Visitations in Silk
“It’s a shop,” Riyo Falsemoon says. “Look, the sign says so.”
“Yeah but… why?” Ravi Matriya says, glancing around. The rock-strewn slopes of the Eastern Icebound Wall are bereft of all life. Soft rain slicks mossless stones and darkens brown earth all the way to the edge of sight, where low grey clouds huddle against the ground.
“Oh, I know this,” Glitter says. The rain tinkles on his metal body, making a tune that he is having difficulty not whistling along to. “It’s called capitalism. People spend money in exchange for-”
“I know how shops work, Glitter,” Ravi says. “I mean why here?”
Witch Gravira’s Emporium of Silk and Other Quality Fabrics is a grand wooden building that would not look out of place amidst the dryad-grown architecture of Folvin. Its walls are carved with images of people dancing. Their features are indistinct – hands fade away into the wood before their fingers are revealed, heads show no signs of faces. Their clothing, however, is intricate, billowing with the actions of their wearers and dazzling imaginary colours into existence where in truth there is only wood grain.
“Maybe there are hill trolls around here,” Emerald says.
Rolleck the Lost raises an eyebrow at her.
“What? All of the human stories about dragons are wrong. Maybe hill trolls have a strong sense for fashion.”
“I have met an unfortunate number of hill trolls,” Rolleck says. “And the stories are accurate as far as I have seen.”
“Should we go in?” Glitter asks.
“The last time we went into a strange building in the middle of nowhere, we ended up in space,” Ravi says.
“We are absolutely not going in,” Emerald says.
Riyo is already pushing the door open. A bell rings above it to announce her entry, tinkling through a space that feels unnaturally vast. It reminds her of the prison beneath Ragg. To her left is a counter with a metal strongbox on one side of it. There is a bow of sultry crimson ribbon sitting in the centre of the counter, while beyond it is a pristinely tidied workspace. Every inch of everything is aligned with everything else. The space is filled with racks of hanging cloth, while more displays on wires above hide the ceiling and walls. It is as though a rainbow has been smashed into fragments and then caught up in a whirlwind. There is no order to the distribution, but it would be hard to describe something so beautiful as chaos. Riyo smells wood and cloth but feels no sense of anyone, or anything, alive.
“It’s empty,” she says.
“Maybe this Witch Gravira is out to lunch,” Ravi says.
“We shouldn’t go in, then,” Emerald says. “Let’s move on.”
Rolleck peers over Riyo’s shoulder and his eyes widen. “Hold on a moment, Emerald.” His hand drifts to his now-tattered waistcoat. Few of his good clothes have survived their recent escapades, and the cornucopia of silken wonder before him runs his imagination towards a wardrobe full of neat, cleanly-tailored trousers and waistcoats.
“It’s pretty,” Glitter says.
“I thought you didn’t see the way we do,” Ravi says.
“I don’t.” Glitter’s screen mists up, muting his blue light. Lines begin to crease the grey of his façade, shooting across from left to right at different rates until it is a torrent of sideways rain. “I feel energy. But light is energy, too, and that’s how you see. The streaks begin to bounce off the other side of his face, creating a messy web of ricochets. “Perhaps what is in our minds differs when we look through that door, but I see all the colours differently just as you do. The shapes and the air movements, the temperature changes and the way the light glances off the motes of dust in the air. I have my own definition of pretty to enjoy.”
“Uh, sorry,” Ravi says. “I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. If anything, my view is much prettier than yours. I wish I could share it with you.”
“Yeah,” Ravi says, looking back at a room that only contains coloured fabric to his eyes. “Maybe you can make me some goggles or something.”
Glitter’s face goes flat grey again, and he draws himself a wide grin.
“That’s a great idea!”
Behind them, Emerald sighs. “We’re going in, aren’t we?”
“Just a quick look around,” Rolleck says, already standing by the closest rack of fabric and running his hand over it with a delicate touch. “Perhaps the proprietor will return, and we can ask her what kind of prices she offers. This is very good silk.”
“We basically have no money,” Riyo says, picking up the ribbon on the counter and inspecting it. Two strands unfurl from the main bow, trailing over the wood. “Hey Ravi, help me put this on.”
“Is that a good idea?” Emerald says.
“I’m not going to take it. I just want to try it on.”
Ravi looks the ribbon over for a moment before shrugging and slipping the metal clip through Riyo’s hair. The trailing strands flow down her back, while from the front the two most prominent loops of the bow stick up over her head, looking a little like the ears of a cat.
“Well?” Riyo says, spinning around so that the trails flare out then striking a pose for Emerald.
“I think it suits her,” Ravi says.
“It suits her appearance,” Emerald agrees, “but not her personality.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s too cute.”
“I’m cute!”
Ravi scoffs, then looks away embarrassed. “Sorry.”
Riyo puts her hands on her hips and pouts.
“Hey, guys!” Glitter shouts from somewhere amongst the drifting fabric.
His urgent singsong draws them down aisles of colour until they come to a tapestried wall. A single curtain of fabric sweeps from a display of delicate white lace to a glut of luxurious red velvet almost a hundred metres away. It is a pale lilac, leaning towards white, and depicts a procession of characters in uncomfortable detail, their colours striking and their features terrified.
“Those are hill trolls,” Rolleck says.
“See? They look quite fashionable,” Emerald says.
“They all look fashionable,” Ravi says. “I’ve no eye for it, really, but they’re all dressed up.”
“They’re also all dead,” Riyo says.
“It’s a very creepy piece,” Glitter agrees.
The parade of people – human and otherwise – all have a knife stuck in their back. The wounds bleed excessively, streamers of red silk bursting like fireworks from their wounds. The blade itself, however, is always clean. It has a hooked blade with an inscription along it, and the stitching is so fine and perfect that the words are clear even on the smallest iteration. The figure it pierces is barely fifteen centimetres tall.
“Is that a fairy?” Ravi says.
“She does have wings,” Riyo says.
“I didn’t know they were real,” Rolleck says.
Emerald stares at the tiny figure, a dark feeling creeping up on her. “I think… I think I recognise her.”
“Well, that settles it,” Ravi says. “We should leave.”
“Yeah…” Riyo says slowly. “What do you think it means, though?”
“Pull the thread ‘til all unwinds. Leave them on the other side.’,” Rolleck reads. “Maybe-”
There is a crash and the sound of a clattering bell from back towards the counter. They all spin around, raising weapons and claws. Riyo whispers open her reality and watches as the fabric lilts in the disturbed air.
“It’s still moving,” Glitter says after a moment of tense silence.
The sway and flutter of the hanging silk is growing stronger, as though whipped by a wind that does not exist. The light that brought it all to life is fading, the high windows clouding with grey wool.
“We should go,” Emerald says.
There is a sudden roar as the imaginary wind becomes real. Fabric snaps taut then flickers back, the sound of a thousand flags flashing their colours in the fading dusk. There are several metallic cracks behind them, and Riyo turns in time to see the tapestry flick loose of the wall.
“Guys-” she says, before the heavy fabric enshrouds them.
The wind fails. Cloth flutters its last before falling still. The soft tinkle of a bell tiptoes through Witch Gravira’s Emporium of Silk and Other Quality Fabrics. Light reaches through from the foothills beyond the door and touches a beautifully expressive tapestry depicting humans, trolls, fairies, dragons, and at least one ice robot.
Emerald opens her eyes. They are met by soft sunlight flashing between the dancing leaves of the canopy high above her. The wind sends the sound of their rustling cascading down upon her, joined by the calls of familiar birds. The ground beneath her is damp and a little cold, encouraging her to stand. All around her, the forest marches away. Stout tree trunks wrapped in wrinkled bark provide a comfort that she has been subconsciously missing ever since she left this place.
“But how can I be back here?” she asks the Everstall Song.
“You never leave the trees behind, Emerald,” a quiet, female voice says.
Emerald stiffens. She jerks around, but the forest is empty of movement. Behind her, though, there is a twistwood sapling. It is only as tall as she is, now, but in a few years, it will tower over the rest of these trees. Its trunk will continue to spiral up, wood becoming so dense that even the most determined lumberjack would break his axe on its hide.
“Welcome home,” it says.
“This is impossible.” Emerald rubs her eyes, then blinks at the sapling in the hope that, between one and the next, it will vanish.
“Perceptions can be twisted in thousands of ways, Emerald. I taught you that. You, and her.”
