Death Weavers (29 page)

Cole couldn't help laughing. Ferrin grinned as he reattached his limb.

“Come on,” Harvan said, walking again. “The pull will fade after we get far enough away.”

“Who comes to the echolands?” Cole asked. “Everybody in the Outskirts? Everyone on Earth? How many other worlds?”

“Far as I can tell, just about everybody from the Outskirts makes a stop here,” Harvan said. “The echolands only get a sampling of people from other worlds, often drawn by a big landmark like the Hall of Glory or the Catacombs of Regret.”

“Those catacombs sound like loads of fun,” Ferrin said sarcastically.

“I've visited,” Harvan said. “The Hall of Glory is more pleasant, but the catacombs serve a purpose as well. The echolands are a way station—a pause on the journey to higher planes. The interruption can be helpful for some. I am benefitting from my time here. Yet, I assume many from different worlds move on to the Other without this interlude.”

They climbed out of the valley that contained the Hall of Glory. A panorama of lush hills, thriving forests, emerald lawns, and blooming fields spread out before them.

“It's beautiful,” Drake said reverently.

“We didn't get much of a view on the way in,” Ferrin explained, looking around. “We entered these lands right by the Hall of Glory, and its presence controlled our attention. Look at the colors! Are you guys sure this isn't heaven?”

“Much of it can be a paradise of sorts,” Harvan said. “But trust me, I've encountered plenty of places and people here that nobody would confuse with heaven.”

“I had no idea this splendor awaited,” Drake said. “I would have left the hall long ago.”

“Outdoorsman?” Winston asked.

“Some of my favorite years were spent alone in the wilderness,” Drake said. “But even after wandering far and wide in Lyrian, nothing could have prepared me for this. The sounds alone!”

“The music is incredible,” Ferrin said. “Just as Harvan promised.”

“What is that most lovely, longing melody in the distance?” Drake asked, his eyes losing focus.

“That would be the call of the Other,” Harvan said.

Drake shook his head briskly and blinked. “I see now why people go willingly,” he said.

“I don't hear it,” Ferrin said. “There's a lot of nice music, but only the hall back there is calling me.”

“I don't hear it either,” Cole said.

“Don't be in a hurry to discern it,” Harvan said. “At least not until you want to move on. Try not to dwell on the call, Drake. Let it exist in the background, a far-off promise to be fulfilled one day.”

Drake smiled. “I know how to be patient.”

“Patience has never been my best virtue,” Harvan admitted. “Any objection to running? It takes a little more concentration and energy, but you won't grow tired. We have some distance to cover. It can save loads of time.”

“Lead on,” Ferrin said.

They sped up to a quick jog. After a few minutes Cole wondered why he hadn't done this before he was chased. He could have covered much more ground. Thinking back, he supposed the echolands had all been so new, and he had worried about getting lost. Walking had just felt appropriate.

Cole wondered where Dalton and Hunter could be right now. Had they found his body at the Temple of the Robust Sky? Were they on their way to Jenna? Had they already found her? What would they think of the echolands, with the vivid colors and music everywhere?

He thought about Jace, Mira, and Joe as well. Could they hear any nice music where they were being held? Could they see any beautiful gardens? The imagined deprivations made Cole better appreciate the sights and sounds before him.

From time to time Harvan mentioned that he heard dead echoes, or a village, and would swerve off in one direction or another. The first time they reached a channel, they arrived directly at a bridge. And again at the second channel. And the third. Cole realized that Harvan could hear the bridges long before they came into view.

After some time Cole found himself running beside Winston. Not having spoken in hours, he decided to strike up a conversation.

“How'd you meet Harvan?” Cole asked. “Did you know him when you were alive?” He found it wasn't difficult to talk and run. He wasn't out of breath at all.

“I was born after he died,” Winston said. “But I knew his stories. We met in the Hall of Glory. He needed a weaver, and I thought it would be fun to explore the afterlife with a legend.”

“Has it been fun?”

“Sometimes. And scary. But worth it.”

