Weaver

by Ingrid Seymour

Sam clenched her teeth. The urge to help the couple was overwhelming. Her instincts felt afire with purpose and determination to set things right. Yet, a part of her told her not to listen to her instincts. This was Danata asking her to fix what she’d purposely broken. The woman could not be trusted.

  “That urge you feel to reach for their vinculums,” Danata whispered, “I feel it, too. And when the deed is done, I also feel satisfaction as I’m sure you do. Is it wrong to obey one’s nature? In this instance,” she pointed at Anima, “I think it was.”

  Did the Regent really regret what she’d done to these people? Maybe after what she’d done to Ashby, she’d had time to think and feel remorse. Did she truly want to make amends?

  No. Sam shook her head. She has no heart. I can’t trust her. Sam fought her instincts. The need to reach and weave the broken links made her tremble. She went down on her knees, curling herself and her need into a ball. Vomit rose to her throat, burning her vocal cords. She swallowed hard, fists clenched as she fought to control the maddening urge to make the frail ribbons of light whole.

  “Help her to her feet,” Danata ordered.

  Non-too-gently, Simeon gripped Sam’s arm and forced her up. Shivers rippled down her body, raising the small hairs on the back of her arms. Legs trembling, she focused on a spot on the floor, still fighting.

  “What’s the matter?” Danata asked in a sweet tone.

  Sam couldn’t have answered even if she’d wanted to. Her throat was full of bile, and her tongue was trapped between her teeth. Instead, she shook her head and steeled her will against her instincts—even if the task made her feel evil. These people needed her help, yet Sam couldn’t give them the respite they deserved. Danata’s ulterior plans might be worse than the cure.

  “Unbind her hands,” Danata said, handing Simeon the small key she’d been twirling.

  He took it, stuck it in one of Sam’s manacles, and released her hands. Involuntarily, her fingers fluttered upward, reaching for the broken links. With a grunt of realization and effort, she pulled her hands back and pressed them against her stomach.

  “I don’t understand. I thought you’d want to help them,” Danata said. “You’re the only one who can undo what I did.”

  “What do you want from them? You must be after something,” Sam said, her voice breaking.

  “What do I want from them?” Danata repeated, frowning. “I just . . .” She paused, her eyes shifting from side to side. After a moment, she seemed to reconsider what she was going to say and waved a dismissive hand in the air. “All right, I admit there’s something Anima can do for me, but that doesn’t mean you should pass the opportunity to improve her situation. Don’t do it for me. Do it for them.”

  “You tore me from Greg, tore me from Ashby,” Sam said. “Why should I do anything that benefits you in any way?”

  “You sought to destroy me, child.”

  “You’re crazy. I never set out to destroy you. I never asked for any of this.”

  “You brought my sister back. Getting rid of her was not easy, and now . . .”

  “What you do is evil.”

  “I can’t help it any more than you can,” Danata said, then abruptly walked out of the cell, ordering the guard to follow.

  For a moment, Sam thought Danata would have her locked in the cell, but the Regent simply stood outside the door, quiet and expectant. Apparently, she had nothing else to say, and she meant to wait until Sam succumbed to her instincts.

  Almost mechanically, Sam turned to face the couple. They sat next to each other, yet miles apart. It was as if they were strangers and not Companions fated to love each other unconditionally.

  Tears prickled in the back of her eyes. She thought of her own torn links, faded and frayed, floating above her. She dare not look up. If she did, she would be tempted to repair one of the vinculums, and what would be the use of that with Danata standing right outside the door?

  Sam recoiled within herself, fighting her nature. After a moment, an incessant sound began in the back of her head, relentless and increasing in pitch by the instant. She covered her ears, the struggle more than she could bear.

  Had Danata told the truth? Was she like Sam? Unable to control her instincts? Forced to rip all of those who came in contact with her? No. Sam refused to believe it. Danata had had time to understand her skill and learn to control it. Morphids could make their own decisions rather than be blindly controlled by Fate.

  The pain inside Sam reached a breaking point.

