengthen our alliance with the north.’

  At the edge of her vision, Vivian noticed Acciper had large tears in his eyes from the many times he had tried to supress his laughter. She threw the pair of them a rude scowl and resumed to listening to the speech. The conversation had turned to Hoarfrosta’s many achievements in points of inventions, patents and discoveries.

  ‘—bringers of the Cold Flame, nowadays used in every Alarian household...’ illustrated the Prince, pointing at the chandelier above, where a hundred candles burned in a dim, violet flame, ‘...also, the Shirvek steel – an alloy used in weapons of war and tools alike.’

  “Shirvek ...” thought Vivian. Now where had she heard that name before?

  ‘Jaron the blacksmith, Jaron the blacksmith,’ a voice replied, which gave Vivian such obvious startle, both Lucian and Acciper focused on her.

  Acciper leaned over and shamelessly whispered in her ear, ‘don’t need the loo, do y—?’

  ‘No!’ Vivian angrily whispered back.

  But Kaap’s sudden intrusion into her mind had brought a disturbing memory to the surface: Dominus Ashlar punishing Jaron the blacksmith for failing to deliver his thirteen Æbe’trax swords. The blacksmith in question had however managed to deliver Ashlar ten thousand “Shirvek” blades – the finest steel in all Ærria – despite the illegality of such action.

  Bits and pieces from their conversation returned to Vivian’s memory. “ Imported them straight from Hoarfrosta and already tested in battle ”, Jaron had said. Tested in battle? But Lady Saah said Ærria hadn’t had a war in centuries.

  ‘One might even say Hoarfrosta’s economy is entirely based on warfare’ Vivian suddenly heard Daimey say to the Prince.

  ‘Security, not warfare,’ was the Prince’s retort. ‘We respect the law of arms. Hoarfrosta has never sold a weapon without its wieldier.’

  Liar , Vivian thought to herself. A self-proclaimed nobody like Ashlar got ten thousand blades from your homeland .

  How could Hoarfrosta not notice if ten thousand of their best weapons disappeared from their armoury, off to arm some masked fanatic from the south? Wasn’t selling weapons a dangerous practice in times of peace? Why would Hoarfrosta even arm someone like Ashlar? Someone who threatened and lied and punished innocent people? Who needed to hide behind a mask of gold to—, to—

  Vivian’s final thought fell into place and a sudden ray of understanding seared through her confusion, like candle burning its way through a sheet of paper. “ Anyone could be under that mask”, Lady Saah’s solemn voice swam into her awareness “ friend or heir ”. Could it be really be possible that the Prince of Hoarfrosta and the self-proclaimed ruler of Kranija were one and the same?

  Vivian’s coal-black eyes turned to the handsome man now standing before Daimey, as though seeing him for the first time. Runar Silfrista was easily the tallest man in the room (“ Ashlar was just as tall” thought Vivian immediately); Ashlar spoke more like a military commander than a politician (“ and Runar more like a warrior than a Prince ”); but Vivian distinctly remembered Ashlar’s voice had been different, more threatening...

  Then again, in a world where the very substance of reality could be dynamically altered at will, changing something as small as the pitch of one’s voice seemed almost laughable.

  Ashlar... Runar... even their names sounded similar. How didn’t she see it before?

  There was, however, a simple test that would immediately confirm her theory. Vivian closed her eyes and directed every thread of thought in her mind towards the little creature, currently curled around her neck, disguise as a silken scarf.

  ‘Kaap, Kaap, can you hear me Kaap. KAAP! KAAP!’

  ‘Vivian needn’t scream. Kaap can hear Vivian just fine.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry. Kaap, would you look into Runar’s mind and tell me what you see?’

  ‘Kaap not know who Runar–’

  ‘Tall man over there,’ Vivian lifted her head and threw a pointed look at the Prince, urging Kaap to see through her eyes ‘standing by the throne.’

  ‘Kaap try. Man a bit far away from Kaap.’

  After the longest silence, a sharp voice reverberated inside her mind; it was a haunting, blood-curling, petrified scream.

  ‘Kaap, what’s the matter? What did you see—’

  ‘Kaap not want! No! Kaap, not see—’

  ‘Please Kaap, tell me what you saw.’

  ‘Kaap seen thoughts! Terrible thoughts! Kaap never want to look into Runar again!’

