When the World Starts to Fray Read online

  He finally got out of the massive press of people around the docks and had walked only three steps into the main road before he was nearly run down by a carriage that was moving at a canter into the mob of people moving along the dockside road. He stared after it, incredulous, as people jumped out of its way, the coachman yelling warnings and profanities as he went.

  “By the Seamstress…” he muttered. This city was nothing like sleepy Harthmere.

  He moved out of the middle of the broad road and started walking close to the storefronts and away from the floods of people, squeezing his thin frame between the crowds and the walls of the buildings. He kept his eyes open and, fortunately, didn’t have a hard time spotting a guard in their black and white uniform.

  “Excuse me, can you direct me towards the Gathering?” he asked.

  The guard took one look at Hashkan’s Weaver’s robes and silver eyes before snapping to attention. “Of course, Weaver. In fact, I’d be glad to escort you there myself.” The guard bowed to him, also.

  Hashkan fought down a smirk. He’d been expecting the escort offer, but it was still always pleasant to get the treatment his status deserved.

  “That would be much appreciated, thank you.”

  “It’s to the north in the city square. Right this way, along this road. The Land-and-Sea. It was named that since it connects the port to the northern gates.”

  “Of course.”

  The guard kept rambling as they walked, his nerves evidently compelling him to spew endless amounts of trivia. Hashkan nodded and made polite remarks when necessary.

  The square at the center of town was itself impossible to miss. The entire thing was set with black and white mosaic tiles, making up the image of multiple massive waves at the crest of which sat the lord’s palace. As he walked across the tiles, tiny details, like the swirls of currents and sea creatures, could be seen hiding within the bigger image. Hashkan tried not to look like he was gawking. Newcomers to the city were easy to spot as they ambled around the square, heads bowed and marveling at the details in the mosaic. A Weaver had to have more dignity than that.

  The Gathering was easy to find. Like a small forest thrust into the center of the city, tall pines and oaks looked out at him from over the garden walls made out of the same white stone found in the rest of the city. The trees were so ancient and thick that they blocked the roofs of the Weaver living quarters within from view. Black gates stood open into the square displaying a circular clearing edged with a multitude of tiny white flowers. Hashkan glanced at the gates as he passed through into a shaded clearing. They were carved into the likeness of the four elements, all woven together like the Fabric of existence itself.

  The guard bowed again and left Hashkan to pass through the gates alone. Gravel crunched to his right and a young girl dressed in white apprentice robes came down a path between two wide evergreens. She looked to be about ten years old.

  “Is there something that we can help you with?”

  The voice came from behind her. Hashkan looked up and saw a tall, thin man looking down at him. He wore deep crimson robes and had a neatly trimmed beard, more white than black. His face was narrow and pale, made entirely of sharp angles. His silver eyes pierced through Hashkan and held him in place.

  “Yes,” Hashkan said as he drew himself up straight. “My name is Hashkan Clearont. I should be expected. I came here to assist the High Weaver with his studies.”

  “I see. Well, I didn’t expect you to be so young after reading all the things you’ve mastered already. You had quite the list of accomplishments. And you were ranked in the second tier, correct?”

  “Upper second tier…” Hashkan shifted his bags on his shoulder uncomfortably.

  The thin man smirked down at him.

  “Second tier. Exactly. All the same, right this way. Milling around in the gateway gives the impression that we don’t have other work to be doing.” He turned on his heel and strode deeper into the Gathering, the apprentice following in his wake.

  Hashkan stood in the gateway for a split second longer, gaping, before trailing behind them through the trees. “Excuse me, sir, but just for clarity’s sake, are you High Weaver Skaen Liestenin?”

  The man didn’t even turn to look at Hashkan as he swept through the immaculately tended garden. “Of course I am. Who else do you think would be able to welcome you into my Gathering? The help? An apprentice? I should think not.”

