Woven

by Michael Jensen

“I don’t know.” Nels poked the liquid mirror with his finger. Water dripped down his hand and forearm. He pulled back in surprise. “Did you see that? I felt it.” He paused. “How can I feel it?”

  When Tyra touched the reflective surface, she felt nothing — and her finger was dry.

  Nels stepped back and dived headfirst into his reflection inside the loom. He came right back out and laughed; he was thoroughly soaked. “Can you believe this?”

  Tyra laughed, too. “This is certainly the strangest gate I’ve ever seen. Let me try.”

  She plunged into the water — and the cavern vanished.

  To her surprise, Tyra stood perfectly dry in a hall that stretched on forever. More candles than she could count — thousands of them — lined the stone floor, and hundreds of tall columns stretched high above her head and far into the horizon on both sides. There were no walls or doors here, only a vast open space. Instead of a ceiling, more candles shone above her head, like stars against a black sky. The floor was made of a transparent, refined crystal, showing more open space below. This strange place resembled the halls and passages of Castle Avërand, but in an infinite and grander scale. Directly in front of her, a very old man — he was ancient, really — stared at her from beneath a dark cowl. The look in his eyes as he opened his arms wide sent a chill down her spine.

  He smiled at her. “Greetings, Princess Tyra, and welcome to the Grand Hall.” He spoke with a deep, booming voice. Many of the smaller flames flickered on their wicks. “I have been waiting for you.”

  Tyra’s first impulse was to run back to the loom from where she’d come. But before she could move, the watery reflection fell with a splash, back into a puddle on the ground. The old man continued smiling as he watched her intently, but he didn’t move from his position in front of the loom. She inhaled deeply, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. Finally, the man moved to the side of the metal loom and pressed his hand firmly on its frame.

  “You have just arrived,” he said. “Leave now and you will never obtain what you seek.”

  Tyra backed away. She had no idea where she was or what had happened to Nels. Between the floating candles above her head and the crystal floor that looked just as much like the night sky, she had no way of knowing which way was up and which way was down. She was frightened and a little dizzy.

  “Who are you?” she asked, her voice quivering.

  “What are you,” he said. “That should be your question.”

  Tyra swallowed; her nerves made her tongue dry. “I don’t understand.”

  “Pardon my vagueness,” the man continued. His strong voice belied his obvious age. “I have had no living company for so long. My ability to converse is a little unpracticed.” He slowly started to walk to her. “I was a fabricator many years ago, even before your grandfather’s time.”

  Tyra studied his wrinkled face and his old-fashioned attire. “Are you not alive?”

  “I am but a shadow of life, Your Highness. Threadbare was my name.”

  “May I call you that?” she asked.

  “It would delight me! No one has called me by that name in over forty of your years.” Threadbare stood immediately before her now, his clear-blue eyes like blocks of ice. He wasn’t much taller than Tyra — age had withered and shrunken him — but his eyes were brighter and livelier than any she had ever seen. “Have you ever stood at the edge of still water?” he asked.

  Tyra didn’t understand where this was going, but she nodded anyway.

  “Beneath the water is a very different world from yours, a place where you could not live for long. Some creatures thrive there, but they, too, would die if left stranded on your banks, outside their world.” Threadbare swept his arm in a wide arc. “We are within the line that divides such worlds; everything begins and ends here.”

  His cryptic answer puzzled Tyra. Mylan had spoken of such a place, of a line between the real and the ethereal worlds. Had she been referring to this hall?

  “You are a fortunate girl,” Threadbare continued. “You are among a select few from your world who have entered this place — the third, to be precise. May I ask how it appears to you?” As thoroughly as she could, Tyra described to him everything she saw, from the infinite line of columns, to the candles overhead and the transparent crystal floor. Threadbare smiled. “Just as I saw it when I first entered. Follow me.”

  “Where?”

  “To many places, Your Highness,” he said. “You have much to see.”

  She saw small lights ahead in the darkness.

