The Veil Weavers (12 page)

We never saw Menolee, but we knew she’d rolled by. The path was perfectly clear. Every so often we’d pass an explosion of snow scattered across the forest, with a fresh path straight through the middle.

As we walked all I could think about was my failure. I remembered how Folens had felt snuggled in my arms, his fingers holding mine while he slept. I’d failed him. I’d failed the weavers with their veil-scarred arms. I’d failed the entire magic world. How could I go home knowing this world was suffering?

Brox and Vivienne were waiting by the river. They must have heard from Corvus how I’d failed. They didn’t say anything – they just waited, huffing softly, while we dug the buffalo robes out of the snow, strapped on our bags, and climbed up. We tucked the robes around our legs where our cloaks couldn’t reach, but I knew we wouldn’t get cold. The cloaks had been light as we hiked down the mountain but as soon as we stopped moving they snuggled around us, warm and comforting.

My only other comfort was that Brox and Vivienne must have sensed my mood. Brox talked with Maddy, and Vivienne sang, but they let me sit in silence.

We headed upriver, north up the long valley back to the otter-people.

Now that I understood how the veil was woven, I could almost feel it in my hands. I kept flexing my fingers, running my hands up and down imaginary threads, picturing myself being able to pull the broken threads together and reweave them.

“I need to find a doorway,” I said to Brox.

Maddy looked up, a flash of hope in her eyes. “You have an idea?”

I shook my head. “No. I just – I just want to touch the veil again.” My hands twitched. I waved them at Maddy. “Just touch it.”

She nodded, and let the eagerness fade from her face. “I understand.”

“There’s a doorway near the bank of the river,” said Brox. “We’ll be there soon.”

I was content to wait, to ride and be quiet and wait. It felt better than despair, although despair was never far away.

When we reached the doorway, Maddy and the buffalo stayed near the river, letting me work alone. I breathed in magic, letting it fill me. Then I breathed out, and opened the doorway. There was no tear here, but I could see the veil. I touched it, laying my hands on the soft threads. I could feel the tears, feel the history of the veil, hear the song of the Ancient Ones as they wove themselves into the veil. But I could not repair the tears. I didn’t have the magic for that.

“Anything?” asked Maddy as I joined her. I shook my head.

Corvus landed in front of us, holding a piece of paper in his beak. Maddy knelt and took it from him. She unfolded it, choked out a laugh, and handed it to me. Keeper had scrawled in black charcoal, in what looked like a five-year-old’s printing:

Grfal
Grenfol
Troll traking you. Bewar.

“We met him on the trail,” I said, looking back at the Rockwall.

Maddy shuddered.

“We’re not afraid of him,” said Brox.

But I knew Gronvald. Just because they weren’t afraid of him didn’t mean they shouldn’t be.

We ate a little, Maddy and me from our bags, Brox and Vivienne grazing on the grasses near the river, periodically lifting their great heads to sniff. We ate quickly, watching for Gronvald.

Vivienne sniffed and froze, her nostrils twitching. Brox joined her, searching for a scent. “Wolves,” Brox muttered.

Maddy walked to the edge of the water, looking through her ring.

We heard a howl upriver. We all turned, struggling to see into the forest. When we turned back, we were surrounded by wolves.

Maddy stood alone, separated by the wolves from the buffalo and me. Three circled her, while the others kept us away. They were huge, seven in all, in shades of grey. Their eyes gleamed yellow as they stared. Maddy moaned in fear.

Vivienne bellowed and raced towards Maddy. A dark wolf leapt at her, his jaws snapping at her leg. Vivienne kicked him and sent him flying, whimpering. A smaller wolf sprang from behind, clawing Vivienne’s back. Brox roared and attacked, but two wolves closed in on Maddy.

“No!” I yelled, leaping towards her. A wolf lunged at me, snarling. “We come at the Will of the Gathering,” I gasped. Somehow, as weak and squeaky as that came out, magic rang in my words. He paused, just long enough for me to suck in a larger breath and yell, “We come at the Will of the Gathering.” My voice rang with power.

The wolves growled and circled, but as we faced them, trying to look strong, the circle eased. They stared at us for a moment longer, and then disappeared into the forest.

We pushed on up the valley, Vivienne ignoring the deep scratches down her back, Maddy and me shaking, the crows anxious and irritable.

Vivienne began to sing again, a quiet hummy lullaby. She was starting the second verse when Brox interrupted with a quiet, “Vivienne, dearest.”

Maddy and I looked up. Brox never interrupted Vivienne’s songs. Even the crows became quiet. Brox tilted his head, listening.

“What is it?” Maddy asked.

“Ssh,” he said, standing motionless.

We all froze and listened, the crows silently circling above us.

Burble, I heard. Blorp, burble splat.

Maddy and I stared at each other. “What is it?” she mouthed.

I shrugged. I had no idea.

Blorble. Burp.

“The ochre monster,” said Vivienne, her voice tight. “The ochre monster is waking.”

I could feel Brox shudder, and I shuddered too. I didn’t want to meet anything he was afraid of.

“Josh, Maddy, not one word,” said Brox. “Be still. Breathe softly. We want no sounds, no smells, no hint of human. Understand?”

We both nodded, barely moving our chins.

The crows broke into small squabbling groups, always between us and the Paint Pots, creating a shield of sound. Brox and Vivienne walked faster than ever. Maddy and I gritted our teeth and hung on.

We arrived at the otter-people’s camp just
before sunset.

