Death Weavers

by Brandon Mull

  And then Harvan called a halt at an overlook. “That, my friends, is the Sweet Channel.”

  The fairly narrow channel ran in nearly a straight line. A stone building spanned the slipstream.

  “Is that the charnel house?” Cole asked.

  “Unless my ears are deceived,” Harvan said. “And they aren’t.”

  “Does this mean we’re near Deepwell?” Cole asked.

  “Not too far,” Harvan said. “We can probably learn more from your contact.”

  They jogged to the stone house and knocked on the door. A beefy man answered, not fully opening the door. He eyed the group.

  “I see no dead echoes,” the man said. “How can I help you?”

  “I have a message for Lottie Natt,” Cole said.

  The man looked at him suspiciously, glanced at the Jumping Sword, then held out a hand. “I can see she gets it.”

  “I’m supposed to deliver it personally,” Cole said. “It comes from the Temple of the Robust Sky.”

  The man gave a soft grunt. “How about this? Each of you tell me whether you sympathize with Nazeem. Go.”

  “No,” Cole said.

  One at a time the others also gave negative answers.

  “Do you mean any harm to any who dwell here?” the man followed up.

  Again they all answered in the negative.

  The man gave a nod and pulled the door wider. “Come inside.”

  The ground floor of the building was a single long room. Another door awaited on the far side, presumably offering access to the other shore of the channel. Doors on the other walls led to walkways overlooking the slipstream. Stacked barrels and crates filled in the spaces between the doors. Winches stood beside a pair of large trapdoors in the floor. In one corner a flight of stairs granted access to a second story.

  A woman bustled toward them, short and pudgy with her cinnamon-and-sugar hair wound into an enormous bun. She wore a brown dress and a big white apron. “Ernie, are you admitting strangers without dead echoes? Did we not have this conversation?”

  “They have a message for you,” Ernie said. “They passed the questions.”

  The woman stood before them, hands on her hips. “The young one is bright. The rest look like hooligans.”

  “You have a sharp eye,” Harvan said smoothly.

  “Don’t sass me or I’ll drop you through an etherhatch,” she snapped. “Who is the message from?”

  Cole took it out. “Are you Lottie Natt?”

  “I better be or I’m in the wrong house,” Lottie replied.

  “It’s from Elana Parson,” Cole said, handing it over.

  “Elana? Really?” Lottie said, inspecting the seal. “So it would seem, and so the weaving suggests. My word, your power is damaged. You’re sure you don’t serve Nazeem?”

  “Positive,” Cole said. “Bad things sometimes happen to those who fight him.”

  Lottie clucked her tongue. “Join him and your power gets maimed. Resist him and you can expect the same. How do we win? Ride the slipstream?” She opened the message and scanned the words.

  “You drop bodies into the channel through the hatches?” Cole asked, unable to resist his curiosity.

  “Dead echoes, yes,” Lottie said, still reading. Her eyes rose to reconsider her visitors. “Do you realize half the inhabitants of the echolands are looking for either this boy or his quarry?”

  “We intend to protect him and find Destiny,” Harvan said with a slight bow.

  “And who might you be?” Lottie asked.

  “Harvan Kane,” he replied. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

  “Catchy name,” Lottie said, rolling her eyes. “And these gents are your muscle? A weaver and two Outsiders.”

  “The weaver will help us hide,” Harvan said. “And the Outsiders can’t have been corrupted.”

  “Careful with your assumptions,” Lottie said. “Nazeem is infecting the echolands faster than the common cold. But you seem to be right. I don’t sense his influence in them.”

  “Neither do I,” Ferrin said.

  “Are you all cheeky?” Lottie complained.

  “It’s a good sign,” Ferrin said. “Our spirits are high despite plenty of danger and a long run.”

  “Straight from the Hall of Glory,” Lottie said. “You still have traces of it. Coming out of retirement? That’s the safest haven we’ve got around here. You can’t earn a better one.”

  “We’re trying to reach Deepwell,” Harvan said.

