14 (II)

Weave

Some tension in the group dissipated, and they continued their descent in relative silence. Shiv knew that the Psychomancer was likely still talking to her companions, but thus far he didn’t feel anyone prodding his mind. But do I really need to feel it for them to be actually prodding my mind? Shiv thought with a sense of wonder. Now that was a worrying thought. Maybe the mind weaver he faced before were poor at the art—crude.

Perhaps it was the same thing between Psychomancy and Biomancy. One could have a lot of strength and power, but not nearly the mastery to wield it right.

However, since she wasn’t asking about his Unique or Legendary skill, or even his Feat, he assumed that she didn’t truly know anything, and kept her mind to herself.

“I didn’t really catch your name,” Shiv asked, his voice low.

The Psychomancer went still for a moment, then replied, “No, that’s right—you didn’t,” and left it at that.

He folded his arms and couldn’t help but smile slightly. Well, he could probably learn to enjoy these conversations. He was quickly beginning to realize that the Umbrals didn’t have sour and bitter personalities. They just liked to hide behind an exterior of coldness. And sometimes they nipped at you. They’re like a race of female, not-so-cuss-happy Georges’s…

Now, wasn’t that a thought?

Before she could ask anything else, the platform descended past a panel of wide-open glass, and the Deathless’s breath caught in his throat. Outside, he caught sight of Weave for the first time.

Foreshadowing: Behold the City of the Hidden Song. Behold the home of the Weaveresses and the sanctuary of the weak. Here you will find many of the things you seek: a place of opportunity to further your skills, a path back to Blackedge, and the one you lost at the start of this journey.

“What?” Shiv muttered, trying to get a clearer answer from the Foreshadowing.

“Did you say something?” the Psychomancer asked.

Shiv simply shook his head. “No, I’m just admiring the scenery,” he lied. Well, not technically a full lie. He was admiring the scenery. He was also getting weird details from his skill.

All his life, all he’d known was Blackedge. Blackedge: the small fortress town hovering over the abyss. His prison, his burden, the place he couldn’t go too far beyond. Blackedge was a small space with a bottom ring lined with shops, residences, and the common necessities for a fortress town, such as a garrison and a Slayers Guild, along with sky farms and whatnot. At the center, the magnificent sight of Starhawk’s Perch was the only thing they had close to a skyscraper.

Shiv had seen illustrations of the capital—heard that it stretched over the horizon, spreading from the divine mountain that was Yellowstone. He couldn’t fully imagine it, though, not after a lifetime of living on Blackedge.

Here, with Weave unfolding right before him, Shiv’s mind reeled. He had assumed the Republic capital’s size and magnificence to be a boast. Now, he suspected the capital might be dwarfed in all respects.

Weave truly did run from horizon to horizon. It kept going and going, like a sprawl composed of glistening webs that formed bridges between countless buildings. He could see weavers and Weaveresses moving between them, as well as people on so many walkways. Massive spires carved from night-glass and obsidian proved to be the primary structures, and there were artistic carvings decorating their lengths. Aside from the webs, glistening chandeliers hung from the buildings, bathing their shapes in stylistic ambience. At the top of these spires were quivering orbs of fluid brilliance. They seemed like small suns in this lightless place. Gazing upon them filled Shiv with a sense of unnatural comfort.

Most of the buildings were interconnected and interlaced. At several points, he saw what looked to be flat flying creatures.

They look like… pancakes, Shiv thought.

And then off to the side, connected to all the great spires, was a massive shape—a shape that resembled a cocoon of glistening web. Animated and glowing strands slipped out from it, gliding over the spires and traveling like living, snaking entities, moving where they needed to go. Shiv noticed an unnatural vibration to each of these webs as he tried to process what he was seeing.

A few seconds later, he heard something: a bewitching tune from a lyre that slithered past his ear.

“The Composer is playing,” one of the Umbrals breathed. “Praise—praise to hear her song.”

Most of them crossed their hands like the Weaveress did when greeting Valor earlier, and they bent over. Shiv looked at them and awkwardly followed their example, trying not to offend.

“You learn quickly,” the Psychomancer said, almost too quietly for him to hear. Shiv grinned. He only stopped bowing when they did.