Light flickers across the corner of Emerald’s sight. She turns to find a trail of twinkling dust drifting down from above her, marking a path through the air.
“No…” Emerald leaps after it, her wings pushing her to the branch where the trail goes cold. Her claws rest on the bark without breaking it and she peers around the trunk. There is no more dust. No more trail. A playful giggle reaches her, but it sounds impossibly distant.
“I had such hopes for you, Emerald.”
She turns back to the twistwood sapling. It has grown several metres, its trunk thickening, its bark turning towards the deep shadow-black of adulthood.
“You both made me so proud.”
Emerald’s heart is racing, her pilot roaring in her throat. The dread in the pit of her stomach turns to anger, and she drops from the branch and approaches the tree again.
“You tricked me,” she says. “You lied to me. To both of us.”
“Yes,” the tree says. “And you knew it long before you left. Both of you. Can you really blame me for what happened?”
“You took advantage of my naivete. I made a mistake, by trusting that you had good reasons.”
“Excuses.”
“Regrets.”
That giggle again, biting at the back of her mind and scratching beneath her scales. Emerald growls deep in her throat, casting her attention this way and that, trying to locate its source. She turns back to the tree with a snarl on her face.
“Hey, Em.”
Between her and the tree, practically touching the tip of her snout, is a glowing figure. Her wings flicker with light and movement, tiny scales tumbling free and raining down towards the mossy ground. She wears a spider-silk bra and short skirt that glimmer in the glow of her own flight, and her blonde hair is caught up in a tail that falls well below her feet. As beautiful as she ever was, her smile still does not touch her eyes.
“Boop,” she says, and punches Emerald in the nose.
“Well this obviously isn’t real,” Riyo tells the vast darkness around her. The ground beneath her bare feet is cold and scattered with small stones that dig into her soles. “This place doesn’t exist anymore.”
Her voice doesn’t bounce back from anything. She knows there are stalactites far above her that drip musty water into meagre puddles. She knows there are rats, lizards and insects trapped here. These things sustained her for a long time. She also knows about the mirrors. The ones down here reflect the world above. The ones above reflect only darkness.
“Indeed,” a chilling voice says. “So how could you be here now?”
Riyo swallows. “It would take someone who knew of it. Or could pull it from my memories.” She turns around.
“Or both,” Elvolar Lightseer says.
Iron is an interesting metal.
Rolleck the Lost does not know where he is. In many ways, this is immaterial. He isn’t going anywhere. The bars that surround him are made of an interesting metal. The floor beneath his feet is made of an interesting metal. Above him, an interesting metal indeed.
It is a middle metal.
The middle metal is cool to the touch, but the air around Rolleck is warm. There is an orange tint to the light that suffuses this strange place that suggests a flame.
Obsolete in the face of steel, and yet…
There are people, out beyond the bars. Their silhouettes pass by his prison, blurred holes in the orange light. Rolleck feels as though they are judging him.
There is something that humanity finds captivating about it. It has a purity. A lore. Iron has a solidity that has endured despite the coming of stronger metals.
Rolleck looks down at his sword. At the barbs that surround his arm. Its song is quiet, his sense for battle dulled even surrounded by these potential enemies.
“You’re much too talkative, all of a sudden,” he says.
It’s time we talked. “Face to face.”
Glitter stands on the side of a familiar mountain, cloaked in falling snow. Crooked forests hide ligmists and worse from the failing light that seeps through clouds so thick they could choke someone.
“Riyo?” he says. “Ravi?”
“Your friends are not here,” Tremble says beside him. She is hidden beneath her layers of wool, only her ruddy cheeks and nose visible beneath the brim of her hat.
“Is anybody here?”
“No. Just us.”
“Why are we here?”
“Because this is a place where people meet those with whom they need to talk.”
“There is a lot I need to talk to you about,” Glitter agrees.
“Then talk.”
Glitter whistles for a moment. It helps him to think, and there is a lot to think about. The snow falls, around them, but none lands on Glitter’s chassis. He cannot feel the cold that should accompany its descent from the messy sky. Time should flow around him, but he cannot feel that, either.
There is only one thing that needs to be said.
“I took Albert from you.”
“I forgave you, Glitter. And I meant it.”
Glitter whistles a sad note. “I know. But it does not feel comfortable to be forgiven. Even with my limited experience of humanity, I think it would be better to be punished than to be forgiven when you do not feel you deserve it.”
“Is that what you would like? To be punished?”
Tremble comes to stand before Glitter. There is a wall of snow stacked upon the brim of her hat, and as she shakes her head it cascades down over her face, blustering into a storm around her. When it settles, it is no longer Tremble who stands before him, but Albert.
“Then perhaps it should be me,” he says. “After all, it was my life you took.” His soft eyes hold a sadness that Glitter recognises from the moment before he died. They watch Glitter for a while, then look slowly to the ground. A hooked silver knife lies in the snow between them.
“Hello?” Ravi shouts. He is standing on a cobbled street, and the sky above him is jewelled with stars. Everything is faded, though. The wind does not move the air, there is no smell of mud or stir of human activity. It is as though the scenery around him has been painted onto walls that hold him prisoner.
And if he is a prisoner, then the jailer is his conscience. He knows this street. He has seen it often in the last few weeks in his dreams. Even in this theatre backdrop version, there is a blood stain on the cobbles at his feet. It is the blood of two people – one a boy he failed to save, the other a woman whose life he took.
“I was your first, huh?”
Ravi grabs for a bow he doesn’t have and paws at an empty quiver. Even Riyo’s donated knife isn’t there. This place has robbed him of his weapons.
“What, you wanna shoot me again?”
The lizard-traited woman wears a sardonic grin. Her eyes are black pits, her hair dark, short and slicked back. She has smudges of green scales beneath her eyes and on her neck.
“What is this place?” Ravi asks, scowling.
“That’s a nice expression,” the girl says. Her slim, forked tongue passes over her lips. “But this is a place for talking, not fighting.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Ravi turns back to the stain on the ground. “I have plenty to say to him, but nothing for you.”
“Oh? what?” There is an edge of anger in her voice now. “’Sorry. Sorry. Sorry,’” she bawls. “’I should have murdered her quicker. Sorry sorry sorry. Can you ever forgive me? I’m so sorryyyyyyyy.’”
Ravi spins around and marches up to her as she mocks wiping away her tears.
“You killed him,” he spits.
“Yeah. So what do you have to apologise for, dumbass?”
“I failed-”
“You weren’t quicker than me twitching my finger? You failed to anticipate how easily I can kill? Gimme a break. You want it to be your fault. You’ve got a guilty heart, and if you tell yourself this is why, you get sympathy. You get people trying to cheer you up by repeating the obvious. That it absolutely wasn’t your fault.”
“But-”
“But if it wasn’t your fault, why the guilt?”
“I could have-”
She slaps him. It feels impossibly cold, as though her fingers have left an icy brand on his face.
“Proud much?” she says. “I could have moved faster than light itself and resolved an impossible situation with my glorious powers.” She folds her arms beneath the Frostburne crest on her chest and stares into his eyes. “There was nothing you could have done to save him. You feel guilty because of all of the things you could have done to save me.”
Emerald hits a tree and feels its trunk crack. It tilts over her but becomes entangled with another and is left leaning drunkenly against it. It is a moment before Emerald can breathe, and when she looks up, Essomay is fluttering before her again.
“That’s for leaving.”
Emerald stares at her for a long time.
“What?” She folds her arms and cocks her head. “You think you didn’t deserve it?”
“I heard you were captured,” she says eventually. “That… That they tore off your wings and put you in a cage in the centre of that town until…”
Essomay’s face goes a little pale, but she shakes her head. “Did you think master would let that happen?”
“Yes!” Emerald says. “After what she did to get us to that point in the first place. I thought you could see it. I thought…” She looks away. “I thought you trusted me.”
“I thought you trusted me, Em. “Master is right. We both knew we weren’t doing a good thing, taking that sword.”
“I know,” Emerald says. She meets Essomay’s eyes again. “But we thought we were doing it for a good person. For a good reason.”
“We were!” Essomay clicks her tongue. “Have you forgotten what master faced?”
Emerald’s eyes widen. “You don’t know…”
“Know what?”
“But you were right there with me when… Unless…” Emerald clenches her jaw. “Damnit.”
