Vivian Amberville - The Weaver of Odds
Page 36
But Time had stopped, placing every occupant in the tavern in an estate of suspended animation. Divided about the place were people who neither blinked nor breathed; tankards touching their lips without them drinking; laughter etched onto their faces beneath their empty eyes, their bodies frozen into the frame of their last action.
Beneath the table, Vivian elbowed Kate, Lucian and Acciper, but she might have got more response from a statue for all the good it did. Why had Time stopped for everyone else but her?
Ashlar marched towards the bar, his heavy boots rippling across the soundless room, and with a gauntleted hand, he gripped the frozen tavern-keeper, and with one vigorous shake, breathed life back into him.
‘Shinn’shaan... where is the Shinn’shaan?’
The bald man’s eyes betrayed fear. A bubble of saliva had formed around the tavern-keepers mouth.
‘I— I don’t know who— what you’re—’
‘Your son, old man!’ said Ashlar in a voice that would have ripped reality in two. ‘Where is your son ?’
The tavern-keeper gave a half-nod towards a solitary man who sat in a dark corner, his face hidden in a hood, his tankard of rootsnaps frozen to his lips.
‘M-my son,’ said the old man. ‘Rolf—’
And before he could say anything else, time was driven out of his body once more, and he fell to the floor like a wooden carving, his expression motionless. With the patience of a man who had all the time in the world, Ashlar sauntered to the dark corner, towards the man he had been seeking for so long, and pushed his gauntleted finger against Rolf’s forehead. The man woke up with a jolt.
‘You were no easy man to find, Unwirer.’
Rolf rolled back his hood, revealing a well-chiselled man in the bloom of his life. ‘Yes, us executioners like to keep to ourselves,’ he gave the tavern a piercing look. ‘I see you’ve picked up a few tricks in the last long era. Same old Ashlar, messing around with forces beyond his reckoning. Ashlar... the one who started it all. ’
Behind the mask of gold, Ashlar’s face was unreadable. ’You are mistaken, Unwirer. I am here to end it.’
Rolf’s face broke into a sharp grin, sharp like the head of a scythe. ‘Oh, but surely you heard—surely they told you upon your binding – you cannot end it. A pity, I know... a man of your talent, doomed to such... unpleasantness— but alas, to end yourself is to end the Pattern.’
‘Then the Pattern shall fall!’ Ashlar voice boomed across the still tavern, making the boarded-up windows shudder and shake. Under the table, Vivian felt a cold shiver down her spine.
Rolf the Unwirer burst out laughing. ‘The Pattern is not yours to end, Dominus. Its countless Threads and souls are not yours to take.’
‘No, but they are yours , Unwirer.’
‘And mine will remain, as they should,’ said Rolf defiantly. ‘The Weavers have woven too greedily, too tightly. Their Threads now link reality together, from the tiniest seed of life, to the largest branch of existence. You cannot destroy the Pattern, without destroying life itself; without destroying all of creation.’
‘Creation is an illness!’ roared Ashlar, and before the young man could even process what had been said, the Gold Mask Man pushed his gauntlet deep into Rolf’s chest. Under the table, Vivian closed her eyes and bit hard into her fist.
Nothing happened. Vivian opened her eyes only to see that Ashlar’s hand had plunged right through the top of Rolf’s chest without causing any harm to the man. Was Rolf the Unwirer mere vapour? Was he some kind of ghost?
‘Alas, if only unwiring the Unwirer would be that easy,’ said Rolf, looking down at the iron fist planted in his chest with mingled arrogance and boredom. ‘I’m afraid my Thread belongs to the Guild.’
But Rolf’s expression quickly turned into one of horror as Ashlar retracted his fist, from which protruded a single splinter of metal, orange and blinding, like a stars gone supernova. In the palm of his gauntlet trembled a thin, metallic wire, whose dim Palladium light seemed to fade in the fiery shadow of its much dangerous brother, the unforgeable Æbe’trax. With one swish of wrist, the young man’s Thread disappeared into Ashlar’s fist, and Rolf fell to on his knees, his eyes two hollow openings into an infinite black.
