The World Weavers Page 2

  Saria’s name was still legible after hundreds of years. Tori’s ancestors had carefully tended and recarved the letters as they faded.

  Saria had been a Vrishni, a wandering prophet. She had traveled to the desert and given the Southerners the prophecy that the Chosen would weave the deities and the One into a whole once again. But Vrishni Saria had kept one final vision secret from the Southerners. She had returned to her home in the North and started a family, knowing that her bloodline was the key to completing the prophecy and keeping the deities from destroying mankind. The Descendants of the Prophet Saria created their own carefully concealed towns, trained their children to defend themselves and hid from the followers of the deities. Saria’s Descendants revered her almost as a deity herself.

  “All her Descendants except this one,” Tori murmured, clutching a bundle of flowers in her hand. Tori’s feli, Zara, bumped her white-­and-­black striped head against Tori’s waist, sensing her mood. Tori knelt and placed the flowers beside the headstone.

  Today was the Spring Festival of the Founding. Tori’s temple, which was far north of Illian, and the Northern mountain temples like it, sent acolytes out to decorate the graves of important acolytes and Vrishni. But these flowers weren’t in honor of Saria.

  “I’m surprised to see you decorating her grave,” a familiar male voice said from behind her. “I know you despise your role as Descendant.”

  “These flowers aren’t for her,” Tori said, glancing over her shoulder. “And I don’t despise being a Descendant. I despise what it has cost my family.”

  Evan was dressed in travel leathers like her own and bore an uncanny resemblance to her, even though they were distant cousins. Each had thick black brows and hair, though Tori bobbed her hair and Evan pulled his long mane back with a leather cord.

  “I forgot,” Evan said, his stern features softening. “Your children . . . they were buried here as well?”

  Tori gritted her teeth. “And my husband. You should not forget. They were murdered for the Descendants’ cause. They’re the reason I joined the Temple, to make myself a bridge between the Temple and the Descendants and prevent more needless deaths.”

  Evan tilted his head, looking at her. “Is that how you think of yourself?” he asked. “Some Descendants would say you are a heretic who recklessly risked all of us to get a feli.”

  Tori stood and dusted off her leathers. “And the Temple would say I’m a heretic for following Vrishni Saria and the prophecy. But the One believes in me and clearly the elders among the Descendants believe in me, or you would not be here answering my summons. Or did you come to tell me our ­people won’t gather under my calling? I don’t see an army behind you.”

  “I am the messenger. The Descendants are gathering, arming themselves. They will meet us on the road to Illian,” Evan said. “Amon already travels south, answering a call of his own.”

  Tori grimaced. Amon had censured her translations of the Vrishni’s scriptures and spoken against her decision to seek out the Temple and bond with a feli. She was happy he would be out of her way, but worried about the allies he might alienate in the desert.

  “Are you ready to go?” Evan asked. “Your summons said you were called to immediate action. We must go meet our army. A large group of Descendants camped by the road, waiting for us, will attract dangerous attention.”

  Tori nodded. “I think my immediate plans will dismay you, though,” she admitted. “The One calls me to become a Counselor for her as well as a Descendant. I had a vision. I must travel to the temples north of the mountains to create a bridge between the Descendants and the One.”

  “How so?” Evan asked, frowning.

  “The One will choose Counselors from among the deities’ acolytes at those temples. We will leave a few Descendants at each temple to teach the new Counselors how to shield their temple during the final battle.”

  “I didn’t bring anyone with me to leave here,” Evan said. “I thought the plan was to travel to Illian and use our shielding to support Amon’s efforts from there.”

  Tori shook her head and brushed past Evan, walking down the stone path to the wooden backdoor of the temple. She knew the temple buzzed inside with acolytes decorating and setting up tables and chairs for the endless sermons that the townsfolk would attend later in the day. They were unaware that she was about to turn the order of this temple upside down.

  “We will send some teachers back,” Tori said.

  Evan grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop before she could open the door. Zara snarled and he quickly released her and stepped back.

  “Tori, we don’t have time for these flights of fancy,” he said. “Amon expects us in Illian to support him from afar when the final battle takes place.”

