Woven

by Michael Jensen

  Nels lowered the arrow. Eccentric as the bearded man was, he was Tyra’s only hope.

  Tyra found herself in the midst of a strange dream.

  There was a hill and, beyond it, a gentle river. She knew this river. It flowed from the mountains to the sandy shores of her kingdom. She had camped here under a willow tree on the first night of her journey. Then she saw two figures along the bank; one knelt before the other.

  The man who stayed on his feet had a sword in his hand. He used it to tap the other man’s shoulder — a peasant’s shoulder. This mysterious king had knighted the peasant. To see the peasant obtain his lifelong dream brought her comfort. She was happy for him.

  “Here is your champion.” The king joined her hand with the peasant’s. “You may reward him.”

  To Tyra’s surprise, she tilted her head back, her lips ready.

  He leaned in for the kiss — and dissolved into a white mist.

  “Nels?” she cried. “Don’t leave me, Nels. Don’t go!”

  “It’s all right,” he said, his face returning. “I’m here.”

  “She be stir’n,” said a husky voice. “Wax works!”

  Tyra struggled to open her eyes. Her side was burning, and a streak of blood — her blood — had stained her skirt. A cold sweat added to her sudden wooziness. She felt dizzier than a whirlwind.

  She must have fainted, but for how long? “Who … who is this man?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Nels said, “but he knows about —”

  “I be Fargut! Found your mare, saved your life — be right for a trade.”

  Her heart beating normally again, Tyra looked at her wound. A thick, custard-colored substance coated her side. The stranger moved away from her, grinning through his beard. Half of his teeth were missing. Little could be said about the stained nubs that remained. He had a sun-weathered face, his clothing smelled of skinned animals, and his breath was worse than a pig’s trough.

  Tyra inched closer to Nels as she eyed the stranger. “Who are you?”

  “Said already I be Fargut,” he grunted. “And you know’n why?” He stood and leaned back as he patted his protrusive belly with both hands. “ ’Cause me gut be come’n out so far!”

  Tyra smirked at Nels. “A rather curious name.”

  The man beamed. “Lucky girl, have’n Fabricat’n kit. Haven’t seen one’n ages.”

  “Fabrication kit?” Tyra glanced at her feet. The cedar box that Ickabosh had given her was open. The inside, lined with red velvet, contained a torn lump of beeswax. She remembered the peasant’s body down in the tailor’s chamber, and the amber beeswax that Bosh had covered him with from head to toe. Fargut must have used it to coat her skin, too. The bear had clawed a deep gash in her side, but it hardly hurt anymore. Now there was no gash — not even a scratch. The substance had healed her. Tyra took note of the other items in the kit: a seam ripper, a vial of black dye, a spool of thread, and a thimble. She saw a golden inscription sewn inside the lid:

  The world is your fabric, the people your thread.

  Within are your tools. Mend us with care.

  “How long have you had that?” Nels asked.

  She met his eyes. “Since we left the castle.”

  “Trade’n for kit?” Fargut asked. “Knives, skins, cushion for pins? Currencies?”

  He reached into his brown vest, pulled out a little sack, and dumped a heap of golden nuggets into his soiled hand. Tyra gasped. How could a wild man in a deserted forest carry such treasure, and why would he trade that much gold for a sewing kit? He seemed eager to exchange for it.

  “Thank you,” she said, “but I would like to keep it.”

  Fargut sighed as he stowed the gold back inside his vest. “What I’d give’n for a fancy Fabricate’n kit — be’n a wise girl, you keep’n it. Best I leave’n girl and her ghosty alone.”

  “Wait!” Tyra cried. “You know there’s a ghost here?”

  “Had’n arrow at me neck. Was think’n Ol’ Hilvar come to take me.”

  “You know of Hilvar?” Tyra asked. “Do you know where his castle is?”

  “Oye,” Fargut said. “Not so far from ’ere.”

  “We’re trying to find the castle. Will you show us the way?”

  Fargut frowned as he poked at the fire. “I be look’n mad?”

