Mally the Maker and the Queen in the Quilt

by Leah Day

  Menda stepped back and swung her arms wide. “Pretty? Friends? Who needs that when you can have all this!? I’m the Queen of Quilst and I don’t need anyone, I’m perfect the way I—”

  But her words were cut short as Patch lunged at her back. Menda landed flat on her face, and the crown flew off her head in a wide arc. The witch screamed, her arms flailing, desperately trying to reach it. The scissors fell flat against her back with a deafening clang.

  Mally scrambled out of the way just in time. Two blades crashed into the floor where she’d just been sitting, their sharp points sinking deep into the floor. Then something very unexpected happened. Right before her eyes the blades began to shrink.

  “No! No! Not my lovelies!” Menda shrieked.

  “Rip her now,” Patch growled. He held Menda down with all four paws, his claws extended through her fabric and into the floor.

  Mally pulled a seam ripper out of her pocket and rose to her feet. The cuts on her palm throbbed so badly she nearly dropped the tool. She switched hands, wiping the blood off her palm onto the front of her shirt.

  “No! Please Mally, please don’t hurt me,” Menda cried. Her blue eyes were wide and pleading. Without the crown spinning around her head, she looked frail and helpless, like a bald baby bird.

  Mally approached the witch slowly, then she closed her eyes and sank to her knees. She’d imagined this moment so many times. Ever since Menda had first trapped her in this room, she’d wanted to rip her to pieces. But wanting to hurt her was one thing… actually cutting into her fabrics felt very different.

  “You don’t want to do this Mally! It was all a misunderstanding! I swear I never meant to hurt anyone!”

  Mally ignored her. She slipped the seam ripper blade into Menda’s shoulder seam. The witch shrieked and bucked, but Patch spread his wings wide and pressed all his weight against her back. Mally gripped the tool tightly and pulled it quickly through the stitches holding the fabrics together.

  In her imagination, this never worked. Her worst fear was that Menda’s fabric would be indestructible and her blade would bounce off, or worse, break against the witch’s body. But fabric is just fabric, and thread is just thread, and the seams split wide as her blade passed through the stitches.

  She held her breath as she leaned over Menda’s head and ripped her second shoulder seam. The blade slid easily through the gaping stitches and stuffing immediately leaked out between the fabrics.

  She was about to pull away when she spotted the silver chain of her necklace still looped around the witch’s neck. She pulled it off and double checked the scissors were still locked inside. She pulled it over her head and scrambled away from the witch as quickly as she could. Menda’s eyes were on her as a wide smile crept across her face.

  “What? That’s all you got? You’re not going to cut my head off? Why not rip off my arms and legs? It was so much fun playing with your little —” Her voice cut off as Patch pressed her face flat to the floor.

  “The crown,” he said. “Take it.”

  Mally followed his gaze to a scrap of gold and silver fabric on the floor. She walked over, tucking the seam ripper into her pocket and found it was the most beautiful quilt block she’d ever seen. Squares and triangles pieced together to form an elegant circular pattern.

  “No, Mally, don’t touch it!” Menda shrieked, her eyes bulging madly as her arms scrabbled against the floor. “It will hurt you! It will split your skull in half. Look what it’s done to me!”

  “You’ve done this to yourself, stupid witch,” Patch said. “Take it, Mally. You promised Sunshine you’d take it!”

  Mally picked up the quilt block.

  A crash of cymbals sounded. She threw up her hands, pressing the fabric against her ears to block out the sound, but it didn’t do any good. The noise was ringing inside her head, inside her skull, resonating in her blood.

  Faintly, she could hear Patch yelling, “Mally? What’s going on? Mally? Speak to me, little Maker!”

  But she couldn’t answer him. She was being pulled into light, far from the mountain room, far from Quilst. The clang of cymbals was changing, mellowing, ringing. Now it was music, a glorious music, that filled her heart and made her eyes well with tears. She blinked and suddenly found herself standing in the middle of a grassy field.

