Against the Unweaving

by D. P. Prior

  “Huntsman was changed by the Reckoning,” Elias continued to fasten shut his guitar case, “but he didn’t croak it. The serpent statue broke into pieces, presumably to lessen the chances of its full power falling into the wrong hands.”

  “The spider warned him that others might notice if it was used,” Barek said.

  “Exactly. And the Reckoning packed one hell of a wallop. Be hard not to notice, even if you were looking the wrong way with a bag over your head.”

  “But why would the statue want to prevent someone else finding it?”

  “Huntsman thought it was trying to protect something; perhaps the spider and her dreamy-weamy mates. Don’t think he really had a clue where it came from, what it really was. Oh, he had his tribal legends. Said it was the spirit-body of a goddess petrified by magic, which I must admit makes for a groovy tale. Gray magic, he called it. Poor geezer had no word for science.” Elias bent closer so that he could whisper. “Did I ever tell you about Sektis Gandaw? You see, it was his bloody Technocracy that led to the massacre of the Dreamers that ultimately brought about the Reckoning. But not only that, ol’ Sektis and snaky lady have a history that goes way back, but it’s sketchy, to say the least. Must admit, I’ve been guilty of making bits of it up, you know, dramatic license and that sort of thing. Huntsman only knows what his gods tell him, and to be honest, they sound about as talkative as a dead parrot.”

  Barek frowned, not getting it, but he’d heard a lot of this stuff before—probably when Elias used to tell stories to them as children. Barek, Gaston, Justin and Rhiannon. Back in the days before the mawgs had come, with Shader close on their heels. He’d often wondered what had been worse, the flesh-eating beasts or the man who’d driven them away, and then remained, telling them they could be better than they were. They’d believed him, too. Who wouldn’t? Anything had to be better than wringing a living from the arid soil of Sahul, and life in the villages had been as appealing as horse dung. So they’d believed him, sure enough. Right up until the moment he’d left.

  “Eh-in-gar-na.” Didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “The goddess was the statue all along?”

  Elias’s face lit up. “So, you were listening. The Dreamers say she’s an enormous snake. There’s a huge likeness of her painted on the Cradle Cliffs near Gladelvi. If you ever get chance to head up north you should take a gander. One big eye, like a saucer, stares at you from every angle. Huntsman always said she was fleeing something—that shifty bleeding Demiurgos, most likely. And if not him, then everyone’s favorite megalomaniac, Sektis Gandaw.”

  “But how do you know all this? How do you know what Huntsman thought?”

  “We’re mates.” Elias grinned. “I may be a bit of a fogey, but I’m connected. And now, if I may, I bid you adieu. Toodle pip.”

  Barek frowned as the bard struggled out of the bar, guitar case knocking tables and bashing against the door. He gasped as a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

  “Pay up or it’s Mr. Bash for you,” growled Sneaky Nigel, brandishing his infamous club. “Don’t think I didn’t see you. I might have been under the spell like the rest of ’em, but ol’ Sneaky always keeps one eye on the bar.”

  “Right you are.” Barek coughed up the money. “I was going to settle with you on the way out.”

  “Course you were.” Sneaky Nigel’s lips opened like a gash, his two remaining teeth jagged and yellow. “See you again, boy.” He slapped Barek on the back and slouched over to the bar.

  “Barek,” hollered Justin Salace, raising his jug. “Come and join us.”

  Elgin Fallow was slumped over the table, a dozen or so of the other knights sitting around Justin like he was some mythical king. What would Gaston reckon to that?

  Barek waved his apology. “Not tonight, mate. I’m bushed.”

  He pushed through the door out into the heavy night air. The wind was picking up and it was starting to rain. He could feel Justin’s eyes stabbing him in the back. He’d not looked pleased at Barek’s refusal, but that was just the drink. Let him sleep it off; he’d be right in the morning.

  Barek tucked his thumbs in his belt and ambled towards home, humming the bard’s tune and replaying the scenes that had swamped his mind.

