“Is there something special about this tree?” Michael asked.
“Stand in front of it.”
When he did so, Aneh smiled, but Michael was still confused.
“What?” he enquired.
She laughed, “You would not ask if you could see.” Continuing after a brief pause, she said, “Compare the colour of your clothing with that of the tree, and it will not surprise you to learn that you are almost invisible to the eye if you stand still against it.”
He looked down at his clothes, and then at the trunk of the tree, and noticed that Aneh was correct. The large blocks of colour in the trunk matched perfectly the colours of his shirt and trousers in places.
At his enquiring glance, Aneh spoke again, “It serves to hide you so well because your clothes are woven from its bark.”
He peeled a small piece of bark from its surface and found its rough surface snapped easily between his fingers; then pulled at his shirt, again thinking that it felt like a soft but tough leather in his touch.
“I would ask,” he said, “But all your answers to my questions seem to be something about Weavers, so let me guess – a Bark Weaver?”
He found it difficult to be frustrated when his stare was returned with the dimple in her cheek that was always displayed when her smile widened. “You are beginning to learn the words,” she said, “if not the meanings. A Plant Weaver will have made your clothing. That is why I brought you here. I thought it would be easier to explain if you could see that one thing becomes another through the Weaving.”
Finally, he thought, I’m going to get an explanation. He just hoped he would be able to understand it, and it wouldn’t leave him with even more questions.
“Come with me,” she said, “There is a pleasant place nearby where we can sit by the river; there I will try to explain.”
He carried the piece of bark with him as they walked no more than a couple of hundred yards, the river suddenly appearing in front of them as they pushed their way between some large shrubs. The sound of the water that could be heard running gently over partially submerged rocks was pleasant in the mid morning sun. Aneh pulled herself onto a large rock that rose from the riverbank to the height of her waist, and motioned for Michael to sit alongside her.
Once he was comfortable, she spoke; her brow furrowed as she concentrated. “Each person who is born amongst our number is blessed with a Weaving of one type or other,” she began. “We do not know why that is. Perhaps it is a gift from Ashael, or because of the land in which we live, or mayhap no more than happenstance. But the people of Aperocalsa have no Weaving, and as we were once all one people, we are not able to explain why we have Weavings and they do not. What we know for certain, however, is that the people of the city despise us for our Weaving, seeking to destroy us because of it.”
“Is the Weaving dangerous then?” Michael asked.
“The Weaving is a gift,” she replied. “Some Weavings could be used in ways that make them dangerous, but a man may make the branch of a tree dangerous if he wishes, or a stone from the river. The Weaving is no more dangerous than any gift of nature, and often it is the opposite. We do not know why the people of the city hate us for it.”
Michael thought on her words, but still wasn’t any clearer on what a Weaving actually was. “You said your people could get a different type of Weaving. Is it something you are born with? Or can you choose what Weaving you will have?”
“In truth, we do not know for certain whether the Weaving arrives with us into this world. A child will have known eight, or nine, or perhaps ten springs when their Weaving begins to be known. Whether that is because it is acquired from something around us, or whether the child is born with their Weaving, taking time to develop sufficiently for it to become known we cannot tell. But we are not able to choose our Weaving. I believe it is a gift from Ashael, and I trust in her wisdom of the Weavings that are bestowed upon us.”
Aneh was still concentrating on the words she was choosing. Michael suspected that she had never had to explain something that was such a central part of their culture to an outsider before and thought it must be difficult for her.
“What does the Weaving actually do?” he asked, “I mean, obviously it turns this bark into clothes, but how does it do that? And you’ve mentioned a lot of different Weavers. Your mum is a Sooth Weaver you said, and that doesn’t seem to change anything.”
Angling her head to one side, she continued, “This is difficult for me to explain, Michael, and I am sorry if I am not able to do it well, but I will try my best. When a child’s Weaving begins to be displayed, she will know it by feeling a particular… bond to something.”
“Like you’d be really interested in something – maybe even fascinated by it?” Michael queried.
“No, it is much more than that,” she quickly responded. “I am fascinated by the sky. I can lie on the grass and stare at clouds for hours, wondering how they are created, and why they come in so many varieties; why some bring darkness and rain while others bring joy and diversity to the blue heavens. But I am no Cloud Weaver, if such a Weaving even exists.
“I do not know how to describe the Weaving more than it being like a bond at first. A child who would become a Plant Weaver would look at that bark,” she pointed to the item Michael held in his hand, “and she would understand it. She would recognise the tree from which it came if she saw it. She would know if it were damaged by insect or disease. Just as you or I can taste the juices of the hettlesip fruit when we bite into it, a Plant Weaver would taste, in their soul, a piece of bark, or a leaf, or a flower, when they no more than look at it.”
“Okay,” said Michael, “But how does that help someone change it from this,” he held up the piece of bark, “into this?” he asked tugging his shirt with his free hand.
