Death Weavers

by Brandon Mull

  “Scary?”

  “Unsafe,” Elana said. “There are regions in the echolands where the music becomes . . . unsavory. Like the discord of your mangled power. Gamat Rue is such a place. Some of these tormented locations are ancient. An alarming amount are new. Deepwell is such a place. We blame the followers of a new power in the echolands. A power that recently assumed a name.”

  “Nazeem,” Cole whispered.

  “Speak of him sparingly, even in the safety of a temple,” Elana said. “I have feared he might be involved with the princesses.”

  “He taught the people who stole their abilities,” Cole said. “His followers want to take control of their shaping powers.”

  “They practice a strange art that predates weaving or shaping as we know it.”

  “They call it shapecraft.”

  “It threatens the very fabric of our reality,” Elana said. “Should this art continue to spread, I’m not sure the Outskirts will survive.”

  “He plans to escape his prison soon,” Cole said.

  “Where did you hear this?”

  “I snuck into a secret meeting of shapecrafters.”

  Genuine fear filled her eyes. “How?”

  “In Junction,” Cole said. “Long story.”

  “Did he know?”

  Cole nodded. “He’s after me.”

  She raised her fist to her mouth and bit her knuckle. “He is like no power we have known. You should not have come here, Cole. I should return you to your body and you should get far from Necronum.”

  Cole tried not to let her concern become contagious. He already knew Nazeem was dangerous. “I have to find Destiny. She told you three people would come after her. Our enemy wants her power. I have to find her first.”

  “What if he already has her?” Elana asked.

  “Then I have to save her.”

  “Such courage,” she murmured. It sounded less like a compliment and more like she pitied him. “What is to be done? I’m tempted to offer you a guide, but I’m unsure who I can fully trust, and I worry about tampering with Destiny’s instructions. Her gift is authentic.”

  “Just show me the right direction,” Cole said.

  She pointed into the distance. “That way. It can be difficult to stay oriented. You’ll need help. You did well playing a messenger. I take it you actually are a royal errand boy?”

  “The Unseen helped me become an errand boy to meet the queen,” Cole said. “How could you tell?”

  “Lies are conspicuous in the echolands,” Elana said. “They come through as disharmony in your music. I only caught the smallest whiff of falsehood when you delivered your message to me. It was so faint that I dismissed it as accidental. You really were an errand boy. The message really had a royal seal. And you were confident that Princess Miracle would have wanted you to reach me. Your ruse worked. So you will deliver a message for me.”

  “Okay,” Cole said. “Do I get a horse?”

  Elana gave a small frown. For a moment, Cole caught the bittersweet music of the emotion. “You have so much to learn. Animals seldom dwell for long in the echolands. They swiftly move on to the Other. They can’t be compelled to remain. Only a very special bond will keep an animal in the echolands, usually associated with a specific companion.”

  “Everybody just walks?”

  “Almost all of us. Some clever weavers have designed alternate means of transportation. And a few echoes have animal companions. The lack of mounts makes long-distance travel a chore. Or so I understand. I’ve never tried it. Let’s make this official. I hereby commission you as an errand boy of this temple. I will give you a message to deliver to Lottie Natt of the Sweet Channel Charnel House. It is the most reputable destination near the Hundred Forests. This way you can ask for directions without appearing to look for Deepwell. Once you find Lottie, you can get her advice on reaching your actual destination. The message will introduce you to her and urge her to offer assistance. She is an old friend.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Cole said.

  “I’ll place a weaving on the message that should help mask your personal music. Many will be searching for you. The weaving will help protect you from all but the most careful scrutiny. When you reach Lottie, she can give you an even more disruptive talisman. Such items are a specialty of hers. I’ll solicit one for you in the message.”

  “Thank you so much,” Cole said.