‘Come forth, Unwirer,’ said Ashlar, his finger curled around the thin Thread of Palladium that used to be Rolf’s fate and freewill. ‘You belong to me now.’
The Unwirer stood up, a glazed expression in his empty eyes, and without further prompts, put his hood back on and followed Ashlar and his escort of five out of the tavern, and into the cold night air. It was a long while until Time had mustered the courage to re-enter the tavern, returning its dwellers back to their lively drinking and boisterous chatting. Breathless and pale, Vivian resurfaced, and made no delays in letting the others know what she had seen…
The Trial of Wills
‘Go through the final Trial? After you’ve just been let off?’ said Kate sharply, in the kind of voice one generally reserved for simpletons and misbehaving dogs. ‘I mean, how is you, risking your neck, going to help anything?’
Vivian, who had created a dent in the stone floor for the many times she had paced back and forth, returned Kate a punishing look.
‘None of you witnessed how unnatural, how eerie it felt back in that tavern. Ashlar or Runar – or whoever is hiding behind that mask – has power over Time !’
‘Come now, Viv. Witnessing something doesn’t make it your problem,’ said Kate impatiently. ‘It’s not your responsibility.’
‘Whose responsibility is it then? When Time stood still, I was the only one unaffected!’
‘And you did your job of warning the Guild. You needn’t throw your life away even further. You have a choice now, so choose to walk away from the Trials!’
Vivian shut her eyes and shook her head. ‘I’m not walking away. If I wasn’t meant to compete in the Third Trial, I wouldn’t have mastered Weaving halfway into the Second Trial. There is a reason for all this— a purpose – and trying to stop a masked maniac from wreaking havoc sounds like a better plan than sitting in a tower all day, don’t you think?’
‘She’s right. Is everyone’s problem,’ said Acciper while stroking Shéy’s beak. ‘Pattern no longer just maps reality: it controls it. To destroy one is to destroy the other.’
Kate rolled her eyes. ‘Are you saying anyone can just march to that... that Pattern and slash it down, like any odd cobweb? Are you saying it’s that easy to destroy the cosmos?’
‘Not saying it easy. The Pattern is a mix of constants and variables. Souls, destinies or freewill are variables; Threads such as Death, Time, Predicament, Creation or Chaos are part of a cosmic constant. No universe can exist without these constants. They are backbone of reality,’ Acciper explained. ‘Guild calls them unweavables , and as deep as they Weave at times, they never disturb these constants. Long as unweavables remain undisturbed, none can touch Pattern... none can touch reality.’
‘And if someone tries to weave unweavables?’ asked Lucian, but Acciper merely shook his head.
‘Never been done.’
‘Ashlar has done it!’ said Vivian, her eyes suddenly lighting up by a sudden realization. ‘You said Time was a constant. Well, Ashlar somehow got hold of controlling Time—’
‘—and Death!’ said Lucian so boisterously, he knocked his inkwell off the desk. ‘The Unwirer controls Death , doesn’t he? He is like a cosmic executioner of sort, removing unwanted souls from the Pattern at the Guild’s behest. It says so in the Cartularium, the “ Book of Law ”. Under Alarian rules, Weavers protect the Unwirer’s real identity. But if Ashlar tracked him down—‘
‘—it means Ashlar has seized control of two constants: Time and Death, ’ said Vivian.
Kate was now shaking her head so often, she mig
ht have been the only one with beer at a milk-drinking party. ‘I’m sorry Viv, but if every one of us is in danger, why aren’t any of the others doing anything to stop Ashlar? Why have they just shrugged you off, when you raised the news?
Vivian didn’t answer. Kate had finally voiced out the very reason she had been pacing the room like a boiled ostrich for the past few days with no end in sight. Despite Vivian’s best efforts to warn everyone about Ashlar’s plan to bring down the Pattern, neither Weaver nor Royal had taken the events of the Flatulent Ferret seriously.
‘Oh, there’s nothing unusual at all about your experience,’ Ærinna had told Vivian in their previous Weaving session. ‘Rootsnaps is stronger than most people think. First time I tried it, I looked into my empty tankard and saw a bottomless well. To imagine that Time itself is standing still—’
‘But I didn’t imagine— Look, my lips hadn’t even touched that pint when it happened!’