  Of their own accord, her hands shot upward, beckoning for the two halves of the broken vinculum. As soon as they touched her trembling fingers, the bonds turned electric and reached out for each other. She felt the yearning, the weight of the years spent in isolation. And she knew, then, that she had no other choice but to rebuild the broken minds and souls of these two people.

  She began to weave.

  Blinding light sifted through her fingers. She squinted until she could see the broken strands as they twined together, meeting and embracing with tangible relief. Faster than the first time she’d done it, the links weaved themselves into one flawless ribbon of light. When the job was done, the entire room seemed to exhale with relief. Energy flowed into Sam, immensely satisfying and almost enough to make her feel whole again.

  She blinked and looked at the couple. For a moment, they sat immobile, numb as before, but then their eyelids fluttered. They wet their lips and swallowed as if parched. Anima inhaled deeply and planted a hand on her chest. Reginald held his head and shook it between knobby fingers, a deep moan sounding in the back of his throat.

  Anima said something, a mumbled word Sam couldn’t understand. At the sound of her voice, Reginald released his head and glanced up. His deep dark eyes filled with wonder, surprise, and something like regret.

  “Ani-ma?” he said.

  Slowly, his wife’s eyes swiveled in his direction. The same wonder and surprise pooled inside her equally dark eyes. With trembling fingers, she reached for his face.

  She frowned at his beard as she caressed it. “So much gray,” she said.

  “Anima,” Reginald repeated, his voice clearer and tinted with a plea.

  “Where have you been?” Anima asked.

  “I—I . . .” He seemed to search his mind, then looked around the room.

  When he noticed Sam, he frowned. Anima followed his gaze. A thrill of recognition went down the woman’s face.

  “You,” she said in shock. “Oh, no!” She looked like she’d seen a ghost.

  ◆◆◆

  Anima’s eyes widened and filled with something like terror. Sam’s insides froze. Why was she looking at Sam as if she were a nightmare come to life?

  The woman opened her mouth to say something—to scream, perhaps—but as her gaze drifted above Sam’s shoulder, she stopped.

  Danata stepped back into the room, making the atmosphere feel icier than it already did. Anima’s terrified expression redoubled and was joined by her husband’s. Visibly shaking, they pulled close together and embraced.

  “You,” Reginald said in a broken voice. “What have you done to us?”

  “Take him away,” Danata ordered the guards.

  The two men walked into the cell and tried to take Reginald away, but Anima clung to him, crying out in heartbreaking fear.

  Danata rolled her eyes and watched with disdain as Simeon’s beefy hands took hold of Anima’s arms, while Omar forced Reginald to his feet and shoved him out of the cell with such force that the old man crashed to the floor in a heap of bones.

  He pushed up. “Anima,” he rasped, his watery, fear-filled eyes searching for his wife as Omar dragged him out of sight back to where he’d come from.

  “Stop!” Sam screamed. “What are you doing?”

  “You stay out of this,” Danata ordered.

  “You evil monster,” Sam cried out, launching toward Danata.

  “Oy!” Simeon let go of Anima to try to help the Regent.

  Danata neede
d no help, however. She was fierce and violent all on her own and, with a twinkle in her eyes, grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair, slapped her across the face, and threw her to the floor. She loomed over Sam, lips pulled back in a savage grimace.

  Sam crashed against her side, jamming her elbow. Pain shot up to her shoulder, but it was her face that hurt the most. Wincing, she rubbed her cheek.

  “I told you to stay out of it,” Danata snarled, then walked toward Anima with evil intent. “Hold the girl back,” she ordered.

  Simeon’s tall, black boots appeared in front of Sam. She recoiled, tears stinging the back of her eyes.

  “Hello, Anima,” Danata purred behind the guard.

  Through Simeon’s thick legs, Sam watched Anima shrink away on her cot, pressing her back against a corner of the cell.

  “Stay away from me, monster,” she said.

  “Is it possible you never foresaw this?” Danata asked, sweeping a hand in a circle to demonstrate the cell. “Isn’t that ironic?