“You’re not making much sense there, Em,” Essomay says.
“I was tricked. Again.” Emerald stands up and marches past Essomay to the twistwood tree, which now breaks through the canopy above. Its bark is as black as coal, its trunk twisting around on itself like a monstrous spring, wound tight enough to break.
“You never told her, did you?” Emerald growls at the tree. “It was an illusion.”
“Never told me what, Em?”
The tree is silent. Emerald snarls and turns back to Essomay.
“She was lying to us, Ess. The World Force was never after her. They probably have no idea who she even is. It was all a lie she told us so we would help her get her hands on that sword.”
“What? That’s not true… That World Force general tried to kill her! We both saw it!”
“We saw an illusion,” Emerald says, slumping against the tree. Her claws press into the bark, but even she cannot break it. “Master, she… She was far stronger than either of us ever knew. She taught us nothing, Ess. Talking through trees, touching the power of the forest, encouraging things to grow… I’ve seen dryads, since then. I know what they’re capable of. Their understanding of life is incredible. You remember those mushrooms, don’t you?”
“Huh? Oh, the ones that made you talk to that tree because you thought it was a dragon?” Essomay giggles again. “That was so funny.”
“It was,” Emerald says, smiling slightly. “But master could control those mushrooms to such a degree that she could determine exactly what illusion you saw.”
Essomay stops giggling.
“And then she could take that poison and imbue it into the apples she gave us.”
“No… but…”
“The World Force never had an interest in that sword. Its defenders were dryads.”
“No…”
“I’m afraid so,” their master says.
Essomay stiffens, and streamers of red burst from between her wings. Emerald tries to lunge forward, but tendrils of twistwood grab her arms. Rough bark scratches over her scales, binds her wings to the trunk of the tree. All she can do is watch and scream. The blood doesn’t look real. Almost like ribbons unfurling into the air behind Essomay.
The fairy’s body drifts to the ground slowly, wings moving fitfully against the fallen leaves until they are still. The air moves, folding aside to reveal perfect, pale-green skin and dark, pine-green hair. A glint of silver draws Emerald’s eyes to a hooked knife, unmarred by blood. Then she is staring into a pair of soft brown eyes.
“It’s been so long, Emerald,” her master says.
Riyo considers for a moment.
“Nope,” she says.
“Hmm?”
“You’re not really my master. His reality feels different.”
Elvolar Lightseer chuckles. His misty grey robes have a hood that hides his face in shadow, and a golden World Force logo emblazoned over his heart.
“You’re right, of course,” he says. The hood turns left and right. “This is a place that delves into your mind and searches for… something.”
“What? You always used to have all the answers.”
“Yes, and I told you what I felt you needed to know.”
“Nothing.”
“But then, I’m not your master, am I?”
“Yeah. Right. So what are you?”
Her master shrugs. “Something that wishes you to believe I am Elvolar Lightseer. Unfortunately, the image you have of your master is someone who would never suffer such nonsense.”
“So you just… told me?”
He shrugs again.
Riyo begins pacing around her fake master. He stands before her scrutiny with the air of a man who is smirking, but she can never see his face to confirm it. Even when she moves closer to him, the shadows beneath his hood are complete.
“Well then, I suppose I need to figure out what you are in order to get out of here.”
“Consider it a test,” fake Elvolar says. The smirk is in his voice. Riyo wonders if that is just a projection of hers, too. He always did seem condescending when he was teaching her, though his face never reflected it.
“I can’t open my reality, but not because someone is suppressing me. It’s as though I’m just not a crafter here. I’m naked, presumably because I was always naked while I was in this prison. Although…” she reaches up and finds the ribbon still in her hair. “It’s probably not a coincidence that the ribbon from the shop wasn’t affected.”
Fake Elvolar shakes his head and sighs. “It was a long shot, but I always hoped you would heed my advice and pursue a more… academic path. This is torturous.”
Riyo steps forward and punches her master in the gut. He groans and falls to one knee, coughing.
“Shut up,” she says. “Anyway, I did. I left you to go to the apothacarium and read a bunch of books. I’m basically an expert on Calis, now. Unfortunately, I’m not there yet.”
“Ouch,” her fake master says once he has his breath back.
“Actually.” Riyo stops. “Maybe this is something from Calis.”
“Oh?”
“That tapestry. If the whole thing had been soaked in mana, then it would have magical properties.”
“Okay,” Fake Elvolar says, standing up. “What does that mean for you?”
“Not much,” Riyo says, scowling. “But mana always imbues stuff with something specific. Sometimes it leaks through where the Reach is close to the surface and makes pools in caves. Whenever the World Force finds some, they do experiments with it… I guess you know that.”
“How could I?” he says, World Force logo gleaming on his chest.
Riyo sighs. “So, obviously this enchantment is affecting my mind. You said it found you in my memories, which means it’s looking into my past, but what for?”
“I don’t know, and it seems I am not allowed to know. The version of me in your head is flatteringly intelligent, even without the use of my reality. Even so, every time I try to think about it, I simply stop thinking.”
“That’s… weird.”
“Still, it brought me to you, rather than somebody else from your past. How do you feel about me?”
Riyo puts her fists on her hips. “You’re a dick.”
“This isn’t real,” Rolleck says. He swallows. “It can’t be.”
“Why not?” the creature says. It is hunched, so that both its head and shoulders touch the roof of the cage. Black iron skin laced with thick muscles is pierced by spikes and wrapped by barbed wire where it isn’t covered by plates of more iron. Both of its arms end in blades that mirror the one strapped to Rolleck’s arm. Scars of rust mar its exposed ‘flesh’, and a mask hides its face, held in place by chains that wrap around its neck. Glowing red eyes peer from tiny slits in the otherwise-featureless mask, and they pin Rolleck in place with their contempt for him.
“You can’t get out. Not for… not for nearly a year, yet.” Rolleck swallows again, but he knows he is right. “You’re too talkative, and this place is too unreal. This is…”
“What? Do you think there is nothing out there that could free me early? No power that could draw me into the same space it brought you?” It slams one of its blades against the bars of the cage. They tremble, ringing out their anguish and scaring the silhouettes without to flight. “This cage is our ring in which to… talk.”
Rolleck realises he has been backing away when his shoulders touch the cage. He has been putting off thinking about this moment, knowing that he had time. Knowing that he could keep running. His blade is still quiet, and he can feel his sword arm shaking. He grips its handle tight, but it does nothing to quell the fear within him.
The creature laughs. Its voice is deep and filled with a slow menace.
“You want to fight me? You know how that will end.”
“It is all I have left,” Rolleck says. “My only hope of redemption.” He raises his blade and takes a shaky breath. “If it comes earlier than I expected, then so be it. The conditions haven’t changed.”
The creature’s laughter returns, seeming to ring with the same resonance as the iron that surrounds them.
“Very well.”
Rolleck ducks. The pressure of the creature’s swing drives him to one knee, and when he looks up, the cage is a ruin. Fragments of old iron rain down on them both as the creature straightens to its full height. Rolleck steps back over the twisted metal that imprisoned him, the tip of his sword wavering.
“Running again?”
Rolleck grits his teeth. He is stronger, now, than he had been the first time. He has fought his way back to civilisation and then through it. He can face now what he ran from then.
He takes another step back.
The creature steps forward over the edge of the cage. Here the ground is pale dirt, and it takes the thing’s monstrous footprint – too triangular to be human, with pointed toes bound in bands of iron. It takes one more step, and then its left blade is pressing down on Rolleck. His sword groans under the pressure, his muscles screaming their everything up at the creature. It twitches its arm and Rolleck falls to his knees.
“Swordsmen speak with their blades,” it sneers. Another twitch of its wrist sends Rolleck flying backwards, rolling to a stop against a pillar of iron that reaches from the earth to demarcate the boundary between nothing and nothing. The creature is standing over him when he looks up.
“Do you remember who told you that?”
“My father,” Rolleck chokes, trying to pull himself to his feet.
“My voice is still louder than yours.” It looks up. “It was louder than his, too.”
Rolleck follows the creature’s gaze to the top of the pillar. There is a statue there, intricate in its detail. It depicts Rolleck’s father, a stately man with eyes far harder than the iron in the statue. The hilt of an ancient sword sticks from his chest, its fine steel blade emerging from his back.
