Weaver

by Ingrid Seymour

  Ashby’s Regency? What did he mean? Was Danata dead?

  “You mean he’s the Regent?” Fina asked. “I thought you said it was a woman, the Ripper.”

  “And so it was,” Veridan said, “but Ashby, her beloved son, decided her reign had lasted long enough. He saved me the trouble of dispatching her myself. She did help me gather some considerable energy, and I am not ungrateful.” He gestured toward the blob and directed his next comment at Perry. “Isn’t it marvelous? I bet Portos never accomplished anything half as powerful. You should have picked me as your mentor, and not that imbecile. Quite the mistake you made.”

  “What now?” the man with his boot on Greg’s back demanded. He seemed tired with Veridan’s monologue and ready to slice more people open.

  “Kill them all,” Veridan said with a nonchalant flourish. “They’ll be no use us. Except the Weaver, of course. I know you want her, so you may do with her as you please,”

  “No!” Greg protested weakly from the ground. As he tried to push up again, his captor kicked him in the side of the head.

  Sam knew she should scream, call out for help, do something, but her head was a thick haze and everything around her had turned black. First it was her fingertips. They turned so dark and slick they looked as if she’d dipped them into a barrel of crude oil. She shook her hands trying to get the disgusting stuff off, but instead, it climbed up until it reached her elbows, and she became convinced a black hole was devouring her.

  Desperate cries for help reached her ears. She craned her neck in all directions, trying to identify the source. Whoever they were, their pain must be agonizing. She felt it herself, the anguish, the desperation, the need for release. Clasping her hands over her ears, she shook her head. She wanted to—

  Leave me alone! I can’t think!

  The clamoring stopped.

  Sam took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

  The blackness on her hands had turned to light, the most beautiful, white iridescence she had ever seen. It was the same beauty she’d grown used to seeing in vinculums, but a million times brighter, a million times more.

  As Sam’s instincts had a moment to settle, the realization came to her like a crashing wave. She gasped, shock paralyzing her heart for a moment. She lifted her eyes away from her luminescent hands and allowed herself to look back at the blob once more.

  What a minute ago had been roiling blackness was now a sphere as bright as the sun. It pulsed just the same, but there was nothing dark or evil about it anymore. Its surface shimmered with dancing rainbows of color, still calling to her but in a much different way. A single voice rose from the many that had plagued her mind for the past few hours. It was unlike any voice she’d ever heard, and it spoke, not in words, but in warmth, emotions, and gentle changes in color.

  It spoke of its suffering and imprisonment.

  And it pleaded for release.

  A release Sam could provide because, as the silent voice reached out with its warmth, she finally understood what the blob was and why it was able to communicate with her.

  The energy that had pulsed so darkly and now opened up to let her in was made up of vinculums. It wasn’t hard to guess how it had coalesced into one place or how it had come to be under Veridan’s control. He’d been with Danata for years while she systematically tore Morphids apart. Somehow, he must have figured out a way to harness the vinculums’ energy just as the Ripper performed her wicked deed.

  Tears fell down Sam’s cheeks, unbidden, as the agony from the trapped souls washed over her. No one but a Weaver could comprehend the magnitude of the pain Danata and Veridan had inflicted.

  And no one but a Weaver could provide the release they needed.

  Letting her instincts flood her and take full command, Sam reached out to the blob, her fingers moving in a synchronized beckoning motion. The effect was immediate, a rush of energy that came to her like an avalanche. It poured over her with blinding quality, immersing her senses in what felt like a dimension made of starlight.

  Something red flashed against the luminous white, an energy that tried to stop her but was unable to penetrate through her cocoon of energy. She ignored it.

  Tendrils wrapped around her, each one demanding her full attention. They tugged at her, projecting their suffering and their desperate need for freedom. For a moment, the energy around her was so overwhelming that Sam was sure she would lose herself and there would be no escape. And it was ironic that she had Danata to thank for the strength and refined awareness of her Weaver powers because, without the Regent’s relentless cruelty, Sam would have never gained the necessary skills to withstand the volley that came at her from every direction.