  “How long? How long since you—”

  “Does it really matter? You’re here, have been here half your life.”

  “And yet it’s not enough. What do you want now?” Anima asked in a weak, scratchy voice, then in a strange gesture, stuffed her hands under her armpits and tensed all over.

  “I want you to show me more. Everything,” Danata said.

  Anima’s eyes danced around the room. She looked like someone trying to grasp the full extent of her situation.

  “Leave us alone,” the old woman pleaded.

  “Us? You mean that useless man?” Danata pointed in the general direction of the door. “He’s fine, don’t worry about him.”

  “He’s my husband.”

  “A burden I would say, but I didn’t bring you back to discuss him. Although you should be happy you are rejoined.”

  Anima’s eyes wandered to Sam. Danata turned sideways in order to look at both of them.

  “It seems you’ve seen the girl in your visions,” Danata said. “She scares you. Why?”

  Anima shook her head, but said nothing.

  “She’s your savior,” Danata said, her tone heavy with sarcasm. “You shouldn’t be scared of her.”

  Tears overflowed Sam’s eyes as helplessness filled her. Why hadn’t she fought harder to resist her instincts?

  Anima’s gaze remained on Sam. The woman’s chin quivered, but there was no terror in her eyes anymore, only sadness.

  “She’s just a girl. Freshly morphed,” Anima said to herself more than anyone else.

  “A girl who can undo what I do.”

  “Yes,” Anima said, sinking lower into her cot. Her eyes closed and opened again, fluttering. She seemed ready to pass out, and Sam thought that would be a blessing.

  “I think I remember you,” Anima said after a moment.

  A strange feeling washed over Sam. She rubbed her arms to dispel a shiver. Danata stood straighter, honing her attention on Anima.

  “I’ve seen you,” the woman said. “It’s been a long time, but I would never forget your face. It’s . . . Samantha, right?”

  Goosebumps rippled in Sam’s arms. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Anima nodded very slowly. “I’m glad you’re here. It means . . .” Anima stopped, her eyes shifting toward Danata. As if catching herself, she pressed her lips together, leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  Sam glanced sideways at Danata, expecting her to explode in demands to know everything—whatever that meant. But to Sam’s surprise the Regent stood calmly, scrutinizing Anima with care.

  Simeon frowned at Sam, looking as confused as she was. She glowered back, refusing to share in their mutual puzzlement. He returned the glare and scratched his head, a clueless expression on his idiot face.

  “You’ll pay for this,” Sam whispered so only he could hear her. The man clenched a fist and raised it a bit, but after a quick flick of his eyes in Danata’s direction, he let out a breath and brought it down.

  After a long moment, Anima took a shuddering breath. She flexed her neck from side to side, and finally opened her eyes. Unlike before, something gleamed in the depths of her dark gaze, now.

  “I see even your son has abandoned you,” the old woman said with a chuckle.

  “Where is he? Tell me!” Danata demanded.

  Anima ignored the question. “Ashby is a man now, and he’s chosen to place his loyalty elsewhere. In case you’re wondering, he doesn’t love you anymore.”

  At the words, Danata’s face disfigured into a mask of pain. She quickly disguised her feelings, but not before they revealed how devastating this piece of information was.

  “He grew up smart . . . like his father.” Anima shook her head. “You’re not better off than me. You’ve lost everything.”

  Danata spoke through thin lips. “I have lost nothing. What matters to me is still safely in my grip.”

  “You’ve always lied to yourself, Danata,” Anima said with a pity so profound and sincere that it made Sam wonder if the woman was a saint.

  “My course is altered,” Danata said. “It’s been altered a hundred times over.”

  Anima nodded. “Yes, it certainly has been, though not for the better.”

  Danata took a step forward, stamping her foot on the floor. Anima flinched and pushed back, looking as if she wished to melt into the wall.

  “Now, you will show me what I need to know,” Danata said through clenched teeth.

  Anima barked out a weak laugh. “Why would I do such a thing now? After you’ve stolen my life, my youth, my Companion?”