  Two blokes were in heated discussion by the side of the road. One was Elias Wolf, leaning on his guitar case and sounding like a defensive child on the receiving end of a scolding. Barek averted his gaze lest he was caught looking. The other was scrawny, like a bird, and mad as a cut snake. His skin was dark and leathery, and a sharp nose studded with bones ruptured his face between two feral eyes. Barek picked up his pace, keeping his head down. Didn’t need telling who that was. No one had seen sight nor sound of him for years, far as Barek knew, but he’d swear a bloody oath that was the Dreamer Huntsman.

  ***

  Rhiannon stumbled through the rain, violent gusts punching at her face, one hand hugging her shirt tight, the other pressing the skirt between her legs as if it could wipe away her shame. She could barely see through one eye, the swelling throbbing and burning. Sharp pains lanced up her nose to her skull and her head felt on fire. Every time she moved her jaw something clicked and salty blood seeped between her teeth. She could still feel Gaston’s thumbs pressing into her throat, her heart pounding as she struggled to breathe. She coughed and winced. Felt like she’d swallowed a stone.

  “Almost there, almost there, almost there.”

  There was nowhere else to go. She couldn’t face home yet—the questions, the worry, the disappointment. Oh, they’d do their best to disguise it, but she knew her parents better than they thought they knew her. They might say all the right things, but secretly they’d be wondering if she asked for it. It’d only confirm what they already thought about her going into the Templum. She could see it now: the shared looks, the suppressed sighs; sending Sammy to his room so he didn’t see his sister like this. A sob escaped her and she was almost sick, swallowing it back down and wrinkling her face.

  The rain drummed on the corrugated roof of the porch like applause. Now that she’d made it, she couldn’t bring herself to knock. She was about to lower herself into Elias’s rocking chair when the door opened. She turned, ready to hug the bard, but instead took a step back. A face like a vulture’s jutted towards her, ropes of hair braided with crystal and bone falling over a feathered cloak.

  “Huntsman.”

  There were bones through his nose and lips, deep creases gouged into the dark skin of his face.

  Elias appeared behind him, gasped, and put a hand to his mouth.

  Huntsman’s bloodshot eyes held hers longer than was comfortable. The pupils bored into her, seemed to peer right into her marrow. He raised a hand, as if he were going to touch her face, and then drew it back. “You stay here. Not go back to Oakendale.” He looked to make sure Elias was listening. “A path has opened for you. Very bad path.”

  Elias was nodding like an idiot. Huntsman turned back to Rhiannon.

  “I am sorry for you. Already you give up so much for Sahul. For more than Sahul. She weeps for you, this land. She shows me Dreaming. Two paths you have now. You go to Sarum, like you told me?”

  She couldn’t find any words, but managed to nod.

  “This is right, I think. The path home is now dark.”

  “Mom, Dad, Sammy?”

  Huntsman closed his eyes. “Boy is bright with Sahul. A white of Dreaming. I see no more. Do not go home.”

  “Why? I’ve done nothing.” Suddenly she needed them, knew she’d judged them too harshly. They’d understand what’d happened. They’d make Gaston pay. Dad would cut his frickin’ balls off and shove them down his throat.

  “Death one way, life other. Fruits of Eingana. Sahul’s gift to you is warning. I see no more.” Huntsman ducked out into the storm and melted from view.

  Elias crept towards her as if he were worried she might shatter. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide and damp as he stared at her face.

  “How do I look?” She tried to g
rin, but pain stabbed at her jaw. Deprived of her armor she had no alternative but to cry.

  “Rhiannon. What’s happened?” Elias opened his arms to her. She paused, looked at him through her good eye, and then accepted his embrace.

  ***

  “What the shog happened to your face, man?” Justin opened the door and Gaston slipped inside.

  Place was a wreck, as usual—bottles strewn across the table, curtains still drawn, blankets thrown on the floor where someone had dossed for the night. Sweet musk mingled with the sweat and beer. Justin stepped on something, tried to discreetly slide it behind the door with his foot. Gaston gave him a look but didn’t quite have the inclination to frown. Justin must’ve misread him, in any case.