  “Are you sure we can trust him?” Nels asked Tyra.

  She turned to face Nels. “Why not? He saved me.”

  Nels nodded at the stranger. “But he’s kind of strange.”

  “Stranger things have happened to me in the last few days.” She looked at Fargut again. “We seek the treasury of Westmine Castle. I would be grateful if you showed us the way.”

  “No treasures there,” Fargut said. “They say Vagas take’n treasures, but where’s their place for hide’n such a treasures? No use for wealth, them diviners.”

  “Diviners?” Nels and Tyra asked together.

  “Three magical folks there be: conjurers, diviners, and makers of seams!”

  “I’ve heard of the Vagas’ magic,” Nels said.

  “Magic or not, we must reach the castle.” Tyra’s mind was made up. “Will you guide us?”

  Fargut closed his eyes and shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Please, Fargut. Will you make an exception for a princess?”

  “A princess, you say’n?” Fargut gasped. “A real princess?” When Tyra nodded, Fargut jumped onto his feet, held out his hand, and posed daintily. “I be’n a princess, too!”

  All Nels and Tyra could do was stare at the big-bellied man.

  “I don’t think he believes you,” Nels said.

  Tyra glared down at her lap, then suddenly held out her hand. “Do you know what this is?”

  As Fargut looked, his eyes opened wide. “That be’n a conjure’n ring!”

  “I eat eggs every morning.” Tyra ignored Nels’s confused stare as the stone turned black. “I am a princess,” she followed quickly, and the stone returned to green.

  “Your ring!” Nels said, astonished. “How did you do that?”

  Fargut raised his chin. “It be’n dangerous here for a princess.”

  Tyra wasn’t interested in avoiding danger — not anymore. She hadn’t come all this way to be lost. She wondered if bartering would entice the man. She happened to be a particularly great barterer. “Listen, Fargut. If I give you something, will you please guide us to the castle?”

  He blinked a few times. “Won’t part with Fabricate’n kit. How about’n that ring?”

  She looked at her hand. There was not enough light to see it clearly, now that the fire had started to burn low, but she could tell the stone was green. He’d helped her, a stranger, without a clue that she was a princess. At least he was an honest fellow. “I’d like to keep this as well.”

  “When did you know that ring could do that?” Nels asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” she whispered at him. She turned back to Fargut. “I’m afraid all I have is this dagger, a bow, and my horse, but … I wouldn’t dream of giving those up …”

  “What about tha’ cloak?” Fargut pointed. “It be’n too warm for it.”

  “Done!” Tyra slipped off her cloak and handed it over.

  The man traced his finger along its seams. “Edge of the city, no farther.”

  Tyra sighed, relieved in more ways than one. “Imagine our good fortune,” she whispered to Nels. “We found a guide!”

  “You should rest,” Nels suggested. “We’ll start again in the morning.”

  “Not when we’re so close. You said you could sew, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Then … would you please patch this hole in my dress?”

  It was a bold request, but it was better to ask than travel through the forest in a torn skirt. Nels reached for her sewing kit. The beeswax on her side was hard now, orange flakes beginning to shed off her skin. Her dress and bodice were shredded and bloodied. Neither of them could help that. As Nels searched the
sewing kit, he looked confused.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t think I can fix your dress.”

  Tyra frowned. “But I thought you could sew.”

  “I can sew fine,” he said, “but not without a needle.”

  She rummaged through the kit. He was right — there was no needle, just the beeswax and four tools that she’d seen earlier. “How utterly pointless. What good is a sewing kit without a needle?”

  “No ordinary kit,” said Fargut, waiting at the edge of their camp. “Come’n?”

  “I wish everything would stop being so unordinary.” Tyra got ready to stand. “For now, I will have to cover my side with my knapsack, I suppose. Will you fetch it for me?”

  Nels complied. Since the cubs had ruined most of her provisions, there was nothing else to pick up. From now on, she would have to forage for food — something she had never done. Maybe the peasant would pick her more brambleberries, if they were to come across any.

