by Edith Pattou
But I summoned the image of my bairn on the day he was born and my white bear standing next to me as I held him, both of us bursting with joy. I kept sewing.
I wasn’t sure how much time went by. I took occasional breaks for food and quick dreamless sleeps, but mostly I bent over the cloak, my hands relentlessly threading white feathers into place.
And then I lost myself in the work. I came to a place in my heart, as I have so many times before, where it didn’t matter if it was acceptable, if the cloak passed the test and pleased the Morae. Or even whether I succeeded in keeping Aagnorak from coming, from destroying our world. The whole act of creating this cloak—the finding of the feathers, the weaving of the white silk, the painstaking sewing on of the feathers, each one placed just so, exactly where it belonged—filled me with a sense of joy, like when I made the moon dress, as well as the very first cloak I had made. I was creating something beautiful.
When I had sewn the last feather on the cloak and tied off the last knot on the last thread, I set down the needle and gently lifted up my creation. I laughed with pleasure at the sight of the cloak of white feathers, light as air, delicate and strong as the wings of a seabird. I had indeed made something beautiful.
Wind blew in from the window and lifted it slightly, making the feathers rustle. A slanting ray of the just-risen sun shone through the window, and the cloak shimmered.
I took the cloak and hung it on the third hook.
Neddy
WE ARRIVED IN STORNOWAY, LEODHAS, in the afternoon. At first we could find no trace of Rose and Charles, but finally met a sailor who had noticed a pair answering their description. He said they hired a cart to take them to a town called Garenin, which lay on the west coast of Leodhas. We immediately set sail and arrived at the small town by late evening. There was only one dock, but fortunately it was unoccupied and large enough to accommodate our ship.
The next morning, Sib and I asked around, describing Rose and Charles, and managed to find an old woman in an inn who said she’d spoken with them. They had told her they were going fishing, and she’d sent them to the boatman Macdeag.
As I headed out the door, the old woman called after me, “Will you be wanting to find the Three Weavers of Mora, too?”
I stopped. “Excuse me?” I said, turning back to her.
“The girl in particular was interested in the old tales,” the old woman said. And she proceeded to tell me the local legend about the Three Weavers.
As I walked away, I racked my brain. It sounded familiar.
When I rejoined Sib, who had been searching down by the water, I asked her if she knew of these Three Weavers.
She shook her head. “Where I’m from is farther south. I don’t know the tales of Leodhas. But it reminds me of something, too. Weavers. Maybe the Fates?”
All at once I knew and kicked myself for not remembering sooner. In Njorden lore, they were called the Norns. Three women who sat at the foot of the tree Yggdrasil and determined the thread of life for all those who inhabited earth, be they animals, humans, or gods.
So Sib and I returned to the inn, and I had the old woman tell us in greater detail about what she had said to Rose about the island to the west, which was surrounded by a dangerous whirlpool.
We made our way back to the ship at once. I wanted to set sail immediately, but a storm had blown in. The captain of our ship was also understandably skeptical about setting sail into uncharted waters to look for an island that existed only in fable.
Rose
I SANK INTO A CHAIR NEXT TO THE HOOKS with the three finished cloaks and wondered what would happen now. Was I supposed to go to the Morae and tell them the tasks were done? Barely before these thoughts had time to form, the light abruptly changed, and I realized that my workroom no longer had a roof. I rubbed my eyes and, in the next moment, saw that I was now sitting in a lovely walled garden. It looked as if it had been there for centuries with deep green layers of ivy climbing the stone walls, fragrant flowering trees, masses of flowers of all shapes and colors—vivid reds, purples, pinks, and yellows. There was the hum of insects and the melody of birdsong—of trilling songbirds, not the strident calls of seabirds.
I looked and saw that the wall behind me was now made of stone and covered with ivy, complete with the three hooks and my cloaks hanging from them. My pack was nearby as well. And a table stood near the center of the garden, filled with delicious-looking food and drink.
