Sky Stitcher, page 4
The lights raced toward me, too, reaching to connect me to the web of Daughters, but I slammed walls around my heart and mind, shutting them out. Pick one of my Sisters. Any one of them. Not me.
But then—something changed. Or stopped. Or perhaps went entirely wrong. A great collective hiss filled the air. My Sisters’ bodies slumped from their rigid positions, relaxing into a more natural posture, though they did not wake. The interlaced ribbons of light dulled, then faded. A buildup of energy and a release before its culmination.
“No!” Mother screeched, sounding much like one of the desert’s scavenger birds squawking to stake a claim over a stack of decaying bones. “No! Do not forsake us, Halah! Please! Do not leave yet…one of us must be worthy!” She spun on me then, the ardent flare of her gaze suggesting a woman spiraling out of control, desperate to hang on to some modicum of hope. “Weave, Zara! Pray! We must try. Do not let Halah leave us! Do not be so selfish as to condemn us without trying.”
I tried to resist, suspecting what Halah had planned for me, but Mother’s grip dug into my arms. She caught me off guard as she steered me toward the cook table and shoved me to the ground. I should have been able to overpower her, but shock turned my limbs to warm honey, rendering me unable to move, incapable of forcing my body to comply. Mother’s fingers wound their way through my braids, and she pulled my head backward, bringing a teacup to my mouth. My body stiffened, but I could not push her off me—her grasp was unyielding. She gripped my cheeks hard and forced my mouth open, tipping the contents of the cup past my lips to compel me to commune with the goddess against my will.
No. Not me. If I weave, she will find me. I’m not meant for Stitching.
The venomous brew sloshed over my tongue, somehow more bitter and revolting in this cooled state. I lurched forward to spit out the mouthful, but Mother forced me back again, holding my jaw closed until I had no choice but to swallow. The last I saw of her was her eyes, unnaturally widened, her emotions flickering like fire in the depths of her irises.
My head dipped backward, and my chin rose to the sky, my mouth growing slack and my eyes losing focus. The tea weakened my resistance and tendrils of energy found me—rushing from the bindings that tethered my Sisters to wrap around my knees and ankles, restraining my wrists and crawling up my torso to my neck. The roots pulsed in time with my heartbeat, quickly at first, as the wave of panic rushed through me, then slowly as the venom tea took hold, dimming my senses and decelerating my breaths until I succumbed to the weight of its presence. The venom held me underwater, making the air thick and unbreathable, distorted and yet somehow peaceful as I drowned in it.
Halah’s voice found me as soon as the connection took root. “Zaraya,” she whispered—though not out loud. Somehow through. Just…there. “We meet again, Star Thief.” Her voice contained no trace of anger, just a serene calm that floated like drifting sunfire blossom petals on the wind. Despite that, I stiffened, trying to free myself from the spell, to pull myself away from the weaving that Mother had forced upon me. “Why do you try to hide from me? Are you afraid? The goddesses cannot ignore the one who carries the heart of stars.”
Bile rose in my stomach. Of course I was afraid. I would give anything to return the heart of stars and avoid attention for the rest of my life. I am not meant for this.
“You will need the power to stitch, Zaraya…do not push me away. Let me grant you that gift.”
Not me. I gasped for air, though no words surfaced. But how did one tell a goddess that they were mistaken? That they were choosing wrong? That I didn’t want the so-called gift she offered.
Instead, I let words I wished to scream flow through my eyes and down my cheeks as silent tears. “Do not fear your power, Zaraya Avasya, Star Thief and Last of the Stitchers. Do not be afraid. We need you.”
But I was afraid. My insides burned with fear. Last of the Stitchers? Star Thief? I mentally clawed at the heart of stars, shredding it and forcing it deeper and deeper inside of myself where it could never be reached. Where it could never be noticed again.
A rush of air circled the gurya, stirring life into all of the weaving Daughters, lifting the haze from my eyes and returning me to my corporeal presence. My Sisters woke more slowly, blinking the trance from their eyes. I shifted uncomfortably, growing distinctly aware of everyone’s gaze upon me. The web of lights shimmered and retreated, vanishing in a glimmer of dust that settled on my shoulders, marking me with the favor of the goddess. Telling the others I’d been chosen.
