The Veil Weavers Page 7

  That’s where we met the guardian. Not the cat, the suddenly lovely, wonderful cat. The guardian was a spider. A giant spider, long and creamy white, dangling from a thread in front of a door. The door was a solid arched slab of wood, set into the side of the mountain. I couldn’t see any way to open it. Besides, how could we reach it, with a giant spider slowly spinning on its thread, silently watching us?

  Chapter Eight

  The Weavers

  The spider was – tall? long? big? Whatever the term, there was a lot of it. It was taller than me, with long thin legs, a multi-parted body and far too many eyes. Horrified, I counted six, all black and shining. I swallowed, and backed into Maddy. She clung to my arm, barely breathing.

  Shadows of long thin legs reached down the door, with another set reflected in blue on the snow below.

  For a moment I forgot all of that in awe at its beauty. It was incredibly delicate, pale and mottled in cream, light browns and greys. How could I capture the soft colours? I’d need translucent watercolours – Paynes grey and burnt sienna, perhaps. Then I looked into its six eyes and shuddered.

  It spun on its thread, watching us through all its eyes as it turned. Slowly it descended, letting out thread to reach the ground. It looked at me, and then at Maddy, as it stretched its legs to the earth.

  I could feel panic swamping me, making me want to run, to hide, to throw up. How could we fight this? I began to draw magic into myself. I didn’t know what I’d do with it, but I had to be ready.

  Maddy stood beside me, staring, frozen.

  Horrible spider scenes from my favourite movies played in my head. I shook them off and refocused on magic.

  Maddy bumped my arm. I glanced up to see her walking straight to the spider. “Maddy!” I cried, and reached for her.

  Just beyond my grasp, she stepped up to the spider and bowed, smiling. Then she held out a hand. “Hello.”

  The spider laughed and shook itself. All its long legs and eyes and strange body parts rearranged themselves into a person wearing a spider-pale cloak. He was a very tall, very thin man, with long, pale blonde hair, and fair skin almost translucent in the light reflected off the snow. His eyes were a soft grey. He stared at us curiously.

  That’s when I remembered the Gathering. “We need to see the weavers,” I said. “It is the Will of the Gathering.”

  The man laughed. “You don’t need to invoke the Will of the Gathering. Anyone who can see us is welcome.” He bowed to Maddy. “That takes a magic very few have.”

  “I don’t have any magic,” said Maddy. “Only a ring.” She held up her finger.

  “Well, you must see very clearly,” he said, “to see me without using that ring.”

  I stared at Maddy, suddenly realizing she hadn’t been looking through it. “How did you do that?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. I could just see, you know?”

  No, I didn’t know. My magic was different.

  “I am Dorshan,” said the man, as he placed his long thin hand on the door and gently pushed. It swung open at his touch, even though such a large door must be heavy. He bowed, and we stepped in. We could hear a frenzy of crows cawing as the door slid shut behind us with a soft thunk.

  We walked into a light-filled cathedral. That was my first impression, at least. Then I realized I was wrong; it was an incredibly simple hallway, just stone walls and tall windows, but the light gleamed off the cream stone walls and it felt...it felt peaceful, deeply quiet, like a monastery.

  From the door, the hallway curved along the front face of the mountain, with windows fitted to follow the lines of the rock. Through every window we could see mountains and evening sky, making the stone hall feel light and airy. When I commented on it, Dorshan said, “Of course. The hall is woven of mountain and sky.”

  “How is that possible?” Maddy murmured.

  I shook my head.

  The cat that had startled us outside walked with us, like a pet cat, except it was large enough for Dorshan to rest his hand on its head while they walked.

  “This is Menolee,” said Dorshan. “We wanted to call her Snow Ball but that seemed too obvious.”

  Menolee meowled, a wild cry that echoed off the ceiling.

  Dorshan led us down the hall, pausing to let us study tapestries hung along the inside wall. Some shimmered like dew, others sang with rich deep colours. A few brooded, dark as storms. The more I looked, the more I wondered what they were woven from.

  “We can weave anything,” said Dorshan, as if he could read my mind.

  A wave of joy washed over me. If the weavers could weave anything, they could repair the veil.

  Dorshan continued. “My favourite task is weaving the first leaves into new robes.” His face lit up, bright with memories of spring.

  Weavers passed us as we studied the tapestries – they were all tall and lean and simply dressed. Menolee butted her head against the hand of each weaver who walked by. The weavers nodded politely to us and to Dorshan, but no one spoke. They felt as quiet as the hall.

  We followed Dorshan as the hall curved around the mountain. He led us to a small alcove. “We have visitors,” he announced to the three weavers sitting by a stone fireplace. They looked surprised.

  “We rarely see anyone but the birds,” said a tall, thin, white-haired woman, in a pale robe coloured with a hint of apricot. She stood, and her robe rustled softly around her. “I am Eldest,” she said, holding out a hand in welcome.

  “This is Aloshius the Elder,” she said, gesturing to her right.

  The second weaver nodded and smoothed his robe with long, narrow hands. His hair was pale gold, barely darker than the faint gold of his robe.