  Before her a woman stood staring into a large fountain. She was tall, with dark skin and hair knotted into braids that hung to her waist. She wore a red dress with narrow straps across her back and shoulders, revealing long arms ringed with four bracelets. She turned to gaze at her with eyes of pure silver.

  Mally sank to her knees, the quilt block clutched in her hands. She bowed her head.

  “Thank you, Mally Spencer. There are few who know me now, and even fewer who would bow at my feet. My name is Creo.” She gestured at the quilt block in Mally’s hands. “Do you know what you hold there?”

  “A crown?” Mally guessed.

  “In its most simplistic form, yes, that is a crown. But it is also much more. With that crown, you will be Queen of Quilst, ruler of a land that has nearly been destroyed by another. Are you sure you want this?”

  Mally hesitated. She had no idea where she was, but something inside urged her to be honest. “I don’t know. I just wanted to find my Grandma and fix everything at home, but it all went so wrong.”

  She looked down at the quilt block in her hands and noticed a streak of blood on one corner. The sight of the red stain slowly spreading over the fabric forced her to ask her next question.

  “Will it hurt me? Menda said it hurt when I cut the quilt. She could feel it.”

  “Pain is a warning. When there is harm to your world, when there is damage to the quilt, you will feel it.” The woman gently took Mally’s hand and pressed her thumbs against the cuts on her palm. Pain shot up her arm and she gasped, trying to jerk free.

  “But it will only ever be as much as you can handle.” Creo released her grip and immediately the pain lessened to a dull throb.

  The cuts were bleeding profusely now, but she noticed the woman’s hands were completely clean. Mally’s gaze traveled up to the bracelets circling her dark arms. The top ring was made of small stones, each a different color and carved into pieces that interlocked seamlessly together.

  The next bracelet was made of dark metal. Half of it was pocked and pitted as if it had just been dug out of the ground. But along the bottom edge the metal had been polished so smooth Mally could see her face reflected in it.

  A wide band of wood came next, a swirl of dark grain lines forming the only decoration over the surface. The last bracelet was dark red and woven from dozens of different threads. Mally’s fingers itched to touch it, and she was surprised when Creo slipped it off her wrist and held it out to her with a smile.

  She ran her fingers over the woven fabric, marveling at the soft texture. It was deceptively simple with each thread lined up in straight rows, but the different thicknesses of the fibers combined to make it the most beautiful bracelet she’d ever seen. I could never make anything that pretty, she thought.

  “How can I be a queen?” she asked, giving voice to her fear. “I’m only ten and I’ve only just learned how to stitch. I’m not even that good.”

  “There are many ways to be a Maker,” Creo said. “And they all begin with learning. Your greatest power will only come from mastering your craft.” She opened Mally’s hands again and gently touched the raw skin on her fingertips. “It is a goal you will never fully reach, but with effort you will make Quilst beautiful once again and from that world it will flow into all the other worlds.” She gestured at the fountain behind her, but Mally was distracted by another worry.

  “But what about Grandma and Ms. Bunny? We’ve all been missing for so long. What will we tell my parents?”

  “You will find all the answers you need right here.” She pressed a hand to Mally�
��s heart and another to the crown in her hands.

  “And Menda? What do I do about her?”

  “Not all mistakes should be mended,” Creo answered sharply. “If you accept this crown, you must be ready to do anything to protect your world. Remember Quilst at its best.”

  Mally was suddenly standing in the field, staring up at the Closed Door that had first carried her into Quilst. She wiggled her toes and felt the yarn grass slipping beneath her bare feet. She reached down to stroke her fingertips over a large rock and marveled at the delicate stitches that added texture to the surface.

  “This is yours to rebuild and protect.”

  The ground under her feet instantly disappeared. She stood knee deep in fluffy white batting. The fabric forming the ground, hills, even half of the Closed Door had been ripped away. Piles of shredded fabrics littered the landscape. A high pitched whistle sounded and she ducked as a rope punched out from a nearby snarl. It caught the wings of the purple hawk that had gone searching for Grandma.