  “Here,” Nels said, handing her the sack. “Keep that kit with you all the time, especially the thimble — it will protect you.” Nels paused, a wistful look on his face. “At least,” he continued, “it will protect you from most dangers. A thimble couldn’t save me from Rasmus.”

  “If you insist, Nels,” she said, wondering how much help a tiny thimble could be. She placed the strap over her head and let it rest on her shoulder. The peasant stared, unsettling her. “What?”

  “You said my name. It sounded nice … coming from you.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything,” Tyra said. “Help me up.”

  Nels helped Tyra to her feet, gathered her dagger and belongings, and saddled Brooklet. The mare rubbed her nose into Tyra’s hair, as if thankful for her safety. “Can you go a little farther tonight, Brooklet?” the princess asked gently. The mare whickered in response. Although Tyra’s side ached like a beesting, she gathered her reins and mounted the mare. If the castle wasn’t far, she could handle this. Perhaps the castle would offer a decent place to rest.

  “A ghost, move’n about as the live’n,” said Fargut. “Why you look’n for treasury?”

  “I will explain on the way,” Tyra insisted. “We mustn’t waste moonlight.”

  Fargut laughed as he turned his back on them and started to walk. Tyra urged Brooklet to follow. Nels lumbered by her side, looking gloomy — almost brooding. “What’s the matter?”

  “I promised to protect you. You could’ve been killed.”

  “I could have, but thanks to you, I wasn’t.” As she smiled at him, a humorous thought caused her to laugh. “Sharing an afterlife with you … now that would be terrible.”

  The two shared a glance and started to laugh as they headed up the trail.

  Without the moon’s light, the false Arek would have missed the crossroad.

  He had many directions to choose from, but which had the princess taken? She could have gone anywhere. Having driven his horse to exhaustion, Arek dismounted and searched the ground. He could not find anything, not even a hoof mark.

  His path was the only one that led away from the mountains. She had come this way unless she jumped the trail and journeyed into the thick of the forest.

  Without a thread to trace, finding her would be impossible now.

  Then, just as he was about to abandon hope, Arek felt a stir in the air. A familiar strength surged near him — a passing thread was tying itself to the kingdom of Avërand.

  Her thread … She’s torn her slip stitch!

  Reaching into his pocket, Arek pulled out a bodkin made from a boar’s rib. He raised it over his head, laced her thread around it, and closed his eyes. He saw her on a horse in the distance, heading toward the ruined city of Westmine. She wasn’t alone. A man walked ahead of her.

  Someone was traveling with her.

  Who in the Great Tapestry can this be?

  Arek raced for his horse and guided the creature west.

  Whoever the man was, Arek would deal with him soon enough.

  A pair of foxes chased each other by the foundation of an abandoned cottage. They looked up suddenly and barked, running to a burrow beneath a tall pine. The clomping of Brooklet’s hooves must have spooked them.

  The night had grown late, but the waning moon shed enough light for the small company to see their way. Fargut had led Nels and Tyra through a modest village overrun by wild shrubbery, sharp thorns, and dense trees, which seemed to make the forest even darker. Each of the structures looked sound and sturdy, making Nels wonder why they were deserted. They soon crossed over a bridge and a parched ditch before they hiked up another gradual slope.

  This place made Nels uncomfortable — not because of the rustling of leaves overhead or the foreboding sounds of owls and other nocturnal creatures. Rather, he felt an intrusive, lingering presence that stirred his core. Fargut appeared just as disquieted, but Tyra, on the other hand, seemed composed and thrilled about finding the castle sooner than expected. He sensed a hint of excitement from her, too, for reasons that certainly differed from his, or so he assumed. The way she presented herself had changed some since the bear attack.

  “How long have you known about that ring?” he asked.

  “Since this afternoon,” she answered.

  Although Fargut was pudgy, he had no problem trudging ahead, allowing Nels to converse with Tyra in private. She shared all she had learned about the ring, which explained her earlier, unexpected comments about eggs. She was testing the ring.

  And me.