  “And Lyatha,” Eldest continued, holding out a hand to her left.

  Lyatha, dressed in a robe of peach and cream, smiled, her soft blue eyes sparkling. “Welcome,” she said. “Come, warm yourself by the fire.” Her hair was pale silver, and her skin almost translucent. I felt that if I watched long enough I would see through her skin to the blood pumping in her veins.

  As Lyatha helped us out of our winter clothes, Eldest thanked Dorshan and he left, returning to guard duty, I assumed.

  When we leaned down to take off our boots, Maddy whispered, “They’re barely there, Josh. I checked through my ring to be sure.”

  “Like ghosts?” I asked, feeling shocked.

  “No, not ghosts.” She hesitated. “Just...just thin.” She frowned, struggling to describe it. “More spirit than flesh,” she finally announced.

  I could feel her shiver. I swallowed, and spoke. “We are here by the Will of the Gathering.”

  Lyatha held up a hand to stop me. “You have come a long way. You shall bathe and change, and then share a meal with us. Then you may tell us the needs of the Gathering.”

  Eldest and Aloshius nodded in agreement, their smiles sweet and gentle, but at the same time a little withdrawn, as if they weren’t used to company.

  Lyatha, Maddy and I collected our jackets and bags, and continued down the hall. Lyatha led us to a curved door set between two tall windows. We followed her down a short flight of stairs into a small room. It was a simple, sparsely furnished room, with two stone ledges piled with beautifully woven bedding to sleep on, a stone shelf under a wall of windows and a small stone fireplace. But out the windows, the sky and the mountains were so huge the room felt enormous.

  Lyatha knelt and lit a fire with such ease she must have used magic. The fire warmed the room as she lit candles. She carried one through a small door beside the stairs. When she returned, she said, “The bathing room. I’ll bring robes for you. Take your time. Someone will come when it is time to dine.”

  Maddy bathed first, while I lay watching the sky darken. Then, to keep myself awake, I squirmed around so I could see the tapestry covering the wall behind our beds. It was a mountain meadow filled with blooms, but it was so vibrant I wondered if the weavers had woven the flowers themselves into the tapestry.

  I’d been consume
d by worry, about repairing the veil and keeping Maddy and me safe. Now I started to relax. The weavers could fix the veil, and they would look after us. It felt deeply peaceful here, safe and quiet.

  Lyatha had brought woven robes for us to wear, of just the right length. Maddy’s was a pale sky blue, soft but not shining. Mine was pure white. Maddy gasped when she saw it.

  “You look...” she said. “You look...”

  “What?” I said, feeling silly in a long skirt.

  “You look...powerful, like you’re wearing magic.”

  We heard a sound at the door, softer than a knock. Maddy opened it to Menolee. “Um, is it time for dinner?” she asked. Menolee yawned.

  She led us to a second alcove, warmed by a crackling fire in a stone fireplace. Eldest sat at one end of a long table, with Aloshius the Elder at her right and Lyatha at her left. Maddy and I sat beside them, opposite each other. Menolee stretched out by the fire.

  “Will Dorshan be joining us?” I asked, struggling to match the formality of the setting.

  “He has returned to guard duty,” said Eldest. “He will eat there.”

  I wondered if he would eat as a weaver, or as a spider.

  “We have a feast to welcome you,” said Eldest. “We don’t have guests very often. When we do, we try to treat them well.”

  The food was simple but delicious, and as long as Maddy and I kept eating, the food kept coming – meat cooked with herbs, delicately cut vegetables, woven pastries. We drank what looked like pale wines, but they didn’t make Maddy and me silly. My favourite tasted of honey and sunshine on a bright spring morning.

  Thick candles lit the table, leaving deep shadows around the edges of the room, except where the light from the fire danced. As we ate, the moon rose and shone through the windows, creating new shadows.

  The weavers ate lightly, simply tasting each dish, but they encouraged us to have as much as we wanted. When our stomachs were tight and round, we stopped, sighing.

  Then, finally, the weavers asked why we were in the magic world and Maddy told them our story.

  When she finished, Eldest said, “And what do you need from us?”

  “We need to fix the veil,” I said. “I mean, you do. To weave it, to repair the tears.”

  “We cannot,” said Eldest.

  Maddy’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Fear grabbed me, but I pushed it aside. Of course they can, I told it.

  Eldest sighed. “We are descendants of the Ancient Ones, but we do not have their power. We are weavers, but not of the veil.”

  “Can’t you at least try?” I asked, my stomach twisting.

  “We cannot cross the veil. We cannot touch the veil.”

  “But you have to try!” I cried.

  Aloshius the Elder said, “Do you think we have not?” He pushed up the sleeves of his robe, showing dark red scars zigzagging up his arms. “It throws us off. We cannot touch it.”

  Lyatha pushed up her sleeves, revealing more scars. Eldest did the same; her arms were the worst, covered in a web of raised red lines.

  “We cannot touch the veil,” she said. “We cannot weave it, cannot repair it, cannot even rest a finger on the veil to listen to the song of the Ancient Ones. We can do nothing to help the magic world.” She sounded immensely sad.

