by Mark Johnson
Nocev poked her shoulder. “And what about you? What do you want?”
Sarra swallowed. If she left HopeWall for a normal life, she would hardly ever be able to visit the pavilions. There’d be no more secret lessons.
“Sarra, did you know there are Walls over in Sufferance Territory that barely know HopeWall exists? HopeWall might be the biggest thing in north Humility, but it’s still a lot of old women sitting on top of younger ones, kicking downward.”
That, Sarra couldn’t deny.
Nocev leaned forward. “Sarra, if you turned up at OremWall out of the blue, ah… well, I’m sure, it’s not impossible, that there’s the smallest chance, that feasibly, Mother might really, desperately, want you as an apprentice.”
Sarra whipped her head around. No one near. “Really?”
Nocev leaned back and shrugged. “Well, I have no idea. Why would the First Weaver of OremWall Cluster confide or ask anything of an apprentice who dormed with Orphan Sarra for three years?”
The Commons seemed extra quiet. Sarra’s brow was wet. She felt dizzy.
“What about the other things in life, Sarra? I mean, your bumps are in all the right places and you’re pretty. You’ll have no problem getting a man once you get used to being around them. Gods, you’ve never even spoken to a man without an old woman watching!”
“Yes, I have!” Sarra burst out.
Nocev’s eyes widened, her hand shooting out to grip Sarra’s forearm tight.
Where had that come from? For an instant, Sarra had known it to the core of her being.
“I… I have more to learn,” Sarra managed to say. “And while Pilgrimage is active I can’t leave.”
Nocev let her arm go. “You don’t need to make a decision now, but you’ve got a way out. Don’t you want be a mother one day?”
“I… haven’t thought about it.” A small voice in the back of her mind corrected her. No, I’ve put off thinking about it.
“I won’t tell anyone I didn’t pass on the message that no one gave me,” Nocev said.
Sarra laughed, and tilted her head to the sky.
“There,” Nocev said, pointing into the Commons. “That wandering blonde girl in the pigtails. She looks lost. I guarantee she’s going to be one of our students.” She shook her head. “In OremWall we always make certain our novices know where they’re supposed to be.”
5
The novices seated in the pavilion ranged from thirteen to seventeen years. All Sarra knew of them was that each girl had arrived days ago. She’d already forgotten their names.
“All right,” Sarra said. “We don’t know any of you, so let’s start with the basics. What’s the definition of a weave?”
“Vibration energy,” screeched a girl with wide eyes. “Taken by one who can manipulate the energy, shaped into form and purpose.”
Sarra decided not to acknowledge the answer, and waited to see what else she knew.
The girl bit her lip. “Ah, anyone can create vibrations. Any human at all. For example, Sadhu monks and nuns pray all day and create heaps of vibrations they keep in stones. But they don’t weave. A vibration weaver is different because she can take the energies and shape them.”
“Good, Dorilas,” said Nocev.
Gods, how was Nocev always so good with names?
“Hands up who knows how to make a weave? Any weave. Hands up,” said Nocev, and then let out a relieved sigh as all eight hands reached into the air.
“What are your easiest weaves?” she asked.
“Heating, Initiate Nocev.”
“Just Nocev, when weavers aren’t watching.”
“Communication.”
“Healing.”
“Chaos detection.”
“Programming.”
“Weave projection.”
Good, thought Sarra. Less hand-holding needed. Some of these girls would be better than the others, which sometimes led to boasting and bullying in the dorms.
“Remember,” said Sarra, “that even the smallest weaves are useful. Complex weaves are made by combining dozens and hundreds and thousands of smaller weaves. Some of you may make large weaves, but you’ll likely be relying on smaller weaves as you do. You’ll all make smaller weaves as beginners, and you’ll be able to make larger weaves as you progress. The more skill and strength you develop, the larger weaves you’ll make. You’ll be better at different types of weaves, and you’ll find those out as you study longer.
“You’ll learn hundreds of different weaves by the time you’re done as a novice, and you’ll know what you can specialize in by the time you head back to your home Wall. That’s if you don’t choose to stay on as an initiate and take an apprenticeship with a Tower weaver.”