Verendi was unexpectedly at my side, smiling brightly. “You are done!” she said.
And I saw that Skuld and Uror were seated in comfortable chairs by the table, with an empty one waiting for Verendi, who leaned over and whispered in my ear. “This is one of Skuld’s favorite places. We all want her in a good mood, don’t we?” She laughed and whispered again, “And I made sure there was a whole basket of ripe figs. Skuld loves figs.”
I saw the basket of figs, and my own mouth began to water.
“Now, show us!” Verendi said, crossing to her chair.
I stood and turned to look at my cloaks, neatly hung on their hooks, and suddenly all the joy I had felt before in their making evaporated. How had I thought I could convince the Morae that I had completed their three tasks? The three cloaks looked like ordinary ungainly things hanging there. What had made me think I had created cloaks of fire, water, and wind? I must have been mad.
My legs shook, and I dully wondered when I had last eaten anything. But I straightened my back and took a deep breath.
“I will need a few things,” I said.
“You have only to ask,” trilled Verendi.
“A bucket of water,” I said.
Verendi gestured, and there before me was a bucket filled to the top with water.
“Thank you,” I said and crossed to my pack. Removing the flint, I returned to the pegs with the cloaks.
Tying my hair back, I wrapped a dark piece of fabric around my head. I took the black wool cloak that lay underneath the fire cloak and lowered it into the bucket of water, wetting it completely. I lifted the cloak out of the water and wrung it until the cloth no longer dripped.
I pulled the wet fabric around my shoulders, shivering a little as it touched my skin.
Turning to the cloak made of pitch and candle wax, I laid it over a chair. I took the flint and made a spark, holding it to one corner of the cloak, where I had deliberately left a long strand of wax-coated wool protruding. I set it on fire, and right away, the wool caught. I watched as it kindled slowly and began to travel along the warp and weft of the fabric. I picked up the cloak, holding it aloft as it burned.
“It doesn’t count just to set a cloak afire,” came Skuld’s deep voice.
“Wait and see,” said Verendi, and I thought I saw her offer Skuld the basket of figs.
When almost the entire cloak was aflame, I draped it around my shoulders, on top of the wet black cloak.
The smell of flame was in my nose, and I could feel the heat through the inner cloak, but my skin did not burn. I raised my arms, holding the cloak aloft. Flames leapt and crackled and danced all across the surface of the cloak.
“See? It is a cloak of fire!” said Verendi. “The flame does not go out.”
“I agree,” said Uror.
Skuld said nothing, just watched me.
The heat from the fire began to make me sweat, and I could tell my face was flushed. I became aware of the unmistakable smell of burning hair and realized the hair at the nape of my neck was being singed, despite the head wrap.
“Perhaps,” said Skuld with a frown. “Perhaps it could be called a cloak of fire. Let us see the next.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and shrugged the burning cloak off my shoulders, stepping quickly away from it. I used the damp inner cloak to smother the flames.
“Show us your cloak of water,” said Uror.
I took a deep breath, and after unwinding the damp material from my head and laying it aside, I crossed to the three hooks. I removed the seaweed and shell c
loak and carried it over to the bucket of water, which I noticed was once again filled to the brim. Gingerly, I submerged the cloak, pressing lightly so as not to crush or break the vines of seaweed. Water sloshed over the rim of the bucket as I pushed the cloak down.
I let it sit for a few moments, and though it was quiet, except for the occasional warble of birdsong, I could hear Skuld’s voice inside my head. A cloak that is sopping wet isn’t the same as a cloak of water.