  Threadbare bowed his head and they started walking down the hall. Tyra was afraid to follow him. What if she lost her way or could not find the loom again? How would she return to Nels? He was alone in that cave. If he had been the one to vanish without a trace, she would have been panicked. She could only imagine how worried he must be.

  Still, this man’s name was familiar, and he had done nothing to deserve distrust. She followed him, still amazed by the space they were in. Her skirt fanned a slight draft as she passed, causing the little candle flames to flicker. And as they did, she heard voices — tiny ones, scarcely distinguishable to her ears. She tried to eavesdrop on them, but she couldn’t make out the words. She leaned closer, but it made no difference.

  “Do the candles speak?” she asked.

  “The candles?” Threadbare said. “Oh, yes, the flames — they indeed whisper. They are the echoes of inspiration, the resonance of those who made contributions to the Grand Hall.”

  “Why can’t I make out their whisperings?”

  “You are alive. You see, when someone dies, they pass through this place, and their knowledge is pressed into the fabric of this Grand Hall — most of which has come from beyond your world.”

  Tyra stopped in her tracks. “Beyond my world?”

  “Life is reality. Without life, there is only emptiness.” Threadbare smiled. “Where there is life, there are endless realities — and worlds of every possibility. Your world is not the only one.”

  The candles surrounding them had given way to many looms. As far as Tyra could see, there were rows and rows of looms, all weaving by themselves, unattended. The sound of pressing reeds and shifting fabric grew louder and louder the farther they walked. Some of the looms produced narrow tapestries; others created wide ones. Some tapestries stretched on forever, featuring embroidery, crewelwork — all the sewing arts. The massive tapestries showed more landscapes and peoples than she ever could have imagined; the diversity was breathtaking.

  “There’s more than one Great Tapestry?” Tyra asked.

  Threadbare winked at her.

  She took that as a yes.

  Tyra could not comprehend the extent of this place nor what it contained; the ramifications of what she was seeing were dizzying. They approached one loom as it began a colorful pattern; its tapestry was no more than a few yards long, the fabric coarse and primitive, showing grasses and striped barks. Curious about its texture, she reached out and delicately touched the fabric as she passed. Quick as a wink, she stood in a vibrant land of countless trees and ferns. The air was humid — and the creatures were terrifying. Right in front of her, one beast shook the ground as it used its enormous legs to charge at another creature that appeared less fierce. The two animals — if that’s what they even were — struggled for a moment until the aggressive one feasted on the other.

  A hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her back to the Grand Hall. Her finger left the tapestry. The jungle and its strange creatures were now threads, their images woven in the fabric. She turned around and caught the glare of Threadbare’s disapproving eyes. “I advise against touching the Tapestries, Princess. You may encounter what has only existed in nightmares.”

  Tyra inhaled sharply. “I have never seen animals like that before!”

  “No one has — no one from your world, anyway.”

  “Those monsters live in another world?”

  “Lived. You only saw a moment in time from that world.�
�� Threadbare picked up Tyra’s hand, took her finger, and brushed it across the surface of another tapestry. Flashes came to her: glimpses of people and of nations, both great and small; some flashes resembled her world, and others did not. Metal birds flew without flapping their wings. She saw great celebrations and horrific wars. Then it stopped. “Knowledge is a cherished gift,” Threadbare explained, “but if people are not prepared to receive the knowledge, it will devastate them.”

  Nothing could have prepared Tyra for any of this. She could see into another world, at any point in time, just by touching a thread in a pattern on a tapestry. All knowledge was at her fingertips — literally.

  Which tapestry was her world? Although tempted to ask, she remained quiet and listened to Threadbare. She understood how he’d come to be so wise.

  “Come,” Threadbare said. “We are nearly there.”

  They walked on, passing loom after loom, each one weaving a tapestry. There really were more worlds than she could count.

  The ancient man and the princess entered an area that had no looms at all. Finished tapestries of all shapes, sizes, and colors lined an endless, majestic wall. There were hundreds of them — maybe even thousands.