  Hashkan nearly tripped over his own feet. Greeted at the gates by the High Weaver himself? And one with such a prestigious reputation! He tried not to let his excitement at his new assignment be tempered by the frigid welcome. He had heard the High Weaver was a tough but effective teacher, but he had not heard that he was as charming as the ocean in winter. He set his jaw and pushed a hand through his dark hair. He would not be warded off so easily.

  “Your quarters are here off the east side of the Sanctuary,” Liestenin said.

  He gestured towards a group of small buildings to the left of the path. They had white walls and black roofs just like the city outside. Another Weaver stepped out of the front door of her room. When she noticed the small procession, she bowed, two right forefingers pressed to her temple. Hashkan paused to bow back while the High Weaver swept past the woman with hardly a nod.

  Rude.

  “You will have an apartment to yourself. The kitchen and dining building is to the north of the Sanctuary. My chefs typically serve breakfast at first light, lunch at noon, and dinner at twilight. They do not provide tea or snacks. I find people who take those to be slovenly…”

  He continued on in this manner, laying out more rules for Hashkan’s stay as they walked the whole of the property. The Gathering was very large and painstakingly landscaped, right down to the tiniest of details. Weavers and apprentices flocked everywhere, weeding, watering, and trimming plants both native and exotic. Benches and tables were scattered under the trees and near the fountains and reflection pools, all painted black or white and carved with designs just as intricate as the ones on the front gates. All the statutes of the Seamstress and of Her Loom were even black and white and at least the height of two men. To Hashkan, it made Her look stark and uninviting, but he bit his tongue as he trailed behind the High Weaver like a duckling.

  On either side of the Sanctuary were more clusters of apartments, similar to the one Hashkan would be staying in. Behind them was a small but impressive herb garden, which he learned he would be in charge of while he was there as payment for his stay.

  Hashkan groaned inwardly. He hated chores. He had not been in charge of caring for a garden for years, not since he had first learned to Alter earth and stone. It grated that he would be expected to attend to things normally left to the apprentices- he was a full-fledged Weaver, after all. But Liestenin was rumored to be on the verge of an Altering breakthrough and Hashkan wanted in. If he had to garden to get there, then garden he would.

  After a full tour of the Gathering, the High Weaver brought Hashkan back to his quarters.

  “I will expect you at breakfast and once that has been finished, we’ve got to go through some testing. I need to be sure you’re at the level you claim. Not everyone is what they say they are. I’ll see you at dinner if you would like to attend.” With that, the High Weaver turned on his heel and walked away, following the branch in the path that led back into the Sanctuary, the apprentice scurrying along at his heels.

  Once they turned the corner, Hashkan let out the sigh he had been holding in. The High Weaver’s abrupt greeting made him feel like he was still trudging through his apprenticeship. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake it off, and opened the door to where he would be staying.

  The black door swung forward without a sound into a small bedroom. A narrow bed with a thick mattress was tucked against one wall, while two plush chairs competed for space with a large bookcase on the other side of the room. A small chest sat at the foot of the bed for his clothing. Another door on the rear wall led to a priv
ate bathing room. True to the theme of the rest of the Gathering and the city itself, everything was clad in black and white. His rooms were exactly what he’d expected- and normal for a Weaver living in a Gathering- but with finer fabrics and more decorative details.

  It felt like luxury compared to his closet of a room onboard the ship.

  Hashkan put his small pack on the floor next to the chest and hurled himself onto the mattress. Despite his excitement, apprehension hovered in the back of his mind like a fly that was too quick to swat. What would tomorrow have in store?

  The next morning, Hashkan rose, dressed, and was in the dining building just as the Gathering’s volunteers began setting out breakfast. He took a seat at the far end, a couple seats down from the head of the table where he imagined the High Weaver would sit when he came in.

