Woven

by Michael Jensen

  “Achieve anything?” she asked. “I just have to wish it?”

  Threadbare held out his arm and motioned her away from the Lights. “It’s not that simple or easy, Princess. Reality is not a game. Like all needles, the Needle of Gailner requires a thread if anything is to be mended.” The man held Tyra by her shoulders again. “Threads are only as strong as you can spin them. Trust in your heart, and you will spin a thread that no one can sever.” Threadbare sighed as he released his hold. “To keep the rendt at bay, I had to use my own thread as a patch. Doing this served as only a temporary fix. You must take the Needle to your world. Have your strongest fabricator seam the tear before my patch gives way. You have time to save your friend, but do not delay. You have to save your reality. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” Tyra said, suppressing her uncertainty. “I need to go home.”

  Threadbare turned back to the opal on the metal column. “Take it.”

  While they watched, the opal levitated, rising straight up from its pedestal and into the air. Extending beneath the gem was a long, thin piece of metal. It was the Needle, and the oval opal was its eye, reflecting a wealth of vibrant colors from the flickering candlelight. Tyra reached out to the floating Needle and grabbed it with both hands. “This is a big needle.”

  “More beautiful than I imagined,” Threadbare added. “If only I had obtained it in my lifetime, you would not have to take it now. You must promise me something.”

  Tyra was eager to leave, but she stopped and listened.

  “Once the tear is mended, return the Needle here. Only then can I leave this place.” Threadbare patted his chest with a thump and did the same over his abdomen. His hand went through his stomach, as if he were a ghost. “In your hand is the power to mend your reality — and mine. Now go.”

  The man pointed. The loom among the Lights sparkled as a wall of water rose into its shed. Tyra stepped toward the loom. Before she entered, she wanted to know. “Who was the child I saw after you closed the rendt?”

  Threadbare released a massive sigh and shook his head, as if he were hesitant to answer. “About Nels,” he said cautiously. “There is something you deserve to know.”

  The water splashed as the hem of Tyra’s dress left the Weaver’s Gate. Nels threw his arms up, frustrated. Like him, she had returned the moment she dived into the reflective water. He had no idea what the loom was for or how to use it. Just then, he noticed something in Tyra’s hand — a rod of metal, pointed at the tip. It was a needle — a large needle.

  Colors sparkled from an opal at its end. “Is that —? How did you get that?”

  She looked up at him with a blend of relief and confusion.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Tyra placed a hand over his heart. “I was gone for so long,” she said. “Were you not worried?”

  “What do you mean? You jumped in and came right back, just like I did.”

  “I never left?” Tyra stepped back, grasping the Needle with both hands.

  Nels stared at the object and repeated himself. “How did you —”

  “There’s no time to explain. Come on!” Tyra turned and ran for the exit.

  Before he chased after her, Nels reclaimed Mylan’s necklace, Gleesel’s ring, and Bosh’s thimble. When he reached Tyra, she was standing a few feet from the molten river’s bank, holding the Needle at her waist. Nels looked across the fire as he handed Tyra the reclaimed items.

  “I’ll be careful this time,” he said.

  Before he could pick her up, Tyra raised the Needle near her face and looked into the opal — through the Needle’s eye. She vanished and instantly reappeared on the other side of the cavern.

  Nels stared at her. “How did you —”

  “There’s no time!” she cried, clutching her chest and gasping a little. “Come on!”

  Nels flew over the river and into the tunnel, the passage no longer dominated by shadow. Tyra was holding the Needle above her head, like a bright torch. A strong light illuminated from its eye. When they reached the chasm, Tyra raised the Needle high with both hands. Holding it tight, she floated with it as it ascended the chasm. Nels was amazed. Not only had she found the Needle — she knew how to use it.

  They reached the top and saw the mountain’s open entrance. Fargut was against the far wall, a blood-soaked cloth wrapped around his hand.

  “Let me look at your hand,” Tyra said quickly.

  “No wound for lady’s eyes to be see’n!”

  “Let me look at it,” she insisted.