  “Sorry. About the swearing, I mean. I’ll do a round of knots.” He pulled a prayer cord from his pocket.

  Gaston waved it away. “Justin, I need to talk.”

  “Sure, man. What’s up?” Justin ruffled his red hair and yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Get you something?”

  “Shut the door.”

  “Sure. Man, you look awful. What the heck happened?” Justin pushed the door to and pulled out a chair for Gaston before sliding onto one himself.

  “I can trust you to say nothing?”

  “Course.” Justin rested his chin on his fists, leaned in a little way.

  “Rhiannon—”

  “The Kwane bitch did this?”

  “Promise me, Justin—knight’s honor—you won’t say anything. Not to anyone. Not Elgin, Barek, no one. Understand?”

  Justin sat back, interlaced his fingers like he was about to pray. “OK.”

  “She… Rhiannon came to see me last night when you were down the Griffin. She was drunk…”

  “I’d say,” Justin laughed. “Had a gutful of piss before the frickin’ song started. That’d explain where she got to. Didn’t stay to the end, huh?”

  “You know what happened between me and her before.”

  “Long time ago, man. Ancient history.”

  “Yeah, well this was like the same. Only this time she started it.” Gaston winced inside. Wasn’t strictly the truth, but it wasn’t quite a lie either.

  “What, she came on to you? Good on you, mate. I mean … oh, shit.” Justin tailed off looking at Gaston’s face. “Shogging little prick tease. Am I right?”

  “Justin, I did wrong. I need to … need to…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He needed to confess, he needed someone to forgive him. What was he thinking, coming to Justin? They might have been mates, but Justin was about as Nousian as a turd. Most likely went through with it for show, just so he could get to play with swords.

  “I know you, man. Right? I know you wouldn’t start it. She was asking for it, like she always does. Thinks she can drink and play with the boys and doesn’t like it when nature takes its course.”

  Should have gone to Barek. Maybe he’d have understood.

  “Look, man,” Justin was on his feet, edging round the table till Gaston could smell his sour beer breath. “We need a plan. She saying what I think she’s saying?”

  Gaston nodded, closed his eyes.

  “That what happened? You can tell me, man. Nothing leaves this room. Did you poke her?”

  Gaston felt the sick leap up from his stomach, swallowed it down, gave another nod.

  “You ain’t done nothing wrong. Don’t you forget it. Things got out of control. Six of one, half a—”

  Gaston slid his chair back and stood. “No, Justin, this isn’t what I—”

  “You’re upset, man. It’s only natural. Hear me out. I’ve got an idea.”

  Gaston lowered himself back down. He knew there was no way out of this, but still he couldn’t help but listen.

  “We ride over to her place. Take some of the lads with us. Tell her folks what happened, how she started it and then got pissy when it was over.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Heck, it was.” Justin pressed his face up close. “It was, get it?”

  Cold seeped under Gaston’s skin. Maybe Justin was right. No one would understand the truth. No one would give him a chance to make this right, least of all Yeffrik Kwane. If Rhiannon’s dad knew what had really happened, Gaston was a dead man. But Nous would forgive, wouldn’t he? If he amended his ways, made sure it didn’t happen again. Long as he was honest with Nous, a little white lie wouldn’t hurt none.

  “What if she’s not there?” Gaston asked. “What if she didn’t go home? You know where she always goes when she’s in trouble?”

  “Too right,” Justin said, looking like another idea had just struck him. “So what if she did stay with Elias? Tell ’em he did it. Everyone thinks he’s shagging her anyway.”

  “Yeah, right. And Rhiannon’s really gonna admit to that.”

  Justin had a sick grin on his face. “Don’t matter if she does or not. It’s her word against yours. Say you found out about them, tried to talk her out of it and she hit you. Everyone knows what a wild bitch she is. Wouldn’t be the first time she’s got violent.”

  Gaston didn’t know. No one would believe him, surely. And he couldn’t just blame someone else.

  “Elias has got it coming,” Justin said. “All that crap he spouts about the Templum, the way he put Shader down. Shog, between the pair of ’em they probably drove Shader away, left us in the shit we’re in today. Trust me, Gaston, it’s the right thing to do.”