  “Come,” she said, “and I will show you.”

  We walked with her to the end of the hall, to the largest tapestry we’d seen. Holding up a candle, Eldest lit portions of the story, one after another. It showed the Ancient Ones, all together, weaving the veil. I could see magic flowing through their hands, and threads emerging and working their way into the veil, weaving it around the earth. Magic crackled as they wove.

  The Ancient Ones were tall like the weavers, but strong and vibrant, full of colour and power. As we moved down the tapestry, we watched magic flow from the Ancient Ones into the veil. They became paler and thinner, as if they were feeding themselves into the veil. By the end of the tapestry, the Ancient Ones sat exhausted, pale and thin like the weavers, except for the joy on their faces as they looked at the veil surrounding the earth in a mantle of magic.

  “We are all that is left,” said Eldest. I could hear deep sadness in her voice.

  “How awful,” said Maddy.

  Eldest smiled. “They were content.” She paused, and added, “As were we. Until now.” She closed her eyes and I could feel the pain of their failure to repair the veil their ancestors had given everything to create.

  “So who can fix it?” I asked.

  “Only you, Josh. You have something of the Ancient Ones about you, a presence, a strangeness. Only you can fix it.”

  I wish I could, I thought. I’d give anything to repair it. “Teach me how,” I said.

  “There is nothing we can teach.”

  Then it couldn’t be repaired.

  Now I understood how the veil was made, woven of magic and something of the Ancient Ones themselves, leaving them drained of everything except stillness and a remarkable ability to weave anything except the veil. But they couldn’t repair it, and neither could I.

  I went to bed in despair, and didn’t sleep. I watched the moon travel across the sky, clouds move in, and snow begin to fall. The snowfall became heavier, matching my mood and giving me something new to worry about. I ignored the bigger problem, and focused on the immediate one: how were we going to get back to Brox and Vivienne?

  After a generous breakfast I could barely choke down, Maddy and I got ready to leave. Once Lyatha was content that we were well wrapped and our bags properly packed, Eldest stepped forward, fabric draped over one arm.

  “These will keep you comfortable, whatever the weather.” She slipped a cloak over Maddy’s shoulders, softly patterned in grey like the back of a young robin. Eldest pulled up the hood and touched a hand to Maddy’s cheek.

  Then she handed me mine. It was creamy white, exactly the cream of Dorshan the spider, and it felt as fine as spider’s silk. I shuddered as I took it from her. But it settled over my shoulders as if it had always been there, moving as I moved. When I walked, I forgot about the cloak until it swirled around my ankles in a gentle flourish, reminding me of its presence.

  We walked down the hall and out the door. Dorshan and Menolee were waiting. Snow was still falling, and silence echoed in my ears.

  “How can we get through the snow?” asked Maddy, her voice small.

  Dorshan smiled. “Menolee will take care of that. She’ll be very happy, today!” He turned to Menolee, and said, “Meno, please clear the trail for Josh and Maddy, all the way to their escort at the base of the mountain.”

  Menolee yowled, a wild, joyful cry.

  Dorshan smiled. “No avalanches, today, Meno. Just clear the path.”

  Menolee shook her head, and meowed softly. Then she curled herself into a ball and began to roll. Snow on the path stuck to her; she kept rolling, the ball growing larger as more and more snow clung. Soon she was out of sight, leaving a perfectly clear path for us to follow.

  “Won’t she be awfully big when she gets to the bottom?” Maddy asked.

  Dorshan laughed. “She’ll shake herself out whenever she gets too big.”

  Maddy and I said goodbye, and watched while the weavers returned to their hall. Dorshan stayed outside, on guard duty again.

  “Before we go, could we watch you turn into a spider?” asked Maddy.

  “Of course. Goodbye, my friends. May the Will of the Gathering keep you safe and help you find your way.” He shook himself and the cloak floated around him. “It’s all in the weaving, and in my intention. Watch closely.”

  He seemed to be speaking only to Maddy, so I stepped back.

  Maddy watched intently as he twitched his cloak with one hand and a shrug of his shoulders. As it settled, he settled too, smaller and thinner, and suddenly he was a spider again.

  Maddy twitched her own cloak as she grinned. “That’s so cool,” she muttered. Then we turned and started down the path.


  After all the magic of the weavers and their hall, the beauty of the fresh morning and the joy of Menolee rolling down the mountain, all I could think was a despairing, Now what?

  Chapter Nine

  Crow By Crow

  The crows swarmed us as we circled the lake. “Settle down,” I said. “Settle down. We’re fine.”

  Corvus landed directly in front of me, demanding answers. The others clustered nearby, Crowby on my shoulder. She leaned against my ear and murmured softly.

  I touched her head. “No, the weavers can’t fix the veil. I have no idea what to do now.” I struggled not to snap at them, not to cry.

  Corvus flew off immediately. I called after him to stop, but either he didn’t hear me or he chose to ignore me. Now everyone will know, I thought, as we trudged down the mountain.

  Maddy and I walked in silence. The trip down was faster than hiking up, but it wasn’t long before my knees reminded me of how hard it is to hike down a mountain.

  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.