  Fargut removed his makeshift bandage. Half of his palm was sliced through.

  “He grabbed the thread when you fell,” Nels said.

  Without another word, Tyra raised the Needle over Fargut’s hand. The bleeding stopped. The incision fused and the wound healed. Fargut pulled his hand back and turned it over, looking at both sides. He flexed his fingers. “Deceived mine eyes be! Lost mine hand, I’d thought. That trinket you’d be seek’n?” He grazed his finger along the Needle’s side. “Biggest needle’n I’d ever see’n!”

  “Sorry, Fargut,” Tyra said. “We must leave you. May I have my kit back?”

  He handed her the cedar box. “Happy help’n. Be see’n you at Harvestport!”

  Nels watched their exchange. The confidence in Tyra astounded him. A satisfied look spread over her face, but when she turned to Nels, her expression changed. She seemed worried — a hint of reservation, perhaps, or maybe a speck of fear? He wanted to ask if something was wrong, but she had already sprinted gracefully for the exit.

  He waited a moment, basking in her glory, when she looked back quizzically.

  “Come on, slowpoke!” she cried. “Let’s get you woven!”

  She didn’t have to explain her haste. Nels raised his hand and looked at his transparent fingertips. If the half-moon was tonight, the rest of him would disappear in a matter of hours. Even if they made it to Castle Avërand with the Needle in time, what would they do about Rasmus? If they stopped him — and if she restored Nels — what would become of the two of them?

  Nels ran outside with her, eager to find out.

  The sun hung low in the sky as they journeyed to Westmine City. Sweat trickled down the sides of Tyra’s face, and her legs began to wobble, but she forced herself to keep pace. They had two hours left before nightfall. She was grateful that their return from the dismal peak passed by faster than their journey to it, but they still had a long way to go.

  They had two hours left before dusk.

  We have to make it. I won’t let him die!

  Tyra hadn’t said much since they’d left Fargut inside the cave. Neither had Nels. She couldn’t blame him. Parts of him were fading in and out of existence before her eyes. She was worried. At their current rate of travel, they would reach the castle in another two days. Any hope of making it in time relied on Brooklet; it was a lot to ask of her, but they had to try.

  Tyra snagged her toe on a protruding pine root. The Needle flew from her hands and rang against the pine’s trunk as she fell to the ground. She sat up before Nels could react. But every muscle in her body complained when she even thought about standing.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Nels said, “but you don’t look so good.”

  He retrieved the Needle and walked back to where she sat. She looked at him, not sure what to think. She wanted him to live. She wanted to embrace him, and be with him, even if the truth about Nels — and the child she’d seen — was impossible to forget. “Never mind me,” she said. “How are you holding up?”

  Nels looked at his limbs. “For a second, I thought I’d lost my leg.”

  “Then we can’t rest,” she said. “Help me up.”

  “In a moment,” Nels said. “We can spare a moment.”

  “No, we can’t!” she cried. “Carry me again!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s the only way to mend you in time!”

  A smile surfaced on his face. “You never giv
e up, do you?” Nels reached down and picked her up in his arms. Like before, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Hold tight,” he said.

  She did, as tight as she could, before he sprinted north. The rush made Tyra feel like a seedling caught on a breeze. It took all her will to stay awake, her thoughts drifting to the day when she first saw Nels at the Cobblestown festival, and the way she felt when their eyes locked. Those fantasies ended when her body tumbled to the ground and a surprised shriek escaped her mouth.

  Nels turned back, his torso reappearing. “I’m not very stable anymore.”

  “We have to keep going,” Tyra insisted. “It doesn’t matter if I fall.”

  Hesitantly, Nels hoisted her onto his back and took off.

  Tyra passed through Nels’s body a couple of times more, but he was able to shorten their return to the Vagas’ camp considerably. The sun touched the edge of the horizon when they arrived. Nels set Tyra on her feet. Something was wrong here: There was no evening fire and the forest around the camp was unusually quiet. Tyra seemed well enough to walk, but she looked as concerned about the empty camp as Nels felt. They entered the vacant clearing where they had shared their dance.