“Zaraya Avasya,” the Eldress’s voice croaked from behind the curtains, and the shadow of Ahma’s hunched form stretched across the drapery of her quarters. Her voice vibrated, shaky and weak, yet somehow hinting at a well of ancient power and wisdom. “Come.”
Mother reached for my elbow, swooping under my arm to help me stand, but I snatched it away from her. I whirled to face her, my lips curling into disgust. “Do you plan to take every choice away from me? Is there nothing I can decide for myself? I said I did not want to weave. I don’t want this.”
A weird sort of whimper escaped her mouth, and she backed away, watching me with an expression of uninhibited awe.
Slowly, I unfolded myself—stacking my knees over my ankles with the awkwardness of a newborn foal, then straightening my torso and neck. Venom and hell. What now? I stood, so uncertain on my feet that a single breath in my direction could topple me. The Stitcher’s shadow beckoned, and I swallowed the dry lump in my throat—now sore from the harshness of venom tea. While I walked toward the Stitcher, my Sisters’ heads followed me, tracking every step I made as though I were the most important thing they had ever witnessed. As though they hadn’t spent the years making fun of my pitiful weaving. As if they hadn’t ruthlessly teased me about the stack of love letters from Rali they’d found hidden beneath my bed mat, assuming I’d returned his gushing sentiments. As if I suddenly mattered and deserved their respect.
The Stitcher patted the nest of blankets that made up her bed, asking me to sit with her. I stepped closer, forcing my face to remain neutral. But inside, my stomach roiled with something wriggly as I drew close enough to see her. The Eldress’s eyes met mine, clouded with milky bands as if streams of stars dwelled within them. A galaxy of wisdom contained within her soul, bestowed upon her by the goddess. Did my eyes glimmer like hers now? The thought did not comfort me.
Her skin sagged and puckered, lined with an incomprehensible number of wrinkles that merely alluded to the years she had lived. The lifetime of stitching had taken a toll on her body. It drooped and jutted in strange angles, and her skin dripped from her bones like melted wax, now stripped to a decrepit shadow of the power she once held. I wondered if I would become old and saggy, too…if the responsibilities that Halah had cursed me with would slowly consume me until nothing was left but a bag of bones and starry eyes of infinite wisdom. I choked on a sob, my lips pulling into a grimace despite my efforts to hide my disgust. I did not want this. I could not do this.
But now I didn’t have a choice. Mother had made sure of that.
“Zara, come. I’m not long for this world.” I did not know what she expected of me, so I shifted uncomfortably, pushing the sands beneath the woven mat with my boots. She gestured to a shimmering gown draped over her dressing screen. “I wove a dress for the new Stitcher. Put it on.”
I nodded, swallowing the dry lump in my throat, and did as she asked. The dress rushed like water over my skin when I pulled it over my head. It was the softest, most cooling fabric that had ever graced my body, but the deep cut between my breasts and white hue was not the most conducive garment for my lifestyle—a lifestyle that had been completely uprooted when Halah chose me. Ahma’s wrinkled mouth puckered with something probably meant to be a smile. “We have much to do. Carry me.”
I recoiled slightly, uncertain if she was serious. She watched me expectantly, never blinking those milky eyes. Venom and hell, she means it. The Stitcher groaned and slowly propped herself up on her elbows, struggling to achieve a seated position. I swore I could hear her bones creaking as she moved. When she sighed deeply and looked as though she may topple back over, I rushed toward her and looped her fragile arms around my neck to avoid witnessing her repeat the same struggle again.
“Thank you,” she whispered in a voice as grainy as the desert sands. “Now take me to stitch the skies. It is time for this old snake to shed its skin…and time for you to learn your duty.”
“Ahma, I don’t think—”
“Go. There isn’t much time. You must learn.”
I sifted through the racing thoughts in my head, contemplating dropping the Stitcher into her nest of blankets and running until the dunes swallowed me, but I waded through the gauzy drapes of her quarters and faced the room of my Sisters. They stood, eyes glued to me, then swept their hands up to the sky before gracefully lowering their fingertips to their collarbones. A sign of great respect. “Stitcher,” they mumbled, an eerie reverence to their susurrous voices. “Sky Stitcher.”