As they rose up, he looked at the vast cocoon, trying to tease out more details. The surrounding light made the cocoon seem translucent, and inside he glimpsed at the outline of a mountainous figure: two very human-like arms, a humanoid torso the dimensions of a woman, and on the bottom, the body and legs of a spider, the former ending in a wasp-like tail.

The Composer. She was real. Of course she was real, but she had been real to Shiv before in the sense that the divine Auroral Council was real to him. They were not people he would meet ever. They were, effectively, beings of legend and fantasy—something he would only see in a book and hear of from afar.

But that was a different life, a different time, and now Shiv walked among these legends—and probably recently suffered a death at the hands of one of them.

Ser Marikos, you clumsy, talkative monster, he thought to himself. That had been an insane amount of fire magic to behold. He really, really wanted to get stronger. He couldn’t wait to be a Legendary Pathbearer. Well, a proper one, not just someone with a single low-leveled Legendary Skill.

The Composer’s song continued, and Shiv saw more strands of self-moving web connect and bind new shapes in the distance. To his astonishment, it seemed the webs themselves were building something, creating at the behest of the goddess. He didn’t even know webs could do that. Again, he was reminded that, with enough mastery of magic and understanding of what one was trying to do, nothing was in the realm of the impossible.

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“I’ve missed her song,” Valor sighed.

“The Mistress is honored that you have returned to us as ally this time,” the Weaveress replied.

“An ally this time?” Shiv asked, curious. “Were you enemies at one point?”

“That is… a long story,” Valor answered with a deep sigh. “I told you that I was once of the Necrotech Legions. Well, the Five Faiths are not usually aligned in the best of times.”

“Oh,” Shiv said. “Well, it seems like if you live long enough, enemies become friends become enemies again.”

“One could say that,”

Valor replied. “One could say that, indeed.”

As their platform came to a sudden halt at the very bottom, Shiv felt a jolt as plates sealed it in place and a new door slid open.

“How does this work?” Shiv said, gesturing at his surroundings. “How does it just know? Is there a mage on the other side?”

“No,” the Psychomancer said. “The local automata. They integrate with the structure and monitor it at all times. They can detect when a platform arrives.”

“You guys have automata too?” Shiv asked.

“Everyone has automata,” the Weaveress replied. “Where the System reaches, so too do its truest children.”

“The automata?” Shiv muttered.

“Yes,” the Weaveress confirmed.

Shiv shook his head. “Oh, there’s another lie from the Republic. They told me they’re the only ones who had automata, that they were the only ones who preserved the ancient traditions and were the rightful inheritors of the kingdom of Lost Angeles.”

“What?” the Psychomancer said, sounding absolutely confused. “But… but… the city of Los Angeles wasn’t a kingdom. It’s… it was barely a city…”

Shiv blinked. “It was?” Why did it feel like absolutely everyone knew more about everything than he did? For the hundredth time in his life, Shiv felt blind. He damned Roland Arrow for leaving him so ignorant.

“I think I’m going to need to buy an actual history book, too,” Shiv said.

“I was just about to suggest that,” the dagger whispered.

As they continued out from the platform, Shiv found himself walking in grander halls, the ceilings so high that they were practically the roofs of caverns.

“I’m starting to feel like the toad that actually got to eat the swan,” he said to himself.

“Is that a surfacer idiom?” the Psychomancer asked.

“That was the restaurant I used to work at. Well, I still technically work at. Hope it’s still there.”

“Restaurant? You’re a chef?” the Psychomancer said, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, well, that was originally what I was kind of, sort of planning to be. Kind of, sort of.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, the, uh, monster-killing thing wasn’t working out due to some external circumstances. So, you know, I was gonna end up being a chef, but it turned out that was probably not going to work out either.”

“And what did work out?” she asked.

“I got thrown off my town,” Shiv finished without a hint of irony.

“I see,” the Psychomancer said, unsure if he was jesting or not.

There were lots of different hallways intersecting their grand one, but they just kept pressing forward until they arrived before an exit bleeding out from this… Where exactly was he?

“What is this place?” Shiv asked.

“It is the Cornerstone of Passage,” the Weaveress explained, speaking in place of the Umbral. “It is the only way to reach Weave. We exist somewhere between the Abyss and dimensions beyond. Thus is our sanctuary ensured.”