  “Where is everyone?” Tyra asked.

  Nels had no idea. The place was deserted, half of the tents undone or lying in loose and tangled heaps. Not even the dogs ran about. The Vagas were simply gone — except for a horse’s neigh that blared down the thoroughfare. Tyra limped toward it, breaking into a slow run. Someone had tied Brooklet to a felled tree, next to a few other steeds. “There you are,” Tyra said as she stroked the mare’s neck. “Let’s untie you.” She pried at the strap, but the knot was too secure for her weak, shaky fingers. She set the Needle at her feet and reached for her dagger. She was about to cut the line when the unsheathing of swords sounded behind them.

  “Drop your weapon, thief!”

  Tyra let her dagger slip to the ground as she and Nels turned. Three young men had closed in on them, their swords held high and ready — squires from Avërand! Nels recognized Davin, and he paused at one of the others, completely surprised to see his old friend dressed as a squire.

  “Wallin?”

  Aside from the hostility on his face, Nels was happy to see his sparring companion.

  “Turn around,” ordered the squire Nels didn’t know. He had dark, matted hair and cool teal eyes. “You’re not stealing the Princess’s horse.”

  Tyra remained facing them. “How can I steal what is mine?”

  “Hold off,” Wallin said, lowering his weapon. “She does look like the princess.”

  “I am the princess, and I doubt my father would like to hear of this!” Tyra was growing impatient.

  The squires exchanged quick glances and, in unison, knelt. “Forgive us, Your Highness!” Davin said. “We thought you were one of them, dressed like them and all.”

  “That’s better,” Tyra said. “What are your names?”

  The unknown squire looked at the others before speaking for them all. “Um … this runt is Davin, Wallin’s the tall one, and I’m Taner.”

  Tyra leaned toward Nels and whispered out the side of her mouth, “Can we trust them?”

  He glanced at her ring. “They’re telling the truth.”

  “Very well,” she said. “What are you doing in this camp?”

  “Guarding it,” Taner said. “The others went after the Vagas.”

  “That’s right,” Davin said. “Your father sent us here.”

  “He sent most of the knights,” Wallin added, “after they found Alvil dead.”

  Nels clenched his fists.

  Retrieving her dagger from the ground, Tyra moved to pick up the Needle. “If it had not been for the Vagas, Rasmus would have killed me.”

  “What?” Wallin said. “The Vagas saved you?”

  “You don’t have to kneel anymore. Stand up.”

  The squires obeyed and sheathed their swords as they stood. Davin looked unsure. “That’s not what Sir Arek said. He said the Vagas kidnapped you.”

  “And Rasmus is working with them,” Taner added.

  Tyra’s eyes glistened. “When did he tell you that?”

  “Last night,” Wallin said. “On the Westerly Pass.”

  Nels knew what Tyra was thinking long before she looked over at him. These three had been misled. “Did he have a wound in his shoulder,” Tyra asked, “from an arrow?”

  Wallin opened his mouth. “Did you see him get attacked?”

  “Rasmus was attacked. The Arek you saw was an imposter. Rasmus killed Arek before last night.”

  Davin pointed at Tyra. “How do we know she’s really the princess?”

  Nels could not blame them for questioning Tyra. They knew that Rasmus could be anyone. In unison, they removed their swords again and advanced toward Tyra, more cautious than before.

  “What are you doing?” she cried. “Be still!”

  “Look at what she’s holding,” Davin said. “A giant needle?”

  “Yeah,” Taner agreed. “Only a fabricator would carry something like that.”

  “That sinks it, then,” Wallin said. “Put down your … your … thing, sorcerer!”

  Tyra insisted that she was not Rasmus, but they would not listen. Each of them raised an arm to restrain her, but Nels leaped forward and took down both Davin and Taner together. They slid backward as Nels tripped and pinned Wallin. He gave his old friend no room to wriggle free.

  “This hold!” Wallin’s eyes looked around frantically. “Nels?”

  The other two squires jumped back to their feet and charged for Tyra. She raised the Needle and the squires stopped, frozen in place. She paused for a breath. “They believe me to be Rasmus?”