  ‘Why, what’s wrong with him?’

  ‘Kaap not want! Never want!’ his voice seared through Vivian’s mind.

  ‘Remember Ashlar, though? Remember the Gold Mask Man back in Solidago? Kaap, I want you to tell me if they’re the same person—’

  But Kaap’s flurry of thought pushed Vivian’s question aside with the force of a sledgehammer. ‘Kaap told Vivian many time that Kaap not seen into Ashlar! Ashlar thoughts closed book!’

  ‘But you could look into Runar, could you?’ Vivian insisted, mutely pushing her own will upon Kaap’s while at the same time trying to keep a straight face for the people at the table. ‘You saw if his thought-patterns were in any way similar—’

  ‘Ashlar and Runar made Kaap afraid!’ his tiny voice ricocheted across her mind, and as he said it, Vivian tasted cold, bitter fear at the back of her mouth.

  ‘So you can’t really tell if they’re the same—’

  ‘Kaap not look into Runar again! Kaap hate looking into bad people!’

  ‘Are you saying Runar is a bad person?’

  The scarf around Vivian’s neck turned a violent shade of red, but fortunately, Acciper and Bastijaan’s whispered jibe at the queen regent kept everyone at the table from noticing.

  ‘Runar worse than bad. Runar a sick, sick mind—‘

  Even as a thought, Kaap’s voice was shaking, his every word draped in fear. Whatever it was about Runar’s horrible, sickening mind had scared Kaap beyond reason. At the back of Vivian’s mind, something broke, and for the tiniest moments, Vivian could feel what Kaap felt: a profound, most terrible loneliness, followed by an intense feeling of dread. Vivian closed her eyes, struggling to sort through the stream of emotions flowing away from Kaap’s mind, but instead, she found herself looking into a head full of euphoric cruelty; a head full of malice and deadly pleasures, where five other heads macabrely rolled across a snow-sprinkled floor.

  A single tear ran the length of Vivian’s cheek while her small hands caressed the silken fabric she knew to be Kaap.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve ever put you through this.’

  On the other side of the room, Daimey bowed before the northerner and announced her engagement to the Prince of Fjords. The throne-room erupted in loud applause. On the other side of the table, a few people cheered. Even Acciper and Bastijaan were politely clapping, despite having laughed themselves throughout most of the event.

  The Prince of Fjords gave the audience a minimal nod, swished his fur-cape around, and in the sound of rapid drums and long-drawn horns, walked out of the massive oak gate, his cortege of turquoise bannermen in tow.

  The Trial of Fears

  ‘For the last time, Viv, you’re meddling in things that are best left alone,’ said Kate through an exasperated look. ‘We’ve been at it for hours. This whole Ashlar and Runar thing isn’t your damn problem!’

  Vivian, who had just finished recounting her full theory about the Gold Mask Man to everyone who would listen, was shocked to see neither Kate nor Lucian cared very much.

  ‘But Kate, don’t you see what’s going on?’ Vivian impatiently waved her hands. ‘Since Runar and Ashlar are the same person, Kranija is s
ecretly under the control of the north. All that story about Ashlar and his ten thousand Shivek blades is just Hoarfrosta arming Kranija from within!’

  ‘I’m with Kate on this one,’ said Lucian, who was now analyzing a small vial of green liquid Kate had produced the previous day under Lady Saah’s mentorship. ‘Your focus should be on the next Trial.’

  ‘Facing fears is the least of my concerns right now,’ said Vivian, uninterestedly.

  Ever since Acciper had revealed that the next test in the Weaver trials – The Trial of Fears – involved Vivian having to overcome her worst fears in a public arena, she had been very lax about it. Vivian’s general anxiety disorder had made her no stranger to crippling, chest-crushing, heart-pumping fear. There was nothing the Trial of Fears could possibly throw at her that she hadn’t already experienced.

  Kate crossed her arms. ‘Have you at least considered what your worst fears might be?’

  ‘Go on and take your pick. Everything in this world pretty much terrifies me,’ Vivian shrugged. ‘I hope it’s not snakes, though. I can’t stand being around snakes.’

  ‘Snakes aren’t so bad,’ said Kate. ‘I bet the Artisan could whip out the antivenom in no time.’