  “That will be markedly worse,” Lottie assured him. “You’re good at reading music or you wouldn’t have made it here. Nazeem has a host of agents looking for that boy. I’ve never seen anything like it. Three separate search parties have dropped in on me during the past week.”

  “It’s one big day,” Ferrin pointed out.

  “Some of the more civilized among us keep time as reckoned in Necronum,” Lottie whispered, as if sharing a secret.

  “So many?” Harvan asked. “All looking for the boy?”

  “And the girl,” Lottie said. “Destiny. It’s ludicrous. A month ago nobody had heard of Nazeem. Now half the echoes you meet are working for him. That sort of following develops over time. Never has it been accomplished so quietly.”

  “He’s based out of the Fallen Temple,” Harvan said.

  Lottie paled. “That explains some of it.” She confronted Cole. “Boy, you’re bright. That much is plain. But you’re not smart. What smart person would be in your position? Your mortal life hasn’t ended. Shouldn’t you return to your body and get as far from Necronum as possible?”

  “Not without Destiny,” Cole said. “I have duties.”

  Lottie looked unconvinced. “It’s hard to be the rescuer and the quarry. If this Nazeem gets hold of you, I expect you’ll rather you had dropped through my etherhatch and sped off to the Other.”

  “We’ll have to avoid getting caught,” Cole said.

  “Isn’t he great?” Harvan said with a smile.

  “The perfect target for an opportunist,” Lottie said. “A willing victim.”

  “We’re not using him,” Harvan said, sounding offended.

  “He’s a kid,” Lottie said. “He has no business playing hero in the afterlife. Certainly not with Nazeem hunting him.”

  “I came to them,” Cole said. “Without Harvan I’d be doing this on my own. I can’t run from Nazeem. It doesn’t matter where I go. He has people everywhere. And I’m not abandoning my friends. The only way I win is if Nazeem loses.”

  Folding her arms, Lottie shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I’ll work up something to mask your identity. Then you had best be on your way.”

  “Thanks for the hospitality,” Harvan said lightly.

  “Mind your manners,” Lottie said, pointing at him. “You shouldn’t stay anywhere for long, no matter how you’re disguising yourselves. We haven’t seen anything like Nazeem before. Your best bet is to keep moving. A sprint is the right pace.”

  “Thank you,” Cole said.

  “Any word of activity near Deepwell?” Harvan asked.

  “Plenty until recently,” Lottie said, going to a table and snipping a piece of yarn. “A strange lot was taking up space there—bright echoes, weavers, and shapecrafters. Plenty of activity on both sides. The commotion has quieted over the past couple of weeks.”

  “Does that mean the trail will be cold?” Drake asked.

  “Could be,” Harvan said. “We’ll know soon.”

  “Let me concentrate for a moment,” Lottie said, closing her eyes and rolling the yarn between her thumbs and fingers.

  “Weaving with yarn,” Winston said. “I like it.”

  Lottie opened one eye. “Hush. But thank you.” She closed her eye again.

  They waited and watched. Cole didn’t think it looked like much was happening.

  Lottie opened her eyes. “Keep this in your pocket. It’ll help shield you from scrutiny.”

  Cole accepted the orange strand.

 
“That’s good work,” Winston said.

  “It really is,” Harvan agreed.

  “What?” Lottie asked. “You didn’t expect to find a skilled weaver in a charnel house? We all have different callings. I like helping dead echoes move on.”

  “Have you been here long?” Harvan asked, real curiosity in his tone.

  “Longer than any of you,” Lottie said. Then she shrugged. “Of course, it’s all just one big moment, so who am I to brag? Ironic when you ponder it. I send thousands of dead echoes off toward the Other, but hesitate to pass that way myself.”

  “It’s very quiet in here,” Winston said. “I can’t hear the Other, or the slipstream, or any music besides our own.”

  Lottie winked. “Might be part of the reason I’ve hung on so long. You should go.”

  “Any tips on how best to approach Deepwell?” Harvan asked.

  “Don’t follow the channel,” Lottie said. “You’ll hit a town. Not a very friendly one. Go out the opposite door from where you entered. Loop around. Keep to the trees. The Hundred Forests has plenty. Stay away from everyone. But you know that.”