  “They will now,” Nels said. “How did you do that?”

  Tyra pointed the Needle at Wallin. “You know this one?”

  Nels nodded adamantly. “He’s one of my best friends.”

  “Who — who are you talking to?” Wallin cried.

  “Listen,” Tyra ordered. “We haven’t much time. Lend me your sheath.”

  Without a word, Wallin tapped the ground, signaling his defeat. Nels climbed off. Wallin sat up and stared at Tyra as he removed his sheath and handed it to her. She buckled it around her waist and placed the Needle inside. Wallin glanced at his immobile companions. “What did you do to them?”

  “Ride for the knights. Have them return to the castle immediately. I will ride ahead.” Tyra severed Brooklet’s tether and mounted her saddle. Everything was still there, including her quiver and bow. “I will explain everything at the castle — you must convince them to follow!”

  “Nels is a ghost,” Wallin said suddenly. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

  Impressed by his friend, Nels jabbed him hard in the shoulder.

  “Yeow!” Wallin jumped to the side, rubbing his arm.

  Tyra shook her head, smiling at Nels.

  “Jilia wasn’t lying!” Wallin said. “You told his mother —”

  “Go!” Tyra put Brooklet into a gallop, leaving them behind.

  The other squires stirred from their paralysis, thoroughly upset. “Where’d she go?” Taner asked, searching wildly. “There goes our chance. How could we let that sorcerer get away?”

  “She’s not Rasmus,” Wallin said. “Let’s get going.”

  “Wh-where are we going?” Davin stammered.

  “We have to find Sir Canis and go back!”

  “Why?” Taner asked. “What for?”

  Wallin mounted a horse. “Rasmus is at the castle!”

  The other two climbed onto their horses, and all three rode off to the north. Nels couldn’t help but feel pride in his friend. Rarely had Wallin acted so responsibly; it was as if he truly understood what was at stake. Nels’s body faded in and out, but his smile remained strong as he thrust into the air to catch up with Brooklet.

  Darkness crept across the sky as they neared the top of Westerly Pass.

  It was steep, so Tyra dismounted and climb
ed, careful of the ledges as she guided Brooklet. The mare shook, on the brink of exhaustion — like Arek’s horse before it had surrendered its life. She hated to inflict suffering like that on her mount, but they had so much ground to cover and so little time.

  Nels trailed behind, fading and reappearing often.

  “Just a little more,” Tyra urged them both. “Gleesel will help us.”

  If Nels said anything in reply, she did not hear him. Her heart pounded in her ears. She could not stop thinking about the three squires and their story. If her father had sent most of the knights after the Vagas, then the castle was vulnerable. Rasmus could easily pose as someone else, slip inside, and — with fewer eyes watching — spring at the chance to slaughter her parents.

  Tyra almost cheered when they reached level ground and started toward Gleesel’s mansion. They had to find a way back to the castle without killing Brooklet. No one was going to die. They reached the path that led through the small meadow, and Tyra leaped from her horse. She sprinted for the stairs and knocked on the door.

  “Gleesel?” No one answered. She knocked again. “Please open! It’s Tyra!” She heard nothing, except for the sound of Brooklet breathing too hard behind her.

  “Where is she?” Nels asked. “I thought she couldn’t leave the house.”

  “As a human,” Tyra reminded him. “Do you see a goat anywhere?”

  Nels shook his head. “Maybe she hid from the knights?”

  “Wait … Something here might know where she is.”

  Nels raised an eyebrow. “Something?”

  Tyra shoved at the mansion door and it creaked open. It was dark and dusty, just like their first arrival here, but Tyra did not let that stop her from running to the stony posts at the bottom of the stairs. “Is Gleesel here?” she asked the gargoyles. Neither statue moved. “Do you know where she is?” Still nothing. There was no magic in them. Her plan unsuccessful, Tyra returned to the porch, where she sat on the top step and held her head in her hands. They had traveled so far and worked so hard, but it wasn’t enough. They would never reach home before the moon appeared.