I pushed the voice away and drew the cloak from the bucket of water. I quickly draped it over my shoulders and tied it under my chin with the two strands of seaweed. I took hold of the two sides of the cloak and began to undulate the fabric, slowly and rhythmically. Droplets of water rippled off it in iridescent arcs. The loops I had created held on to the water, as did the small shells, which made a whispering, tinkling sound as they came into contact. It was almost like the sound of waves lapping on the shore. The seaweed pods also made squishy, popping noises now and then. The small phosphorescent sea worms began wriggling out of shells and squirmed along the strands of seaweed. The light in the garden suddenly dimmed, as if the sun had been obscured by clouds, which made the phosphorescence gleam all the more brightly. I could hear Verendi’s laugh and knew she had caused the light to change. And in the half-light, my cloak indeed looked like a thing of the sea—liquid, silvery, and shimmering with water.
“Beautiful!” called Verendi.
“It is not made of water,” came Skuld’s voice.
“It is lovely,” said Uror.
“Yes,” said Skuld grudgingly.
The light in the garden returned to normal.
“You are indeed a skilled weaver,” said Verendi.
“Yes, as good perhaps as Arachne,” agreed Uror.
“Better, I think,” said Verendi.
I felt myself blushing a little, pleased at the compliment. I had heard the legends of Arachne, who had angered the goddess Athena with her skill at weaving. Athena ultimately turned Arachne into a spider so she would weave her webs throughout eternity.
The cold water had initially felt good on my skin after the heat of the fire cloak, but now I began to feel chilled. Shivering, I took the cloak off and hung it on the second hook, where it continued to drip water.
I looked over at the Morae.
“Skuld?” asked Verendi.
“It is not a cloak of water,” Skuld said, helping herself to another fig. “But if she passes the wind cloak test, I will let this one pass as well.”
“Very well. Then it all depends on the cloak of air,” said Uror.
I breathed deeply, still shivering.
“Wait,” said Verendi. And from somewhere she produced a length of the softest, whitest material I had ever felt, and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Dry yourself first,” she added.
Gratefully, I rubbed the impossibly soft cloth over my arms and shoulders.
I set it down, took another deep breath, and lifted the cloak of white feathers off its hook.
Neddy
SIB, ESTELLE, AND I WERE FINISHING BREAKFAST in the galley of the ship. I had just asked Sib to pass me a jug of milk when her face suddenly froze. She sat very still, staring straight ahead. I turned to see what she was looking at, but her gaze was directed at the small porthole just opposite her and the only thing visible was water.
Abruptly she stood. “Excuse me,” she said, and quickly left the galley. Estelle and I looked at each other.
“Is Tante Sib all right?” Estelle asked. “She looked funny.”
I stood, feeling alarmed. Was she about to run off again? “I think I’ll just see . . .” I said, and, grabbing up a coat, left the galley. I went on deck just in time to see Sib on the gangway departing the ship.
I followed her. She was moving swiftly, through the harbor and out onto the headland, heading north. There was a cool wind blowing and I noticed Sib didn’t have a cloak. She seemed to be heading toward a sandy beach area some distance north of the harbor.
I wasn’t too far behind when I saw her go out onto the sand. It was a chilly day, and the beach was deserted.
I watched as Sib stopped and removed her leather boots.
“Sib?” I called. But either she did not hear me or was too intent on what she was doing to respond. At any rate she did not turn toward me.
Her boots off, Sib hiked up her skirt, tucking the hem into her belt, and waded into the water. When the water was just above her knees, she stopped and just stood there.
I came up to the shoreline and called to her.
This time she turned. “It’s Rose, Neddy,” she said. “You were right. She needs me. Go back to the ship. Please.” Her voice was urgent.
“But what—”
“Go,” she repeated. “And don’t worry. It will be fine.”
Rose
IT ALL CAME DOWN TO THE CLOAK OF WIND, and it was of course the hardest, the one I had the least confidence in. I knew it was beautiful. But would they consider it a cloak made of wind? It seemed unlikely.
But I had to try.
Nervously I wrapped it around my shoulders. The feathers rustled gently, gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight.
There wasn’t even a breath of wind in that sunny garden. I found myself wondering if the Morae had done that deliberately, Skuld in particular. But in spite of that, I closed my eyes, listening for even the faintest hum of the wind music I had heard when I was making the cloak. As before, I wished that Sib were with me, that she could help me hear it. But what I wished more than anything in this moment was the ability to summon it, as Sib had once summoned the breeze that curled around my body on board the ship to La Rochelle.