  Taking command of her powers, she pushed away the insistent souls pressing against her. Her hands worked fast to gather each separate source of energy.

  Like a composer she felt the pitch, the unique feel of each torn vinculum, and cast out in search of their perfect match. Many were there, waiting, ready to join to its twin and become whole again.

  Others had no match anymore, but as Sam unweaved their strands with care and compassion, they were released into the ether and seemed to exhale in relief.

  She worked in a frenzy for what felt like an eternity, but might have been seconds. Her fingers moved at speeds she had never seen before. And not only that, she discovered that her own charred vinculum, dead throughout this ordeal, now glowed and was helping her weave and unweave as needed.

  Like fireflies, the unweaved souls fluttered away, no more pain, no more anguish. Only oblivion. While those that were lucky enough to still have a match drifted upward, together once more, tearing free from the prison Veridan had made for them.

  Sam didn’t know how long she had been working or how frantically her fingers were weaving, all she knew was that the unrelenting cries which had plagued her finally stopped, leaving an eerie silence behind.

  Everything around her went still, but only for an instant. The dark energy that had kept the souls bound began rotating in a wide circle, quickly forming a whirlwind that blew Sam’s hair in every direction.

  Not quite sure of where she was, Sam looked around wildly and realized she was floating mid-air, her clothes flapping, her hair whipping her face. Below her, bushes jerked from side to side, leaves rustled and figures scrambled, fighting against the massive winds.

  In her trance, Sam had forgotten about everyone else. Even Greg.

  Her gaze flicked to the spot where she’d last seen him. She caught a glimpse of him, his black hair stirring in the wind, his fingers clawing the dirt as he fought against the dragging force of the storm raging around them. Sam had only enough time to wonder how to reach him when whatever force had kept her in place dissipated and she went tumbling head over feet into the spinning storm.

  Chapter 65

  Ashby

  The man with the sword walked toward Ashby and the others, a look of utter contempt and indifference in his eyes. It seemed that slaying people bored him, though he had no trouble doing it. He’d slashed Greg and pressed a dirty boot to his injured back as if he were nothing but a dog. Now, he was ready to follow Veridan’s command to kill them all.

  Where had these people come from? How had they colluded with Veridan to do this, whatever this was?

  The man lifted his sword, ready to strike Brooke. Perry’s eyes widened and practically screamed “stop,” but he was as helpless as Ashby to actually do anything.

  A roar of anger and impotence filled Ashby’s chest. Wasn’t there anyone who could help them?

  As if in answer, the Sorceress who had a hold of Sam let out a shriek. “What is she doing?”

  Everyone’s attention snapped to Sam’s floating shape.

  Tendrils of light were wrapping all around her. They were floating away from the black orb from which Veridan and the others had come. They stretched toward Sam like hands reaching for salvation out of the dark waters of an evil ocean.

  Veridan’s face disfigured into a mask of
panic.

  “No!”

  He ran toward Fina, his Sorceress accomplice, a hand on his amulet and a spell on his lips. Red electric rays shot from his fingers and flew directly at Sam. They crashed against the blinding white light that protected her, but quickly dissipated, having no visible effect.

  “Help me!” Veridan ordered, his high pitch tone revealing his fear.

  Ashby held his breath, fearing for her. Greg drew to his hands and knees on the ground, making a monumental effort to stand and defend her, but collapsed again.

  Fina and the other Sorcerers took hold of their amulets and, in unison, released their own attacks on Sam. Their magic tangled with whatever energy had taken hold of her but, again, it seemed useless.

  Unrelenting, Veridan and the others tried once more. The brightness around Sam seemed to dim as light fluttered away from her like Chinese lanterns on their way to the heavens.

  Without warning, Ashby fell to the ground with a thud, the paralyzing spell barely causing more than an uncomfortable tingle around his body. Perry, Brooke, and Finley fell next. Perry scrambled to Brooke’s side and wrapped her in his arms.