  “The reason the Descendants exist is to bring the One back to wholeness,” Tori snarled. “Ignoring the One’s actual needs because the Descendants have become tangled in dogma is stupidity. Close your eyes, reach out to the One, and tell me that I’m wrong. Go on.”

  Evan glared at her a moment, then closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as his face and body relaxed. After a moment his brow furrowed and his eyes snapped open.

  “You are not wrong,” he said. “But I know we must be in Illian before the final battle, or Amon and the desert Chosen will fail.”

  Tori nodded and turned back to the door. “We will not let them fail,” she said. She paused with her hand on the door, preparing to leave behind her life as an acolyte of Parasu. Zara leaned against her, comforting her.

  Tori opened the door and stepped into her new role as a harbinger of change.

  Kadar sat on a cushion in the back of an old warehouse the warriors of the One had turned into a meeting hall, and planned his escape in his head.

  “All the important ­people are here, eh?” Ashraf said, settling in beside him. He gestured to the gathering. “Chosen on the right, warriors of the One in the center, and scholars from Kabandha on the left. The leaders of the South surround us. Are you not awed?”

  Kadar snorted. “Terribly impressed. But focused on making myself small so they don’t assign me any duties.”

  “Your friend Dani is trying to be small as well,” Ashraf said, gesturing to the far wall.

  “I think if he could turn invisible, he would,” Kadar said sympathetically. “He traveled all this way and his Chosen screams and threatens to kill him every time they meet. Poor Dani.”

  “Poor Ava,” Ashraf said.

  “Yes, poor Ava,” Kadar said, looking down at his hands. This meeting was already reminding him of the many Forsaken meetings he’d attended with Farrah. Seeing Farrah’s sister, Ava, reminded him he wasn’t the only person who had lost Farrah, who had loved Farrah.

  “I failed her,” Ashraf said softly. “Farrah, that is, not Ava. I left her when I promised to see her ­people’s cause to the end. I loved her like a sister but I did not return to help her, and she thought I abandoned her. It is my fault she turned to the viceroy’s son.”

  Kadar was silent, wanting to blame Ashraf. But he wasn’t that unfair. Ashraf had known Farrah far longer than Kadar, had planned the Forsaken rebellion with her for years before Kadar had come along. He was hurting as well.

  “Why did you leave?” Kadar asked.

  “I had family business in the South, so I took it as an opportunity to scout at Kabandha, to see if the ruins were in good enough shape to begin sending Forsaken there when you came back at summer’s end.”

  “And the warriors of the One never let you leave,” Kadar said.

  “Yes—­the Kabandha warriors kept me there. And once Sulis arrived, it was clear I was meant to play a role in the prophecy, to be her Guardian. I could not go back after that.”

  Kadar glanced at Ashraf. Tears stood in the man’s eyes. “Farrah chose her path. She chose someone who would bring her fast results with
a disastrous price. I believe you have been given a more dangerous and thankless task here. You have enough to worry about—­don’t take the blame for Farrah’s fate upon yourself. The One is redirecting your energy to something more worthy, not punishing you.”

  They were distracted by Master Anchee in the front of the room, calling the meeting to order.

  “Lasha can’t keep her eyes off Master Anchee,” Kadar whispered to Ashraf.

  Ashraf laughed softly. “It’s a Guardian thing. You cannot keep away from your Chosen. Like moth to flame, we are drawn in.”

  “And here I thought it was because you were simple, the way you let Sulis abuse you and still follow her around.”

  Ashraf elbowed him in the ribs as Master Anchee introduced the Kabandha leader, Master Tull.

  “We will need to coordinate between the Tigu nomads and our warriors of the One,” Master Tull said. “The Tigu fighters will winnow down the army Voras sends before they come anywhere near the Obsidian Temple. We will be recruiting guards from the towns around this area.”

  Ashraf nudged Kadar again and whispered, “Your grandmother keeps looking back at you.”

  Kadar deliberately did not look over at her. “I know. She wants me to go with the Tigus—­they need a farspeaker who can relay messages for them. My bags are already packed and I leave tomorrow to go to my daughter in Tsangia, or I would not have come to this meeting for fear of being volunteered.”