  “What else do you know about Deepwell?” Harvan pressed.

  “It has still water,” Lottie answered.

  “That’s the one thing I knew,” Harvan said.

  “It was once a little village, but now it’s more of a compound,” Lottie said. “It’s heavily shielded against using weaving or songreading to spy.”

  Harvan fingered his beard. “We have to get inside. You’re a very talented weaver. Could you disguise our music to match shapecrafters?”

  “You’re taking the boy Nazeem wants to find into Deepwell?” Lottie asked.

  “It’s our best chance of finding Destiny,” Cole said.

  Lottie tossed up her hands in surrender. “I suppose you’ll have a better chance of survival with decent disguises. Very well. I’ve recently had some shapecrafters come knocking. Their music is fresh in my memory.”

  “You’re no echo,” Harvan said. “You’re an angel.”

  “How often do you use that line?” Lottie asked.

  “Only on extraordinary occasions,” Harvan said. “About those disguises . . . my face is fairly recognizable. This would work best if we had something to shroud our appearances. New clothes are so hard to come by in the echolands. . . .”

  “Are you fishing for burial shrouds?” Lottie asked.

  Harvan looked surprised, but Cole thought it came across a bit forced. “Do you have some to spare? Are they hooded?”

  “I can spare some,” Lottie said. “I have a reliable supplier. I’ll weave the music directly into the material. They’ll only disguise you if you’re wearing them.”

  “That would be outstanding,” Harvan gushed. “Can you do one extra? In case we find somebody? And make the smallest a bright shapecrafter to better match the boy?”

  “Shall I bake you a cake as well?” Lottie asked. “Any favorite toppings?”

  “We so appreciate your aid,” Harvan said, striding over to Cole and putting an arm around him. “This little fella may owe his survival to you.”

  “Ernie,” Lottie said flatly. “Help me retrieve some shrouds.”

  He lugged a few bulging sacks to her and started opening them.

  “These will do well,” Lottie said, holding up a cowled robe.

  “Perfect,” Harvan agreed. “Nazeem tends to segregate his people. Most are strangers to one another. With our music disguised and the right story, we may be able to walk right into Deepwell.”

  “Sounds ideal,” Ferrin said. “Especially if they also let us walk right out.”

  They waited as Lottie worked her weavings on the shrouds. Eventually, she folded them and stuffed them into a coarse sack. Ernie delivered it to Harvan, who nodded at Winston. The shorter man stepped forward and accepted the gift.

  “You just saved our lives,” Harvan said graciously.

  “Glad to be of service,” Lottie said. “Any friend of Elana Parson deserves a good turn.”

  “A thousand thanks for your aid,” Harvan said with a bow.

  “Off with you, Mr. Slick Beard,” Lottie said. “You look out for this boy.”

  “We will,” Ferrin assured her.

  “Thanks,” Cole said.

  Lottie laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t stay in the echolands a minute longer than necessary. Find that girl and get out.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Cole said.

  “And don’t lose that yarn,” Lottie said. “Your true music will be naked without it.”

  Cole patted his pocket. “Got it.”

  “But leave the yarn behind if you use a shroud,” Lottie clarified.

  “Will do,” Cole said.

  Ernie opened the far door, and music flooded into the room, allowing Cole to better appreciate how quiet it had been. They gathered near the doorway.

  “Are we running?” Ferrin asked.

  “You had better,” Lottie said.

  “You heard the lady,” Harvan said, breaking into a sprint.

  Cole chased them out the door.

  CHAPTER

  21

  DEEPWELL

  Running among the trees was a different experience from running over the grass. The forests had their own music, more stately and enduring than some of the other themes. Amid the trunks, under canopies of leaves and needles, the songs of the fields and sky became muted. Without much underbrush, and with no dead leaves, branches, or trees crowding the forest floor, their way was hardly more obstructed than on the lawns. Instead of a natural forest, they might have been dashing through a many-pillared woodland temple.

