Death Weavers

by Brandon Mull

  “But all were striving to help others in some way,” Drake said. “I’ve investigated. Nobody got here chasing their own interests. It’s no refuge for the selfish.”

  Cole thought of when he had attacked the cyclops to save Mira. Had that been his ticket into this place? Or maybe his showdowns with Carnag, Morgassa, and Roxie.

  “You’re wondering how you qualified,” Ferrin said. “I can see it in your eyes. I think everyone here wonders to some degree. I did plenty of terrible things during my life. Lies, betrayals, you name it. I was a spy. It was my job. I’m proof you don’t need to be perfect to hear the hero’s music.”

  “You’ve risked your life for a good cause?” Drake asked.

  “Yeah,” Cole said.

  “That seems to be the ticket inside,” Drake said.

  “And it’s why you can trust us,” Ferrin said. “We’ve proven we know how to stick to our word, or we wouldn’t be here. And we give our word that your cause is our cause. Harvan explained about Stafford and Nazeem. We’ll stand with you against them.”

  For a moment Cole caught a hint of thrilling music. He sensed that Ferrin was sincere. “You’re not from here. Why are you willing to help me?”

  “If we were ready to move on, we would have already gone,” Ferrin said. “Could be we’re bored. Could be we’re curious. Could be we have fond memories of those kids from Earth. Could be Harvan amuses us. Could be we can relate to the need to overthrow evil. Could be we really could use a few more good deeds to take with us wherever we go next.”

  “Once you come down with heroism, it can be a tricky illness to kick,” Drake said.

  Harvan returned to the room, smiling and spreading out his arms. “Cole, what do you say?”

  “I think you found good guys,” Cole said.

  “We’re lucky to have them,” Harvan agreed. “So many people at the Hall of Glory just want to rest. They’re letting go of heartache and horrors and getting ready to move on. Not us. We’re just getting started. Trust me. These two are seasoned, and they’re willing to help. We’ll need strong wills on this mission. I can hear it in their music.”

  “Will we need weapons?” Drake asked.

  “They’re difficult to obtain here,” Harvan said. “Swords and spears probably won’t decide this.”

  “Is there any point to my sword?” Cole asked.

  “Just one,” Ferrin replied. “At the tip.”

  “Beat me to it,” Harvan said, snapping his fingers in disappointment. “Cole, carrying a weapon in the echolands can be useful for intimidation. And you could physically destroy an echo with a sword—just not as easily as a mortal body.”

  “The battles here aren’t won by physical combat?” Drake asked.

  “They can be,” Harvan said. “But often stealth can be more useful. Or cunning. Or strength of will. There are dark forces in the echolands that can ensnare you. Treacherous echoes will try to trick you into a bargain. They also might try to bind you with their wills.”

  “I think that happened to me,” Cole said.

  “Couldn’t move?” Harvan asked.

  “Once at Gamat Rue,” Cole said. “They froze my actual body there. Not just my echo. I couldn’t even wiggle a finger. I was frozen another time here in the echolands. I couldn’t move at first but broke free.”

  “Good illustrations,” Harvan said. “There are different types of bindings. If a weaver is helping your enemies from the other side, or if you’ve made a bargain with them, or if you’re at a location controlled by their music, their power to bind you increases. If they just try to bind you out in the open, it’s basically their will against yours. Refuse to submit and you’ll break free. With a little practice, a strong will can shake off bindings quickly. The more abruptly you do it, the more you’ll stun the binder.”

  “There was one other time I got frozen in the echolands,” Cole said. “A group bound me.”

  “If they attack in large numbers, it can be your will against many,” Harvan said. “Having five of us together will help offset that risk. Also, enemies could try to physically restrain us and throw us into a slipstream or a holding pit.”

  “Is it bad that I want somebody to try to control me?” Ferrin asked.

  Harvan shook his head. “Confidence will go a long way against bindings and anything else they throw at us. Just don’t go looking for trouble.”

  “Fair enough,” Ferrin said.