  A tattooed Tigu warrior stood up in front of the crowd, clad in an embroidered vest and loose, full trousers. He spoke rapidly in the Tigu tongue, pausing occasionally for Master Anchee to translate.

  “Turo thanks Master Tull for her hospitality and for inviting him to this gathering,” Anchee said, a moment after the warrior. “My ­people have joined together for the first time in centuries and are prepared to die for the benefit of the One who blesses us with water and health. We require supplies for our last stand: weapons, food for our warriors, and humpbacks to ride into battle. We need a farspeaker so we can direct our battle and know the will of this counsel. Praise to the One, the final battle is upon us!”

  “Bloodthirsty, is he not?” Ashraf whispered. “The warriors of the One do not look quite as eager to die as he does.”

  Kadar shifted on his seat as his grandmother stood and walked to the front of the crowd.

  He whispered to Ashraf. “If she volunteers me, I’m slipping out the back, getting on my horse and riding away tonight.”

  “I will cover for you. I can stand and start shouting the warrior’s oath to confuse them.”

  Grandmother addressed the Tigu. “Great warrior Turo, we honor your ­people’s sacrifice,” she began.

  Something climbed onto Kadar’s lap and he looked down to see Amber arching her back against his chest. He put his hands on her silky fur. Another farspeaker was calling for him. Kadar closed his eyes and reached with his senses, welcoming the sending of the other man.

  Kadar, praise the One, Uncle Aaron sent. His voice was on the edge of Kadar’s range. I wasn’t certain I would be able to reach you. Danger.

  Kadar felt his uncle’s panic as the connection faded and broke.

  “What is it?” Ashraf asked softly, drawn by the fear in his face.

  “My uncle is trying to reach me,” Kadar whispered to Ashraf. “I don’t want to disrupt the meeting. Can you get Sulis? I need her energy.”

  The big man leapt lightly to his feet and ducked through the crowd, which was still focused on the speakers in the front of the room, to Sulis’s side. Kadar closed his eyes, seeking Uncle Aaron. Sulis’s hand touched his arm as she knelt beside him.

  “What do you need?” she whispered.

  “It’s Uncle Aaron. There’s an emergency. He’s fading out and I need extra energy.”

  Sulis clasped his hand as he focused again, Djinn leaning against her. Her energy joined his. He caught the thread of his uncle’s voice once again.

  Sulis is boosting me, Kadar assured him. What has happened?

  Tarik has been taken by Voras’s men, Uncle Aaron sent. Sulis gasped—­she could hear them speaking through their energy link. The sales hall has been seized by Voras’s soldiers. I don’t know where they’re holding Tarik. I was warned that Illian has been locked down. No Southerners can leave. The deities’ troops are seizing entering caravans.

  Kadar gazed into Sulis’s shocked eyes. What of Simon? he asked about his oldest cousin. Did they take him, too?

  I don’t know, Uncle Aaron said, his mindvoice worried. I am traveling west of the city, staying out of sight of Voras’s men.

  Sulis sent through him. Why did they take Uncle Tarik? What do they want with him?

  They’ve taken several Southern men, ones with families in the caravan trade, supposedly to question them about their involvement in the Forsaken rebellion and the kidnappings at the Children’s Home last month.

  Voras is looking for trade route information, isn’t he? Kadar sent. The kidnappings gave him a reason to question Southerners without the ­people of Illian protesting.

  Sulis interrupted again. Uncle Tarik would never give them information.

  Uncle Aaron’s mindvoice was sad. Voras is very powerful in the mind arts. You learned that yourself. Tarik has been trained in resisting, but his mind could be destroyed in the process.

  Kadar recoiled in horror. What can we do? he asked.

  I’m sorry to leave it to you—­but you must tell your grandmother and the elders. Someone must go tell Raella her husband has been taken. I will gather information and head to Stonycreek, where we have fighters who can help us free the Southerners from Illian. I must go now. It’s not safe here.