They brought us dinner but I couldn’t eat. Folens was dying. He lay nestled in Maddy’s fur hat, pale and still. I warmed the cave and knelt by him, holding one tiny hand, trying to send him magic. While I worked, I knew that if I couldn’t fix the veil, whatever I did now wouldn’t matter.

I left Maddy playing quietly with Drenba and Dreylac, and went outside to sit by the fire. Brox and Vivienne joined me, silently watching the flames. Vivienne began to sing, soft and low:

O come sit by my side if you love me.

Do not hasten to bid me adieu.

Just remember the Red River Valley,

and the one that has loved you so true.

I stared into the fire, thinking about the veil and magic. Folens and muskberries. The Ancient Ones.

As I thought about the Ancient Ones and how they gave themselves to create the veil, I realized something. Magic folk talked about me like I was some kind of hero, or should be, but I wasn’t. I was the sacrifice. I had to do what the Ancient Ones did. I had to weave myself into the veil.

I wondered what I would become if I could repair the veil. Would I be just a shadow of myself, like the weavers were of the Ancient Ones? I sat with my fear until I knew exactly what it looked like. And what to do.

“Corvus,” I called. “Only the crows can help me now. I need every crow to bring me muskberries. Ask the otter-people, at every camp. Ask anyone who has some. I don’t care if they need them to survive the winter. This is the Will of the Gathering. I need every muskberry that the crows can bring before dawn.”

Greyfur heard me. She joined me by the fire and handed me a bowl holding a small pile of dried muskberries. “This is all we have. Use them well,
hnn
.”

I took them from her knowing that if I failed, Folens
would die. That became another fear to push aside.

I sat holding the bowl, waiting, while Corvus conferred with the crows and they all flew away. When Crowby left, too, I almost called out, “No, not Crowby. She’s too young.” But I stopped myself. This had to be done.

I knew what this would cost them, in exhaustion and failure and possibly death. With a shock I realized I could feel the crows – not just to empathize with them, but to feel as they felt. I must have been doing it for a while, without realizing it. Right now, I could feel their determination to collect muskberries for me, to save their world, whatever the cost to themselves. I let that determination soak into me.

Then I mourned – for their sacrifice, for the sacrifice of the Ancient Ones, for my own.

I waited as the moon rose, adding wood to the fire when it burned low. I waited while the moon crossed the sky, sitting with Greyfur, with Brox and Vivienne nearby. I could feel the crows as they flew and knew exactly when the first would return.

Greyfur greeted him and handed me the pouch of muskberries he carried. I poured them into the bowl and waited for more.

All through the night crows arrived, sometimes with a pouch or a clawful of muskberries, sometimes clutching only one. Each was placed in the bowl.

I sent them all off again, no matter how tired they were. “Keep looking for muskberries – as many as you can bring me by dawn.” I knew the cost of what I was asking, but I couldn’t let that stop me.

As they returned I could feel their fatigue. Some carried more than one woven pouch or packet made from a folded leaf. They were bringing muskberries collected by crows too exhausted to return.

An hour before dawn, I began to eat. One at a time, slowly chewing each one, I ate muskberries. The dried berries were dark in the firelight, almost black, shrivelled and sticky. They filled my mouth with flavour, tangy and dark, with a heavy scent. As I ate, I could feel magic. But I didn’t focus on it, didn’t let it build. Not yet. First I had to eat.

Maddy was up before dawn, worrying. “Are you sure, Josh? This seems so dangerous.”

“I’m sure,” I said.

“But...remember what happened to the Ancient Ones.”

I closed my eyes. “I remember,” I said, a little gruffly.

“Eneirda and Greyfur didn’t want to eat too many muskberries.”

“I’m not an otter-person.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not even magic folk. You’re just a human being. Just a boy, Josh.”

“Let the boy do what he must,” said Greyfur.

Maddy sniffed and wiped her eyes, her face pale. I could tell from the way they hovered that Brox and Vivienne were worried, too. But still it had to be done.

Vivienne snuffled at Maddy, and Maddy leaned into her, glad of the company. When she got restless she examined her cloak, running a hand down its softness, flipping it and watching it settle around her. Then she’d turn back to me, her face tight. Eventually she slept.

I waited and ate, and waited some more. Just as the sky began to lighten, the last crows arrived, a cluster of exhausted birds flying together. Crowby was the last to stagger in, clutching a single berry. She was embarrassed she only had one, but it was enough.

I held their muskberries in my hand and slowly ate them, one at a time. Then I stood. I could feel magic pulsing through me.

I strode over to Maddy and gently woke her. “I’m ready,” I said. Then I turned to the others. “I need a doorway.”

Maddy rubbed her eyes and slowly stood, untangling her cloak. “A torn one?”

“No. Any doorway will do.”

Greyfur conferred with Brox and Vivienne.

“There is one south along the river, beyond what humans call Marble Canyon,” said Brox.

Greyfur said, “Doorway at Storm Mountain is closer,
hnn
.”

“But more difficult for humans and for Vivienne and me. Beyond Marble Canyon is easier.”

Greyfur nodded in agreement, and helped us climb onto Brox and Vivienne.

We walked south along the river once again, watching the sun rise below a low bank of clouds, past a curve of mountain covered in low bushes and scattered rocks. Beyond it a stream tumbled down the mountain.

“The doorway is beside that stream,” said Brox. “Go quietly. The Paint Pots are nearby.”

I nodded and turned to climb the bank. I was filled with magic.