“You all are being weird,” I murmured under my breath. Unsteady on my feet, and not just because I carried the Stitcher on my back, I moved through my Sisters. They placed their hands gently on my shoulders as I passed, treating me like some sort of divine spirit or…holy being. It was unsettling.
“Don’t mind them. They are merely in awe,” the Stitcher crooned into my ear, and I shuddered at the touch of her words on my neck.
In awe? I snorted air through my nose. Just yesterday, Sessu had ripped my letter to Rali from my hands to read it mockingly to my Sisters, teasing me about his superfluous affections. Halah’s blessing will shine light upon our union, though truthfully, you are my greatest blessing, Zara. My greatest treasure. Yours, Rali.
She had laughed until tears formed in her eyes when I tried to snatch the letter back from her and continued to read. Now, she revered me. The urge to run rose to the forefront of my mind once again. Would they still revere me when they saw I’d stolen the heart of stars? When they realized I could never master the quiet, peaceful weaving of the Daughters? When they understood that my brand of magic was uncontrollable and chaotic?
There had been some sort of grave mistake.
Mother shuffled behind me, pressing halfmoon bread into my hands. I wanted to smack her away, but I numbly shoved the food into my satchel and scooped it up as I turned away, readjusting my hold around the Eldress’s knees.
“You shouldn’t go out there alone. I fear, with Lurah missing…that note…it’s too dangerous. Let us come with you.” She spoke as though nothing had passed between us, as though unaware that I might be upset with her or annoyed by her sudden change of heart, her newfound willingness to brave the dunes to fight in my honor. Apparently, now that she’d gotten her wish, she did not need to spend her days in prayer anymore. I stiffened when she spoke, my alertness heightened, but I did not turn to face her. I didn’t want to see her.
“You should get the Daughters ready to move,” I replied numbly, with hesitant authority. If our location had been compromised, it was Mother’s duty to arrange for the Daughters’ relocation, and assigning a task to keep her busy would keep her from meddling any further.
“But—”
“Listen to your Stitcher, Loehla. Mind your place,” the Eldress croaked, waving a feeble hand. The simple dismissal left me feeling just a bit more endeared to her. Anyone who could tell Mother to mind her place earned my respect.
Chapter 5
Mender of Skies
We emerged from the tent to azure skies painted with scars, bleeding the inky black of the In Between through the rifts. The last rays of daylight had reemerged from the cloak of darkness swathing Halah’s choosing, but the sun drooped its weary head, searching for a place to rest among the dunes. The city of Rashii gleamed, resplendent with shimmering golden hues in the distance, and I thought of Rali. Would the union still progress if he found out I was the new Stitcher? Or would I now have to face a different lifetime of responsibility, growing old and shriveled and lonelier as the years passed? I could not decide which outcome I dreaded more.
Don’t be an idiot, I scolded myself. There are plenty of other disasters to worry about. What about Lurah? That arrow and the message…it had told us to run. Run from what? Had it even been from Lurah, or had some enemy sent it, hoping to lure us out from our shelter? Will Mother listen and prepare the Daughters to move? Will my Sisters be safe?
I looked over my shoulder at the painted hides of the gurya. The blue length of embroidered silk still dangled from the arrow lodged in the support beam. Were they in danger? Were we?
My heart pounded in answer.
“Ahma,” I began uncertainly, not wishing to directly challenge the Eldress but unable to dismiss the concerns that lingered in my mind. “Ahma, we may not be safe. Perhaps we should allow a few of the Daughters to escort us? Or… should we wait for training until we can all move together? And we should send some of my Sisters to the city—to warn them about the new rifts.”
“Do you not know who I am, child? I am the Eldress Stitcher. The mender of skies. The protector of our world. The enemy of Prisha.”
I sensed she would continue with her accolades for as long as she was permitted, so I interjected, caving to the building pressure of my concern. “But, Ahma—” You are half dead.