They mostly ran without conversation. Occasionally, Harvan explained a shift in direction. They traversed a region with many large hills, and then a flatter expanse, with sparse trees. They crossed several channels, some wide, others narrow. A few of the channels seemed to flow uphill. Apparently, streaming away from the Source toward the Other trumped pesky laws like gravity.

They saw no lakes or deserts or true mountains or deep canyons. A few areas had some boulders, and towns were sometimes glimpsed in the distance, but for the most part they were exploring enormous, verdant parkland.

“Out here you notice the single day more,” Ferrin commented. “I keep waiting for the light to fail.”

“The endless sunrise,” Harvan said. “You never get fully used to it. You think your shoes will wear out, but they don't. Your clothes never get smelly. You can eat or not, but you never have to use a bathroom. Everything has a different rhythm here.”

“I tried eating once,” Cole said. “It was good.”

“I avoid it when I can,” Harvan said. “I think eating the food gives the echolands a stronger hold on you. That can be good if you want to apprehend the music with greater sensitivity but bad if you don't want to heed the call of the Other.”

“If your focus falters, you should eat,” Winston said. “I think Harvan fasts too much.”

“When in doubt, starve,” Harvan said.

“Doesn't the food help keep trances away?” Cole asked.

“It can,” Harvan said. “But trances can have benefits, as long as they don't lead you into danger. You've probably experienced light trances as we've been running. Trances can rest the mind kind of like sleep, and they keep boredom away.”

“We wouldn't want to get bored,” Winston said.

“Tedium gnaws at some of us more than others,” Harvan replied. “Anyhow, it's true that if your concentration gets muddied, food can help, effectively substituting for healthy trances.”

“How can you tell a good trance from a bad one?” Cole asked.

“You retain your awareness in the good ones,” Harvan said. “You can snap out of them at will. If you start experiencing blackouts, you're in danger.”

“You just might wake up falling into a channel,” Winston said.

“Or getting captured,” Harvan added.

“My people don't sleep, even in mortality,” Drake said. “This concept of using trances to rest and revive the mind seems perfectly natural.”

“I like running without tiring,” Ferrin said. “Though horses would be nice.”

As Cole continued to run with the others, he lost track of time. He would see hills ahead in the distance, shaggy with trees, and eventually, they would be in the distance behind him. As he enjoyed the steady exertion of running, and the soothing music around him, Cole supposed he might be slipping into trances, but he never lost his awareness.

And then Harvan called a halt at an overlook. “That, my friends, is the Sweet Channel.”

The fairly narrow channel ran in nearly a straight line. A stone building spanned the slipstream.

“Is that the charnel house?” Cole asked.

“Unless my ears are deceived,” Harvan said. “And they aren't.”

“Does this mean we're near Deepwell?” Cole asked.

“Not too far,” Harvan said. “We can probably learn more from your contact.”

They jogged to the stone house and knocked on the door. A beefy man answered, not fully opening the door. He eyed the group.

“I see no dead echoes,” the man said. “How can I help you?”

“I have a message for Lottie Natt,” Cole said.

The man looked at him suspiciously, glanced at the Jumping Sword, then held out a hand. “I can see she gets it.”

“I'm supposed to deliver it personally,” Cole said. “It comes from the Temple of the Robust Sky.”

The man gave a soft grunt. “How about this? Each of you tell me whether you sympathize with Nazeem. Go.”

“No,” Cole said.

One at a time the others also gave negative answers.

“Do you mean any harm to any who dwell here?” the man followed up.

Again they all answered in the negative.

The man gave a nod and pulled the door wider. “Come inside.”

The ground floor of the building was a single long room. Another door awaited on the far side, presumably offering access to the other shore of the channel. Doors on the other walls led to walkways overlooking the slipstream. Stacked barrels and crates filled in the spaces between the doors. Winches stood beside a pair of large trapdoors in the floor. In one corner a flight of stairs granted access to a second story.

A woman bustled toward them, short and pudgy with her cinnamon-and-sugar hair wound into an enormous bun. She wore a brown dress and a big white apron. “Ernie, are you admitting strangers without dead echoes? Did we not have this conversation?”