  Hashkan waited, impatiently tapping his fingers against the rosewood table, while the meal was set out before him. There were several pastry options, toasted bread, various sausages and sliced ham, freshly cooled milk, cheeses, pots of tea, fruits of every kind, and eggs- scrambled, poached, and boiled. It seemed the people of Breen were unusually generous with their donations to the Gathering.

  It seemed so wasteful. Based on all the Weavers and apprentices he’d seen yesterday, there was too much food and too many seats at the table.

  The High Weaver swept in, draped in red once again, just as the help finished setting down the last dish. The man sat down without a word, just a tight smile aimed at Hashkan and the others who had trickled in. Right after Liestenin took his place, all the servers took seats at the table and began helping themselves to the food.

  Hashkan sat in stunned silence. It was one thing for the apprentices to eat with them, but the serving staff? The men and women were there to serve the community or as penance to the Gathering. As Weavers, they ranked higher on the social ladder than any of the nobles in Varistad. He hadn’t shared a meal with common people since he was a child.

  Eventually, he picked up his utensils and ate in silence, only the clinking of plates and silverware breaking the stillness. Hashkan could not think of a single thing to say and the longer the silence dragged on, the more uncomfortable he felt. When they finished eating, the volunteers rose and began to clear the table and the High Weaver left the building, gesturing for Hashkan to come with him. Hashkan found himself following along behind the apprentices, feeling like a duckling again, just like the ones his parents used to have on their farm. The thought made him roll his eyes and he quickened his pace to walk in front of the apprentices.

  Better.

  They followed the High Weaver to the two-story building that housed his private quarters and study, which took up the entire first floor. Liestenin sat down behind an extravagant desk made of some dark, gleaming wood that Hashkan couldn’t name. The entire length of the eastern wall was made up of windows and the man pointed at one of the apprentices and then at the windows, sending the apprentice scurrying over to open the heavy crimson drapes. The bright light of morning flooded into the room and flickered across motes of dust in the air.

  Hashkan scowled but followed the example of the students and sat in one of the chairs fanning out around the High Weaver’s desk. They all waited in anticipation while he rustled through papers, disrupting the neat stacks in front of him. He appeared to find what he was looking for, set it aside, then steepled his fingers and regarded them all with eyes like chips of ice.

  “It was brought to my attention last night that the city has nearly depleted my supply of sparrowthorn, which as you hopefully know, is a key ingredient in many salves for wounds. It helps fight infection and pain. Falian has assured me that he has not been able to find any in the market over the last week. Now, that brings us to the first order of business for your stay here, Clearont.” Hashkan barely contained himself from jumping and he held his spine rigid and straight as Liestenin’s gaze settled on him.

  “Breen hasn’t had a Grand Master Herbalist for several years, so I volunteered the services of the Gathering to fill the gap.” Another small smile played on his lips. “It’s been our tradition since then to have the newest Weaver go out and get herbs when we run low. So, that’s you this time, Clearont.”

  Hashkan clenched his jaw in an effort to bite down his retort. He hadn’t made such a long trip just to run errands. The apprentices around him pointedly avoided looking at him and he could have sworn more than one pair of lips was quirked up in a smirk.

  Liestenin picked up the piece of paper that he had set aside before and handed it to Hashkan. “Take this to the innkeeper at the Tilted Barge and he will provide you with one of my horses that he stables. You’ll have to ride out to the edge of the Vernoud in the northwest, gather a few bags’ worth, and ride back. Have you any questions?”

  Hashkan hesitated just a moment as he struggled to keep his expression neutral. Sparrowthorn was a wood-like, dense plant completely covered in thorns. Harvesting and transporting it was an act of patience and care; it was often a test for new apprentices.

  “No, not at all High Weaver. I’ll prepare my things right now and be on my way before lunch.”

  “Excellent. The votaries are preparing you some rations for travel. It’s roughly a day and a half each way so the trip should not take you any longer than a week, even if you have to go out a little further to find enough sparrowthorn. They will provide food for the full week just in case. I don’t expect there to be any problems. I have it from an exemplary lieutenant that the area has recently been cleared of any hazards.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Hashkan stiffly rose and excused himself from the study. It was a slight to the Grand Weaver to exit the room without leave, but he couldn’t be bothered. It was a bigger offense to send a Weaver on an apprentice’s errand.