The girls nodded. They’d heard all this from their mothers or local Wall weavers.
“What’s our purpose during Pilgrimage?” Nocev called. “Yes, Petrev?”
“Oppose chaos,” said a blonde girl with a protruding chin. “We’ll fire vibrations at whatever chaos we find. And there’ll be explosions all over!” The girl’s face brightened at the idea.
“Good,” said Nocev. “Though the actual fighting will be done by Tower weavers with mechanisms or a few artefacts. But you’re also wrong. Only when vibrations and chaos objects touch, do we get explosions. Chaos and vibration energy just cancel one another out if they’re not confined to an object. By the way, what do I mean when I say ‘objects’?”
“Mechanisms and artefacts. Chaos and vibrations can run on both,” said Petrev.
“Yes. And can someone run through the technical device hierarchy for me? Carelent?”
A girl with close-cropped hair lowered her hand. There must have been some sort of lice outbreak at her home Wall recently, to have such short hair. The poor girl would likely get teased about it at some point.
“There are four groups of technology,” Carelent said. “Devices run only on electricity, like glowbulbs and frying plates. Mostly electricity comes from windmills.
“Second comes mechanisms. They use vibrations. Sometimes they make vibration weaves, sometimes they just pass on vibrations, like Seeker shockpoles and repeater stones that relay messages.
“Third. Artefacts. They also run on vibrations. They’re made of metal and there haven’t been any new artefacts since the Founders’ War. Artefacts are activated according to programmed triggers, and they have a bunch of possible actions, depending on the trigger.”
Carelent smiled proudly. “One day I’d like to work with the Tower artefact that diagnoses sicknesses with a few drops of blood, and the one back home that provides musical accompaniment to any tune being played. It somehow works out how the tune will go, and works out a harmony piece to go along with what you’re playing.”
Sarra nodded her approval. She knew far more of artefacts than anyone in HopeWall, but didn’t dare let on.
“And there’s golem above artefacts,” Carelent said. “They’re able to work on their own, make their own judgements.” She shrugged, for little more was known of golem. The Royals kept golem, and seldom let them range outside the Center. Rumor said they acted as guards at the Center gates, or worked within Royal hexagons to produce and prepare food.
“Good,” said Nocev. “As well as learning, you’ll have to fit into the daily routines that’ve been running a hundred and fifty years. I don’t recommend shirking duties and prayers. Make certain you attend at least one chapel service per week: it doesn’t matter which. We’ve both weaver and non-weaver priests, and the men have their own chapel in one of the BarracksWalls. And yes, our chapel is the very first chapel that Mother Farrah built and taught in, so the Misses take skipping chapel as a personal insult. It gets hot in there, so wear light clothing and drink before you go.
“But every day, you have to do the morning progression. You weave once in all eight pavilions. Choose one of the six pillar
s in each pavilion. Everyone does it, from the youngest novice up to the TowerMiss herself.
“If you’re able, you’re supposed to pray to Polis while weaving. But it takes time to get to that stage. After progression, comes breakfast. Then you’ll meet us in this pavilion, because the Tower rooms are all booked out. We’ll assume you’ll be with us at least three months, so we’ll start with…”
Something at the corner of her vision caused Sarra to stop listening. She turned for a better look, pretending to scratch behind her ear. The six pillars holding this pavilion’s roof were glowing: a full-bodied, silver glow, encompassing each pillar, pulsing together like a heartbeat. It was the silver light only she could see. Nocev and the novices hadn’t noticed, of course.
“Any questions?” said Sarra, realizing Nocev had finished.
“Yes,” said the younger girl with blonde pigtails, whom they had seen wandering earlier, her hand flickering in the air. “Are you Orphan Sarra, the girl who turned up here years ago with —”
“Yes. Can anyone tell me more about the pavilions?”