“What is this place?” Rolleck says, turning from the statue and allowing the heat of anger to overawe his fear for a moment. “Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I am.” The creature leans forward, the blades on its arms shimmering from their dull grey to a much crisper silver. There are words etched into their metal, but the creature’s face is now all Rolleck can see. “It matters what you are.”
“What?” Rolleck says.
“A traitor.”
Albert’s hair matches the snow that surrounds him. It sticks out from his head in counterintuitive ways, giving him a nonsensical halo. It had been white the whole time Glitter had known him, and he had claimed it was ‘a natural scientist’s style’. He is wearing his dark overalls and snow boots, and the hand that reaches out to pluck the dagger from the ground is covered with a thick glove.
He holds the dagger and stares at it. Reads its inscription several times.
“I was never much for poetry,” he says after a time. “Tremble was much better at using her words. She almost had to translate for me, at meetings of the town council.”
“Pull the thread ‘til all unwinds. Leave them on the other side,” Glitter sings.
Albert smiles faintly. “I didn’t give you a voice like that on purpose, you know? As soon as I discovered you had the capacity for speech, I wanted you to be able to explore it as quickly as possible. I had to cannibalise one of Tremble’s old flutes. You started whistling and singing before I got the chance to make it more human-like, and I felt as though you had found a voice that was truly yours – not designed by me. I didn’t want to take it away after that.”
“I like my voice,” Glitter says. “But you did give it to me. That’s not something that upsets me. You gave me everything, and I’m proud of that.”
“You have nothing of your own, Glitter.” Albert gestures at him with the knife. It isn’t a threat – more like he has forgotten he is holding it – but it makes Glitter feel a little uncomfortable. Reminds him that this place is not real. That Albert is not real.
“I’m trying,” Glitter says. “I’m travelling and learning. Making new friends. Like you wanted me to.”
“It was tough, deciding to let you go. But I was so looking forward to hearing your stories when you came back.”
Glitter whines. “I stole that chance from you. I stole your future.”
“You think you betrayed me. You think you should be punished for it.” Albert has returned his gaze to the dagger in his hands. “Well I’m not going to.” He looks up, turning the dagger over in his hands and offering Glitter the hilt. “You didn’t betray me, Glitter.”
“Why should I believe that?” Glitter says, voice peppered with the discordant notes of anger. A tendril of snow whips the knife from Albert’s hand. “You’re not Albert. You were Tremble a minute ago. You’re trying to manipulate me, and I don’t even know what for.”
“We’re two people and a knife,” Albert points out. “Logically, there are two potential outcomes.”
“I stab you or you stab me,” Glitter says, drawing on a scowl. “And you just said you wouldn’t stab me. Well, I’m not going to stab you, either. That’s too obvious.” He traces out the words on the knife again. “’Pull the thread’. What thread? We’re inside a tapestry, so maybe I literally just have to find a thread.”
“You just complained about an idea being too obvious,” Albert says.
“Well what else could it mean?”
“A thread could be a theme,” Albert says. “Or something that connects things together.”
“Or that connects people together,” Glitter says, tone brightening. “That would explain why we’re here together.”
“’Pull the thread ‘til all unwinds’,” Albert says.
“Does… does it want me to detach myself from you?”
“I don’t know,” Albert says. His hands have fallen to his sides, and he wears an untroubled expression. It reminds Glitter of the times when he was deep in thought. No matter what quandary he was tussling with, he always looked as though he had just switched off for a moment.
“Well I’m not doing it anyway,” Glitter says. “Forgetting you would be the biggest betrayal of all.”
“Leave them on the other side,” Albert says with a slight smile.
“Oh. Then… I guess pulling the thread would trap me here anyway. I should probably avoid using the knife at all.”
“Save you?” Ravi growls. “I wanted to kill you. I want to kill you again now.”
“What’s stopping you?” the lizard-woman says. She reaches into the pocket of her trousers and pulls out a short knife. “Here.”
Ravi frowns at the hilt of the blade. The woman is still wearing her smug smile. Her eyes tell him nothing.
“Why would you give me that?”
“So you can stab me. Duh.”
Ravi takes it from her unresisting grip. It is silver with a hooked tip and words scrolling down its blade.
The woman spins around. There is a bulge at the base of her back that must be the stump of a tail.
“Come on,” she says. “Right here.”
“I…” Ravi says, looking down at his hands. “I can’t just…”
“What? End a life? Why not? You did it the first time.”
“You had just killed a child.” His hand tightens around the hilt of the blade as he stares at the back of the woman’s head. In his mind he replays that moment again. “You were taking others away to be eaten by that… that thing. You were a monster.”
“So kill me, then.” There is a note of impatience in her voice.
Ravi raises the knife. Its sharpness gleams in the starlight, scaring away shadows and guiding its own path down into the woman’s back.
“I can’t,” Ravi says, letting his arm fall to his side.
“Ugh,” she says, turning around. “So boring.”
“What?”
“Well, you just described how bloody dreadful I am, then you can’t even stab me.” She shrugs. “People with consciences are so dull.”
“Why are you even here?” Ravi says. He shouldn’t let the accusation of having a conscience hit him like an insult, but somehow it stings anyway.
“I actually have no idea,” she says. Her midnight eyes don’t betray her glances, but she is looking around. “I guess this is some kind of reflection of your soul? You can tell because it’s so dull.”
“Whatever,” Ravi says. “Since I’m not going to kill you and you’re not going to kill me, I need to find a way out of this place.”
“Everything’s made of cardboard,” the woman says. “Just punch your way out.”
Ravi wanders over to the door of the church. He glances at the inscription on the knife, then shrugs and jams it into the wood. It goes straight through.
“See,” the woman says, peering past him. “Cut us a doorway out of here.”
“Do you really think it’s going to be that simple?” Ravi says, sawing at the stage-dressing anyway.
“Why not?”
“Something very weird brought me here. It doesn’t seem right that escaping it should be so simple.”
The woman shrugs. “Sometimes things are easy. I guess you wouldn’t know that if you overthink every decision like you do.”
“Is it easy to kill a child?” Ravi says.
“Yes. Children are very weak. They don’t fight back.”
Ravi yanks the knife from the door and spins on her, blue light flashing amidst the roots of his feathers.
The woman just keeps smiling, as though she can see Ravi’s thoughts.
The flash of anger fades, and Ravi turns back to his work. He has made a long slash down one side of the door, but he can see only blackness through it.
“I’m different from most people, you know?” the woman says when Ravi’s door is half complete. “Or was, I guess.” She leans against the wall next to Ravi and stares up at the sky, the only part of this place that looks real. “I don’t care about people.”
Ravi grits his teeth and keeps sawing. The blade in his hand was not designed for this work, and he is building up a sweat. His palms ache from the press of the hilt, but more agonising is being here with the lizard-woman, reliving everything in his head.
“I look at you, and that kid, and I just see… Well. Flesh and blood. Bone. Hair. Dirt. You might as well be children’s toys. My parents insisted I was the same as everyone else, but if nobody else sees the world the way I do, how can I be? That’s why I don’t get it. You really care that you killed me. So much so that you can’t bring yourself to do it again, even in this made-up place. Even knowing that I’m not human.”
“You are human,” Ravi says, leaving the knife buried in the door and turning to face her again. “That’s why. I think about how you must have felt in that moment, the pain it must have caused you. I think about the life you could have had and the people you left behind. I can’t stop thinking about it. My dreams are filled with that arrow and the way your head just…” He closes his eyes.
“Huh,” the lizard-woman says. “Sucks to be you. I’ve killed loads of people and don’t remember any of them.”
Ravi clenches his teeth. Balls his fists. For a moment, he wants nothing more than to stab the woman. He knows he would feel different if he actually held the knife, though. So he turns and grabs it. Pours his energy into cutting the scenery away.
“That’s my point, though. We’re not the same species, you and I. You can’t just tell me to experience feelings the same way I can’t just tell you to stop experiencing them.”
“That doesn’t mean I should forgive you for killing Fallow.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” the woman says. “And I don’t think it’d make a difference if you did. This place is made out of your messed up subconscious. It’s not about how I feel about anything. It’s about you.”
Ravi has carved a decent-sized circle into the door, so he steps back and lays a kick in its centre. The brittle card breaks free and falls away, scattering dust onto the faded cobbles. Beyond it lies darkness. The kind that makes Ravi shiver at the memory of the inky black dread that loomed over this very city.