  “Cole, fill these guys in on where we’re going,” Harvan said.

  “They know about the princesses?” Cole asked.

  “The basics,” Drake said. “We’re looking for Destiny?”

  “Last we heard, she was heading for a place called Deepwell,” Cole said. “It’s where they were trying to control her shaping power. Which could mean there is some sort of monster there. The shapecrafters do bad things with these powers.”

  “So off to Deepwell,” Harvan said.

  Cole picked up the message from the table. “The prelate of the Temple of the Robust Sky asked me to deliver this to the Sweet Channel Charnel House. But the echo who figured out who I was got curious about me because the message was masking me.”

  “The message works great,” Harvan said. “Elana Parson knows her craft. I take it the echo who found you out was up close?”

  “Yeah,” Cole said.

  “From a distance the message will mask you just fine,” Harvan said. “It’s good work. Winston will be masking himself, me, and you as well. We don’t need to hide Drake or Ferrin. They have no history here. Their presence will make us look like a random group of echoes to all but the most-skilled observers.”

  “Won’t the skilled ones be the most dangerous?” Ferrin asked.

  “True, but also the least frequent to encounter,” Harvan said. “We’ll avoid populated areas. Cole, should we deliver the message? The Sweet Channel Charnel House isn’t far from our destination, and right on the way.”

  “The prelate wrote a real message,” Cole said. “She told me her friend Lottie Natt would help me and can give me a better disguise.”

  “Then we have a destination,” Harvan said. “The temple prelates are among the best weavers in Necronum. I don’t know Elana Parson personally, but we don’t want to overlook her advice.”

  “What exactly is a charnel house?” Cole asked.

  “In the echolands, it’s a place to bring dead echoes,” Harvan said. “They dump them into a channel. The house is typically insulated against the call of the Other.”

  “Dead echoes can still walk and talk,” Cole said.

  “To different degrees,” Harvan said. “For example, if you return to life, your echo will linger and remain as lively as a dead echo can be. It won’t learn, but it won’t get any more susceptible to the homesong than you were when you departed. If at all possible, your echo will await the return of your lifespark. Once your lifeforce moves on to the Other, if the dead echo is not washed away in a slipstream, it will linger and gradually darken. Some become catatonic. Some grow violent.”

  “Do echoes ever die outside of the channels?” Cole asked.

  “Some people hear the call of the Other so strongly they simply leave their echo behind,” Harvan said. “No slipstream, no wandering off into the fringe—the lifeforce just goes. It seems to happen more frequently to those who cross over at a very old age. Sometimes a powerful weaver or echomancer can cause your lifespark to leave your echo, but usually only if you allow them power over you. And if an echo takes enough physical damage, it can die, freeing the lifeforce.”

  “If we get imprisoned, can we let our lifeforce go?” Ferrin asked.

  “I was once bound for many years,” Harvan said. “I wanted to move on. It would have been a welcome release at the time. But I couldn’t. If we get captured in certain haunting grounds or by a skilled echomancer, they can block the effects of the homesong. If that happens, you can end up trapped for ages.”

  “The worst thing would be getting caught by Nazeem,”
Cole said.

  “True,” Harvan agreed. “He remains somewhat in the shadows, but what I know of his abilities exceeds much of what I believed possible. We’re talking about the inventor of shapecraft. Yet falling under his power is the reality our princesses are facing.”

  “We have to save them,” Cole said.

  “We’ll do it,” Ferrin said.

  Drake confirmed with a nod.

  CHAPTER

  20

  CHARNEL HOUSE

  Walking away from the Hall of Glory, Cole felt much better than he had so far in the echolands. He wasn’t alone! Four seasoned adventurers strode at his side, ready to guide and protect him. Sure, they were ghosts, but so was he for now, so why complain?

  Cole was the shortest of the group by a good margin, followed in height by Winston, Ferrin, Drake, and finally Harvan. Nobody else had a sword, but Cole suspected Harvan had thumped people with his heavy walking stick before, and it was a comfort knowing Winston could weave.

