Death Weavers

by Brandon Mull

  “I don’t feel very relaxed,” Cole said.

  “I suppose not. Is there any emotion so terrible as suspense? You and your friends are completely in my power. I can do whatever I choose with you. For the moment I have not harmed any of you. But I could do so many things. Your imagination can hardly begin to envision the horrors that might await. This must produce an awful suspense.”

  “What are you going to do with us?” Cole asked.

  “What I do depends entirely on you, Cole.”

  “Why?”

  “It depends on what you’re willing to accept,” Ramarro clarified. “You possess an intriguing power. I would rather recruit you than destroy you. Same with your friends. But if you insist on resistance, my retribution will be swift.”

  “You’re trying to take over the world,” Cole said.

  “I have succeeded,” Ramarro clarified. “The echolands and the Outskirts are now mine to claim. You furnished the key to my prison.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Destiny’s power,” Ramarro said. “Without it, I would eventually have found another way. With it, I am free. Her power will permit me to return to the physical Outskirts. Once there, my portion of the Founding Stone will allow me to exit this prison.”

  “Dandalus was right,” Cole said. “You have a piece of the Founding Stone.”

  Ramarro’s grin made Cole think of a skull. “Your memories are a treasure box of information. So many delicious conversations! Dandalus trapped me here, you know. Gwendolyn as well. She Who Stands at the Summit. I had not confirmed that they remained in the echolands. Thank you.”

  Cole broke eye contact with Ramarro. What had he done? Would there be grave repercussions for revealing them to Ramarro? How bad would it be?

  “Don’t worry, Cole,” Ramarro said. “Both of them expected me to see your mind. They knew I would learn about them through you. I’m sure Dandalus told you he could destroy the Outskirts and sweep the echolands bare in a desperate attempt to intimidate me.”

  “Did it work?” Cole asked.

  “Dandalus can throw nothing at me that I cannot counter,” Ramarro said. “He could probably damage or destroy the Outskirts. I’ll believe that much. It’s a fragile world. He might even be able to flush all life from the echolands. But not if I resist him. Not if I stop him. Even if I’m wrong, he certainly lacks the power to remove me from the echolands. If he had the strength for that, he would have done so long ago. If Dandalus works some unknowable form of doomsday shaping that I can’t counter, if he unmakes the Outskirts and departs with all life, and if I am all that remains, so be it. I will have indirectly destroyed all who opposed me, and I will still remake the echolands as I desire and repopulate it at my leisure.”

  “What about Trillian?” Cole wondered.

  Ramarro gave a nod. “You have traveled far and wide, Cole. You have met most of the key players in this game. Dandalus can remove Trillian no more than he can remove me. If Dandalus destroyed everything he could, the two torivors would remain. Perhaps Dandalus hopes the prospect of confronting another of my kind would intimidate me. I’ve never shied away from a fight, Cole. I have every reason to believe that I could either overpower or recruit Trillian. In fact, if he so desired, I might even let him go home.”

  “Why don’t you go home?” Cole asked. “What’s the point of taking over the echolands?”

  Ramarro’s eyes flashed. “At first it was simply for experience. Now revenge is in the mix. How can I explain it? Imagine you went to live in a house full of mice. And somehow, against all odds, the mice imprisoned you and took over the house. How would you feel?”

  “Stupid.”

  Cole saw a flicker of anger in Ramarro’s eyes. “Yes, I suppose so. And frustrated? And wrongfully stripped of your natural right to govern the house? You would sit and watch inferior beings control what should have been yours. If some of the mice decided to cooperate, you might be willing to share the house with them, so long as they never again forgot their place. Especially if some of the mice had qualities that made them more interesting than their more common brethren. You would need to teach the rest a lesson.”

  “But what if some old shaper got rid of all the furniture and all the mice?” Cole asked.

  “You would have the satisfaction of knowing the mice had been exterminated,” Ramarro said. “And the prospect of doing whatever you chose with the house. You could refurnish it however best suited your taste, and repopulate it with mice if you so desired.”