  “I would think carefully, if I were you.” Danata cut a sharp glance in Sam’s direction.

  “I don’t need to,” Anima said in a quiet tone that was more commanding than Danata’s near growl.

  “If you don’t, you’ll suffer a hundred times what you’ve suffered so far.” The Regent leaned forward, bringing her face close to Anima’s. “You’ll give me what I want because I have her,” she pointed a finger at Sam without even looking back, “I can tear you apart from your beloved Reginald a thousand times in a day, if I want to.”

  Sam gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth. Horror washed over her, but as it passed, her chest slowly filled with fury. The witch was crazy if she thought Sam would play along.

  “No, you won’t,” she said in an even, sure tone. She would prevail over her instincts if it killed her.

  Allowing Anima and Reginald to live separated from each other would be a cruel injustice, but Sam knew the pain and anguish that ripping caused. It had to be far worse than the numbness that followed. She would not let them go through that.

  Danata regarded Sam for a moment, then laughed. “What makes you think you’ll have a choice?”

  “I don’t care what you do to me,” Sam said, even as her stomach clenched.

  “We’ll see about that. Take her back to her cell,” Danata ordered. “And summon the High Sorcerer to my office.”

  Simeon grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled her toward the door. Her gaze lingered on Anima, silently trying to tell her it would be all right. Anima smiled sadly, her dark eyes full of something that looked and felt like forgiveness.

  Sam’s heart broke as the guard dragged her out. Glancing one last time over her shoulder, Sam caught a glimpse of Danata’s hands gripping the newly remade vinculum.

  Unable to watch, Sam closed her eyes.

  The couple’s cries of pain and desolation filled Sam’s ears as they echoed through the cavernous hall like the laments of two condemned ghosts.

  She staggered onward, ahead of the guard, her already-broken heart splitting into a million more pieces.

  Chapter 6

  Veridan

  A mixture of fear and excitement ran through Veridan’s veins. The sight of his nebula was glorious. When he began this task several years ago, he never dreamed it would grow to this size and amass this level of energy.

  He was so close. So close.

  He could almost feel it,
taste it, and it had a delightful flavor, better than anything he’d ever sampled.

  More delightful still was the fact that the nebula seemed to be growing exponentially now.

  Oh, if only it’d been this way since the beginning, but his progress had been excruciatingly slow. How many times had he found himself at the brink of giving up? How often had he reigned in his hatred toward Danata, the inconvenient conduit to all this power?

  He fidgeted, feeling oddly restless. For a long time, the idea of reaching his goal had consumed him day and night, but now, his obsession had reached a fiery pitch. He had to find more victims for Danata, more lambs to guide to the slaughter, so her ripping hands could unleash the last bursts of power that would complete his nebula.

  But these last few weeks had been frustrating. Danata was distracted, focused on those infernal kids that demanded more attention than any snotty brat had a right to.

  Sure, the ripping of Samantha and her Keeper had been a great addition to his stock of power—something that had pleased him to no end, especially considering how the energy from their vinculum had visibly enlarged the nebula. But enough was enough. Danata’s obsession with MORF and Ashby had to end. It would lead Veridan nowhere, unless she agreed to his most recent proposal, one that would help her find the insolent boy. Of course, she would never consent, not considering what she’d have to give up.

  In the past, Danata’s fixation would have suited Veridan. Heads tended to roll when she was upset, but now that he was so close, it was an inconvenient waste of time. Why, oh why did the heartless woman have to possess motherly instincts? Of all things!

  Veridan cursed under his breath. Depending on Danata was a damnable thing. He wished he could leave, go elsewhere to find what he needed, but there was nowhere else to go, no other individual that could do what she could. He knew the nebula would have never gotten this far without her—other means of acquiring energy weren’t as effective and high-yielding as ripping—but the embers of his patience were nearly extinguished.

  Maybe he should talk to her again, convince her that Ashby was a lost cause, tempt her with promises of Roanna’s capture. But he was afraid to push too hard, afraid to raise suspicion.