  The exciting music of the Hall of Glory trumpeted loud and clear, causing Cole to pause and gaze back at the sprawling building. They were leaving behind the safest refuge in the echolands. He could picture the lavish rooms and courtyards full of relaxed heroes. Harvan came up beside him.

  “Feel the pull?” Harvan asked.

  Cole especially noticed the draw now that Harvan had put a name to it. The farther they had walked from the comfortable oasis, the more reluctant Cole had felt about departing. Even though he knew they needed to find Destiny, it seemed like they were missing something big. The music beckoned brashly. Couldn’t they go back and rest a bit longer? What was the rush? Would a few hours make much difference?

  “Yes,” Cole said.

  “Feels like something is about to start,” Ferrin said. “Some rousing event that we never experienced during our long stay. Seems like if we hurry, we might get there just in time.”

  “Then you arrive, and it’s the same people lounging around the same rooms,” Harvan said. “I’ve come and gone a lot.”

  “Even knowing why we must go, the music is beguiling,” Drake said. “Emotion can be stronger than reason.”

  “The summons is strong,” Harvan agreed. “It helps lure people from various worlds to the echolands. I have seen many attempt to depart the hall only to return minutes later.”

  Ferrin detached one arm just above the elbow and held it out toward the Hall of Glory. “Maybe I can leave a little piece of myself.”

  Cole couldn’t help laughing. Ferrin grinned as he reattached his limb.

  “Come on,” Harvan said, walking again. “The pull will fade after we get far enough away.”

  “Who comes to the echolands?” Cole asked. “Everybody in the Outskirts? Everyone on Earth? How many other worlds?”

  “Far as I can tell, just about everybody from the Outskirts makes a stop here,” Harvan said. “The echolands only get a sampling of people from other worlds, often drawn by a big landmark like the Hall of Glory or the Catacombs of Regret.”

  “Those catacombs sound like loads of fun,” Ferrin said sarcastically.

  “I’ve visited,” Harvan said. “The Hall of Glory is more pleasant, but the catacombs serve a purpose as well. The echolands are a way station—a pause on the journey to higher planes. The interruption can be helpful for some. I am benefitting from my time here. Yet, I assume many from different worlds move on to the Other without this interlude.”

  They climbed out of the valley that contained the Hall of Glory. A panorama of lush hills, thriving forests, emerald lawns, and blooming fields spread out before them.

  “It’s beautiful,” Drake said reverently.

  “We didn’t get much of a view on the way in,” Ferrin explained, looking around. “We entered these lands right by the Hall of Glory, and its presence controlled our attention. Look at the colors! Are you guys sure this isn’t heaven?”

  “Much of it can be a paradise of sorts,” Harvan said. “But trust me, I’ve encountered plenty of places and people here that nobody would confuse with heaven.”

  “I had no idea this splendor awaited,” Drake said. “I would have left the hall long ago.”

  “Outdoorsman?” Winston asked.

  “Some of my favorite years were spent alone in the wilderness,” Drake said. “But even after wandering far and wide in Lyrian, nothing could have prepared me for this. The sounds alone!”

  “The music is incredible,” Ferrin said. “Just as Harvan promised.”

  “What is that most lovely, longing melody in the distance?” Drake asked, his eyes losing focus.

  “That would be the call of the Other,” Harvan said.

  Drake shook his head briskly and blinked. “I see now why people go willingly,” he said.

  “I don’t hear it,” Ferrin said. “There’s a lot of nice music, but only the hall back there is calling me.”

  “I don’t hear it either,” Cole said.

  “Don’t be in a hurry to discern it,” Harvan said. “At least not until you want to move on. Try not to dwell on the call, Drake. Let it exist in the background, a far-off promise to be fulfilled one day.”

  Drake smiled. “I know how to be patient.”

  “Patience has never been my best virtue,” Harvan admitted. “Any objection to running? It takes a little more concentration and energy, but you won’t grow tired. We have some distance to cover. It can save loads of time.”