  “You’re okay,” he assured her. She hid her face in his chest, visibly trembling.

  Apparently the Sorcerers were too preoccupied with attacking Sam to keep their prisoners in check.

  “What is wrong with her?” Ashby yelled to Perry over the clashing magic.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, squinting into the light, his hair beginning to stir with the incredible wind. “I think . . . I think it’s vinculum energy, coming from that blob.”

  Vinculum energy?

  But how could have Veridan amassed the energy inside a black, roiling glob? The answer came to him all at once, it was so obvious. That’s what the Sorcerer had meant when he said that Danata had been useful.

  Ashby’s hair lashed against his eyelids. He pushed it away, fearing the sudden surge of wind. The current whirled all around, trapping them in a huge, tumbling sphere. He took hold of Finley’s hand and pulled her closer.

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  Ashby shook his head at a loss for what to say or do.

  The Warriors leaned forward into the wind, their feet planted firmly on the ground. The Sorcerers’ capes flapped in the wind, as they continued to issue incantations against Sam. Wind roared in Ashby’s ears. He put an arm in front of his face to block the flying debris and peered up at Sam.

  She seemed to be the epicenter of whatever had turned their world into a category four hurricane. Most of the light around her had dissipated, leaving her suspended in midair. Her long hair whipped about. Her eyes were closed, and she glowed like a small sun. Then, as if someone had cut her moorings, a gust of wind caught her, and she tumbled in the direction of what remained of the blob.

  Without thinking, Ashby let go of Finley’s hand and launched in Sam’s direction. He managed to take two steps on solid ground before his feet were swept from under him, and he also flew toward the darkness. It revolved like a large drain, sucking in anything in its way.

  Dirt, leaves, branches, and other bodies were caught in its siphoning force.

  Ashby angled his body in Sam’s direction, trying to reach her. He screamed her name, but could barely even hear himself. A branch struck his brow, breaking the skin and sending blood into his eyes.

  Sam noticed him and also angled her body toward him, arms outstretched.

  They came within inches of each other, their hands almost touching, but someone flew between them, knocking Ashby’s arm to one side. A cape came loose from the person’s back and plastered itself against Ashby’s face. He struggled to pull it off as it blinded him, doubling his panic.

  Just as he managed to throw the cape to the side, Sam slammed into him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  A moment ago, he’d felt as if he could help her, but now that he had her, he didn’t know what to do. The wind was so powerful it had uprooted bushes, which were now caught in the whirl, threatening to take off their heads.

  They went round and round, each lap shorter than the last, headed straight for the coalescing blackness at the end of the vortex.

  Ashby looked around, desperately trying to find a way back down, but it was almost impossible to discern anything in the chaos. They took another tumble which brought them closer to the ground.

  The legs of one of Veridan’s Warriors kicked in the air as he held on to a bush. Ashby tucked his head in to avoid a boot to the face just as the bush became uprooted and flew off with the Warrior. He tumbled along the ground until a black tendril wrapped around his leg and pulled him to the bottom of the funnel where he disappeared like a roach in a sewer drain.

  Fates!

  If one of those things touched them, they were dead. Just as he’d finished processing that thought, Sam jerked to one side, helping them avoid one of the inky tentacles.

  More of Veridan’s people were pulled into the narrow tip of the vortex where Ashby imagined the giant blade of a food processor, mincing everyone to pieces.

  They spun around another lap, moving ever closer to their doom. He looked into Sam’s eyes, and a silent message passed between them. It was acceptance in her eyes, the same that had suddenly flooded him with a strange sort of calm. They would die in the roiling darkness, and there was no escape.

  Hope died within him.

  At least, they’d undone Veridan’s plan as well as Danata’s. MORF would come, and everything would be okay with the council. Roanna would retake the Regency, and hopefully everything would be better for Morphids.

  Suddenly, they jerked to a stop. Sam still had one arm wrapped around his waist while their legs kicked wildly behind them. He was so disoriented from spinning that it took him a moment to realize what had held them in place while the rest of the world tumbled.