Verlas, a girl Sarra’s own age, cleared her throat with a smug smile. “The tin statues of the dogs atop each pavilion are called alsatios. The alsatios were Mother Farrah’s favorite pets back home in Polis Ceneph. Official letters from HopeWall are sealed with alsatio-stamped wax seals. My mother has a collection.”
“Good,” said Nocev. “At NewYear festival, what do novices wear in remembrance of Polis Ceneph?”
Sarra’s eyes wandered. The other seven pavilions were aglow and pulsing, like this pavilion. Six pillars per pavilion, eight pavilions in the Commons, pulsing as one like a heartbeat. Not once in her decade at HopeWall had this happened. What could awaken all forty-eight pillars — and their programs — at once?
She forced her attention back to the novices, not wanting anyone to sense her concern.
The pigtailed girl’s hand fluttered again. “Have you ever seen the HopeWall ghosts?”
Verlas and a freckled friend doubled over laughing. Other girls smiled.
“Of course not,” Sarra lied, then quickly changed topic. “We will also be required to go on forage together, as a group. I’ll check the roster every morning after progression.” She pointed toward the cork board in the eastern colonnade.
The ghosts faded into sight. Silver-sheened, standing unusually still, they kept their backs to her, facing west, outside the Wall. Was something wrong? Cadvers didn’t come out in daylight, and never close to HopeWall. If there were something visible, the lookouts atop the BarracksWalls would have seen it. Sarra let Nocev continue, not trusting herself to speak.
Surely, this meant trouble. The ghosts weren’t literally ghosts; they were programs woven of the silver energy, by the pillar-artefacts. Sarra was certain she was the only person in HopeWall who knew the pavilion pillars were artefacts, and that the ‘ghostly’ human figures were their projected consciousness. She guessed that whoever had installed the artefacts within HopeWall had wanted to keep their true nature a secret, and she intended to maintain that secret.
Each pillar-artefact contained one distinct program, or ghost. Sarra had always assumed the ghost legend had arisen from nervous novices seeing something human-shaped at the corner of their vision.
The programs had first taught her to weave the silver energy and then to work with artefacts as soon as she’d arrived at HopeWall. The third thing the programs had taught her had to remain an even more closely-guarded secret than the first two.
The artefacts monitored HopeWall and further out into the wastes more thoroughly than the Tower weavers could. But the projections didn’t ‘look’ worried. More like they were confused, or that something had grabbed their interest. It was in the way they positioned their arms and hands, and tilted their heads.
There’d never been any hint of trouble coming to HopeWall. Why would cadvers attack the strongest Wall cluster in the Territories? No. Nothing could threaten HopeWall. It would be just a harmless chaos flux passing near.
Nocev was still lecturing. “Some forages take up to three days, and we sleep rough. But don’t worry. We’ll have guards and we’ll bring mechanisms.”
Nocev counted off the relevant mechanisms on her fingers.
“Lion repellents, vibration shields and vibration triggers for cadvers, emergency vibration flares, and anything else we can snag on the way out. It’s perfectly safe.” She fixed the older girls with a stare. “As long as you don’t touch any of the guards. Many girls find out the hard way that a few moments of passion aren’t worth it.”
Pigtail girl’s hand shot up.
“No, Denilas,” Nocev said, “neither Sarra nor I have been stupid enough to try. And if you dislike the thought of a week’s latrine duty, count yourself fortunate you won’t suffer whatever the BarracksSirs put your boyfriends through. Those scars on their backs last a lifetime. Don’t be selfish. Don’t be the girl who’d allow a man she fancied to be whipped.
“Life in the Territories is harder than anywhere else in the Polis. There are fewer functional growth hexagons and water pipes, and there are way more cadvers. The Elders and Councilors keep HopeWall a women-only Wall, because this cluster is devoted to survival. The men learn to fight cadvers, the women learn weaves to keep us all alive. Both sides are supposed to work together to fight the problems we have, that they don’t.” She pointed through HopeWall’s northern wall, up toward the ‘civilized’ area of Polis Sumad, where most Sumadans lived. “The Elders see you letting your hormones break the rules as you dooming the Territories.”
Nocev shrugged, implying that wasn’t necessarily what she thought.