  “These are the realities that have come and gone,” Threadbare said. “Each began with a conscious thought, and each ended when there was nothing left to sustain them. Some did not last for long. Others have flourished, sometimes for millennia that I cannot account for.”

  “Incredible! How can a place like this exist?”

  Threadbare turned and smiled at her. “Does it?”

  Tyra stared at her feet. She hoped it did. It felt strange to be in a place that was neither here nor there.

  “I have waited a long time for you,” Threadbare said solemnly. “Your pattern indicated that you would come, but I feared you would be too late. Your reality needs the Needle.”

  “Wait,” Tyra said. “You know that I’m here for that?”

  Threadbare raised an eyebrow. “Your pattern is clear, Princess. Your desire for the Needle is pure, so the Lights may approve your request. But the Needle cannot save Nels.”

  Tyra’s heart caught in her chest. “It can’t save him?”

  “Indeed not, but you can save Nels on your own.”

  She glared at him. “I would have done so already if I could.”

  “I know. You tried but it did not work, did it?”

  “No,” she said, shamed by her failure. “No, it didn’t.”

  Threadbare smiled. “Now that you love him, it will.”

  Tyra never would have used that word in regards to Nels, yet she knew she had grown fond of him. The more she thought about Nels, the more she realized how much she genuinely cared.

  “I love him?” she said, surprised. “I do love him.”

  Threadbare nodded. “And he loves you in return.” Threadbare put his arm around Tyra’s shoulders and steered her farther into the Hall. “With your feelings and your basted thread, you can restore him — and you may weave more than his body and soul.”

  Tyra blushed. “Basted thread?”

  “Ickabosh basted your thread with Nels’s, in the hope that — no matter the outcome, no matter the length of any separation — you would always find each other … even in death.” Threadbare cleared his throat. “Everyone is equal in death, Princess. Nels lives because of his thimble. You see him because your thread is basted to his. You have been prepared for a seam that only the two of you can sew through a union of your souls — a kiss, if you will. If you both had possessed genuine love when you kissed in Ickabosh’s chamber, Nels’s spirit would have woven back into his body and your seam to him would have been sewn.” Threadbare paused. “You see, Princess, fabricators can baste your thread to another’s, but sewing a seam … weaving your hearts together …” The ancient man smiled. “That choice must be entirely your own.”

  Tyra’s head swam. She felt lightheaded. No wonder her heart had leaped when she first saw Nels at the festival! Tyra’s eyes moistened, her emotions overpowering her resolve. In a week’s time, her perception of his worth had changed into something genuine. “Are you sure Nels feels the same for me?”

  Threadbare laughed. “Look at what you have accomplished together. Think of what you have sacrificed — together. A common goal can eradicate the deepest prejudice.”

  “Then if love is all I need, let me go back to him.”

  “You will, but you must take the Needle with you.”

  She wiped her eyes. “You said I don’t need it. It can’t save him.”

  “It’s not for Nels,” he said. “It’s for something else.”

  “Rasmus,” she remembered. “I have to save my kingdom.”

  “You do not need it for that, either. The reality of your world needs it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The man pointed over Tyra’s shoulder. “See for yourself.”

  She turned and gasped. The way they had come had changed into an endless void. Empty space extended all around them. Tyra gritted her teeth and ignored her perception, stepping out into the void, onto a floor that she couldn’t see. New lights appeared around her. Some of the lights formed bright circles and spun like flaming pinwheels. With each new step, more lights appeared — above, below, and behind her. Threadbare followed as she moved on toward a stretch of bright lights.

  Directly in front of her was a shiny metal column, like polished steel. Behind it stood another loom, identical to the one she had stepped through to get to the Grand Hall. Candles of all shapes and sizes surrounded this loom, each of them whispering in indistinct voices.

  Threadbare touched her arm. “Allow me.” He moved in front of her and raised his arms. “Lights of the worlds and ages past, the answer to our problem has come. Will you lend this child the Needle so that my patch may be sewn?”

