Vivian Amberville - The Weaver of Odds

by Louise Blackwick

  ‘Vivian’s right, this one’s a team test!’ Jaan exclaimed. ‘Just think about it! One quality of the Weavers is that they look after the Pattern, together, as a Guild. One falters, another one takes their place.’

  ‘It fits! That time most of you were watching me climb – thus focusing on my ascension – I very nearly made it!’ Yamme admitted. ‘Takes a lot of Kaalà to materialize ghostmatter, doesn’t it? So much, in fact, that one person alone won’t do. This is one grass-devil we need to capture together.’

  And right she was. As soon as they all began directing their focus to each individual step – one slab of ghostmatter at a time – the staircase turned solid and their path to the top quickly opened.

  And yet the task was far from easy. Not just once had a step dematerialized underneath their feet because one participant or another was not paying enough attention. In those few occasions, Kaap proved more than happy to catch them in mid-air and return their feet on solid surfaces.

  ‘What is that shape-shifting beast?’

  ‘Spoke inside my head, it did!’

  ‘That fuzzy thing just saved my life.’

  ‘Kaap no fuzzy thing. Kaap given name, “like a proper hero” and proper heroes save other from harm.’

  ‘Amazing, never seen anything like it!’

  ‘Kaap, I owe you my life—’

  One step at a time, the party of eight advanced towards the foot of the levitating mountaintop – this one great reminder of Kaalà’s will and might – and in the sound of roaring applause, they found themselves facing the long-pillared entrance to the Alarian School of Thought.

  The School of Thought was not the only building atop the floating rock, but it was definitely the most impressive. What looked like a hundred tiny towers and twice as many windows peppered a building so large, so crooked and so staggeringly disproportional, it looked like Kaalà – the one force that glued reality together – was working extra-time trying to keep it from falling apart.

  Above the high-arching front entrance to the school, the words “KAALMA BETRA” had been carved into its facade in curly, bright-glowing letters.

  ‘That’s Æurlek’aaj, the ancient Alarian tongue. My great-aunt taught me a teensy bit,’ Vivian heard Elisja brag to Luus. ‘Kaalma Betra – Imagine Better . And over there it reads Mis’oj Vaverat, za’ta’ma Dradas – As the Weaver so is the Thread—’

  ‘—and never has there been a truer statement, in Ærria or beyond,’ said a sharp, squeaky voice, and the tiniest woman Vivian had ever seen stepped forward to greet them. ‘Welcome my pupils. My name is Sii Mar’sii, lector in Metaweaving and schoolmistress to the Alarian School of Thought.’

  Vivian looked at the others and was pleased to see she wasn’t the only one to question her sanity. Ann’Ka had grabbed Eerik’s hand in panic, her mouth open wide; Luus and Yamme stared pointedly at the little woman before them with unblinking eyes, their expression unreadable; Tatee and Elisja were rubbing their eyes raw, trying to determine whether the apparition was real or some kind of hallucination. Vivian couldn’t blame either of them, for she had been wondering the same things.

  The foot-tall woman was very clearly a Weaveress, for she was wearing the same magnificent orange cloak that set Weavers apart, but she wasn’t – she couldn’t have been – either human or Alarian. Sii Mar’sii’s face was a smooth dark indigo, matted with flakes of cold light, as if the universe itself lived in her skin. Under the orange hood, her hair was jet-black, tangled with moss, leaves and bits of twig, and where a pair of eyes should have been, shone two ovoid nebulae of swarming colour.

  ‘She’s one of the Vanara ,’ Jaan breathed into her ear, ‘a noble race of old.’

  A small group of Weavers took their place on the top step, carrying what looked like small boxes of gold.

  ‘Your confiscated belongings... you may retrieve them,’ said the schoolmistress, and Vivian retrieved the Phial o’ Tears and the Æbe’trax knife from her respective box. Once every participant had collected their items, a skinny Weaver handed each of them a button-sized silver badge shaped like an upturned eight – or perhaps, infinity – and schoolmistress Sii Mar’sii broke into speech.

  ‘Why have you climbed all the way up here? What were you looking for? Would I be too presumptuous to assume you were looking for help? That you hoped you would hear something that would be of guidance – of relevance – to you, young members of a reality that is running out of time?’

