Secret Places and Hidden Things

Chapter Fourteen

Jain and the Weaver stopped near a small pond. There was a creek running into the pond on one side, and out on the other, with willow trees lazily dragging their branches across the water. A great stand of cattails crowded around one side, but the other side was clear with a small beach. A wooden bridge, freshly painted, spanned the creek, and a trail made its way from there around a bend and up the hill. Maples and oaks dotted the grassy meadow and closed in on all sides further out, making the space feel walled in like a garden.

The weaver stepped carefully off of the island with its many legs and walked onto the beach, looking up the hill to where the path disappeared.

"We are confused by this," it said.

"By what?" Jain asked.

"This line of dirt. Why does nothing grow there? Is the ground poisoned?"

"Oh," Jain said, following its gaze up the hill. "It's just worn down from people walking on it, I would assume."

The weaver turned to face her, its eyes turned outward as always. "That is enough to keep the plants from growing?"

"Yes, of course," Jain said, "Plants take a long time to grow."

The weaver turned back towards the hill. "I think we may have come too far. There should not be so many people to be able to cause this."

"One person could create a trail. It would just take repetition."

"Yes," the weaver said, "that is the problem. We are not present in the places where there is repetition. We are a still point. Nothing moves here."

Suddenly, a flash of red and gold at the top of the hill. "Precisely!" Marelle said, unsheathing her sword with a flourish. "I solved your riddle!"

Jain walked backwards as Marelle advanced. The Weaver stayed standing where it was.

"Riddle?" Jain asked.

"Yes, this monster had me chasing shadows all over the void, and trying so hard to catch up, but here you are just sailing around all the edges. I just had to wait for you to meet up with the rest of reality."

The weaver smiled sadly. "You solved the riddle, but you still don't understand it. You won't get what you want from this."

Jain looked at the weaver, calm and still, and then at Marelle, whose face had cringed at the Weaver's words.

"But, what's going on?" Jain asked.

"We are in hiding," the weaver said. "This woman intends to take us, but we have mastered our countermeasures against her. Do not be afraid. Your perception might change for a while, but we are still here to help you."

"But I did solve the riddle!" Marelle insisted. "If I hadn't you would just hop on that little island of yours and sail away."

"Yes," Jain said. "Let's go."

She walked over to the island and climbed onto the rocks. The weaver turned to look at her, slowly. "Nothing is moving around the red woman," it said.

Marelle began to make her way down the path. Her steps slow, like a stalking cat. She narrowed her eyes and hunched slightly, raising the golden sword in front of her.

"We should run, then!" Jain said.

"There is no reason to run," the weaver said, "We do not run from children who throw tantrums, we just wait for them to work through their emotions. If there is anything we do not lack, it is patience."

"But she's going to kill you!" Jain said, her voice shaking.

Marelle was at the bottom of the path, stalking through the grass.

"Come on!" Jain said. She grabbed the weaver's hand and tried to pull it away. It seemed to be stuck, she couldn't make it move.

"We are the still point," the weaver said, turning to face Marelle, "we cannot move."

Marelle raised the sword high, her eyes curious, and plunged it straight through the weaver's face.

A high, pure, operatic note went cascading across the garden, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. The weaver's head flattened into a white disk and a hole formed around the sword. It widened into a hoop as the rest of its body fused into gleaming porcelain. The sound became a single tone and rose higher still as the weaver's head flaked into sheets and peeled away, like a book falling open, its pages tossed in the winds.

Marelle backed away, her mouth open and her eyes wide. Jain had to let go of the weaver's hand, and the wind blew her backwards onto the island. The island began to move away, but Marelle didn't seem to notice.

The body of the weaver turned inside out, each flake of its head wrapping underneath it. Each time it folded, it would capture a bit of light and glimmer like a rainbow. As the folds accumulated, the body became smaller and smaller, floating in the air and flashing brightly. As the island carried Jain away, she saw Marelle step forward and grab at the small, opalescent stone that was left, glowing brightly like a fallen star.