The Veil Weavers (10 page)

He winced and took a small step back, but he looked angry. “I do not care!” Gronvald growled. “Humans have no place in our world.”

Maddy shivered.

But he didn’t step forward, didn’t reach for a rock.

We stared at each other, no one moving.

Finally, I muttered, “I don’t think he’s going to try to stop us now. He’s just trying to scare us. He’ll wait until we find a way to repair the veil. Do you think we could walk past him?”

“No,” said Maddy, whimpering slightly. “Let’s go another way. I’m not sure the Will of the Gathering can hold all that anger.”

“Stay with him,” I said to the crows.

The crows circled low over the path, blocking Gronvald from following us. He didn’t seem to care, as if scaring us was all he wanted, for now.

We turned our backs on the glowering troll, and hiked further up the stream. Then we clambered up the steep side of the valley to meet the path higher up the mountainside. Except we couldn’t find the path.

We searched from the valley edge out into the forest and back again, but we couldn’t spot it.

“Should we go back?” Maddy asked.

I shuddered.

Maddy spoke again, but crows began cawing so loudly I couldn’t hear her. “Corvus!” I snapped, annoyed.

They kept cawing. When I looked up, Crowby flew past my face, a wing smacking my head.

“Ow!” I cried.

Maddy laughed.

She landed right in front of us, muttering in a low grumble. While I was struggling to understand, Maddy laughed again and pointed to a second crow, perched on a branch a few feet away. A third waited in line a little further up the slope.

“They’re showing us the way,” said Maddy.

So we followed the crows. As soon as we reached one, cawing from a branch, and thanked him, another started cawing further up the mountainside.

“Josh, this is how the magpie parents in our garden called to their little babies to come to them.” She smiled, delighted. I didn’t find the idea as charming as Maddy did.

They led us back to the path and on up the mountain. We grew hot and thirsty, even though the air was cold and the ground white with snow. We tied our jackets around our waists, and shoved hats and mitts into our bags.

After an afternoon of pain, climbing more and more slowly as the altitude tired us, we finally crested the ridge. We could see the Rockwall looming high above us, and a clear blue lake cradled in snow below. The low sun cut across the face of the Rockwall at a steep angle, lighting ridges and triangles of rock. It was stunningly beautiful, radiant with magic. I wanted to stand there and drink it in, to hold the moment forever.

“Around the lake?” Maddy asked. She looked tired.

“In a minute,” I said. “Let’s rest a bit.”

“We’ll get cold.”

“I know. Just for a few minutes.”

I brushed snow off a fallen log. We perched on it while I dug out a wedge of cheese and one of Keeper’s huge buns. We ate and drank and rested, and once we started to feel the cold, we stood, creaking and sore, not at all ready to push on.

“Around the lake,” I said, eyeing the low sun and the narrow path. “We need to hurry.”

The sun dipped below the mountain, lighting the far side of the valley but leaving us in deep shade. I shivered – we’d die without shelter. We had to find the weavers and get past their guardian. Even thinking about that made me feel weak. I sucked in a breath and kept walking.

The crows flew with us. If we paid attention, at least we’d know if Gronvald showed up. That should have been reassuring, but somehow I felt like we were being watched.

We passed some berries near the path, clusters of small creamy white balls on low bushes. Each berry had a tiny black dot on the tip; they looked like eyeballs, watching.
That’s just silly
, I thought. But I felt uneasy.

“Gronvald?” I asked Corvus.

He cawed casually.

I guessed that meant no. And still I felt it.

We found more berries as we followed the curve of the lake to the face of the Rockwall. I watched them as we walked by. The dark centres slowly turned, watching us.

The path narrowed, squeezed between the lake and the Rockwall. And then it stopped, blocked by a pile of snow.

I stepped closer, and the snow erupted. I gasped and Maddy shrieked as a cat leapt out, huge and totally silent. The crows flew up in a flurry of panicked squawks. The cat swatted at the crows, and then stopped and slowly licked one paw. It was completely white, large and powerful. It watched us with eyes the cold blue of glacial ice. Finally it turned and walked up the path ahead of us.

As my heart slowed its frantic drumming, I checked with Maddy. “You okay?”

She nodded, looking pale. “Is that the guardian?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” I said.

The crows settled on branches near us, Corvus beside me. He cawed once.

“Yes, we need to hurry,” Maddy said.

Corvus cawed again, still sitting on the branch.

Maddy and I looked around at all the crows clustered on nearby trees.

“This is as far as you’ll take us, isn’t it?” I asked, my voice tense.

Corvus cawed once more, one sharp caw.

Yes, he meant. I took a deep breath. “We must be almost there,” I said to Maddy. “That’s good news, right?”

She smiled weakly, but said nothing.

I nodded to the crows, took Maddy’s hand, and stepped around the curve in the path, away from the lake.

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

T
he 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.”