  Vivian lowered her eyes. ‘She’s mad at me, Lady Saah. I can tell she is, from her monosyllabic answers... the way she avoids my eyes. She blames me for what happened to Matijas.’

  ‘Viv, I’m sure that’s not true—‘ Kate began.

  ‘She’s still not talking to me, Kate!’ Vivian snapped. ‘She spends hours with you in her study, poring over books and herbs, but she wouldn’t do me the courtesy of a “good morning”.’

  ‘Viv, it’s a pretty big blow to her, losing her only son. She came all the way to Lantana to work as an Artisan because everything in Kranija, including the Haijk, reminded her too much of her dead son. Just give her some time.’

  Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by Lucian collapsing to the floor.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked Vivian, while Kate grabbed a nearby flower vase and poured its contents all over his face. Lucian spluttered, spitting a mouthful of filthy water all over Kate’s new dress.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  Lucian returned Kate the phial of green liquid and added, ‘don’t see how sleeping gas would help Vivian out.’

  ‘Hey, cut me some slack. It was my first try,’ Kate retorted, slipping the vial of green potion into a leather satchel. ‘I was aiming for a healing salve but overcooked it. I reckon it might still be useful, though, as sleeping gas. The Artisan said—’

  But whatever the Artisan had told Kate, Vivian didn’t hear. She now turned to the only person in Palas Lumina who had taken her warning about Runar seriously. Crouched upon a chair like a perching bird of prey, Acciper was busy inspecting an ancient-looking almanac that Vivian knew to contain important historical dates.

  ‘Found anything yet?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet. Don’t see how Runar could be the one hiding behind that mask,’ growled Acciper. ‘Not unless Runar’s father – King Erik – and Erik’s ancestors before him did it too. Generations of Hoarfrosters taking turns at wearing that mask, each seizing a little more control over Kranija.’

  Vivian turned her back to Kate and Lucian, who were currently holding hands in a way that silently asked for privacy, and drew herself closer to Acciper instead. ‘Well Ace, it would technically be possible, wouldn’t it?’ she asked.

  Acciper lazily turned around to face Vivian. ‘Would work in theory, yes. Don’t know why a kingdom as powerful as Hoarfrosta would wanna rule a barren land like Kranija. Whole economy of Kingdom of Fjords is set around export of defensive armies to other kingdoms. Not just guards and footsoldiers, but ships, armour, tools, even Pelsinn mounts. Richer than all of us put together, the northlings,’ he pushed a pair of very dirty coal-stained fingernails into his auburn hair. ‘Nothing Kranija has that could possibly interest the north.’

  ‘But there is!’ said Vivian, her coal-black eyes kindled by a sudden realization. ‘They’re mining Æbe’trax, Ace! Down the Ne’erine mines, as south as south goes, I’ve seen Tuuk’ta’ne take out ores the size of bricks!’

  ‘Yeah, feeds the black market,’ Acciper moved his head from side to side, as though unsure whether he should reveal more. Finally, he added, ‘ our black market. Kept under control, though. Now don’t go mentioning this to anyone. Could lose my head over it.’

  ‘I won’t breathe a word, I promise’ Vivian said automatically. ‘But someone should warn my sister about Runar—’

  ‘Can’t stop a royal wedding just because your pet has a “bad feeling” about the man,’ said Acciper.

  ‘My pet ?’ said Vivian angrily. ‘Kaap is a sentient creature, smarter, more empathic and more powerful than all of us put together!’

  ‘All the same. Ain’t any proof Ashlar and Runar are related in any way. Would tell Bast, though—’ he quickly added when he saw Vivian’s mouth open in protest, ‘—tell him everything you told me about Ashlar’s shipment of ten thousand Shirvek blades, and him seeking a way to forge Æbe’trax.’

  ‘You think he’ll listen to you?’ Vivian asked.

  Acciper lifted his metallic hazel eyes from the almanac. ‘Bast? Course he would. Got his heart in right place, the fool. Bast ain’t his sister. And nor are you.’

  ‘I’m not?’

  ‘Not,’ said Acciper, his mouth breaking into a shadow of a smile. ‘Everything Daimey put you through and still you wanna save her.’

  Vivian took a few steps back. ‘Save her? Is that what you think I’m—? Look, I’m not trying to— I just don’t want her to marry a psychopath!’