He stared at the Weaveress for a moment, nearly running into the Psychomancer. As he slowed, he whispered, “Wait, we’re in an entirely different dimension?”

“Of a sort,” the Weaveress said, a slight hint of amusement in her voice. “It is a personally created dimension spun by the Composer herself. And it grows larger with every passing day.”

“Praise be her name,” the Psychomancer replied.

“Praise be her name,” a different Umbral spoke, all of them eyeing Shiv. He caught a few smirks from them and realized they were enjoying themselves at his expense. Of course, they weren’t exactly mocking or insulting him, so he quite enjoyed this interaction. At least they were willing to talk to him, unlike those people back in Blackedge.

That just soured Shiv’s opinion of his own people even more.

His entire life, they treated him like he had the plague and was going to turn at any moment. And down here, well, he was still different. They were still suspicious, but at least they didn’t treat him like he was some kind of monster.

As they reached the exit, Shiv saw two Weaveresses standing guard. They both held massive halberds, the tips also made of nightglass, and they saluted the passing group. Shiv felt their eyes on him and guessed that there was curiosity and suspicion in their gaze. It was strange how human-like these spiders were, and how good he was getting at reading their body language.

“So, uh, can I ask where we’re going?” Shiv said, unsure if the question was going to offend the Composer.

“The Composer’s nest: The Symposium. The Heart of Weave,” the Psychomancer explained.

“What, the giant cocoon?” Shiv asked. As he emerged from the exit and found himself led along a wide bridge, he saw more of the outside world and couldn’t help but gawk. The nest’s design became more apparent. It was pulsating with every thread it passed along its many extended bridges, offering threads back to the city. The Composer was more than just a goddess in this place. She was its heart, literally and symbolically.

“Wow, that’s…” Shiv said. “We’re just going to see her?”

“Yes,” the Psychomancer said, as if Shiv were simple. “How else is she supposed to judge the validity of your claims and receive the great Valor Thann, He who Stills Eternity?”

Shiv really wanted a title of his own. Valor’s title was pretty cool. Shiv wondered what he would want it to be called. The Undying? The Unstoppable? I’m gonna have to work on this—maybe fight a few more people.

Just then, deep in his ruminations, he heard something from behind him, and something hard crashed against the borders of his field. “Stop him! Stop! He’s free! Stop him before he escapes!” someone cried.

Shiv barely finished turning before he heard a whip crack sound through the air. A dark shape shot past both the Weaveresses guarding the exit to the Passage. They brought down their halberds, forging a barrier of ice that sealed the doorway—but too late. A flicker blurred toward Shiv so fast that he couldn’t respond in time as they slammed the Weaveress accompanying his group off her feet and barreled into the Umbrals.

The enemy was a blur. Reaching out, they seized a shortsword from one of the Umbrals, elbowing her in the chin and dropping her immediately. A flash of glinting glass followed, and several of the other Umbrals cried out, each of them falling back with fresh wounds on their bodies.

The Psychomancer turned and unleashed a spell as patterns formed around her head. Yet the enemy resisted with a gasp of pain—rushed and tried to strike at the mind mage next. Shiv caught the gleam of nightglass. His Reflexes flared, and he saw the tip of the blade—aimed at the Psychomancer’s throat.

Without thinking, he threw himself in the way, reaching out, preparing to parry the blow. Yet a sharp lance of pain gashed across his bicep. However, the nightglass, despite cutting him, didn’t slice all the way. It slid off course from how hard his Diamond Shell was, and the enemy smashed into him, unable to stop their momentum.

Both of them ended up turning into a tangle of limbs, knocking the Psychomancer aside as they bounced across the ground. Shiv heard Valor calling out—but he was too deep in the brawl to respond.

In the end, Shiv found himself on top of the adversary by pure fortune alone. He held his hand down, trying to pin them in place, but found them remarkably strong. A familiar strength. Before he could deliver his first strike, he caught sight of their “face”, and his breath caught. And so did his adversary’s.

He was looking down on a dented, cracked helmet that resembled a raven’s face.

“You!” the raven-helmed stranger spat from beneath Shiv.

“Me!” Shiv growled, and then he punched him in the throat as hard as he could.

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