by R S Penney
She snapped her fingers.
Once again, the world split apart around her, a crack stretching across the sky from horizon to horizon, and when the two halves fell away, she was standing in a small grove of trees with Benny still on his knees before her.
“Best to wait until nightfall,” she cautioned. “We don't want them gettin' too good a look at you.”
“What are you going to do?”
The Weaver shrugged her shoulders, tilted her head back and smiled up at the deep blue sky. “Oh, I don't know,” she said. “I'm a god, remember? I reckon I'll go and be god-like.”
Once again, the world split apart, and this time she found herself in the middle of a dirt road that ran between two lines of brick houses with tiled roofs. There were at least two dozen people milling about: men in work clothes, women in modest dresses. A horse and buggy came up the road toward her.
Everyone paused to look at the woman in the spotless evening gown who had just appeared out of thin air. The Weaver didn't give them much time to gawk. Emotion had drawn her hear. Pain.
She found the source of it with no difficulty.
A man in a top hat and a long black coat emerged from one of the nearby houses, followed closely by a crying woman who clutched her baby to her breast. “Please!” she wailed. “He's burning up!”
The doctor stopped short, but he did not turn. Instead, he just grimaced and shook his head. “There is nothing I can do,” he said in a gruff voice. “Your son will either fight off the infection, or it will claim him. I'm sorry.”
“Please!”
Gliding toward the pair with a smile, the Weaver stretched out a hand. “Let me help him,” she pleaded. “I can soothe his pain.”
The mother clutched her baby closer and pulled away as if the Weaver's touch were poison. That look of wary skepticism was one the Weaver had seen before. She had seen it on the faces of her father's friends and business associates when she told of her ability to sense the world through the Ether. She had learned, painfully, that silence was wisest in the company of men who feared what they did not understand. “Please,” she said again in soothing tones. “I can help him.”
The doctor harrumphed. “Madam,” he intoned. “I am a trained physician, and yet I am unable to treat this child. What could you possibly hope to accomplish?”
“Have faith, good sir.”
The mother's face softened. Tears streamed over her cheeks as she sniffled. “If you can help him,” she squeaked. “Then please...”
Gently, the Weaver took the infant in her arms. “Shh...Shh...Shh...” she whispered as she touched two fingers to his forehead. Within seconds, the child's shivering stopped; his eyes drooped shut, and he settled into a peaceful sleep. “Here.”
The mother took her child from the Weaver's embrace, and when she backed away, her eyes widened. “His temperature dropped!” she exclaimed. “What did you do?”
The doctor was squinting as he studied her through thin spectacles. “Yes...What did you do?” he demanded. “I won't abide charlatans in my town!”
“You, sir!” the Weaver shouted, pointing to a spindly old man who walked with a wooden cane. “Come here!”
The old fool hesitated.
“Yes, you!”
With excruciating slowness, he hobbled over to her, his face scrunched up from the pain in his leg. “Thank you, Miss...” he said in a breathy voice. “But I don't see what you can do for-”
The Weaver laid a hand on his shoulder, and he shuddered at her touch. His cane dropped to the ground, but it didn't matter. A grin spread on the old man's face. “By the Almighty!”
He flexed his leg and then laughed as he ran back to his family, who quickly rushed over to marvel at his new-found mobility. A young woman with curly blonde hair – most likely his granddaughter – actually covered her mouth with both hands and gasped.
By this point, a crowd had formed around the Weaver, and the people all muttered nervously to one another. One man – a handsome fellow in his middle years with dark skin and flecks of gray in his neatly-trimmed beard – stepped forward to speak with her. “How are you doing this?” he mumbled.
Grinning beatifically, the Weaver shut her eyes and shook her head. “People,” she said. “Fear not. I come not to judge you but to redeem you. Step into my embrace, for I am the light and the way.”
Her flock did as they were bid, each man, woman and child coming forward for her to lay hands upon, most speaking in hushed whispers. She accepted their adulation. When she was done, every last person in this world would drop to their knees and marvel at her glory.
The End.
About the Author
Richard S. Penney is a science-fiction author and futurist from Southern Ontario. He graduated from McMaster University with a degree in mathematics and statistics. Rich knew that he wanted to be a writer ever since he was a child, when he would act out complex stories with his action figures.
He has worked in a number of different fields, including banking, teaching and software QA.
In 2014, Rich published his first novel, Symbiosis, the first volume of the Justice Keepers Saga. The story was one that he had been planning to write ever since he was a teenager. The Desa Kincaid novels grew out of a tandem story that Rich started on Theoryland.com, a Wheel of Time discussion site.
Rich has been an environmental activist since his early twenties, and he has given talks on sustainability in Greece and Australia.
Books by the Author
Symbiosis (Justice Keepers Saga I)
Friction (Justice Keepers Saga II)
Entanglement (Justice Keepers Saga III)
Relativity (Justice Keepers Saga IV)
Evolution (Justice Keepers Saga V)
Dirty Mirror (Justice Keepers Saga VI)
Dark Designs
Desa Kincaid – Bounty Hunter