“They have a message for you,” Ernie said. “They passed the questions.”

The woman stood before them, hands on her hips. “The young one is bright. The rest look like hooligans.”

“You have a sharp eye,” Harvan said smoothly.

“Don't sass me or I'll drop you through an etherhatch,” she snapped. “Who is the message from?”

Cole took it out. “Are you Lottie Natt?”

“I better be or I'm in the wrong house,” Lottie replied.

“It's from Elana Parson,” Cole said, handing it over.

“Elana? Really?” Lottie said, inspecting the seal. “So it would seem, and so the weaving suggests. My word, your power is damaged. You're sure you don't serve Nazeem?”

“Positive,” Cole said. “Bad things sometimes happen to those who fight him.”

Lottie clucked her tongue. “Join him and your power gets maimed. Resist him and you can expect the same. How do we win? Ride the slipstream?” She opened the message and scanned the words.

“You drop bodies into the channel through the hatches?” Cole asked, unable to resist his curiosity.

“Dead echoes, yes,” Lottie said, still reading. Her eyes rose to reconsider her visitors. “Do you realize half the inhabitants of the echolands are looking for either this boy or his quarry?”

“We intend to protect him and find Destiny,” Harvan said with a slight bow.

“And who might you be?” Lottie asked.

“Harvan Kane,” he replied. “Perhaps you've heard of me?”

“Catchy name,” Lottie said, rolling her eyes. “And these gents are your muscle? A weaver and two Outsiders.”

“The weaver will help us hide,” Harvan said. “And the Outsiders can't have been corrupted.”

“Careful with your assumptions,” Lottie said. “Nazeem is infecting the echolands faster than the common cold. But you seem to be right. I don't sense his influence in them.”

“Neither do I,” Ferrin said.

“Are you all cheeky?” Lottie complained.

“It's a good sign,” Ferrin said. “Our spirits are high despite plenty of danger and a long run.”

“Straight from the Hall of Glory,” Lottie said. “You still have traces of it. Coming out of retirement? That's the safest haven we've got around here. You can't earn a better one.”

“We're trying to reach Deepwell,” Harvan said.

“That will be markedly worse,” Lottie assured him. “You're good at reading music or you wouldn't have made it here. Nazeem has a host of agents looking for that boy. I've never seen anything like it. Three separate search parties have dropped in on me during the past week.”

“It's one big day,” Ferrin pointed out.

“Some of the more civilized among us keep time as reckoned in Necronum,” Lottie whispered, as if sharing a secret.

“So many?” Harvan asked. “All looking for the boy?”

“And the girl,” Lottie said. “Destiny. It's ludicrous. A month ago nobody had heard of Nazeem. Now half the echoes you meet are working for him. That sort of following develops over time. Never has it been accomplished so quietly.”

“He's based out of the Fallen Temple,” Harvan said.

Lottie paled. “That explains some of it.” She confronted Cole. “Boy, you're bright. That much is plain. But you're not smart. What smart person would be in your position? Your mortal life hasn't ended. Shouldn't you return to your body and get as far from Necronum as possible?”

“Not without Destiny,” Cole said. “I have duties.”

Lottie looked unconvinced. “It's hard to be the rescuer and the quarry. If this Nazeem gets hold of you, I expect you'll rather you had dropped through my etherhatch and sped off to the Other.”

“We'll have to avoid getting caught,” Cole said.

“Isn't he great?” Harvan said with a smile.

“The perfect target for an opportunist,” Lottie said. “A willing victim.”

“We're not using him,” Harvan said, sounding offended.

“He's a kid,” Lottie said. “He has no business playing hero in the afterlife. Certainly not with Nazeem hunting him.”

“I came to them,” Cole said. “Without Harvan I'd be doing this on my own. I can't run from Nazeem. It doesn't matter where I go. He has people everywhere. And I'm not abandoning my friends. The only way I win is if Nazeem loses.”

Folding her arms, Lottie shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I'll work up something to mask your identity. Then you had best be on your way.”