  Sii Mar’sii’s returned them a smile, her nebulous eyes like two swirling galaxies reflecting the orange light of high noon.

  ‘The multiverse has selected its champions – had selected you – and yet under the blazing suns, here we stand: self-seeking and imperfect, lacking in wisdom, lacking in courage, afraid of death and of pain; afraid of our choices and the consequences they bring—’ her eyes had fixed on Vivian as she said this, ‘—and you ask yourselves: if only I could be that one person that makes it all better; that stops the degrading of worldly values. If only I could be that brave person that brings out the good in the bad.’

  Schoolmistress Sii Mar’sii put her long-sleeved hands together, her magnificent eyes like two orbs of bright amber in the orange sky.

  ‘Your Infinitas badges represent just that: your choice, your conscious choice to place yourselves outside a predefined path; beyond the care of omniscient beings, and into your own capable hands. For a Weaver’s freewill is absolute; a Weaver is a master of their own life; a Weaver creates their own reality – but more importantly – a Weaver is responsible for reality.

  ‘This choice must be made consciously, so when you are ready, when you will feel prepared to become both free and responsible, you need only present your badge—’ the schoolmistress lifted the tiny silver badge shaped like an upturned eight, ‘—to the nearest Weaver, and the School of Thought will open its gates and accept your commitment as an integral part—’

  But the words had frozen on Sii Mar’sii’s lips... and once again Vivian felt that eerie rushing of sound in a world made earless, as Time left the fabric of space, casting aside a sea of people, now nothing more than immobilized puppets...

  The Weaver of Odds

  ‘Hello? Can you hear me? Hello?’

  Vivian gave the little woman a gentle push, and Sii Mar’sii leaned to one side without ever falling, her eyes like two nebulas staring at nothing.

  The world had stopped. At the foot of the floating citadel, the arena was still as a million spectators stood frozen in time, their tumultuous cheering replaced by a foreboding silence. No one moved; no one applauded.

  ‘Jaan? Ann’Ka? Tatee?’

  In absence of sound, her panicked voice rang like a force of nature, reverberating across the stationary island like a storm’s first thunder. All was calm, all was still, and it was precisely that utter absence of motion that made it all so frightening, so ominous.

  ‘YAMME? EERIK? ANYONE?’

  ‘They not hear. They frozen in time,’ spoke a tiny voice inside her mind and Vivian gripped her Shadowhide cloak like a lifeline, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

  ‘Oh, Kaap. I’m so glad you’re—did you hear that?’

  ‘Kaap heard. Sound coming from over there!’

  Vivian abandoned the inert group of Weavers and participants, her feet tearing past the magnificent School of Thought, past the neighbourhood of small houses, and down a massive staircase that descended all the way down to the edge of the island.

  They followed the sounds to the rim of their emergence. Vivian leaned over the edge of the floating islet, her eyes scanning for a sign of disturbance.

  ‘We need a better lookout point,’ Vivian kept muttering to herself, finding a strange sense of comfort in hearing her own voice in the ominous silence of the world. ‘A place with good outlook of the surroundings.’

  ‘Kaap sees curious rock
over there!’ said the Hole-in-the-Wall, and Vivian turned her attention to the place he indicated.

  “Rock” was an understatement to the dinosaur-shaped large-as-a-palace boulder overlooking the island.

  ‘Perfect. Take me up!’

  Vivian’s cloak writhed into a firm lump and a huge pair of wings erupted from it, its raven-black plumage catching the high noon light. Vivian’s scream filled the deadened silence, as her magnificent wings flapped with great force against the moss-covered earth. Before she could catch her breath, her feet had left the ground and she found herself standing at the top of the bounder, her gigantic wings folded at her side.

  ‘Kaap always wanted to fly,’ Kaap’s little voice barely escaped the deafening sound of her beating heart, pounding against her eardrums. ‘Kaap always envied Shéy the hawk.’

  ‘Cor! J-just warn me the next time, w-will you?’ said Vivian, steadying herself. ‘The Pattern – it’s— it’s surrounded!’

  Not a bird sang and not a twig moved in the sacred forests of Arc Luteus but at the heart of the clearing, a ruckus raged on. The Pattern reigned supreme, the jarring light of its Threads spilling across the large group of turquoise dots, currently surrounding the loom.