  “I’m an interesting mouse?” Cole asked.

  “More than most,” Ramarro said. “You killed Sando, for example.”

  “That makes me interesting?”

  “Sando was very effective. He commanded my servants in the echolands, just as Owandell oversees my minions in the Outskirts. If Owandell has been my right hand, Sando was my left.”

  “And I killed him. Doesn’t that make you angry?”

  “It makes me curious. Sando was cunning and powerful. You lack his experience, and yet you bested him. I prefer to work with the best. Which is why I now invite you to join the winning side.”

  “As your servant,” Cole said.

  “You’re a human, not a torivor,” Ramarro said. “Would you make a mouse your equal?”

  “I wouldn’t want to live in a house full of mice,” Cole said. “I’d prefer other people.”

  Ramarro stared at him. “I have lived among my kind forever. I departed in the spirit of exploration. It was time for something new. And humans hold more charm than mice. I intend to control this world until I tire of the experience.”

  “I have a feeling you’re not telling me everything,” Cole said.

  Ramarro laughed. “Then trust your feelings. Would you tell everything to a mouse? If a scientist had experiments in mind, would he confide fully in his lab rats? The portion I have told you is all true. Your choice is simple. You can join me, or you can watch helplessly as I do whatever I choose with you and your friends.”

  “If I join you, won’t I be just as helpless?” Cole asked.

  “You’ll be helpless either way,” Ramarro said. “But by siding with me you will enjoy preferential treatment. When the outcome is certain, why not join the victors? Defy me and you will wish you had stayed in the slipstream and coasted to your next phase of existence.”

  “What about the others?” Cole asked.

  “They will have their own choices to make,” Ramarro said. “But if they resist, and you join me, I may show them mercy.”

  “What would mercy look like?”

  “I may send some to the Other,” Ramarro said. “I may borrow aspects of their shaping power without torturing them. But I make no promises. I will do according to my pleasure. This is not a negotiation. Either pledge to serve me, or refuse and face my wrath.”

  “Don’t you already know how I’m going to answer?” Cole asked.

  “Not for certain,” Ramarro said. “I know how you intend to answer. I also know how you should answer. Humans are so inconsistent that although I could make a very educated guess, I can’t be sure about the outcome until the choice is made. You want to deny me. But it would be better for you and your friends if you change your mind. I would prefer it as well. I would rather not torment and destroy some of the most engaging mice. You could pursue a long, appealing life, Cole. I can unlock abilities in you and your friends that you could never achieve alone.”

  “Can you send me home?” Cole asked.

  “I know of this desire,” Ramarro said. “I would have to study the matter after my release. I expect that I could return you to Arizona, along with those friends who came here from your world. Would I? Perhaps one day as a reward for years of loyal service. There is also a chance you would figure out how to do it on your own while serving me. I will make no promises.”

  “Because you can’t lie,” Cole said. “And you won’t send us home.”

  “That could be part of the reason,” Ramarro said. “I find ano
ther more compelling. I don’t bargain with vermin. The choice is before you. I must have an answer. The fate of many depend on your decision. Be wise.”

  “I’m trying,” Cole said. He squirmed on the stone chair. He wanted his reply to come easily. He wanted to turn down Ramarro. Cole hated that he was hesitating. He could feel the finality of this decision. Was he ready to die? To condemn his friends to die? Was he ready to let Ramarro strip his power and shape it into a monster? Was he ready to spend eons imprisoned? Was he ready for long ages of torture? Could he condemn his friends to that fate?

  Then again, would he really be condemning his friends? Wasn’t it still their choice to make? And hadn’t they all made this choice before, in different ways? What would Jace say to this offer? Harvan? Honor? Would they even pause? Wouldn’t they have already shot him down? Just by coming here, hadn’t they committed to stand against Ramarro?

  In one way or another, Cole had been making this decision ever since he came to the Outskirts. Had he been content as a slave, or had he risked everything for the chance to escape? Had he stood against monsters that should have defeated him? Had he risked his life for his friends? Had he sometimes even risked fates worse than death, like when he fought Morgassa, or when he came to the echolands in the first place?