The lizard-woman sticks her head through the hole without fear of reprisal. She looks this way and that, up and down, then turns back to him and shrugs.
“Absolutely nothing.”
Ravi sighs. “It knew it wouldn’t be that easy.”
“Maybe you should just stab me and get it over with,” the woman says. “I’m already dead, and bored out of my mind to boot.”
“Why do you think that would help?”
“We’re in some weird soul realm and there’s two of us and there’s a knife. Everything else is literally just set dressing. How heavy-handed do you need it to be?”
“Maybe you’re supposed to stab me,” Ravi says.
The woman blinks. “Huh. Didn’t think of that. Okay, gimme the knife.”
“No way!” Ravi takes a step away from her, raising it between them the way Riyo had taught him.
“Oh, so now you’re fine with stabbing me?”
“It’s different if someone’s trying to kill you.”
“Your brain doesn’t seem to think so.” The woman puts a hand on her hip. “So what’s it going to be? You or me? I’m fine with either.”
“Those can’t be the only two options.”
She starts walking forward, making Ravi back away. His back bumps into the cardboard wall of the church.
She grins. Starts rolling her hips on each step. “C’mon. Don’t be shy.” She puts her hand against the wall by Ravi and leans in, lowers her voice to a whisper. “Stick it in me.”
Ravi’s face feels flush with the heat of embarrassment and anger. He hates the fact that even a creature as dreadful as her still makes him flustered.
So flustered that he can’t respond in time when she grabs his wrist and buries the knife to the hilt in her own chest.
Emerald breathes a lance of raw flame into her former master’s face, but the dryad is gone.
“We missed you, you know?” her voice says, once again emerging from the tree behind Emerald. “Ess and I had a hard time getting that sword.”
Emerald strains against the wood, but it is only growing thicker around her wrists.
“But we did it.”
Another strand of wood snakes its way over her shoulder and wraps around her snout. She jerks her head away, but it binds like iron, muzzling her and denying her flame.
The air changes again, and this time Emerald realises that it is her master’s skin, dying to match the forest behind her. She smiles and raises the sword so that its tip is beneath Emerald’s chin. It is iron, but rusted to the brown of dry earth. Holes in the blade make holes in its shadow as the light reaches through the canopy to brush against Emerald’s scales. There is no crossguard, and to the untrained eye the hilt looks to be plain wood.
“Ethiswood,” her master says dreamily. “Would that I could see the tree from which it was hewn. Can you imagine the power?”
The Ethis Tree, and there is only one, according to Emerald’s master, grows on Calis, in the centre of a swamp drenched in pure mana. To see it would be just a step away from Riyo’s dream.
Her master raises the sword above her and stares at it for a moment, before returning it lovingly to the scabbard on her back. In its place, she pulls out the knife she used to stab Essomay. Its blade glints clean in the light.
“All that’s left is to tie up these loose threads.” She reads the inscription on the blade and sighs. “Betrayal is always the sweetest when they understand its depths before they die, don’t you think?” She turns back to Emerald.
And faces an inferno.
Pink flames roll from Emerald’s crimson scales, scorching the air around her into a haze. The indestructible bark of the twistwood begins to darken. Cracks are born and migrate across its surface, until near-white fire seeps into the tree’s heart. Emerald stands amidst an explosion of burning sap and tumbling splinters, her eyes glowing with amber rage.
“I’m not so naïve as I was then,” she says. “I’m not so easy a mark.”
Beautiful hazel eyes narrow, twinkling with reflected light.
“You were a good student, Emerald,” she says. “It’s too bad you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong.”
“The only regret I have is that I fell for your lies in the first place,” Emerald growls. “Burn.”
Fire engulfs the clearing, rendering soil and fallen leaves to ash. The flames spin into a pillar and leap into the sky, cracking the clouds on their way to the heavens.
Steam hisses in the shimmering air above a perfect circle of charcoal. A sliver of silver shines in its centre, and, with her cowl receding, Emerald kneels and picks it up. The dagger is untouched by heat and unsmudged by soot. Emerald clutches it and looks around, not trusting that her master would die so easily. The clearing is empty, though. She can feel its trees, and they whisper of empty branches and lonely trunks. Nothing passes them. Nothing disturbs the air.
Emerald is alone.
“Why do you hate me?” Elvolar Lightseer asks.
“You were supposed to be my master,” Riyo says. “But you hardly did anything for me. I pretty much had to figure everything out by myself.”
Riyo is starting to feel cold. This place never got cold enough to endanger her health, but it was never comfortable, either. Even ignoring the things that lurked in this darkness and the ever-chattering mirrors, the very air felt hostile. Like it wanted you gone just as desperately as you wanted to be gone.
“That is one of the best ways to teach,” her fake master says. “We remember the things we work out for ourselves far better than those we are simply told.”
“That’s not much comfort to an imprisoned teenager,” Riyo says. “You promised me the key to my freedom, and power besides, and then spent years popping up in the back of my head and giving me cryptic lectures.”
“Crafting isn’t an easy thing to learn.”
“I only have your word for that. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a rubbish teacher, I’d have picked it up a lot quicker.”
“So how do you feel about me, Riyo?” Elvolar says, ignoring her scolding. “Break it down.”
“Ugh, I hate that phrase.”
“I use it a lot, don’t I?”
“Always. There’s only so far things can be broken down before you can’t see them anymore!”
“There’s always another level,” Elvolar says, the smirk returning to his voice. “And no matter how it irks you, you can always see more when you have more pieces to look at.”
“Ugh,” Riyo says again. “Fine. I don’t like you. I am annoyed by you. I think you’re not as handsome as everyone else says you are.”
“Huh.”
“Let’s see…”
“What comes through most strongly, Riyo?”
“You betrayed me,” Riyo says, then blinks. She’d spoken her first thought, but hadn’t actually considered it before. “You promised everything and withheld it for your own nonsense reasons. You left me here because it made it easier. You treated me like an experiment. A rat, conveniently trapped for you to prod and probe.” She realises she is breathing harder, and her hands have balled to fists.
Elvolar’s hood tilts down, and Riyo follows his gaze.
“I think you’re right, Riyo. I think I’m supposed to use that.”
The dagger is a light unto itself in this infernal darkness.
“Why do you say that?”
“Every fibre of my false existence yearns to stick it in your back.”
“No chance,” Riyo says, scooping it up and spinning it round in her hand.
“What will you do?” There is an edge to his voice, now. Like his control is slipping.
“I think I’ll stab you with it.”
Not-Elvolar laughs. It is cold. “If I betrayed you, it is I who stabbed you in the back. If this is all a metaphor for my unfair treatment, then-”
“Then why should I put up with it a second time?” Riyo says. “I think turnabout is fair play.”
Not-Elvolar’s hood sways as he shakes his head. “That stubbornness, that unwillingness to bend, will be your death, Riyo Falsemoon. Do you really think you can succeed? Where countless others have failed? Where I have failed?”
His words kick Riyo in the chest, staggering her heartbeat and sending her eyes wide.
“You tried to find the sunlight stone?”
“It cannot be found, Riyo.” His voice has iron in it. “Intellectrum.”
Lightning strikes. Its blue-white fury cascades through Riyo’s thoughts, erasing everything as it goes. Her arms go limp, bloodless fingers twitching as the dagger slips from them, clattering against the stones.
“Turn around, Riyo,” her master’s voice says, and it is immovable as the earth. She can only shift her feet in acquiescence. She hears him stoop to retrieve the dagger, but her body is not her own. She can feel him rifling through her mind, plucking at her memories like a seamstress clearing away loose threads.
“It is better this way,” he says. “The darkness here is far kinder than the darkness you will find should you continue down this path.”
Something tickles Riyo’s back, wafted against her skin by some hidden breeze. It feels like sunshine glancing down on her and sparks a warm thought, as though a hole has been melted in the frozen lake of her mind, feeding heat to the water beneath. Thoughts dribble out, weak and slow. Thread. Ribbon. Mana.
Her fingers move.
“Goodbye, Riyo.”
She reaches back and grabs the trailing hair ribbon. Fire roars through her, blasting ice to steam and liberating her mind. She spins and slaps the knife from the phantasm’s hand. It skitters away into the darkness.
“What?”
“The mana in the tapestry,” Riyo says, still clutching the ribbon. It’s the same as in the ribbon. Whatever gives you powers that look like my masters can be negated. And. Gravity Mould.”