  Before long, they reached the top of a bare summit that overlooked a shallow valley, the silhouettes of buildings below. A majestic castle sat on a high hill in the distance. Trees and roots had taken the streets, and a few branches had grown through the windows, but it wasn’t the overgrown foliage that impressed Nels. He had never seen a settlement like this, with roads organized and paved with stone. A few bridges crossed over a forked river, and the buildings loomed high as they neared the castle. This was Westmine City, deserted for hundreds of years.

  “Remarkable,” Tyra said. “It’s just as Master Wussen described.”

  “Be’n far enough,” Fargut said, not at all winded from their walk. “Girly, be careful in that valley. Devil reside’n in there — he’s take’n me once; he may take’n you, too!”

  “I will be fine, Fargut,” Tyra assured him. “I have a ghost with me, after all.”

  The man’s gut shook as he laughed. “Best leave’n. Fair’n well, Princess.” Their peculiar guide turned and left them, moving out of sight as he headed back down the path from where they had come.

  “Unusual fellow,” Nels muttered. “I’m glad he’s gone.”

  “Give him some credit; he did save my life.”

  Tyra pressed on, descending into Westmine City without fear.

  She was right. Fargut had saved her life, a task that Yalva had assigned to Nels. The ghost shook his head. Who had done what was inconsequential. They had found the forsaken city. Now they had to find the treasury.

  A gentle breeze passed through the empty streets, swaying branches that had long ago bludgeoned through the brick walls of homes and shops. As they passed an old marketplace and a blacksmith, Nels felt uncomfortable again. The abandoned city reminded him, in a way, of Cobblestown. He missed the warmth of Lars’s furnace, the smell of Tessan’s cakes, the smart of Jilia’s punches, and the fun of wrestling with Wallin. He missed the taste of hot asparagus stew, or any stew, for that matter. The more Nels thought about his life, the more he wanted it back.

  A row of shops had all their grimy windows broken or completely missing. Brooklet hesitated when they rounded the corner of a general store. The door was gone, rotted away by time. Even in passing, Nels could see the floor was littered with shredded sacks, left by hungry scavengers. The most curious thing of all was what lined both sides of the streets: tall iron poles, each topped with a glass bowl.

  “Light posts,” Tyra explained, catching his upward glance. “I’ve heard of th
em. They gave light to this city.”

  “We have nothing like them in Avërand. Your father should have some made.”

  “My father?” Tyra laughed. “He would never take such initiative … nor refuse another’s, I suppose.”

  Given what he knew about the king, and the tragedy that Lennart shared with Nels’s father, Nels could see how this self-imposed curse of his had affected Tyra. “Is he really that indifferent about everything?”

  “He’s inconsolable! Mother coddles him all day long, which only makes it worse.” She bowed her head and sighed. “He rarely talks to me. When he does, it’s as if I am a burden.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Nels turned to her, smiling. “I’m sure he thinks the world of you.”

  “He doesn’t care for me at all.” Tyra’s eyes thinned and her jaw clenched. “I hate him.”

  Flattered by her willingness to confide in him, Nels began to better understand the princess. Perhaps there was something he could say to change her perception. “I’m sure you don’t mean that, Tyra.”

  She wiped a single tear from her cheek. “I simply can’t stand gloomy people.”

  “You’ve done well enough around me, haven’t you?” Nels laughed, his eyes falling back on the road ahead of them.

  “True, and I’m glad the kingdom has someone like you.”

  He looked up, elated but confused. He had never expected her to say something like that, not in a hundred years. “I thought you were only doing this to get rid of me.”

  She returned his look and smirked. “Not entirely; you could be of use elsewhere.”

  For once, her remark didn’t carry the same derision that others had in the past; it sounded more like a playful tease. Even her voice seemed lighter, filled more with hope than sadness. She also smiled at him more, a welcome change compared to her usual onslaught of icy glares.

  “There is something else on my mind,” Tyra said. “Back at the mansion, when we saw Arek and his squire climbing the trail, you said we couldn’t trust anyone. Why is that?”