  Cole had fought all along to protect his freedom and to free his friends. Would he now surrender that freedom voluntarily? Just because his enemy was calm, eloquent, and powerful, would Cole ignore that he was evil? Would he abandon his beliefs? If he served Ramarro, who would he become? He would end up like Owandell. Or worse. How many people would he harm?

  The words Dandalus had shared returned to Cole. If the whole meaning and purpose of life hinged on what he chose to love and who he chose to become, the answer became clear. His heart already knew he should deny Ramarro, and now his mind was fully catching up.

  “Dandalus planted those thoughts so you would choose this way,” Ramarro warned.

  “Who is trying to save this world, and who is trying to destroy it?” Cole replied. “Who is protecting young girls, and who is stealing their powers? I admire Dandalus! I’d much rather obey his ideas than yours.”

  “So be it, little fool,” Ramarro said. “Lamentable but not unexpected. I suppose it is—”

  Cole wasn’t listening. He had focused on the stone chair where Ramarro sat. He connected to it and heaved his power into it along with an avalanche of angry thoughts.

  The chair exploded into fragments.

  Howling, Ramarro twisted, landing on all fours. He glared at Cole, a fathomless rage behind his eyes, furious music blaring.

  Standing, Cole opened the shutter of the Weaver’s Beacon and pushed with everything he had—all the defiance, all the hope, all the protectiveness, all the power. The lantern went supernova, casting a brilliant glare across the misty landscape. Some of the energy from the beacon fed back into Cole, and he increased his output. He kept one hand on the shutter, holding it open in case unseen forces tried to close it again.

  The lantern was too bright. He couldn’t see anything.

  Had Dandalus deliberately warned him about this too? How much of this showdown had Dandalus anticipated?

  The light blinded Cole, but he remained unfrozen. Nobody was attacking him. He could no longer hear the music of Ramarro’s anger—or any music, for that matter.

  Cole didn’t want to dim the beacon too much, but he eased back on his effort enough to see.

  The misty landscape was gone. The Fallen Temple looked as it had when they had first entered it. Cole stood beneath an eerie sky on a glossy tile floor surrounded by pillars. An altar sat directly ahead of him. He had moved forward from Thunder and his companions, who all remained frozen.

  “You made me an offer!” Cole called. “Here is mine. Give me Mira, Tessa, and Durny. Let us depart in peace, and I won’t rip this place to pieces.”

  “You have chosen to endure my wrath,” Ramarro said, his disembodied voice falling from the sky and rising from the ground.

  “Bring it on,” Cole replied.

  CHAPTER

  37

  DESTINY

  The ground quaked. The pillars rocked. In the distance a swarm appeared. At first Cole thought of the men with gliders who had attacked him near the Farthest Mountain and outside the sanctuary where he had found Destiny. As the swarm approached, Cole saw it was a cloud of monstrous bats.

  Good, you want him angry, Prescia communicated in his mind. Glancing over his shoulder, Cole saw her standing immobile with his other companions. It means he’s not in full control.

  The freakish bats dove at him, the swarm becoming narrower and longer as it targeted him. Cole debated whether to draw his sword. It would mean taking a hand off the lantern’s shutter.

  The Weaver’s Beacon poses a problem for Ramarro, Prescia went on. He wanted you to serve him because it would have destroyed your protection. If you gave him your will, he would have obtained absolute power over all of us. Don’t be fooled. He suggested he can destroy us at his whim. He is indeed powerful here, but he is also overconfident. Ramarro can’t outright lie, but he can be wrong. Keep resisting. He can’t bind you right now. He’s trying to scare you. Pour on the power.

  Cole forced his full power into the beacon, and once again he could see nothing. The music of the beacon sounded like a single clear note, a ringing chime near the upper threshold of apprehension. Cole braced for the bats to collide with him, but the impact never came. The quaking ceased.

  “This grows tedious,” Ramarro said, his voice emanating from everywhere. “Why strive against you within my prison when I could go free?”