A rush of exhilaration greets the opening of her reality. The dagger flickers out of the black and into her hand while the weight of Riyo’s anger forces the fake Elvolar to his knees. With the mana-infused ribbon clutched in her hand, he is powerless. Just a man. Just a trick of her imagination given flesh.
The smirk is still in his voice when he speaks, though it is strained by the pressure upon him.
“What will you do?”
Riyo glances down at the knife.
“Not gonna stab you,” she decides. “I know I said it, but actually I don’t think you did betray me. You just betrayed my expectations. I never trusted you enough for you to actually betray me, and I don’t think you ever trusted me to do anything.”
“Ha,” fake-Elvolar says. “I think you have a lot of misconceptions about your master, Riyo Falsemoon.”
“I think you don’t have a clue,” Riyo growls. The air around her grows heavier. The stones around her feet tremble, then begin to crack. Fake-Elvolar is brought low, until he is flat on his belly. He makes no sound, and within the blink of Riyo’s eyes he is gone, his robe ironed of all creases against the cold ground.
Riyo lets her reality close and pokes the robe with her toe. It is empty. The darkness of her former prison leaps back into her peripheral vision, and she suppresses a shudder. The robe is a little big for her, but she drapes it over her shoulders anyway, tying the cord around her waist. The hood droops over her eyes, so she throws it back.
Water drips in the distance, interspersed with the sound of small, skittering claws. The familiar not-quite-silence makes the middle of Riyo’s back itch. A lingering discomfort that compels her forward. She does not think of this place often anymore. Though she survived it, it stole three years of her life with its wretched emptiness. Her feet trace an invisible path she recalls from the feel of the stone alone, drawing her to the only place she ever felt solace here.
The mirror in her memory reflected a dusty room filled with broken bookshelves. Leather-bound tomes lay strewn across the carpeted ceiling, and in the centre of the open space stood a thin chain propping up a grand chandelier. Its candles were all broken in half rather than burned down. Ladders had been put up around the room by curious explorers, but none of them had ever found anything worth the danger that lingered in the inverted palace. Ancient elemental sentinels warred with nightmares that crawled out through one of the many incursions that opened out beneath the Plains of Chaos. The only curiosity anybody had found there worth returning for, was a girl trapped in a mirror.
In this fake world of her mana-warped memory, the mirror in her prison is just a sheet of black silver. It shines like the night and seems to quiver without moving. Riyo twirls the lipstick-red ribbon around her hand and stares at it for a moment. She then presses it against the mirror with her palm, and her hand slides through the surface. Like slipping beneath the waters of a still pond, Riyo passes through the mirror and escapes her prison a second time.
Rolleck rolls backward and the creature’s hooked blade slams into the iron pillar, ringing like a death knell. He moves around to keep the pillar between them, but as the demon flashes behind it, it vanishes.
Rolleck stops, his boots grinding sand. The orange air is still and silent all around him. He is alone with the pillar, and when his eyes trail back up to its apex he finds a different statue now adorns it. This one is a beast of iron with swords for hands.
“You made a mistake,” a voice says, and Rolleck is a transformed into a child. A boy with a name, but no future. “In fear and anger you took what was not yours.”
Mallick DeSilva steps from behind the pillar. His white suit is pristine, his salt-and-pepper moustache squarely covering his top lip. Shades of grey at his temples and severe lines around his eyes enhance his stately features. His iron-grey eyes pin the child before him to the ground.
“It was a trivial, childish betrayal,” he says. “But actions have consequences, boy.” The sheer white scabbard at his waist is empty, but a silver dagger appears in his calloused hands. “Crimes have punishments.”
The boy in Rolleck sees his adult self, standing behind his father. Though he tries to act the same, though he wears a noble’s clothes and style, he looks shabby by comparison.
The man Rolleck has become sees the boy he was and scowls. His desperation to please a creature that felt nothing for him. Who would cast him aside for a childish prank. Who would see his own son as an enemy. It’s revolting.
“Yours never did,” he says, and it is his younger self who forms the words. Anger pitches his voice higher and the truth loses its edge. “You always had a way out. You broke rules and laws, did horrible things, and saw nothing but prosperity.”
“Until you,” Mallick says. “You were my greatest failure.”
Young Rolleck feels the sting and recoils, but adult Rolleck closes his fists. In one of them, he feels the hilt of a knife.
“Why should I care?” he spits. “It was your failure. You convinced me that pleasing you was the only metric for my own success, but I know better now. My life is worth more without you in it.”
“If that is true, why do you hesitate?” The knife is gone from his hand, now resting in Rolleck’s. Instead, his scabbard bears a white-hilted blade. He draws it, and pain twinkles along its edge. He points it at young Rolleck. “Swordsmen speak with their blades.”
He has the stolen sword. The one he found hidden in the secret room behind his father’s office. The one that had been bound in frozen iron chains that shattered at the touch of his curious hand. It looks dull and edgeless compared to Winter’s Bite, but young Rolleck raises it to match his father. The same stance – drilled into him since before he can remember. It doesn’t match the blade he wields, and this fight can only go one way if no one interferes.
Rolleck is within a step of his father, watching the scene unfold from the outside. Perhaps, if the actors change, the curse would remain dormant. Perhaps, if reality changes to match a different event, he can be free.
The dagger glints as he raises it, the words etched into it forgotten. It is just a blade, and swordsmen speak with their blades. His muscles tense as a final burst of anger rushes through him, and he drives the dagger down.
His arm stiffens, his body rocked by an impact that doesn’t exist.
“It’s not real, Rolleck,” Riyo says. Her voice is the only soft thing in this harsh plane of hard things.
“I know,” he says through gritted teeth.
The man steps forward into the child’s charge. Swords clatter together, but from here Rolleck can see the way the old man is toying with him. He can see the contempt in every movement. The viciousness in every cut he lays into his son’s flesh.
“I believed I could pass everything to you,” he says as the child stumbles. “But I was wrong. It was mine and mine alone, and so it must die with me.” He kicks the dull iron from the child’s grip. “I must accept that, and so I have no more use for you.”
The child looks up, and there are tears in his eyes. They catch the light reflected from Winter’s Bite as it descends and shake free as the sword plunges through his back and into his heart.
“You found a way to end this?” Rolleck says quietly.
Riyo nods, stepping forward. She clutches the ribbon between her fingers and her reality expands to captures the whole scene, then slams it into the ground as though a planet has fallen onto it. Both figures vanish, and the creamy desert and its warm orange air are all that remain.
Rolleck stands and looks up at the iron pillar, now empty. He grits his teeth. This was supposed to be his past. Not forgotten, but left behind in a place where it could not touch him. Riyo comes to stand next to him.
“So…”
“Not going to talk about it,” Rolleck says.
“’kay. Let me know if you change your mind, though. Looks like a good story.”
“How do we get out of here?”
“This ribbon is infused with the same mana as the tapestry.” She twirls it around her fingers, and Rolleck notices the mark of the World Force on her robe.
“I take it you had a trip down memory lane, too?”
“Yep.” She glances down at the ribbon then shrugs. “I guess I learned something about myself?”
“Do you think that was the point?”
“Nah. Mana’s effects are pretty random.”
“Perhaps when we view our past with new eyes, we are bound to learn something new.”
“Maybe that’s it. You learn anything?”
“I learned that I have not learned anything. Not for a long time.”
“Huh. Well, I know loads of stuff about Calis, so just ask me anything.”
Rolleck smirks. “I don’t want to know anything about that place.”
“You will,” Riyo says, wandering over to the pillar. “Otherwise you won’t know what to do when we get there.” She touches a strand of the ribbon to the interesting metal, and it shimmers like water. Her hand submerges, and she waves for Rolleck to join her.
“Will this take us out?”
“Eventually, I think.”
She offers her hand and Rolleck takes it. They pass beneath the iron ripples and leave the empty desert just a little emptier.
“I think,” Glitter says, “that the thread is betrayal.”
He and Albert sit side-by-side in the snow – Glitter untroubled by his home element, Albert snug in his thick overalls and gloves.
“Did I betray you?” Albert says, looking across at him.
“In a way.”
The snow before them lifts and shapes itself into an alabaster mannequin, its hair a halo around its eyeless face. Its mouth splits open, revealing a savage snarl of pointed teeth, and its gloved hand thrusts a dagger towards the sky. It stops dead, then crumbles away into harmless flakes.