  Elana took his hands in hers. “I wish I could do more. My heart aches to think of the danger you will face. You have a mission, Cole. At this moment, you see it clearly. Fight to maintain that clarity. You must succeed. Survive for those you need to help. Survive for the good of all the Outskirts. Survive to return to your loved ones. Hold true.”

  “I will,” Cole said.

  “Echoes may try to trick you into deals. Make no bargains. Never surrender your will. That may sound easy now, but it can get complicated. Cling to your duties, Cole. They can save you. Cling to life.”

  Her earnestness was a little unnerving. “Okay.”

  “As you travel the echolands, heed the music. It can serve as a compass, guiding you to comfort and companionship and warning you away from danger. Whenever possible, avoid music that makes you uncomfortable. The only alluring music you must shun is the call of the Other. You will know that song when you hear it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “We all know it. The call feels like home, and an end to everything else. You won’t go because you’re deceived. When we move on, we go willingly.”

  “That’s almost scarier,” Cole said.

  “Exactly right.”

  CHAPTER

  15

  ECHOLANDS

  Beyond the temple walls, Cole experienced the music of the echolands unmuted. Throughout his life, during movies or on audio devices, he had listened to music that conveyed certain emotions—sadness or excitement or anger. But here the emotional nuances came through much more precisely, sometimes ahead of the audible cues.

  Cole couldn’t discern individual instruments in the music, and it was hard to pick out melodies that he could hum, but the enchanting euphony brought profound feelings of refreshment, tranquility, wonder, and grandeur. Outside the gates, the music specific to the temple also gained clarity. Though wordless, it sounded more like human voices than the other music around him, transmitting a sense of importance and solemnity.

  Some other echoes came and went from the gate, a couple of them bright. None showed particular interest in Cole. As he moved away from the temple, he soon found himself walking alone.

  Cole knew that danger awaited him. The beauty around him concealed hidden perils. But as he marched across the springy grass, enveloped by sublime music, he couldn’t suppress his high spirits. This wilderness looked like what gardens aspired to be but never quite achieved. The uniformly green turf would be the envy of the most exclusive golf course. Shrubs, flowers, and trees were artfully grouped, all their blossoms in full bloom, every color resplendent beyond description. There were no dead branches, no fallen leaves. Nothing was wilting or drying out. Everything in view was gloriously thriving.

  The farther he hiked, the more Cole felt like he was on a stroll in the world’s largest and most immaculate park. Despite plentiful groves of trees and extensive flower beds, with a little zigzagging he never had to leave the flawless grass. No natural wilderness could feel this orderly. Wherever he looked, Cole found ideal spots to spread out a quilt and enjoy a picnic lunch. He had a hazardous mission to fulfill. Destiny, Honor, and Mira were in trouble. But it required effort to sulk when everything looked and sounded so heavenly. Whenever he let his guard down, feelings of serenity and wonder soothed his heart.

  Cole didn’t want to get too relaxed. He needed to stay ready. No matter how pretty the echolands were, no matter how inspiring the music felt, Sando was out there somewhere, along with other servants of Nazeem. Cole drew his Jumping Sword but soon felt ridiculous. What was he going to stab? The tree
with the gorgeous apples? The enormous rosebushes? There was nothing to fight. Not even weeds.

  Though constant, the music stopped short of becoming intrusive. As he grew used to the complex harmonies, they receded into the background, though certain details came through more clearly if he paid deliberate attention. When Cole paused to admire a field ablaze with wildflowers, the gentle music specific to the flowers became more prominent. Apparently, in the echolands you didn’t just stop and smell the roses—you could listen to them as well.

  The temple shrank in the distance. Soon Cole found he could only hear its music if he stared at it and focused. It was strange how the level of his attention altered the volume. He experimented with emphasizing certain trees, or a hill, along with just soaking in the broader soundscape.