  Be careful, Uncle Aaron, Kadar sent. Sulis seconded the wish.

  The sending cut off, and Sulis released his hand, her head bowed.

  “I told Uncle Tarik he should come with me,” Kadar whispered, guilt flooding him. “He refused. My love for Farrah brought this upon him. Our family would not have been involved in this if not for me.”

  “Kadar?” His grandmother’s voice shook him out of his reverie.

  Kadar looked up and realized the meeting had stopped and all eyes were on the twins in the back of the room. His grandmother took a step toward him, one hand out. There was fear on her face as she watched him and Sulis stand.

  “Uncle Tarik has been taken prisoner by Voras,” Kadar told Grandmother. She closed her eyes and her Guardian, Palou, put an arm around her. Kadar looked around the room. “Illian has been closed to trade; caravans are being seized by the Temple. Southerners are trapped in Illian. Several men were taken along with Uncle Tarik. I must go tell my aunt Raella and my cousins that Uncle Tarik is in Voras’s hands.”

  Grandmother opened her eyes, looked into Kadar’s. “I could feel Tarik was in distress, through our link, but I did not know why. I’ll tell Raella that he has been captured. I want you to go with Turo as our voice with the Tigus. I need to go convince Raella’s family, the Tasharas, to contribute metal and supplies for the Tigus.”

  Kadar shook his head as the Tigu warrior studied him with bright eyes. “No. I need to protect my family, my daughter. I’ve brought you your Guardians—­my job is done. I leave in the morning.”

  Grandmother grabbed his arm in an iron grip as he turned away. “Don’t be selfish, Kadar. Aaron’s news means that war is at hand. We need every talented man and woman serving.”

  Kadar broke her hold. “War arrived months ago, while you were hiding in Kabandha. I couldn’t protect my beloved from it—­but I will protect my daughter, the aunt who raised me, my cousins. I’ll serve while protecting them, or not at all.”

  Grandmother opened her mouth to retort. She was interrupted by a hoarse yell.

  Kadar jerked around to see Dani on his knees, clutching his arm, which bled freely from shoulder to elbow. Ava stood over him, a bloody knife in her
hand. A visible black haze shimmered between her and Dani. The crowd backed away, forming a clear space around the Loom and her Guardian.

  “Ava, no!” Clay stepped forward, and Ava brandished her knife threateningly.

  “He will not hurt me again,” she declared. She muttered under her breath. Dani gasped and put a hand on the floor, his strength siphoned away.

  Sulis stepped forward into the standing warrior pose. The dark haze flowed in her direction and Ava snarled. She raised her knife again to stab Dani, and Lasha darted in. She jerked the knife out of the younger girl’s hands. The dark haze coated her hands and Lasha threw the knife away with a cry, trying to wipe the darkness off.

  Ava slapped her hand on Dani’s bloody wound.

  “I own you now,” she said. “Your will is mine. You cannot harm me again.”

  Dani looked up at her, bewildered. “I’ve never hurt you,” he said. “I never would. I’ve a little sister like you. I’ll protect you like I would her. I want to serve, like the One told me to.”

  Ava stared down at him, the rage on her face dimming as she really saw his face. She looked down at her bloody hands and backed away from Dani. Dani’s feli came out of the crowd and bumped his head against Dani’s side. Ava stared at the great cat and put her hands to her mouth, then realized they were coated with blood and jerked them away again, smearing blood on her face. The crowd was frozen, watching her.

  Sanuri pushed her way through the crowd, humming to herself. She walked up to Ava, and grabbed her hands, turning them over to look at the blood. She shook her head, a frown on her pale face.

  “No, no, no,” she muttered. “Bad, bad.”

  She dropped Ava’s left hand and reached and grasped Dani’s bleeding arm. The dark haze thinned, then dissipated. He held still as Sanuri looked between him and Ava.

  “Good now,” Sanuri said, patting him on the back. “You come now,” she told Ava, leading her by the hand. “Come, come now. We’ll fix what’s bad.”

  The crowd parted as the two girls walked out hand in hand, one fair haired and slender with bloody hands, one muttering and pale with strawberry curls.