  The candles flickered, as if they’d been billowed by a sudden wind.

  Tyra felt no wind.

  “I know she is not a fabricator,” Threadbare continued, “but my patch may give at any time. You know what will happen then. Let her take the Needle; she can deliver it to my apprentice.”

  Tyra tugged Threadbare’s cloak. “Do you understand what they are saying?” she whispered.

  “I am to this realm what Nels is to yours,” he said, careful not to speak above a whisper, either. “The Lights are what remain of those who die as they pass through this plane. Their knowledge shines forever, even after they enter the next life. The living cannot perceive them.”

  She let go of his cloak. If the living could not hear the Lights … “What are you?” she asked.

  The man smiled and shrugged. “I do not know.”

  One of the candles — one of the Lights — waved them forward. It was the tallest among them. Threadbare turned to it. “It is good to hear your voice, Master Gailner.”

  Gailner? Tyra held her breath. It was the fabricator who created the Needle.

  “Please consider,” Threadbare said. “I did what I could, but the rendt —”

  The tall flame moved fiercely, and so did the others.

  Threadbare did not finish what he was trying to say.

  Rendt? Tyra had heard Rasmus speak of this. The Lights flared brighter, their wicks glowing hot, then burned steadily again.

  “They have agreed to let you take the Needle,” Threadbare said, “and I apologize.”

  She looked into his disparaging eyes. “Apologize for what?”

  The man sighed. “For the burden you are about to bear.”

  Tyra shivered. “What do you mean?”

  “I cannot say,” Threadbare answered. “Every tapestry here is woven by the living. There is no reality without consciousness. The pattern is woven based on the living’s actions. Your pattern indicates several possible outcomes. If you leave with the Needle, most of them will be unfavorable.”

  “Like what?” Tyra asked. She had to know.

  “I …” He glanced at the candles. “I am forbidden to say.�
�

  “Then I will go without; I don’t need it.”

  “The Needle is for another purpose. You must deliver it.”

  “How can I deliver it if I do not know what it’s for?”

  Threadbare pointed behind her. “Touch and see.”

  Tyra spun around. The metal column was now behind her. An elongated opal in a thin metal frame sat on top of the column. The opal was the largest she’d ever seen, a gem both clear and colorful. Tyra walked to the column and touched her finger to the surface of the gem.

  Like her vision of the jungle moments ago, the Grand Hall became another place. Dark clouds swirled in a red sky. The ground shook. The earth rolled under her feet, as if it were about to crumble and fall away. Cries reached her ears. A great dark void hovered over a flattened city. Debris and people were being pulled from all directions into the vacuum. The people held fast to anything they could grab, but the void’s pull was too great. The victims screamed as they vanished into nothingness.

  Within the chaos, Tyra could see Threadbare standing before the void, resisting its pull. He tried to access a sewing kit, but it slipped from his grasp and flew away, sucked into the abyss.

  “Time,” he said. “That is all I can give …”

  Threadbare pinched his fingers at the air as he flew into the heart of the devouring hole. A blinding light forced Tyra to shield her eyes. The ground settled, and the cries stopped. Rocks and branches fell. Particles of dust and articles of shredded cloth floated to the ground.

  Threadbare was gone, as was the great city and the void that had taken it.

  In the midst of the devastation sat a small child. Crying.

  Tyra felt a hand on her shoulder. The devastated land became the Grand Hall once more. “Those people!” she said. “What did I see? What happened to you?”

  Threadbare breathed deeply. “The fabric of reality was thin in Mendarch,” he said. “There was no time to find the Needle. Without my intervention, the rendt would have ripped our world apart.” Threadbare turned from her, frowning as he closed his eyes. “Unless the tear is mended, it will reopen and the rendt will come again.” Threadbare reopened his eyes. “The Needle was made to mend such tears. But with it, you can also alter the laws that bind the fabric of reality. You can achieve whatever you can imagine — so long as you possess the Needle.”