“At first, the Weaving only gives a bond, as I explained,” she replied, “but as the child grows, her bond will increase, and soon she will begin to notice that she can… alter – that is not the right word, but it is the nearest I can conceive. She will realise that she can alter the plant; not in any fundamental way, but if it is damaged she will find that she can make it whole again using only her thoughts. The parents of a Plant Weaver will find that pieces of plants appear in their homes in the shapes of people or animals, all appearing as if they had grown naturally that way, as their child has… reshaped them according to her desires.”
“They can change the shapes of things by just thinking about it?” Michael asked incredulously.
“I am sorry, Michael,” she apologised, “I am not explaining it well. It is more than thinking.” She paused deep in thought as she struggled for the words before continuing, “The Plant Weaver will reach into her soul – to the bond that she shares with the leaf – and will bend her soul. It takes great concentration and when still new to Weaving leaves a child exhausted.” She smiled again with her next words, “My parents were pleased with the quiet that came over our dwelling when Kasha began to use her Weaving. No, that is not right. Kasha was certainly not quiet with her Weaving, but it was much more pleasant to the ear.”
Michael joined Aneh’s short laugh. “Yes, she does talk a lot doesn’t she.”
Aneh went on, without commenting further on her sister, “But there is a joy that comes to you when you are able to share your being with the object of your Weaving. Though your soul is wearied, it is also… exhilarated. Thus a child will desire to use their Weaving, and will slowly extend what they are able to do. They will learn how to alter the properties of the objects and eventually, for a Plant Weaver, how to join different leaves or other parts of plants together, or how to adapt their properties to the touch or to sight.”
Michael remembered seeing the man lift a single piece of cloth from what had been several leaves. “So, my shirt and trousers have been made like that?” he asked.
“Yes. A Plant Weaver was able to alter the bark from the tree so that it feels pleasant to the skin but is resistant to tearing, a
nd join different pieces of bark together, eventually forming large items like clothing. A master can very quickly adjust clothing sizes so that they fit perfectly, or even change the colour.”
“So Bilah is a master Weaver. That’s how she made my clothes so quickly,” Michael realised out loud. “Is that how your tents are made, too?”
“Yes, Plant Weavers make those also. But sometimes our dwellings or clothes may be made by Cloth Weavers, who may take their materials from the wool or hair from animals.”
Aneh went on to explain some of the other Weavers: Stone Weavers who are able to change a piece of rock so that it weighs less, and emits light or heat such as those within Aneh’s tent; Food Weavers who are able to create such gastric delights that they are long remembered; Animal Weavers who tend their flocks with a perfection to maintain their wellbeing, enabling them to provide the maximum production for the Waylet.
It got more complicated when Aneh described other Weavings that didn’t involve objects. Aneh’s mother, a Sooth Weaver, had a perfect tuning to truth, and could instantly detect a lie. Her soul was so repulsed by deception that she was unable to utter one herself, Aneh explained, making her statements even more trustworthy – she was not only able to flawlessly detect untruths but was incapable of speaking one.
Sword and Bow Weavers were types of master warriors, Michael decided when he heard the explanation. While many people could be trained to use weapons, and some could become expert, a Weaver was at such unity with the weapon with which he would Weave that their skills far surpassed the most talented and experienced warrior. It was more than being at one with their weapon: their Weaving made all things connected with it exceed mortal possibilities by multiple factors. One Sword Weaver, Aneh explained, could defeat a score or more skilled warriors.
It took time for Michael to try and comprehend all that Aneh had said. “It sounds like magic,” he finally stated.
“What is magic?” Aneh asked.
“Well, it doesn’t really exist in my world. I guess some people think it does, but most people don’t. But it’s being able to do stuff that is impossible; make things appear out of nowhere, or disappear; turn a person into a frog. It’s really only in stories though.”
Aneh thought on that for a moment before responding, “I do not think that the Weaving is like your magic. No Weaving can turn a person into a creature, or to make something simply vanish. The Weaving can only effect things that are already in existence and, using the bond that exists between the person and the object of their Weaving, mould it to their needs.”
Michael thought more on it, still unable to understand despite wearing the evidence; despite having seen the bark from which his comfortable clothes had been made through little more than mental effort.
He lay back on the rock and stared into the blue sky, at the wispy clouds that were drifting across the sky. The tall branches on the trees to his left occasionally released a yellow leaf from their grasp, and he watched one or two slowly meander through the air to the earth, as if gravity’s hold was uncertain. Closing his eyes, he listened to the sound of the water still tripping by to his right, birds and insects calling. These things were real. He could see them, hear them, and if necessary touch them. The Weaving was quite something else – something completely outside of his life’s paradigm – and he wondered whether he would ever quite believe what Aneh had described to him.
He remained on his back for some time, and when he opened his eyes, he noticed that Aneh was also lying down. Her eyes too were closed, and he took the opportunity to study her face more closely. It had always been she studying him up until now. She had pulled her long hair to one side of her neck so that she wasn’t lying on it, and he was surprised at its length, probably reaching the middle of her back he thought. Her few light freckles were barely visible in the bright sun, but the face of her skin looked soft. Her nose was small and slightly concave, her chin beautifully rounded. Although most people within his former world would probably consider her plain, he had already grown to enjoy her company, and Michael found himself enjoying staring at her, becoming only slightly uncomfortable when she opened her eyes and returned his gaze.