  ‘I recognize those uniforms everywhere! Soldiers of Hoarfrosta!’ cried Vivian. ‘And those over there are—are— oh dear! Are those the Weavers ?’

  Sprinkled across the clearing were a few bright specks of orange, their position unmoving.

  ‘The Orange Cloaks they... they better not be— Darn it, I knew it! Behind Ashlar’s mask of gold is Runar and this just proves it. He’s gonna take the Pattern by force’ she stomped her foot against the rock. ‘I tried to tell them but they wouldn’t listen! I warned them—’

  ‘Look down, Vivian! Down!’

  She lowered her gaze, her eyes searching for whatever new horror Kaap had spotted. Beneath the floating citadel, something had disturbed the perfect silence of the arena. Hundreds and hundreds of turquoise dots had mushroomed into existence amid the frozen spectators, painting the stands in bluish-green tints.

  ‘They... they were there. The entire time, they were there – hiding among the public – wearing different clothes and— what are they doing?’

  ‘They are singing,’ said the prickly voice of Kaap, and atop the colossal rock, Vivian rounded her neck, listening hard.

  “Sons of frost, sons of frost, our cold freedom at last,

  No more weaves, no more looms, no more youth-killing tasks.

  Sons of fjords, sons of fjords, let’s bring pride to our heir,

  We take gold, we take loot, we take Daimey the fair!”

  ‘Daimey, they’re... they’re stealing her away!’ she cried, her eyes following the movement of a group of turquoise-robed soldiers, marching towards the royal box. ‘They’re moving into the crowds to— Can’t let that happen. Fly me down, Kaap!’

  ‘Vivian must reconsider,’ Kaap’s pleading thoughts pushed against her own, his little squeaky voice flooded by fear. ‘Daimey vin Gar bad sister to Vivian. Daimey vin Gar put Vivian through Trials. Why must Vivian risk life for bad sister?’

  ‘For her ? I don’t care about— look what’s happening Kaap! LOOK!’ Vivian indicated at the stands of spectators, where more and more turquoise dots appeared every second. ’The so-called “sons of fjords” are moving into the crowds – pillaging everyone ! Robbing people of their valuables— do you find that fair? – oh dear, Kate, Lucian, Acciper– they’re down there. They’re in the stands!’

  ‘But up here, Vivian away from harm. Up here, Vivian safe.’

  ‘We aren’t any safer here, Kaap. Didn’t you see? Runar has the Pattern surrounded! I don’t know why, but he wants it destroyed. I bet he doesn’t fully understand that destroying the Pattern is going to affect reality everywhere. It’s gonna affect all of us ! We must tell the Masked Man that what he’s doing is wrong’ said Vivian, surprised at her own audacity, now bordering on madness. ‘Please Kaap, if we stand by and watch the world burn, we’ll end up burning with it! I’m the only one who can do anything. Fly me down there, please, before it’s too late.’

  It was a stupid plan, Vivian knew it, but she had been expecting something like this to happen for days. Whether it was courage driving her or sheer madness, she couldn’t tell, but she found comfort in the idea that surely no one in their right mind would destroy the multiverse if they could help it.

  Two enormous pairs of wings erupted out of her back and Vivian Amberville was carried across the orange sky, searching the arena for signs of movement.

  It was chaos. A million spectators were caught in suspended animation while the turquoise army of the north pushed and shoved people aside – some searching their pockets for Æns, others plucking their jewellery and tossing them into a sack.

  Vivian touched down near the royal box, her Agi Blade at the ready, but there was no turquoise soldier in sight. Moreover, the army of the north appeared to have already raided it, for there stood Alarian noblemen and distinguished ladies of the court, frozen in time and unknowing, their wigs ruffled, their pockets turned inside-out.

  Her brother, Bastijaan was still in the stands. The gravity of the situation was faithfully immortalized on his wooden expression, his enormous eyes open, unknowing. Beside him was an empty chair that used to be Daimey’s.

  ‘Oh no, they’ve already taken her,’ said Vivian.