“But what, Zara? Do you not trust me? I stitch the skies. They listen to my will. I can weave the heavens and wear the clouds as a cloak to hide us from those who wish us harm. Can you say the same, young Stitcher?”
My brows furrowed, wondering if what she said was true. I knew her magic concealed our guryas to ward off unwanted travelers and enemies, but was that how it was done? Ahma bent the skies to her will and hid us beneath a cloak of her magic? Was that a power typical of the Stitchers? My head reeled at the immensity of the energy likely required for such an act. Perhaps that was why she always looked so…depleted.
My eyes drifted to my hands, wondering if I’d someday learn to do that too. I laughed and wiped my palms down my sides, as if I could clean away the ridiculous notion and the nervous clamminess in one swipe. To expect to make a garment from the sky seemed…laughable. So far, all I’d managed to accomplish was to steal the stars and anger a murderous goddess. And nearly die…several times.
“Ahma, I think there’s been a mistake. Halah should not have chosen…me.” She should be angry with me for ripping apart the stitches, for destroying the work of our ancestors when I took the heart of stars…even if it was unintentional. It didn’t make sense for her to choose me.
“Yet she did,” the Eldress responded in an absolute tone, dismissing my objections. “Head further west. See those rifts? We’ll use those. Hurry.”
I hastened my pace, but the nagging concerns in my mind refused to be silenced. What was her plan? Did she have the strength to deal with the monsters from those rifts? I feared I did not—exhaustion pervaded every inch of my body. And what about Lurah? That warning? We should be relocating or perhaps even fleeing to the city with the other Daughters to take shelter in Rashii, warning and protecting the attendants of the festival, not wasting time training a hopeless case like me. I never thought I’d come to say it, but perhaps our time would be better served praying to Halah. Then we could ask her what in her right mind she thought she was doing when she chose me.
The sand danced around my feet, sliding beneath my soles with each step while I mulled over my worries. “I just—this doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never been a devoted Daughter of Halah’s. And I’m meant to marry that guard this year, Rali. It is written in the stars…or so you said.” I left out my personal objections to the marriage and my plans to continue fighting Prisha’s monsters in the dunes after our union, doubting that Ahma would approve of our untraditional arrangement or care two dune beetle wings about my reservations.
The Eldress’s chest bubbled with laughter, her amusement escaping in the most unusual sound. Deep and lyrical, like the dune crickets that chirruped at night, but also deeply haunting, like the lonely moon in the sky. “No, Zaraya. A light as ardent as yours has the power to move the stars. Whatever they said does not matter any longer. You are destined for more.”
Now she was speaking in riddles. I had half a mind to tell her as much, but she continued in her deep, croaking voice. “Yes, the Daughters heed the stars, but even they serve the goddess. And now they serve you, if I’m not mistaken. Watch how they glimmer for you when night falls. Halah chose you. It is time you accept that.”
“But I don’t want this. She chose wrong,” I snapped, frustrated by her certainty, by her inability to understand my confliction. The Eldress was old and full of ancient wisdom and power. I was…Zara. Just Zara.
“Zara, you have a great responsibility. The realm needs you. When I am gone, you will be the only protector. The only one to stitch the skies and protect the realm from Prisha and her monsters. Without you, she will destroy us all. Do you wish to subject your world to such a fate?”
“There must be a way to undo it. I am better at fighting…I’m not gentle and quiet like you. Please. Let her pick someone else.”
“You think me quiet and gentle? Perhaps you are not as clever as I thought.”
Heat rose in my core at the insult, and with that sudden burst of energy, the ribbons of magic gravitated toward my palms, caressing my skin and humming with power. Asking to be used. I did not know how I knew, but I could feel it—I could feel my connection to it stronger than I ever had before. Light flowed from my arms, bathing my skin in a soft, warm glow.
The Eldress patted my shoulder appraisingly. “Good, yes. You see? Your power is strong…like it is a part of you already. Now use it. Send it up to the heavens and stitch that rift. The angry-looking one, over there.” She waved a knobbly hand toward the sky, pointing out the seeping gash above us that crackled with gold and the oily spillage from the cursed In Between. “Put me down if you must. Focus on weaving the threads through the seam—the skies will listen.”