  ***

  Elias pulled on the reins and the cart rolled to a halt before the wall of shields outside the Kwane household, knights staring him down like he was the enemy.

  He glanced at Rhiannon still sleeping in the back amongst the instruments and books, head resting on a sack of weed. Her face was a mass of yellow and black, one eye a puffy slit. Brownish blood was crusted in streaks beneath her nose and there were angry welts around her neck. Her breathing was shallow and ragged, mouth slightly open, teeth stained red. He considered waking her then thought better of it. She didn’t need this after all she’d been through. By the looks of things Gaston had already got to her folks and there was nothing but trouble waiting. It seemed Huntsman had been right. Wrong approach with Rhiannon, he reckoned. Like a red rag to a bull warning her off something. And he was just as bad. Seeing her like this had aroused feelings he’d not had for a long time.

  Elias jumped down from the cart, moving alongside ol’ Hector and giving the shire horse a reassuring pat. He felt his face flushing with anger, hand tightening around the Statue of Eingana in his pocket.

  The shield wall parted and Gaston strode towards him, Yeffrik and Jessy Kwane trailing behind, little Sammy just visible sitting on the doorstep. Gaston’s nose was purple and swollen, his cheeks raked with scratches. His long blond hair was tied back tightly, giving away center-stage to his arse of a face. Elias had never realized what a small chin he had. Almost no chin at all. He was dressed like the rest of the knights in the white surcoat and red Monas that Shader had paid for with the council’s money. The chainmail too, no doubt brought in from Jorakum at considerable expense—all in the name of religion; though where they’d got the money for it was anyone’s guess. The council certainly wouldn’t have forked out that much, even if they could have.

  “You see.” Gaston waited for Rhiannon’s folks to come alongside. “Screwing the bard.” He spat the words and narrowed his eyes at Elias. “And this is what I get for trying to stop her.” He jabbed a finger at his misshapen nose.

  Yeffrik looked like a man who’d been told the Earth went round the Sun, having always believed the opposite. He hunched his massive shoulders and bit his lip. “Elias?”

  “What? No. It was him. Look at her!” He backed away to the cart. “Just look at what this holy little shit did. To your daughter!”

  Jessy tugged on Yeffrik’s sleeve. “See, I told you we should’ve had Sheriff Halligan come over.”

  “What would be the point?” Elias said. Halligan hated his guts. Had done ever since
he busted Elias for possession of pituri. Bastard confiscated the whole stash, too. And besides, what could a lone sheriff do against so many armed men? “Halligan’s scared shitless of these thugs. Didn’t I say this would happen if Shader got his way and started training the local boys? Fascist. The bloke with the most swords always rules the roost, and right now—” He glared at Gaston. “—that’s everyone’s favorite son of a preacher man.”

  Rhiannon mumbled something and pushed herself up on one arm. “Dad?” she rasped, turning her head to look through her good eye.

  Yeffrik’s jaw dropped and he stiffened, fists clenched, arms shaking. Jessy brushed past him and covered her mouth with her hands.

  “Mom.” Rhiannon started to sob.

  Elias looked along the line of knights, shields locked together like they were expecting to meet a charge. He recognized Barek, sandy hair poking from beneath a bascinet, blinking rapidly and licking his lips. Elgin Fallow was beside him, looking like the playground bully, desperate for someone to thump. Justin Salace was there, too, a thin smile upon his lips; and Solomon Jonas staring blankly ahead as if none of this were happening. There were twenty at least, all local lads he’d once told tales to or taught music. Most were friends of Rhiannon, he didn’t doubt. She really needed to make better choices.

  “Who … did … this?” Yeffrik finally found the words.

  “She attacked me.” Gaston had a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I was trying to help.”

  “And you hit her?” Jessy’s face twisted into a snarl.

  “That wasn’t me!” Gaston glared at Elias. “It was him!”

  “Now wait a minute.” Elias looked from Rhiannon to Yeffrik to Jessy. “Surely you don’t believe him?”