“Is it hard for you to understand?” she asked after a few moments.
“Yes.” Michael nodded. “It’s just so… different from anything I’ve ever heard.
“You’ve explained it brilliantly,” he quickly added, worrying that she would think that his lack of comprehension was due to her description. “It’s just all very strange to me. I’m sorry.”
As he looked at her again, he thought that he must have said something wrong as the smile on her face slowly faded. But he soon realised that the expression that was replacing her smile wasn’t one of anger or confusion; it was of fear.
She very slowly arose back to her seated position, and quietly said, “Michael, you must remain perfectly still, and do not speak.”
He froze as he realised that she was staring beyond him, and whispered back, “What is it?”
The fear now clear in her voice, her chest rising more quickly with her heightened heartbeat, she murmured, “Chet’tu.”
CHAPTER SEVEN:
Shosa
I have known many who have believed that beasts are neither good nor evil; that they only do that which nature demands from their birth. For some, perhaps that is true, but it is not for all, for beasts also choose to whom they will list. Some are drawn to those who wield darkness, and willingly – eagerly even – serve their vile purposes. While others seek to uphold goodness and purity in the world. And as beasts are drawn to those who share their desires, so too people are drawn to beasts who will be pleased to serve their ends. Thus a man’s heart may be known by the beasts with whom he willingly shares his presence.
From the Wisdom of Ashael
***
Michael’s memory raced, remembering the creatures of the mountains Aneh had spoken of. Even with a warrior she wouldn’t have been able to survive the attack of one she had said. Very slowly manoeuvring his body so he could glance back, he saw it: a canine type animal whose head would come to his chest: much too large to be a wolf, he thought. It’s long black fur was matted with leaves and plant debris, and it was panting as if its journey here had been a race.
Its teeth – no, they were fangs – were bared, each at least two inches long and lying in rows in its huge jaws, a slow drip of saliva falling from their pointed ends. The jaw itself was large enough to comfortably hold Michael’s head. The sight of the creature filled Michael with dread.
A single bite from that thing would finish me. We’ll never survive.
It was crouched down, shoulders hunched, as if ready to spring, and its eyes were staring directly at him. He knew instinctively that he was its prey, and that it would not be distracted. But before he could do anything else, to his horror, two more of the creatures crept from the edge of the forest. If they couldn’t hope to defeat one, then the situation was truly hopeless with three of them.
Attempting to outrun them would be suicide, and remembering the river behind them, he quietly asked, “Can they swim?”
Aneh replied, a small quiver in her whisper, “I do not know. But I think we have little choice but to try the river.” Her voice didn’t sound confident, but she was right: they had no choice.
The two of them slowly moved, positioning themselves to leap; however, the first Chet’tu sensed their intentions and sprung into action. It was ridiculously fast: despite being more than fifty feet from where they were, Michael thought it might reach them before they were able to stand and take even the two steps it would require to leap for the water; where they may, or may not, find safety.
“Hurry Aneh!” Michael shouted as he scrambled, suddenly panicking for his companion. The world around him slowed to a crawl as he now ignored the beast to speed his escape, spinning to face the river. Aneh had risen to her feet, and was standing in front of him, but moving far too slowly. He could feel the monster close to their
backs now; they had no time! Placing his arms around Aneh’s waist, and holding her tight, he leapt towards the river.
Just as his feet left the rock, something caught his right ankle, and he felt a sting of pain race up his leg as the impact of the beast just above his foot spun him in the air. After what seemed an age, he finally hit the water, the jolt of the splash restoring time to its normal pattern.
Already the pain in his ankle was making him nauseous, but he ignored it, pulling Aneh to the surface of the water. Even though she hadn’t expected him to take her with him into the water, she had quickly gathered herself once in the river, and together they looked back to the bank, where the first of the Chet’tu was now prowling, seemingly considering whether to follow its prey into the flow. Its two companions were slowly walking towards the river’s edge too, only ten or fifteen feet away.
Finally, the pack’s leader could resist the urge no longer, and again hunched down, preparing to spring into the river. Michael and Aneh had been attempting to swim to the other side, but were making slow progress: the current wasn’t strong, but it was sufficient to slow them. Considering the leap this beast had made before they entered the water, Michael was sure it would reach them without difficulty. If it couldn’t swim, the creature might drown, but without any doubt it would take them with it. He tried to push Aneh behind him. “Go!” he shouted. “If it jumps it will only be able to take one of us, and I think it’s after me.” Death was inevitable, but he could at least save Aneh.
He turned to fully face the creature, to ensure it caught his eye and would take himself rather than Aneh, but felt Aneh’s arms pull him from behind. “Leave me!” he shouted again, but her grip didn’t loosen.
Dreams and Shadows (The Aylosian Chronicles Book 1) Page 10