  Thunder whinnied fiercely. Cole heard hoofbeats coming his way. He dimmed the beacon enough to see the Mare charge by him, gallop to the altar, and rear, front hoofs lashing wildly.

  “Thank you for this gift, Cole,” Ramarro said. “It would have cost more time to make my escape without her power. Like the other Pemberton girls, Destiny parted willingly with her ability, at the urging of Owandell, who acted on my behalf. Here in my presence, her power must obey me.”

  Thunder bucked and curveted around the altar, neighing angrily.

  You need to see what is happening, Prescia counseled. Ramarro is masking himself and this temple in seemings. Much of his power here comes from his ability to make us believe his illusions. He is in our minds. This place is more dream than substance. Change the nature of the light from the beacon. Demand that it reveal our surroundings as they are. Don’t just make the beacon bright. Command it to let you see.

  Again Cole remembered the words of Dandalus. Could the Weaver’s Beacon do more than shine brightly? Could it help him see farther, deeper, truer?

  Still channeling his power into the lantern, Cole increased his output to maximum, concentrating on the nature of the light. The brilliant whiteness overpowered his vision. What if the whiteness were clear instead? What if it penetrated everything, revealed everything?

  The blinding glare vanished.

  Instead, Cole saw that he stood in a courtyard surrounded by the gray walls of a temple. Thunder reared near the altar, frozen now, the sparkling glory of her power flowing out of her like seeds on the wind. The power gathered and swirled around a human form, gigantic and demonic, with searing eyes. The more power flowed from Thunder, the more discernable the huge figure became, wreathed in a fiery whirlwind of shaping energy. The image made Cole recall how he first saw Ramarro—a devilish visage in the midst of emerald fire beneath the First Castle.

  “We will meet again shortly,” Ramarro vowed. “I look forward to continuing our disagreement in a less restrained environment.”

  If the slipstream was a hybrid of wind and water, the vortex around Ramarro combined wind and fire. Even though he was standing a good ten paces away, gusts of heat washed over Cole as the blazing energy whirled.

  At the center of the flaming funnel, the ghostly form of Ramarro held up a small stone. Glowing white, it looked like the corner of a much
larger block. It had to be the fragment of the Founding Stone! Ramarro was about to cross back to mortality. He was almost free.

  Cole knew his time was running out. He had to act. Taking his hand from the shutter of the lantern for the first time since putting it there, Cole drew the Jumping Sword.

  Leaping straight at Ramarro didn’t feel right. The surrounding fire seemed too hot, the wind too violent. Getting blown around and barbequed wasn’t going to help anyone.

  Cole glanced over his shoulder to where his comrades still stood frozen. He saw the golden strand in Jace’s hand, and an idea struck.

  There was no time to scheme and debate. Cole could not afford to second-guess his instincts. He leveled his Jumping Sword at the ground beside Jace and shouted, “Away.”

  Cole streaked low and fast to the point near Jace, landing at a run and stumbling several steps past his friend before returning to his side. After sheathing the Jumping Sword, Cole yanked the golden strand from Jace’s grasp and dashed back toward Ramarro.

  Power no longer exited Thunder to unite with the blazing vortex around Ramarro. The Mare’s coat was now a flat gray, having lost the bewitching appearance of churning clouds. Eyes ablaze, Ramarro held the white fragment of the Founding Stone above his head, the stone perhaps twenty feet above the temple floor.

  “Until we meet again,” Ramarro said, his voice triumphant. “It will not be long.”

  The fiery whirlwind around the torivor sped up. Ramarro appeared more tangible than ever, his form solid and dark except for those incandescent eyes.

  Beacon in one hand, borrowed strand in the other, Cole focused on the piece of the Founding Stone and commanded the rope toward it. The golden rope flashed forward like a striking serpent, stretching through the firestorm and curling around the white stone. Upon contact, Cole flooded his power into the rope, willing it toward the fragment.

  Everything stopped.

  Ramarro no longer moved. The flames no longer whirled. No music rang out.

  This had happened to Cole once before.