  He began to notice the absence of animals. Cole had journeyed a lot in the Outskirts, and there were always insects buzzing, little critters rustling in the brush, birds on limbs or in the sky, and occasional larger beasts spotted from a distance. But here there was no animal life—no birds, no rodents, no bugs. The companionship of the music helped mask their absence, but the lack of other people and animals started to make the breathtaking beauty seem a little more sinister. There was a difference between an enormous beautiful garden and an enormous beautiful deserted garden.

  Everywhere except right by the gate to the temple, Cole also found no roads or paths. Before he departed, Elana had mentioned the general lack of roads. Without horses, carts, wild animals, or many traveling echoes, how could trails form? Since the landscape tended to be easy to cross, the sparse travelers weren’t funneled along a particular route.

  Having too many convenient, grassy ways he could turn became a problem. Cole tried to watch landmarks to keep his path straight, but once the temple was out of view, the task got more difficult. He hoped he wasn’t curving away from the direction Elana had indicated.

  The temperature remained the kind of comfortable that drew little attention. Not too hot, not too cold, no breeze. Ideal for walking. Or sitting. Or hiking forever.

  It took some time for Cole to really grasp that the day was never going to end. All horizons shed their constant light. No cloud intruded on the empty sky. Hills and groves and fields came and went. He knew he had gone farther than he had ever walked all at once. Some instinct kept suggesting he should find a place to make camp, but that impulse came from habit rather than exhaustion. His mind felt clear, his muscles unfatigued. The changing sights coupled with the stirring music kept boredom away. And the light never dimmed.

  So he walked. And walked. And walked.

  Only when Cole saw an elderly woman in the distance did he alter his pace, slowing almost to a stop. The woman saw him as well and veered away. Apparently, she didn’t want company. He supposed that made sense, since he was a stranger.

  After seeing the woman, Cole felt more alert. Had he been slipping into a trance? If so, it hadn’t been hard to snap out of it when the woman came into view. Maybe his mind had just been relaxing.

  He had grown accustomed to the harmonies and emotions of the forests and fields, but from up ahead, he heard something new—rushing, whistling music like an orchestrated windstorm. Curious, Cole quickened his pace in that direction.

  Coming over a shallow rise, he got his first close look at a channel. The strange river looked like dense, silver mist whipping along at the speed of a gale. As he focused on the ether, the symphonic whistling drowned out the rest of the music around him.

  Cole hurried to the bank of the channel. The slipstream was broad enough that only his best throw would put a stone across it. As Cole studied the rushing current up close, he found streaks of every shade of gray between brilliant white and deepest black.

  He felt tempted to crouch down and touch the rapidly flowing surface. Would the ether feel wet or windy? More like a waterfall or a tornado? How high would it spray if his hand interrupted the flow? But he recalled being warned that if he fell in, he would be swept away to the Other, so he decided against experimentation.

  When Elana had told him there were infrequent paths in the echolands, she had also informed him there were many bridges over the channels. Looking left and right, Cole saw no sign of a bridge. But while his gaze lingered to the left, Cole thought he caught a hint of some unusual though not unpleasant music, so he set off in that direction.

  Cole stayed away from the brink of the channel as he walked but felt invigorated by the hustle and fury of its spirited music. Eventually, the other music he had heard became clearer, conveying a sense of safety.

  Soon a white stone bridge came into view, spanning the channel in a single broad arch. As Cole approached the bridge, he saw a man standing off to one side, toward the center of the span, peering over the edge at the frantic slipstream below.

  On the older side of middle-aged, the man was fairly tall, with a long face and the rugged overalls of a farmer. As Cole started across the bridge, the man edged closer to the low railing at the edge of the span, eyes downward.

  Curious what exactly the man might be staring at besides the slipstream, Cole sidled up to him. Gazing down with blank eyes and slack features, the man began to tip forward. Cole grabbed his overalls and yanked him back from the edge.

  The man jerked, glanced down at Cole without recognition, then hastily checked his surroundings. Stepping away from Cole, he brushed at his overalls. “Thank you, young man,” he mumbled absently. “Don’t know what came over me.”