  He shuffled through his pack and removed his scrolls and books from the bags, lest they be damaged on the ride. He carefully tucked them in with the others on the bookshelf before stomping down the path to the kitchen to collect his rations.

  The woman who packed them for him was dainty with chocolate brown hair, maybe a few years younger than Hashkan. She smiled when she handed his pack back to him.

  “Isn’t it generous of the High Weaver to volunteer the Gathering’s resources to help the healing houses?”

  Hashkan forced a smile and hoped it didn’t look too brittle. He looked at her a little closer, noting the gentle curves hiding under her unflattering uniform.

  “It’s very philanthropic. I’m sorry, what was your name?” he asked.

  “Eivette.” She blushed adorably.

  “Eivette. I’m Hashkan. Thank you for the food.” He took a deep breath, “And wish me luck. I’ve never been out in the wilderness in these parts.” Or any parts, really.

  “Oh, I expect you won’t need it. Things tend to be pretty tame near the city. There was some trouble a few days ago, but the guards handled it. I do hope you’ll be back soon, though.” She was still blushing a sweet pink.

  Hashkan was suddenly acutely aware that his dark hair had become a bit unruly recently and that he was in need of a shave, but it did feel good to have a bit of female attention.

  “I’ll try not to disappoint you.” He met her eyes with a smile and then went on his way.

  The Tilted Barge, according to the paper the High Weaver had given him, was located a few streets away near the Market Square. Hashkan stepped out from under the Gathering’s trees and into a bright day with just enough of a breeze to feel refreshing. He inhaled deeply and tried to focus on the good he’d be doing, instead of lingering on how overqualified he was to be running errands. With his chin held high, he forced his way into the crowded street, a calm smile fixed to his face despite the near-constant jostling.

  The Titled Barge was almost half the size of the Gathering. The sign out front featured a large shipping barge, tilting to the side on a wave, with an over-sized bottle hanging out from the side, a mystery liquid pouring out into the waters.

  Likely
ale, Hashkan thought.

  He let himself inside into a bright and open common room that was full of tables. There were also booths upholstered in tan and navy along the windows and against the walls. The long bar dominating the right wall had a mirror behind it and stairs rose up to the second floor against the wall across from the doors. Several patrons sat around the room and serving girls, all dressed in matching blue dresses with bright white aprons, scampered to and fro carrying trays of food and drink.

  Hashkan walked up to the bar where a tall, dark-skinned man was filling drink orders. Hashkan perked up. He had never met anyone from the Gnürian Isles. Nearly everything they knew about herbs and medicine had been discovered by Gnürian scholars.

  “Welcome, welcome,” he said with a smile as Hashkan approached the bar. “What can I be helping you with today, my good man?” He spoke with a rolling accent that lingered over the vowels instead of the consonants like most Anagovians.

  “I’m looking for the innkeeper.”

  “You’ve found him! Do you need a room?” He passed some drinks over to a waitress and set right into making the next round.

  Hashkan pushed his paperwork across the bar. “I was actually sent by High Weaver Skaen Liestenin. He said you kept his horses here. I need one of them for an errand he’s sending me on.”

  “Alrigh’ then.” He glanced down at Hashkan’s documents with barely a pause. “I’ll have one of his horses saddled and brought around. Should only be a few minutes. Want a drink?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Hashkan sipped at his drink, once again working to keep the scowl off his face. Now that he was inside and sitting still, he forgot about the beautiful day and remembered being dismissed so easily after all the hard work he had put in to get a position in Breen. His mind wandered even further and he realized he was actually nervous. He had spent nights out in the wild before, but that had been over ten years ago now, and his family had been with him.