  “Lead on,” Ferrin said.

  They sped up to a quick jog. After a few minutes Cole wondered why he hadn’t done this before he was chased. He could have covered much more ground. Thinking back, he supposed the echolands had all been so new, and he had worried about getting lost. Walking had just felt appropriate.

  Cole wondered where Dalton and Hunter could be right now. Had they found his body at the Temple of the Robust Sky? Were they on their way to Jenna? Had they already found her? What would they think of the echolands, with the vivid colors and music everywhere?

  He thought about Jace, Mira, and Joe as well. Could they hear any nice music where they were being held? Could they see any beautiful gardens? The imagined deprivations made Cole better appreciate the sights and sounds before him.

  From time to time Harvan mentioned that he heard dead echoes, or a village, and would swerve off in one direction or another. The first time they reached a channel, they arrived directly at a bridge. And again at the second channel. And the third. Cole realized that Harvan could hear the bridges long before they came into view.

  After some time Cole found himself running beside Winston. Not having spoken in hours, he decided to strike up a conversation.

  “How’d you meet Harvan?” Cole asked. “Did you know him when you were alive?” He found it wasn’t difficult to talk and run. He wasn’t out of breath at all.

  “I was born after he died,” Winston said. “But I knew his stories. We met in the Hall of Glory. He needed a weaver, and I thought it would be fun to explore the afterlife with a legend.”

  “Has it been fun?”

  “Sometimes. And scary. But worth it.”

  They mostly ran without conversation. Occasionally, Harvan explained a shift in direction. They traversed a region with many large hills, and then a flatter expanse, with sparse trees. They crossed several channels, some wide, others narrow. A few of the channels seemed to flow uphill. Apparently, streaming away from the Source toward the Other trumped pesky laws like gravity.

  They saw no lakes or deserts or true mountains or deep canyons. A few areas had some boulders, and towns were sometimes glimpsed in the distance, but for the most part they were exploring enormous, verdant parkland.

  “Out here you notice the single day more,” Ferrin commented. “I keep waiting for the light to fail.”

  “The endless sunrise,” Harvan said. “You never get fully used to it. You think your shoes will wear out, but they don’t. Your clothes never get smelly. You can eat or not, but you never have to use a bathroom. Everything ha
s a different rhythm here.”

  “I tried eating once,” Cole said. “It was good.”

  “I avoid it when I can,” Harvan said. “I think eating the food gives the echolands a stronger hold on you. That can be good if you want to apprehend the music with greater sensitivity but bad if you don’t want to heed the call of the Other.”

  “If your focus falters, you should eat,” Winston said. “I think Harvan fasts too much.”

  “When in doubt, starve,” Harvan said.

  “Doesn’t the food help keep trances away?” Cole asked.

  “It can,” Harvan said. “But trances can have benefits, as long as they don’t lead you into danger. You’ve probably experienced light trances as we’ve been running. Trances can rest the mind kind of like sleep, and they keep boredom away.”

  “We wouldn’t want to get bored,” Winston said.

  “Tedium gnaws at some of us more than others,” Harvan replied. “Anyhow, it’s true that if your concentration gets muddied, food can help, effectively substituting for healthy trances.”

  “How can you tell a good trance from a bad one?” Cole asked.

  “You retain your awareness in the good ones,” Harvan said. “You can snap out of them at will. If you start experiencing blackouts, you’re in danger.”

  “You just might wake up falling into a channel,” Winston said.

  “Or getting captured,” Harvan added.

  “My people don’t sleep, even in mortality,” Drake said. “This concept of using trances to rest and revive the mind seems perfectly natural.”

  “I like running without tiring,” Ferrin said. “Though horses would be nice.”

  As Cole continued to run with the others, he lost track of time. He would see hills ahead in the distance, shaggy with trees, and eventually, they would be in the distance behind him. As he enjoyed the steady exertion of running, and the soothing music around him, Cole supposed he might be slipping into trances, but he never lost his awareness.