As I concentrated, I thought of Charles, or of Charles as he once was. My husband. I thought of the happy times we had had, picnicking by the river, drinking cold cider together, playing his flauto, holding our newborn bairn, the two of us dancing at one of the yearly village fairs. One day we would dance together again. I had to believe that.
I had unconsciously raised my arms as if to dance, and it was at that moment I first heard the music. It started out soft and sweet, but gradually swelled, filling my ears, my veins, my heart.
My eyes still closed, I began to spin, and I could feel the wind twisting around my body, lifting the cloak and breathing its lilting music in my ear. My heart began to pound faster.
The feathers on the cloak fluttered in the wind, and I suddenly felt as if the wind had entered my blood, causing my whole body to thrum with its music.
For a flicker of a moment, I thought I could hear Sib’s voice singing, weaving through the music inside me, but thought I must be imagining it.
As I spun, and listened, and thrummed, I felt the strangest sensation, that my body was actually lifting, my feet leaving the ground. And through the music in my ears, I could hear the voice of Uror.
“She has power after all.”
“Someone is helping her,” came Skuld’s voice.
Verendi’s laugh trilled. “Nonsense, you can see no one is here.”
“Still,” Skuld said, implacable.
“Does it matter?” Verendi said. “In truth, Rose has done the task, she has made a cloak of wind.”
I was hearing their voices through the swelling music that flowed through my body.
And then the wind began to ebb, and I felt myself gently descending to the ground, the cloak settling in rustling folds around me.
I opened my eyes. Verendi was coming toward me, her arms open, and she drew me into a sweet perfumed hug.
Her pale eyes searched mine. “You have done it, Rose,” she said softly. And I was surprised to see what looked like unshed tears glittering in her eyes. “And I think you may be just in time,” she added with a whisper.
Neddy
I DIDN’T LEAVE THE BEACH. I knew I should, but I couldn’t. I wanted to be sure Sib was safe. I climbed to a stand of trees not far from where she stood, and stayed there, watching her.
At first she was still, stand
ing knee-deep in the water, facing south and west. But then I saw her arms slowly lifting, and as they did, I saw that the weather was changing. A wind had kicked up. As it grew stronger, whitecaps began to form. The waves grew larger and started splashing Sib. They grew even larger, and I wanted to go to her, fearful that she would be knocked down and pulled out to sea. Indeed she was thoroughly soaked by now, but she stood her ground as the waves buffeted her. And slowly the wind began to diminish, the waves receding to their previous placid state.
Sib’s body buckled, and she collapsed into the water. Breaking into a run, I was soon splashing through the water. I scooped Sib up into my arms and carried her to the shoreline, where I gently set her down.
She looked up at me and smiled.
“Neddy,” she said, and abruptly spewed a mouthful of seawater onto the sand. Her body was racked by coughing.
I put my arms around her, and the coughing gradually subsided, but I could feel her shivering.
“We need to get you back to the ship,” I said.
She nodded and unsteadily rose to her feet. Then she collapsed again. I lifted her into my arms and, carrying her, began to walk toward the harbor.
Rose
AS I WAS HANGING THE WIND CLOAK on the third hook, a quarrel had broken out between the three Morae. They all agreed that I had completed the tasks, but when Verendi said she thought they should each get one of the cloaks, and that she dearly wanted the cloak made of wind, Skuld had unequivocally said no.
“The girl created them; they are hers.”
I started to say that I would be glad to give the cloaks to the Morae, but Skuld would have none of it. Verendi pouted, but all of a sudden, Uror and Skuld were bidding me farewell and the garden vanished. Verendi and I were standing alone on a desolate stretch of shoreline. There was no sign of a whirlpool, the water looking smooth and silvery in the afternoon light.