  “Stop it! Don’t hurt her!” Mally yelled, but her words had no effect. She was forced to watch as the monster ripped the bird’s wings apart.

  “With the power of the crown, you will be able to command anything made of fiber to do what you will.” Creo gestured at the quilt block in Mally’s hands. “The lesser creature that wore this before you barely used a stitch of her power, and see what she did with it. Imagine what you can do, Mally.”

  The world shifted again and they were standing before the Great Tree. The branches spread out around the base and warm light poured from the windows. She longed to run inside and explore the treehouse from top to bottom, to sleep in the swinging bed, and stitch by the window in the sewing nook.

  “Use your imagination and your open heart as a guide, and you will make Quilst the most beautiful of all the worlds.” Creo turned to face her and they were again standing in the grassy field, gazing into the fountain.

  For the first time Mally looked at it properly. A massive golden hand rose from the middle of a glass dome. Water poured from the tip of the thumb and hit the center of the palm with a beautiful melodic sound. From there the water split into four chambers above the fingers. Simple symbols adorned each digit: a spiral, a curved hexagon, a simple tree shape, a set of woven lines.

  Mally looked closer and realized the symbols matched the materials of Creo’s bracelets: stone, metal, wood, and fiber. But for all the water rushing from the top of the fountain, only a trickle emerged from the tips of the fingers to rain over the glass dome. No, not a dome. It was a globe of the world, etched in exquisite detail.

  “The power of creativity is a limitless flow, but the hands of men and women have become still. There are not enough Makers in the world to keep the fountain flowing.” Creo turned the globe and Mally could see some of the surface was completely dry.

  “What will happen if it stops?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Creo said. A shadow crossed her face, then she turned her fathomless silver eyes on Mally. “I believe you have made up your mind, Maker, so I will ask again – Do you want this? Will you accept that crown in your hands and become the Queen of Quilst?”

  Mally thought about all she’d seen and done since she’d accidently opened the door in the quilt. Her hand ached. I just want to go home. I just want everything to go back to normal.

  But then she looked at the woman’s woven bracelet and remembered what it felt like to run barefoot through soft yarn grass. She could feel the pull on her back as she soared out of the mountain room on wings she’d stitched with Ms. Bunny. Do I really want things to be normal again?

  But Menda had done so much damage. Quilst had been perfect and she had ripped and twisted it into something almost unrecognizable. What if I could fix it? What if I could bring everything back?

  The image of the Great Tree swam through her mind and she thought of all the other things she’d like to make and explore. The Cavern. The House in the Sky. There was so much she wanted to do in Quilst and so much to learn about sewing and quilting. I want to make it beautiful, she thought. I want to make it amazing.

  “Yes. I want this,” she said. The fabric in her hands shimmered. With the sound of ringing bells, it began to move. Around and around the fabric spun and as it did, it transformed into a woven ring of silver and gold threads. A single ribbon of red silk was braided through the middle.

  “So you do not forget the price of malice.” Creo ran her fingertips over the ribbon. “Or the weight of your responsibility.” She lifted the crown to Mally’s head and settled it in place. Then she leaned forward and planted a kiss on Mally’s brow. A warm glow spread from that point through her whole body. Mally flexed her hand and found the cuts on her palm and the raw skin on her fingertips had stopped hurting.

  “That will protect you until the moons rise to their highest point tonight.” Creo’s eyes were gentle, but she spoke urgently. “Heal Quilst as fast as you can. Anything left broken will echo back to you here.” She touched Mally’s temples. Pain seared through her skull for just a second, but that was long enough.

  Creo stepped back and the wonderful music that pulled her to this place filled her mind again. “Good luck, Queen Maker.”

  * * * * *

  In a swirl of color and ringing chimes, Mally was back in the mountain room. Patch was still squashing Menda onto the floor, yelling, “Mally? What’s going on? Mally? Speak to me, little Maker!”