  ‘VIVIAN, HIDE!’ said the familiar voice of Kate and Vivian instinctively launched herself into the audience, her large Shadowhide wings folded at her side... wings that embraced not just herself, but a whole row of people—

  ‘Cap’n Malvik, sir!’ said the kind of man who passionately thought every moment spent without gutting someone was a moment lost. ‘Saw somtin, sir!’

  ‘What now, Jinx?’ answered a second voice, this one more groomed in the luxuries of authority.

  ‘Movemant in the royel box, sir. Request permishun to investigate, sir!’

  ‘There’s nothing there, private,’ said Captain Malvik. ‘Lo and behold: an empty stretch of rows.’

  ‘Weren’t so empty when me last checked, sir. Royel box peoples is hideous, sir. All wearin smelly wigs and powdered knickers—err— or was it other way round?’

  ‘Were the middlings there or not?’

  ‘Nossar, but me thought I saw—’

  ‘May devils keep your soul, private Jinx – they couldn’t have gotten up and left then, could they?’

  ‘Nossar, but—’

  ‘Listen here, Jinx. We’ve stolen this Queendom’s regent, put the Orange Cloaks to the sword and nicked millions of crests worth of valuables! Now what does that tell you?’

  ‘That we caused a bit of a tussle, sir?’

  ‘A Tussle? We’ve declared war, you unfathomable git. Now, time won’t stand still forever, you know! Take care of that rogue hawk before I take your sword and make you eat it!’

  ‘Yessar!’

  ‘And find those middlings. They couldn’t have gone very far.’

  ‘Right away, sir!’ said the footsoldier, and they both rejoined their pillaging brothers, their turquoise outline fading into the distance.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Kaap rolled back his pelt and removed the camouflage. The row of empty seats was once more occupied by spectators, immobilized in various positions.

  ‘Close call, Viv.’

  ‘K-Kate?’ said Vivian tentatively towards a bearded man in a cardigan, who remarkably enough spoke in Patricia Kate’s unmistakable voice.

  ‘Yeah, it’s me,’ said the unknown person. ‘Wearing a fake beard, is all. Not the most brilliant disguise, but at least it fooled them . They passed us by a few times.’

  ‘What’s this about, then?’ said Vivian, confusion written in every shadow of her figure. ‘Why are you disguised as
a bloke?’

  ‘Because I’m hiding, innit? This morning I overheard some spearmen planning all this— ’ Kate indicated the arena and the millions of spectators frozen in time ‘Footsoldiers were to show up in the arena, disguised as common supporters and once Time stood still, they were to take the regent and the two humans under her protection.’

  ‘You heard their plans?’

  ‘I heard the whole thing. And you were right, Viv, you were right. The army of the north didn’t disappear into thin air. They merely just changed clothes’ said Kate breathlessly. ‘Saw it, Viv. Saw with my own eyes! They plundered the audience. Stole everything they could get their hands on. Oh Viv, they even took my necklace!’ she stroked her neckline, where her beautiful K-shaped necklace was nowhere to be seen. ‘They were to strike in the middle of the Trial of Wills, when everyone would be too distracted by the event to notice people sneaking around Arc Luteus—‘

  ‘The Pattern!’ Vivian exclaimed. ‘It... it hasn’t fallen yet, has it?’

  ‘Don’t think so… otherwise reality would’ve gone bad, wouldn’t it?’ said Kate. ‘They infiltrated the Guild, though. I heard the soldiers talking about it. I also saw them distributing sketches of our faces – Lucian and I – so I knew they’d be looking for us once... once Time took the backseat.’

  ‘But why you and Lucian? Why Daimey?’

  ‘Because Lucian and I are humans, that’s why. Judging by what I overheard those men say, they were to sell us off to the highest bidder as curiosities ’ said Kate, exhibiting disgust. ‘As for Daimey, I think they’ve taken her for that princeling, Runar. Something about strengthening Hoarfrosta’s position in the Folde.’

  Vivian’s eyes suddenly fell on the abominable creature beside Kate. It looked like a hairy sack of potatoes with googly eyes and donkey ears pinned to its top. ‘What the devil incarnate is that ?’

  ‘It’s umm... well, it’s Lucian,’ she shyly lifted Lucian’s heavily-deformed hand and gave the woven bracelet around his wrist a little jiggle. ‘His disguise went terribly wrong for some reason.’