  For the first while after leaving the charnel house behind, Cole felt an added weight of worry. Lottie had confirmed suspicions that Nazeem had many echoes looking for him. No matter Harvan’s skill, how much longer could they expect to elude pursuit? And once they were found, how much better would five be than one against the combined forces of the shapecrafters?

  But hours under the trees helped allay his fears. Harvan continued to veer in different directions as he sensed the music of other echoes or settlements. Cole took hope that they wouldn’t need to outrun the servants of Nazeem forever—just long enough to accomplish their mission.

  If Destiny was at Deepwell, part of his mission could be over shortly. Then he would just need to find Honor and Mira. And Jace and Joe. Hopefully, some of them had already found one another or were being held together.

  From up ahead unsettling music began to interrupt the song of the trees. Cole instinctively wanted to steer away from that direction, but they weren’t turning. “Is that Deepwell?” Cole asked.

  “Not friendly music,” Harvan said. “But it happens to be our destination.”

  “Should we put on our shrouds yet?” Winston asked.

  “You’re just tired of carrying the bag,” Harvan said.

  Winston shifted the sack to his other shoulder. “And I’m wondering if a group of shapecrafters approaching Deepwell might attract less attention than five anonymous echoes.”

  Harvan slowed to a walk, then stopped, hands on his hips. “I see the sense in that.”

  Winston opened the sack and began dispensing the shrouds, giving the smallest to Cole. “We have one extra,” Winston announced. “I’ll bring it.”

  “I’m no expert, but the music seems conspicuously dark,” Ferrin said. “Why don’t they mask it like we’re doing?”

  “Disguising music is tricky,” Harvan said. “Something small like a person is easier than something large. Also, the music of a place is the result of the fundamental nature of the place. If they masked the song too well, the place would no longer be suited to their purposes. Believe it or not, some people find this music inviting.”

  “You think they’ll just let us in?” Drake asked.

  “It’ll take some persuading,” Harvan said. “It helps that the shapecrafters haven’t been organized as a group for long. Most have been operating solo. Nazeem kept his
people separated. Military procedures are new to them. I’ve been doing this for some time, so I know some of their protocols and passwords. I’m also pretty good at stretching the truth.”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” Winston muttered.

  “It’s difficult to lie in the echolands,” Harvan said. “That reality can leave guards with a false sense of security after a few simple questions, if you manipulate the details correctly. The music of our shrouds should help, since they will partly conceal any falsehoods. Very few echoes have the talent to weave such effective disguises. But be ready for us to fail. We may have to fight our way out.”

  The robe was a little long on Cole, the hem dragging, the sleeves covering his hands. “What should I do with my yarn?” Cole asked. “Lottie said not to bring it once I put on the shroud.”

  Harvan held out a hand. “It will interfere with the music of the shroud. Let’s leave it here.” He placed it at the base of a tree. “We’ll return to this spot and retrieve it.”

  “Will you be able to find it?” Ferrin asked, scanning the area.

  “It has a certain music all its own,” Harvan said. “Knowing what to listen for, I can get us back here. On we go.”

  Before too long they reached a break in the trees and had their first view of Deepwell. The village of squat stone buildings had a stone wall around it. Unlike several towns Cole had seen in the echolands, no vegetation grew on the walls or rooftops. A narrow channel ran along the far side of the town, its whistling music mostly eclipsed by the sinister song of Deepwell.

  “There really is a well of still water here,” Harvan said. “Calm water is a rarity in the echolands.”

  “Does it carry benefits?” Drake asked.

  “Nothing so grand as the scarcity suggests,” Harvan said. “Like the fruit, it replenishes energy. And it’s nostalgic.”

  “Have you considered leaving Cole outside of the town with a guard or two?” Ferrin asked.

  Harvan turned to Cole. “What do you think?”

  “I’d rather help find Destiny,” he said without hesitation.

  “It’s probably the right move,” Harvan said. “These surroundings have to be heavily monitored. No matter how your music is concealed, if you wait here for long, you’ll arouse suspicion. Plus, when we leave, it might be in a hurry. I think we should stick together and remember that protecting Cole is our top priority.”