But Ærinna refused point-blank to give Vivian’s story credit and insisted on them resuming their training.
‘We’re not here to chat. We’re here to Weave. Now concentrate on the flames... see if you can mould them into a shape—’
Bastijaan and Daimey, on the other hand, had believed Vivian’s story right away. The only issue, Vivian had noticed, was that they were in the belief that the Pattern of Threads was completely infallible; that it did not need anyone’s protection.
‘Throughout our history, a lot of fools have tried to sneak into the sacred grounds of Arc Luteus and mess with the Pattern,’ Bastijaan had recounted when confronted with Vivian’s story. ‘They wanted, no doubt, some insight into their future, or erase some unspeakable crime. They were charged with “foil”, given a public flogging and imprisoned, but that’s nothing compared to what the Pattern did to them.’
‘Look, Ashlar isn’t a fool. He can—’
‘Don’t worry, sweet sister,’ Daimey had reassured her. ‘The great loom of things is not as fragile as you may believe. The Pattern takes good care of itself. Make sure you do the same. I heard you insisted on completing your Weaver Trials.’
‘Yeah, decided to follow it through.’
‘Now, while I cannot expressly forbid you to compete, I advise caution. The Trial of Wills is known as the most dangerous of the three. You very nearly died during the Trial of Fears. Make sure you’re better prepared this time.’
Vivian had at least hoped that a person who knew Dominus Ashlar’s reign of terror would understand the danger he posed, but Lady Saah proved to be just as obstinate as everyone else. Moreover, something had changed since their last conversation. The Artisan’s silent treatment and awkward silences had now been replaced by a complete inability to be in the same room with her, which made Vivian experience a strange sense of abandonment.
Kate, Lucian and Acciper had, of course, believed Vivian right away, but of the trio, only Acciper Sparrowhawk had taken direct action against Ashlar. It was to him that Vivian now turned for help.
‘Will you try again, Ace?’ she requested.
Once again, Acciper shut his eyes and allowed himself to weave into the mind of his feathered companion, Shéy. The great brown hawk spread its wings and flew out of the open window, leaving behind the empty vessel of what used to be his master...
And Acciper surely would have been taken for dead had Vivian not known better, for there he lay, white-cheeked and still-hearted, his blacksmith hands pointlessly dangling at his side. Although life still very much coursed through him, his mind had gone elsewhere – currently atop the stony peaks of Mount Ra’nun... carried down by the softest breeze... floating above a sea of faces, none of which was shrouded in gold... none of which were Ashlar’s.
What felt like an eternity later, Acciper emerged from his deathly sleep with clammy hands and shaky feet, only to find Vivian waiting expectantly at his side.
‘He’s awake!’ she called out to Kate and Lucian, who immediately took their place by Acciper’s side. They both looked relieved.
‘Oh, thank goodness!’
‘Well? What about Ashlar? Did you find him?’
Acciper bit his lower lip and shook his head.
‘Runar then?’
‘Not a sign of him,’ he muttered, wiping the sweat of his forehead with his sleeve.
‘I heard Runar and his cortege of turquoise boot-lickers disappeared without a trace when Daimey called off the wedding,’ said Lucian.
‘Disappear where?’ Kate scratched her chin. ‘How can thousands of people evaporate just like that? They obviously didn’t return to Hoarfrosta – their ship is still docked – so where did they go?’
‘Need to... need to lie down for a bit,’ Acciper told Vivian, before collapsing on her bed and causing Kaap to jump aside and relocate to the fireplace. ‘Must let the... let the mind get used to body again.’
‘You’ve never been gone so long before,’ said Vivian concernedly. ‘We almost thought you were—’
‘Water...’ muttered Acciper, his hand stretching towards Vivian’s nightstand. ‘That awful taste of rats—’
Acciper’s hands moved so chaotically, Vivian ended up having to hold the water-cup straight to his lips.
‘Better now?’
‘Don’t have wings... don’t have wings,’ he kept whispering to himself, before vomiting in his empty glass.