  “You were staring over the side,” Cole said. “You started to lean like you were going to tip.”

  “I suppose I must have,” he replied, seeming flustered and embarrassed. “Can’t be too careful about the homesong.”

  Looking over the side, Cole listened to the whistling music. “That sounds like home to you?”

  The man gave a soft chuckle. “New to the echolands, are you?”

  “Pretty new.”

  “I can see the glow on you,” the man said. “Hard to hear the homesong at first. Especially as a tourist. Slipstream just sounds like a pretty blizzard.”

  Cole thought that was a good description. “Were you in a trance?”

  The man put his hands on his waist. “I suppose so. I’ve been trying to hold out until my youngest brother comes across. Been coming to listen by the channel more and more the last while. Woke up on the bridge not too long ago. I was alone that time. Here I am again.”

  “Maybe you should stay away from the channel,” Cole suggested.

  Hooking his thumbs in his pockets, the man squinted at the countryside beyond the bridge. “I could maybe last a bit longer if I went far away. Someplace loud. But I’m expecting my brother in yonder township any day now. I don’t want to wander off too far. When I’m alone, I hear the call wherever I go. That’s how Ainsley, my wife, got before she moved on.”

  “Your wife already . . . ?”

  “We were here together a good spell. She started getting dreamy. I don’t blame her. Hard not to around here. I blame myself. I got distracted with word of Hank about to cross and lost track of her. Off she went. And now I catch myself lingering by the slipstream.”

  “I’m sorry about your wife. Isn’t it dangerous to hang around here if you want to see your brother? Don’t you want to wait for him?”

  “Mostly I do. In theory, yes. Be good to see Hank. Show him around. But this place . . . I don’t know, young man. A body couldn’t rightly demand more beauty, but it’s not really a place for living. Take my meaning?”

  “I think so.”

  The man smiled. “I’m Clint.”

  “Bryant,” Cole said, using his middle name.

  “Thanks for tugging me back,” Clint said. “Just prolonging the inevitable, I expect, but it was a neighborly gesture. I would have gone in headfirst without a helping hand.”

  “No problem,” Cole said.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what brings a live boy your age to a place like this?”

  “I’m de
livering a message from the Temple of the Robust Sky,” Cole said.

  Clint shook his head. “Wicked if you ask me, sending a young person to a place like this. Piece of free advice—deliver your message and get out. You have a body on the other side? Go use it. Save this place for when the time comes. It’s meant to be temporary. You don’t want the homesong to claim you before your time. And you don’t want to get comfortable here. I haven’t met a single soul who makes a career living here that seems right in the head.”

  “Thanks,” Cole said.

  “I mean no offense,” the man added. “You hauled me back from the plunge. Just returning the favor. Know where you’re going?”

  “I’m trying to find the Sweet Channel Charnel House. Sort of near the Hundred Forests.”

  Clint puckered his face in thought. “Don’t know those names. Might be far off. Can you hear the township?”

  Cole listened. He mostly heard the bridge and the slipstream, along with a little of the countryside beyond. “Not really.”

  The man extended an arm. “That way. You’ll hear it when you leave this ruckus behind. Somebody in the township can steer you.”

  “Do you want to come with me?” Cole asked.

  Clint gave a nod and started walking toward the far side of the bridge. Cole joined him.

  “It’s just a matter of time,” Clint said.

  “What?”

  “Before I move on. Nothing wrong with taking the next step. This place is just an echo of really living.”

  “I guess that explains the name.”

  Clint frowned. “It’s no place to live. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

  “But you want to see your brother.”

  Clint rubbed his nose. “Yes and no. What kind of welcome is diving in the slipstream? My days are numbered. Might be kinder just to let him hear about it. Less dramatic.”

  They reached the far side of the bridge and started walking on grass again. A grove of tall trees with coppery bark and purple leaves sang off to one side.

  “Won’t he be sad you didn’t wait?” Cole asked.