“You betrayed me in the same way Tremble did. By not hating me. It’s a betrayal of my expectations.”
“I betrayed you by giving you those expectations in the first place,” Albert says, turning back to the snow between his feet. “I told you people would hate you. Would reject you for your differences. I was so scared for you that I made the world of humanity – and thus myself – monsters in your head.”
“There are monsters out there,” Glitter says, and Yrith’s shadow plays across the ground before them. Plain and stocky, his malice infects the snow that lies beneath. Drags memories to mind unbidden of blood dripping over ice.
“But there are heroes, too,” Albert says.
Glitter draws himself a smile, watching the shadow shift and change shape, becoming more familiar. The misty air parts to let a figure pass into the space. “I know.”
“Who are you talking to, Glitter?” Riyo asks.
Glitter sits alone in the snow, wearing his soft smile. “Myself.”
The snow falls between them, crisp and clean. Riyo nods slowly.
“Okay. I guess you’re ready to leave?”
“Yes.” He stands on the legs his father built him. Whistles out in the voice his father gave him. “That robe suits you.”
Riyo glances down at the symbol on her breast and smirks to match Glitter. “Not quite yet,” she says. “But one day.” She kicks aside some snow to reveal shimmering ice beneath it, then presses the ribbon against it. Ripples grow, and another dream passes behind them.
The pair of them make a cliché tableau, Ravi reflects. With a mummer’s set framing them and the knife glittering too brightly between them, all they really needed was for her to stumble back, clutch her chest and declare ‘I am slain!’ before toppling to the fake cobbles.
This does not happen.
The lizard-woman sighs. “Guess it’ll have to be you.”
Ravi blinks away his shock as her claws rip across his chest. He yells in pain and anger, bringing his leg up between them and kicking her away. Lightning ricochets down the cardboard street, flashing across her scales as she tumbles then slides to a stop. When she looks up, she is still grinning, and her vicious fangs are laced with the last of his curse-breaker. She stands and rips the bloodless dagger from her chest.
Ravi paws at his chest and his fingers come away sticky and red.
“No hard feelings,” the lizard-woman says. “But this place is dull, and I don’t want to be trapped here anymore.”
“Wait,” Ravi says, raising a hand at her as she takes a step towards him.
She ignores it and keeps walking.
“If you’re a creation of my guilty conscience then won’t you vanish if I die?”
She gives a wide-shouldered shrug. “Better than being stuck existing.”
Ravi’s back is still to the wall, and he glances down the street towards where the keep is painted above the jagged cardboard rooftops.
“Run if you want,” the lizard-woman says. “You don’t have very many places to hide, and the hunt might be fun.”
Ravi shakes his head, clearing some of the doubt from it. He lowers his stance, and his curse-breaker arcs from the feathers of his upper arms down to his fists.
“Such an exciting power,” she says, slowing her approach and watching. Blue light flickers in her wary black eyes. “I wish I’d learned to use it.” She then shakes her head. “Groven never taught us anything.”
“Because he was using you,” Ravi says.
“Oh, I know. But he wasn’t picky about who he employed.” She starts moving towards him again, knife held in a reverse grip in her off hand. “We were cheap tools to him. I think he was like me – he didn’t feel for us. Could only use us. It was refreshing.”
Ravi moves to grab her wrist as she lunges forward with the knife, but it’s a feint. Instead, she grabs him and drags him into her rising knee. It drives his stomach into his spine and his breath explodes out of him. Light crackles as he swipes at her, but his clumsy blow hits only air.
“I was a good tool, you see. I did what I was told.”
Ravi recovers his stance and growls, dragging at the air with his lungs and blinking tears from the corners of his eyes. She darts forward and kicks for his face. His curse-breaker flickers through the feathers of his forearm as it connects. She tries to drag her claws beneath his guard, but he slams her hand aside. She follows it, twirling into a back kick that brings her heel into the side of his head and sends him sprawling.
“Maybe that makes you feel better. Knowing that you just broke a tool.”
Ravi scrambles to his knees and spits a glob of blood on the crumpled cobbles. They spin beneath him, a smudge of grey and black cloud. He looks up and finds the lizard-woman standing over him, some of the stars behind her moving, some of them still.
“It doesn’t,” he groans.
She shrugs. “Too bad. Guess you’ll have to die sad about it.”
Her foot meets Ravi’s chin and carries him into another cardboard wall. He slumps against it, his ears ringing and his limbs unwilling to move. His jaw hurts, but he opens his mouth.
“What if I could help you?”
She pauses, the silver knife the only clear thing in Ravi’s vision. She squats beside him, and he feels its cold metal slide down his cheek. Though he winces from the contact, he realises there is no pain.
“You can’t help me, bird-boy. Because there’s nothing wrong with me.”
She drops the knife beside him and traces its recent path with her claw. This time blood leaks down through the soft down on his face. He feels it creeping down his neck.
“And I don’t like being seen as a problem to be fixed.”
Her claw trails down after the blood, seeking his pulse.
“I prefer to be a tool.”
Ravi feels the pin prick pressing into his skin, and once again he sees the scene from his dreams. But this time, he doesn’t loose the arrow. This time his focus is captivated by the lizard-woman’s claws. By the fear on Fallow’s face. He sees himself reflected in the boy’s eyes as blood begins to flow from his neck and recognises the same fear on his own face. He closes his eyes to lock out the coward he sees.
“What if you were my tool?” he squeaks.
For a moment, he thinks he is dead. The breathless silence. The empty lack of sensation in frozen time.
“What?”
“If you kill me,” Ravi breathes. “You disappear. I die.”
“Yes.”
“It’s pointless.”
“It gets us out of this stupid place.”
“And how do you know that? What if I just vanish and you’re left floating in that void behind the walls?”
Ravi feels the pressure on his neck lessen.
“That would suck.”
“Right?”
“Okay,” she says, but the pressure returns. “But let’s talk terms.”
“What?”
“If I’m going to be your tool, I need to be sure you’ll use me properly.” Her voice gets closer to his ear. “I’m a pretty versatile tool, after all.”
“Whatever you want,” Ravi says, conscious of every beat of his heart pressing his neck against her claw. His breaths are sharp and shallow.
“I want a purpose,” she hisses. “I don’t care what happens to people, and I’ve been called a monster for that. But I am a tool, and a tool does only the work of the craftsman.”
“I can give you a purpose,” Ravi says. He needs to swallow but doesn’t dare.
“Hmm.”
Ravi’s head is clearing, and the throbbing ache of his skull and jaw contrast neatly against the sharp sting of his cheek and neck. He swallows, and it hurts.
“Then I have one term.” The woman removes her claw and stands before him, her arms crossed. “You remember I’m a tool. You remember what I am. And you don’t try to change it.”
Ravi blinks a few times. The street around them is still deserted, the still air musty. He doesn’t know what he is agreeing to. Not really. But if he can get out of this strange place, he will be free of her.
“I agree,” he says.
The woman hauls him to his feet, then grabs his right wrist. He yelps as she draws a line of blood down his palm. She does the same thing to her own, then offers him her hand. Her expression tells him nothing. Her eyes glint with starlight and blood drips from her hand.
He reaches out, and they shake.
The woman’s mouth turns up at the corners. “My name is Vale,” she says.
“Ravi.”
“I’ll see you again soon, Ravi.” She turns and walks away down the street, glancing once at the bloodstain that marks her end as she goes.
Ravi swallows, watching her go. His chest feels tight, and he is already regretting what he has done here. He touches his cheek and winces as the pressure inflames the cut. Vale seems to waver as she reaches a turn in the road, and then she is gone.
Ravi lets out a ragged breath. The sweat dripping between his feathers now feels cool against his skin. The chill of the night around him is amplified by its falsehood. Vales exit has left him alone with nothing but stars and cardboard.
And a knife.
Ravi scoops it up and reads its inscription.
“What thread?” he asks himself.
“I couldn’t figure it out either,” someone says by his shoulder, and Ravi leaps clean across to the other side of the road, his curse-breaker flickering around his body like a cloak.
“Hi,” Riyo says.
“Riyo…?”
“Yep. Did I interrupt something?”
“N-no. I was just trying to figure out how to get out of here…” He stares at the shimmering logo on Riyo’s robe for a moment, then meets her eyes again. “Are you… really… you…? you know?”