  “I’m fine,” Mally whispered. “Really, I’m fine.” She pressed her hand against the wall as the crown began to spin. Images flashed in her mind. Mally saw broken seams, piles of ripped fabrics and a whole mountain of shredded thread. “Yes, I know it’s broken,” she muttered. “Stop it.”

  “What’s going on? Who are you talking to?!” Patch roared. Distracted, his front paw slipped off Menda’s shoulder. “Mally! Look out!”

  With an ear-splitting shriek, the witch reared up off the floor. Mally shook her head. Her vision suddenly cleared, only to be filled again with Menda’s twisted face.

  “That’s MINE!” the witch screamed.

  Mally stumbled back. Her hands raised automatically in the air.

  “Stop! Menda, stop!”

  Miraculously, it worked. The Ripping Witch stopped dead, frozen in the middle of the room, her mitten hands stretched out to snatch the crown.

  “Did you do that?” Patch asked. He cautiously pressed a paw to Menda’s side. She rocked slightly on her pointy feet, but otherwise remained completely motionless. It was as if she’d been turned back into a stuffed doll. Her wide blue eyes stared straight ahead, her face frozen in a horrible expression of rage.

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” Mally whispered. She heard a faint sound and walked around Menda’s body, looking for the source. The noise was coming from the seams she’d cut on the witch’s shoulders. The twelve scissors sewn to Menda’s back had shrunk down to their normal size, but even in their smaller state, they were too heavy for the weak stitching holding the doll’s body together. The seams opened wide, the threads screaming as they stretched out of shape.

  “Three… two… one…” Patch counted down as the heavy blades dragged towards the ground, distorting the velvet until it split cleanly across the back of Menda’s neck. Matted stuffing sprang free and the fabric ripped further, opening around her arms and down her side seams. With a clang of metal, the scissors fell to the floor in a heap.

  “Remind me not to get on your bad side, little Maker.” Patch said, patting Mally on the back.

  Mally smiled weakly. Menda’s stuffing littered the ground and continued to leak out in small clumps. She was losing her shape. A chunk of fluff dropped from her head and her mouth disappeared into a deep wrinkle in the fabric.

  With the scrape of metal, her body pitched forward, then stopped. Many of the scissor blades had sunk point first into the floor. Still attached to the fa
bric on her back, they were now acting like tent poles, holding her lumpy body upright. But the weight of her upper body, even without the scissors, was too great for the velvet fabric to support.

  RRRIIIPPPPP!

  Her back fabric split along the bottom edge and Menda fell flat on her face. The room filled with a cloud of stuffing. Mally covered her face, coughing.

  “Watch out!” Patch leapt in front of her, his wings spreading wide. Something hit the other side of his body so hard Mally was knocked off her feet.

  “What’s happening? Patch?!” Mally couldn’t see anything, but the crown suddenly wrenched around her head and flashed horrible images of long slashes in orange fabric. Patch fell on his side, kicking more fiber into the air as his wings crumpled underneath his body.

  Mally could just make out something large skittering across the floor to the window. Like a spider, the witch crawled up the windowsill with her hands and feet. She’d lost all the stuffing on her back and only the single layer of fabric forming her torso remained, loosely flapping against her legs. Her frayed inner seams were exposed, making it look like she’d been turned inside-out.

  Menda’s head turned slowly, all the way around so it faced backward on her neck. Her face had lost another chunk of stuffing so one eye was lost inside a deep dent, but the other bulged, glaring back at Mally with a look she would never forget.

  “That’s… my… crown!” The witch crouched low, her arms braced against the window frame.

  “No!” Mally screamed, her hands rising protectively over Patch. “Go away!”

  Menda’s grip suddenly slipped. Before Mally could say another word, before she could even draw a breath, the former Queen of Quilst tumbled backward off the windowsill.

  For a second it looked like the wind would carry her. The fabric of her stomach billowed out and she floated. Her wrinkled mouth opened wide and she let out a shriek that matched the rage filling her eyes.