  Greg.

  Chapter 66

  Greg

  A strange wind picked up around the garden while, through clouded eyes, Greg stared at Sam floating in midair, wrapped in light. Even as Veridan and his Sorcerers unleashed magic in her direction, his Keeper instincts told him she was safe, protected by the luminous power that surrounded her.

  But as a hurricane like those he’d come to fear as a kid in New Orleans began to whip the top of the bushes, his Keeper senses spiked. Danger was upon his Integral.

  Acting purely on instinct, Greg reached for his sword and gripped its handle, taking advantage of the Warriors’ distraction. Fighting against the pain that split his back, Greg got to one knee with the aid of the sword. The wind assaulted his eyes, obscured his vision, and pushed against his sizable frame with disturbing force. Still, something told him this was just the beginning. Things were about to get much worse.

  Obeying the dire warning that twisted his gut, Greg got to his feet, lifted the sword and stabbed toward the ground with all his might. Pain shot across his back, and he nearly fell to his knees but managed to sink half the sword’s length into the earth.

  A gust of wind hit him, nearly flinging him into the air. He grabbed for the sword as an anchor, almost missing it. Several of the Warriors were whisked up like leaves, but he held on tight, even as his back felt as if it would split in two.

  The wind continued to pick up. His feet came off the ground, clothes fluttering in the savage gale. He was trying to readjust his grip when his instincts flared up and more adrenaline exploded into his veins. He glanced up just as Sam and Ashby rushed past. He flung out his arm, attempting to catch her, but he missed her by a few inches.

  “Sam!” he screamed.

  Her eyes darted to his as if she’d heard his cry, which was impossible in the roaring vacuum. She and Ashby spun upward and away from him, their eyes filled with desperation.

  Greg switched his grip on the sword to angle his body better. When Sam came back around, he would not miss her. His gaze followed her trajectory around the vortex. Her eyes were also locked on his as she neared. Resolutely, she reached a hand out and wr
apped her arm around Ashby’s waist.

  “I got you,” Greg mouthed.

  When they came hurtling by, Greg clasped his hand around her wrist and braced himself for the violent tug he knew was coming. Like the force of some immense gravity, the vortex and the combined weights of Sam and Ashby yanked on him. His ribs, shoulders, and elbows popped as his body stretched in an effort to hold the sword on one end and his friends on the other.

  If he’d thought he might be torn in half before, he was certain of it now. Every fiber of his body ignited with pain. He clenched his teeth, growling as his sternum stretched to a breaking point. At any moment, his ribcage would crack open, and his insides would spill out to be carried away by the churning storm.

  Suspended, they flapped like human flags, then the sword shifted and they lurched toward the black hole. Sam’s grip began to slip. He tried to tighten his hold, but he was already giving it all he had.

  His eyes locked with his Integral’s, and he silently begged her to hold on. She shook her head, her face scrunched up with the massive effort of holding her weight and Ashby’s.

  Greg’s gaze searched Ashby’s. He had slipped from Sam’s hold and was holding on to her leg, quickly slipping further and further down. His blond hair flapped from one side to the other, out of control. His brow was furrowed with effort, but also something else.

  Greg didn’t know how, but he knew immediately what that something was.

  “No, Ashby!” Greg yelled into the storm, but his cry was lost and never reached him.

  For an instant, Ashby’s dark gaze met Greg’s. There were so many emotions in his eyes that Greg felt his heart break in two. Regret, terror, resignation.

  And at last, a sad smile and a silent farewell.

  “Noooo!” Greg yelled as Ashby let go of Sam’s leg, rushed toward the spinning darkness that had already swallowed Veridan and his evil Morphids, and disappeared into the void like a drop of water into a drain.

  The force that was trying to rip Greg in two diminished. Sam stopped slipping from his grip, and the sword seemed firmer on the ground. And yet, he knew with certainty his strength would not last much longer. He’d lost a lot of blood, and his adrenaline had nearly burned out.