Riyo’s face grows more serious. “Yeah,” she says, twirling the end of her ribbon around her hand. “This ribbon is the same as the tapestry. I can use it to move around in here.” She stops. “It’s a little worrying that you’re the first person to stop and check.”
“Where are the others?”
“Um… That’s a tough one to answer.” She starts twirling the ribbon again, watching as it slips between her fingers over and over. “A kind of stasis?” She looks up. “That’s the best way I can describe it. Once I’ve found Emerald, I’ll pull us all out of the tapestry at once. I don’t want to shove people out one at a time because I have a feeling this Witch Gavira person won’t like that we got out of her stupid quilt.”
Ravi’s chest already feels warmer. His instincts tell him his friend stands before him, rather than some second spectre of his guilty mind.
“It’s good to see you, Riyo,” he says.
“Tough flashback?”
“You went through something like this?”
“Yeah. Same with the other two. Apparently it’s fishing people we betrayed out of our brains.”
“Why?” Ravi says, thinking about the deal he has struck.
Riyo shrugs. “It’s Mana – a natural phenomenon of Calis. Its effects are random, and they don’t really serve a purpose.”
“Huh. So… none of that meant anything?”
“To you, I guess? But it wasn’t part of the tapestry’s great plan.”
Ravi looks back down the road. It was hard to believe Vale would just walk away if she only existed within the tapestry. Then again, since she was a part of the tapestry, she should also have no grand agenda. Why, then, had she seemed so sure she would see him again?
Riyo notices the hole in the wall and wanders over to it. “This should work,” she says.
Ravi joins her and watches as she presses the ribbon into the blackness. Instead of simply passing through the hole, ripples billow from her hand, which disappears.
“Come on,” she says.
Ravi glances once again towards where Vale disappeared, then takes Riyo’s hand and passes into darkness.
Beneath a cascade of stars, a cardboard city sleeps. Its painted windows stare down empty streets and up at a grand backdrop on a distant curtain. The actors have made their bows and exited the stage, their brief story told. The lights go down, hiding a smudge of red on the grey cobbles.
Emerald places Essomay’s body on a tree stump. There is no wound on her back. Her wings are undamaged. Whatever magic the knife possessed; it killed her clean. She could be asleep if not for the stillness of her chest.
Emerald sits down among the ashes and stares at her former friend, barely seeing. Her scales ache, and she can feel each breath she takes. The devastation of her anger presses in on her. The line where charcoal and desolation become forest again feels like a cut across her heart. Her master, threadbare though her teaching was, had instilled in her the respect for life that was integral to the dryad’s arts. Had given her a passion she had not known before she left Yl Torat. Though her intentions had been wrong, Emerald had learned so much. Had tempered her dragon’s wrath and become something new.
Or she’d thought she had. All she can see in the ruination around her are her brother’s dire ambitions and the echoes of human tales of evil dragons kidnapping princesses. She had failed to save Essomay. Hadn’t even looked for her. She had abandoned her father and let Black kill him. She had learned nothing since leaving home. Only pretended to. The moment she was faced with adversity, she reverted into what she was. A monster. A dragon.
“You knew her?”
Emerald’s head whips round. Her claws scrape grooves in the ash as she leaps to her feet. Then she sighs, and the tension leaves her body once again.
“Yes. I knew her.” She turns back to Essomay, and Riyo comes to stand next to her.
“Nobody else has told me their stories,” she says. “You don’t have to either.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s my fault she’s dead,” Emerald says, “but I certainly didn’t help her. And I should have. She was my friend.” She turns to look at Riyo, then. “We trained as dryads together. Our master deceived and used us to get her hands on a powerful artefact. I thought Essomay was with me when we discovered the truth, but it was just another deception. It never even crossed my mind that she was still under her control. I…” She stops. Stares up at the sky for a moment.
“We’ve all been betrayed, Emerald. And we’ve all betrayed others. Even our smallest mistakes can be monstrous betrayals if the circumstances are right.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It wasn’t supposed to. It’s just a bit of perspective. We’re all just as fallible as each other. It’s what we do to fix things once we understand the harm we’ve caused that really matters.”
“And what can I do to fix her?” Emerald growls at her.
“Nothing,” Riyo says, unflinching at the dragon’s anger. “But there are still things you can do.”
“Like what?”
Riyo looks around. “I don’t know. But you do.” She reaches up and puts a hand on Emerald’s shoulder. “If you stop focusing on things you could or should have done, you’ll be able to see the things you can do. They might seem small, but they’re better than glaring backwards and doing nothing.”
Emerald closes her eyes and grinds her teeth against her anger. Riyo is right, but that doesn’t make it easy to look past her mistakes. Her betrayals.
“What can you do, Emerald?”
Emerald kneels and places a hand in the ash. Her claws reach until they grasp the rich soil beneath. The Everstall Song is resilient and forgiving, and that is true even in this false mirror. The nutrients and minerals in the ground here have borne life since long before the first dragon took flight. Seeds are nature’s patience, biding their time for years and decades, waiting for the space and energy they need to grow. Through her anger, Emerald has created that space. Perhaps, through her guilt, she can give them the energy.
She takes a deep breath, then holds it in her mouth. The heat of her pilot suffuses through the air, and when she exhales it shimmers with indigo light. It blows ash aside and glitters on the surface of the soil. She reaches out with her mind, the same way she does when she talks to the trees, and feels the seeds waiting for her. She tells them it is their time.
Riyo stumbles back as the ground begins to shake. Her bare feet tingle as grass sprouts through the layer of ash beneath them. All around the clearing, green swallows black and grey, then begins to turn brown. Great trunks swell up in seconds and throw out branches that clash against each other in their haste to hide her in shade. Around the stump where Essomay’s boy lies, wildflowers burst open like fireworks while a lattice of vines and fronds twirl themselves tight together, creating a shrine in her memory. Behind it, a monolithic twistwood spirals up and smashes through the canopy, its branches swirling out over the whole area.
Nature stills itself, then, and Emerald begins breathing again. She stands up and looks around, then turns to Riyo.
“It’s a small thing,” she says.
“But you did it,” Riyo says. “The only thing we can do is move forward and try our best to make up for our betrayals in little ways.”
“Thank you, Riyo.”
Riyo shakes her head. “If small mistakes can become big betrayals, it can work the other way, too. The small things we do might turn into miracles.”
“I hope so. It feels like there are too many shadows in my past to let anything good grow out of it.”
“I’m sure everyone feels that way, but they’re never right. Come on.” She leads Emerald through her new garden, following the soft sound of water. Just outside the space that was burned, a small brook has polished a stone outcropping into the facet of a gem. The algae in the water tints it green, so that it shines like an emerald.
Riyo pushes her ribbon into it, and it shimmers away from her touch.
“The others?” Emerald says.
“Waiting.”
“Then let’s join them.”
The forest waves farewell in the shaking of its branches and the babble of its waters, then reclaims the silence it has owned since Valos was new.
The five of them step together onto mossless stone. The chill air bites at them, the clouds swirl low and threatening, and soft rain drizzles over their heads.
Witch Gavira’s Emporium of Silk and Other Quality Fabrics is gone.
Riyo grabs a strand of the ribbon and twirls it in her fingers, then looks around again.
“Hello?” she shouts. “Don’t you want your ribbon back?”
The hillside echoes her own voice for a moment, then falls quiet.
“Guess I’ll keep it, then.”
“I think it looks good on you,” Glitter says. “Look.” His face freezes over, and Riyo peers at her reflection.
“I think you’re right.” She turns to the others.
None of them are looking at her. Ravi is peering over his shoulder, Rolleck is scowling at the ground, and Emerald has her eyes closed and her face tilted towards the sky.
“Pfft,” Riyo says.
“What’s up with everyone?” Glitter says quietly.
“The tapestry did something mean to them and they’ve taken it to heart.”
“Oh,” Glitter says. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’ll make them stronger. Eventually.” Riyo glances around. “Um. Anyone remember which way we’re supposed to be going?”
Emerald sighs out a long breath, then opens her eyes and points.
“Let’s get going, then.”
“Yeah, Ravi,” Vale’s voice says, making him jump and swing around to look over his other shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Run.
Rolleck closes his eyes and sighs under his breath.
They carry on along the hillside, rocks slipping beneath their feet and the rain hazing them, and they drag the gloom of the day eastward.
The Bridge Over Heaven 