Verlas’s eyes widened, and she looked at her friend with the freckles.
Sarra fingers fluttered of their own accord.
Stop this Sarra. Cadvers never attack during the day. Daylight drains their strength. Nothing is different; nothing is remotely interesting.
“So,” Sarra said perhaps a little too loudly, “you’re mopping, foraging, studying and getting up early, until you make initiate. You’re studying under us until you make it, or you leave. And, so you’re aware, we have to look after you lot on top of all our own studies, plus the apprentice work for our Mistress. If you want an apprenticeship in HopeWall one day, the harder you work, the more likely you are to get an apprenticeship.”
Had that come out a little harsh? She was having trouble keeping calm. There was a moment of quiet.
“What is the Initiate trial?” said Nocev.
Yes. Concentrate on the rules.
A blue-eyed fifteen-year-old from Chastity knew the answer. “You get locked in a room for a week. You speak to no one and food is brought to you. You have to weave a stone so it becomes a mechanism, with the specifications set by the examiners. If you don’t make it to their standards, you don’t get to attempt the exam again for a season.”
Sarra’s own trial had been one of the worst weeks of her life. Completing the trial before evening on the first day, she’d been without anything to do for the next six. The rules allowed the candidate to leave whenever they wanted, but had Sarra left after six hours, there would have been questions. Well, more questions than usual. Candidates weren’t even allowed to bring books. At least she’d been allowed extra blank stones, within which she wove the silver weaves to keep herself occupied.
Reminded of her secret, she gave in and looked around.
Nothing had changed. All the ‘ghosts’ stared beyond those thick stone walls. Surely the lookout weavers would have noticed any danger by now.
But all was still.
Gods, what was happening?
Another girl asked a question about the defense mechanisms at the tops of the BarracksWalls, but Sarra didn’t hear the reply. At HopeWall’s only entryway, a guard passed a message to a waiting novice. Who left the gate at a leisurely pace, her long, dull dress brushing the
ground. Normally, gate messengers went for the Tower or WallMiss Hapev’s office, inside the colonnades beside the eastern farm. But this novice came south instead, toward them.
“We have a message,” Sarra said, interrupting Nocev.
“Message for her, Initiate,” said the novice, pointing at Nocev. “BarracksSir Kemmer wants you to verify someone, Initiate Nocev.”
Kemmer was BarracksSir for WestBarracksWall. The direction the ghosts faced.
Nocev frowned. “Tell him I’m coming.” The novice left, drifting slowly back to the gate. “Right,” said Nocev. “Because HopeWall loves rules that complicate everyone’s lives, you lot aren’t allowed out with me, and I have to take another initiate. Sarra and I’ll meet you after lunch in your dorm.”
Some novices stood to leave, some burst immediately into conversation.
“Anything the matter, little Miss Grumpypants?” Nocev said as they started toward the gate. “You were fidgeting like a five-year-old back there.”
“Sorry,” Sarra said, “I kept thinking I… heard something.” Each artefact projection still faced resolutely west, unmoving. Toward WestBarracksWall. Was this some common programming bug she’d never seen before, or had the enormous number of weavers in the Wall somehow overloaded the pillars’ processing capacity? “I thought you said everyone arrived from OremWall already.”
“If it’s who I think it is, they said they weren’t interested,” said Nocev. Her brow had furrowed and she squinted into the distance.
It had been lifetimes since a HopeWall guard had worn armor, and the two guards squatting outside the gate showed more interest in a pebble-throwing game than the spears waiting beyond their reach. After writing their names and destination on the ‘Initiate Excursion’ roster, the men waved Sarra and Nocev on toward West-BarracksWall.
The further one walked from the HopeWall gate to WestBarracksWall, the lumpier the cracked, orange and yellow ground became. So many complained of the ugliness of the Territories, disparaging their bland harshness and sparse vegetation, but were oblivious to the Wastes’ simplistic beauty. A sunrise in the Wastes was glorious, as distant golden-tipped hills shimmered and gained color. But near midday, there was little worth seeing.