  Acciper threw her a sympathetic look before returning to studying the almanac. Suddenly, something like a surge of electricity stubbed against her thigh and nearly knocked the breath out of her. She dragged her leg painfully, and reached within her pocket, from where she removed a triple hourglass on a chain. The Triglas, whose bright-blue sand currently pooled in the topmost glass – indicating the hours of morning – was shaking and pulsating so violently, Vivian had to drop it on a nearby chair.

  ‘The bloody heck is—’

  ‘Yea, when I gave you that, also took liberty of programming your new lessons,’ said Acciper, without lifting his eyes off the almanac. ‘Bast arranged for a new Weaver. You expected in the Round Room.’

  At the sound of this, Lucian released Kate’s hand and rushed forward. ‘Still don’t know who your new teacher is?’

  ‘ The greatest Weaver alive , according to Bastijaan,’ Vivian reminded him.

  ‘Probably some smelly old geezer obsessed with philosophy,’ Kate’s voice emerged from somewhere across the room.

  ‘Yeah, probably,’ said Vivian, trying her best to pick up the Triglas without suffering any electric shocks, burns or fractures.

  ‘Just give it a tap,’ said Acciper in a bored voice. ‘Now go on already, or you’ll be late.’

  Despite Kate’s comments, the prospect of lessons with the so-called “greatest Weaver alive” made Vivian break into a running-jumping sprint, that her escort of men in shiny metal suits found difficult to keep up with. She reached the entrance to the Round Room in record time – with all five armoured men heaving at her side – and rushed in only to find Ærinna, sitting on a small chair, surrounded by what looked like a thousand lit candles.

  ‘You’re here! You’re finally here!’ she said excitedly, jumping to her feet.

  Vivian’s excitement deflated like a punctured balloon.

  ‘ You ’re the greatest Weaver alive?’

  ‘Æbekanta evade me, is that what they told you?’ said Ærinna, sounding embarrassed. ‘Weaver, actually. Umm, former Weaver, in fact. The Guild sacked me ages ago for doing something against their code.’

  ‘Like what?’ said Vivian, faking interest.


  ‘Like saving your life.’

  Vivian turned her head so quickly, her neck made a cracking sound.

  Ærinna held her gaze. ‘Back in that horrible place you used to live – what did they call it again? – oh yes, the Ala Spuria Shelter for Strays, ’ she recited.

  Vivian felt her inner world collapsing. ‘That was you ? You made me switch numbers, so that I can escape—’

  ‘No, no, no, you wove that Thread entirely on your own. The reality you created outside Ala Spuria was never part of the Weave,’ said Ærinna, with such endless respect in her voice, it made Vivian feel uncomfortable. ‘By our design, you were to die long before reaching the Amberville Manor.’

  Vivian racked her brains but she couldn’t remember ever being saved by divine intervention. Ærinna read into her confusion and said, ‘it was me who stopped Martha Burlington from injecting you with that poison. Remember when you—‘

  ‘—grabbed her fat arms and gave her a solid burn!’ the memory fell into Vivian’s mind. ‘But I thought I did that—or was that you, acting through me?’

  Ærinna gave her a knowing look. ‘A bit of both. Gave Miss Burlington quite the scare. She never tried that again, didn’t she? Sure, she beat you, she tormented you, but nothing really close to euthanizing you, am I right?’

  Despite the burning question at the back of her mind, Vivian said nothing.

  ‘Mind you, my actions weren’t without consequence. I was laid off for interfering. The Elder Seeress, Irra Lazuli, forced me into a lower, less meaningful position. I was put in charge of all security for the annual Weaver Trials’ Ærinna continued, a trace of regret in her otherwise cheery voice ‘It didn’t matter, though. I knew I did the right thing. Even if my choice to save your life had disrupted the Pattern; even if it caused the old hole in the fabric of reality to reopen; even if it bade Chaos to return to the Weave – it was all worth saving you in the end.’

  ‘How was any of that worth anything?’ the question Vivian had been dying to ask burst out of her like bottled flame. ‘You lost your life, your job, your respect,’ she ticked each of it off, on a separate finger. ‘You opened the door to Chaos, you doomed reality, and for what? What did I ever do to deserve your sacrifice?’