‘Ace, you’ve overdone it, is all. Take it easy today, alright?’ said Vivian motherly, washing Acciper’s forehead with a sponge before joining Kaap by the fireplace. ‘If you get any urges to fly, stay away from those windows!’
Vivian searched her pouch and extracted a goose-quill, a small inkwell and her leather-bound journal, and proceeded to furiously writing things down. Kate gave her a stern look from across the room.
‘Viv, shouldn’t you be preparing or something?’
‘I am preparing,’ said Vivian, without lifting the quill off the page. ‘I’m planning my course of action in case Ashlar takes the Pattern. Since no one believes him to be a threat—’
‘I meant the Trial!’ thundered Kate. ‘The one you have tomorrow !’
‘No point preparing, is there? Trial of Wills is different every year. No one knows what to expect,’ said Vivian, the quill dancing across the pages like a fast-forwarded ballerina. ‘Besides, Kaap will protect me, wouldn’t he?’ she gave the Hole-in-the-Wall a gentle pat on his hairy head, which made his fur turn a deep crimson. Kate dropped her head in a defeated gesture and returned to looking after Acciper.
That night, Vivian’s dreams were interrupted by a laughing man in a gold mask whose gauntleted hands had enclosed around her throat, his metallic fingers wringing—
‘ Sunya. Sunya... ’
The golden mask had dropped from his face and behind was Runar, his handsome features contorted into a grotesque grin—
‘ Sunya. Sunyaa. Sunyaaa... ’
‘Whut?’ mumbled Vivian drowsily, her head still full of the nightmare.
‘Sun is up! Sun is up!’ a pungent voice was drilling into her mind, and Vivian’s eyes sprang open only to find Kaap bent over her, his fur a terrified blue, his hairy fingers shaking her awake. ‘Vivian sleep too long. Vivian will late for Trial.’
‘Oh no!’ moaned Vivian, kicking the bedcovers off. The combined light of Ikko and Jaari was shining on the windowpane, filling the room with angels of light. The Triglas had shaken itself off the chair and onto the marble floor, where it currently lay in a heap of brittles, broken shards and coloured sand.
Vivian hastily pulled on her clothes and meant to run towards the door but a very tiny hand had wrapped around her ankle, preventing her from leaving.
‘Vivian never make it in time. Kaap knows better way!’ she heard him speak inside her head, and before she could even think of a reply, a gaping hole opened at the heart of her room, and Vivian fell five feet, fifty feet, a hundred feet down.
‘Vivian name been called,’ she heard Kaap say. ‘Vivian not reach arena in time, unless Kaap tries something he has not tried before. Something dangerous—’
But the rest became an indistinguishable slur of syllables and Vivian saw the tunnel she was sliding through had started to change, its earthy walls collapsing, its shiny slope decaying. The air had frozen in her lungs, and for the smallest seconds, she thought her anxiety had returned, fully-blown and terrifying, but this felt better – a hundred times better – than fear. It was, in fact, better than any feeling she had ever experienced.
The fabric of space was shrinking, and at the centre of this was Vivian, who felt strangely at home with herself... as though her living body had passed into everything... or was it the Everything passing through her flesh? Perhaps she was going mad, perhaps it was the lack of oxygen, but there was something purposeful about that constricting darkness.
Before she knew it, the fabric of space was unfolding, air flooded her lungs and darkness was replaced by molten light. Vivian’s feet hit the floor, and the Hole-in-the-Wall wrapped around her shoulders, his body now indistinguishable from a black velvet cloak.
Vivian opened her eyes only to find herself standing in the Pentahedron’s Antechamber, where a bewildered Ærinna was staring her down through cerulean eyes.
‘H-how did you do that?’
Vivian hurriedly unfastened her cloak and placed it in Ærinna’s passive hands.
‘A cloak of Shadowhide,’ said Vivian, frustrated by Ærinna’s sluggishness. ‘For the Trial of Wills. My item of choice. Now hurry !’
Ærinna gave the cloak a long, penetrating look, and after what seemed like an eternity, she returned it to Vivian with a sonorous “item approved”.