Sky of Wind by Emily Deady

Chapter 5

“This isn’t about proving anything,” Aizel said to King Frederich, her voice quiet and firm. “My people have no intention of attacking your shores. We don’t want retaliation on you for what your ancestors did, but we do want justice now for what the Quotidian is doing.”

“What power do your people have?” King Frederich asked. “My first responsibility is for the safety of my people. Would you not be the perfect tool for the quotidian to control if they wished to move against us? If they can control your magic through controlling you . . .”

“You have magic,” Aizel cut him off. “We are not so different.”

“I don’t have armies of soldiers trained in how to use magic,” King Frederich was quick to respond. “Gareth and the Chendas Examiners promised to unlock and teach us a magical form of defense, but they never unlocked . . . Or they never shared what they uncovered.”

Meena struggled to follow the quick implications of the conversation happening in front of her, but she was relieved to see her father sink his head into his hands with a sigh. For him to show any sign of physical or emotional weakness was rare and never happened outside of the very close family members and advisors. Though Aizel had only been introduced to the family for only a few days prior, her father’s open stance meant he trusted her to some extent.

“I mean no harm or disrespect to you or your people, but you must see how I am crushed between two forces which have more power than I can comprehend. What is Gareth plotting, and why did he hide the magic—and his knowledge of the Isle of Exile—”

“Istroya,” Aizel corrected.

“Istroya,” King Frederich repeated. “He’s been hiding this from me.”

Meena began squeezing each finger, one at a time, against her palm, working her way across one hand, and then the other. This conversation was important, but even with Aizel present, it felt like it was going in circles. Surely her father was right? He was a good and kind king. But the flash in Aizel’s eye and the curtness of her tone made Meena uncomfortable. If the Majis were truly innocent, her father was sitting on a stolen throne.

Meena bit her tongue. Her father had not personally done any of the horrors Aizel shared with them to the Majis in Istroya—he did not even know they were happening!

Erich stepped forward to Aizel’s side, placing his hand on her back in silent support. Together, they stepped closer to Frederich’s desk and continued their conversation.

Meena turned to Onric. “Has Ashlin left yet?” she asked.

“No, she’s still sewing.”

“This late?” Meena asked, slightly jealous that her new friend and almost-sister had an active role in this turmoil.

“Time is precious. She wants to finish as many panels as she can to see if Aizel knows any of the stories or meaning behind them.”

“She’ll work herself to death.” Meena could hear the childish whine in her own voice. She was concerned about Ashlin overworking herself, but she was mostly jealous that both Ashlin and Aizel had a meaningful way to contribute to this intangible problem.

“I’m aware of that.” Onric growled.

Meena smiled. At least Onric was also frustrated, even if it was for a different reason.

“I’ll go check on her,” Meena replied, thankful for a reason to seek out her friend.

“Convince her to stay here tonight,” Onric said before she could leave. “The castle is safer than being in town . . . especially right now.”

“Tell her yourself.”

“I don’t want to pressure her.”

“I’ll do my best.” Meena made her escape.

“Tell her I’ll sleep on Mistress Cedrice’s doorstep if she insists on going home tonight!”

“That won’t pressure her at all!” Meena responded, slipping out of the room before Onric could give her any more directives. Ashlin was her friend, too.

Meena hurried through the back courtyard. The shadow-less dusk made her feel eery, as did the quiet guard who moved through the space, lighting torches along the wall.

“Good evening, Drirsi,” she called with a small smile.

The young guard dipped his head respectfully. “Princess.” He moved on to light the next torch, not indulging in the usual banter they shared.

Meena shivered, though the evening air was still warm. Everyone was too somber. Even Drirsi had a responsibility to keep him focused.

On the other side of the courtyard, she pressed open a small wooden door which led to the ruins of the ancient Iseldis castle. The old hall instantly darkened as the door closed behind her. Meena rushed up a winding staircase to her left as quickly as she could. Normally, she wasn’t afraid of the dark, but her stomach was already tied up in knots and she didn’t want to be alone.

The upper room of the eastern tower was softly lit with a few candles, and Ashlin hovered over a large makeshift table. She immediately glanced up, welcoming Meena with a smile.

Meena exhaled. Here, the candles emitted a soft warmth—or maybe that was Ashlin—either way, the tension in her stomach eased.

“Hello, great wielder of the needle,” Meena said.

“Bringer of Sunny Skies,” Ashlin responded.

Meena approached the opposite end of the table, her smile growing. “I do that?”

“You always make my day more bright,” Ashlin replied, her voice was light with a touch of jest, but Meena could still hear the sincerity behind her words.

“How is the latest panel coming?” Meena asked, changing the subject.

“It appears to be the simplest, yet most puzzling.” Ashlin’s voice had returned to a serious tone, matching Meena’s tone.

“How so?” Meena examined the panel on the table in front of her. It was nearly as wide as her arms could reach, but only half as tall.

“See this black thread, here?” Ashlin pointed to the swooping tail of a large embroidered letter.

Meena leaned closer to the tapestry so her eyes could make out each individual, deliberate stitch. “It looks more like a dark blue than a black,” she said. The thought left her mouth as she was thinking it. “I mean,” she quickly corrected her mistake, “it’s probably just the light . . .”

“You are exactly right,” Ashlin cut her off kindly. “It is blue. I’m so glad you see it, too.”

Meena felt her face relax into a smile again. She loved that even when Ashlin was discussing difficult matters, she did it in a way that did not cause an uncomfortable pit to form in Meena’s stomach.

“See,” Ashlin continued. “This next panel appears to be significant. If these panels were destroyed with intention—which we still believe is the case—this panel might be the exception. It’s only a single word.”

Meena looked back down at the partially restored image. Unlike the other more colorful panels, this one was a simple background of a warm, woven cream with tall, flowing letters embroidered to fill the entire space. It appeared that Ashlin had finished outlining the letters, but was still stitching in the fill color, so the word itself was visible, although the way she was facing made the letters upside down.

Meena tilted her head to the side as she read the fanciful, old-fashioned script.

“It’s written out in two different colors of thread,” Ashlin said. “See, these black letters have small areas which are done in a dark blue, like this letter here. The shape making up the simple symbol is in black, but if you look closely, it’s rounded out into a different symbol with the dark blue. At first I thought the needle was guiding me incorrectly when it wanted me to switch the color. The difference is barely perceptible.”

“Perhaps the original weavers left a message in the panel!” Meena rushed around the table to look at the word from the right direction.

“That would be quite an adventure.”

Meena barely registered Ashlin’s positive, if doubt-filled, words. “Imagine actually finding a secret message. We could learn what really happened one thousand seasons ago. Aizel’s story makes so much sense.” As she was speaking, Meena reached out, touching each of the areas she could identify which had been stitched in the dark blue instead of black. “I do not see a pattern yet, though. Maybe we should try to redraw it on some parchment with a greater contrast in the colors. Then we could see the difference between the blue and black more clearly. I’ll go get some.” Meena looked up.

Ashlin was staring blankly ahead, her raised hand held the needle, poised in the air as though she were frozen in time. Her eyes blinked, moving from the needle to the tapestry.

“Or not . . . if you think it’s a bad idea,” Meena said, confused at Ashlin’s reaction.

“Oh, no.” Ashlin quickly smiled. Her tense pose relaxed as her eyes moved back to Meena. “You’ll go get some parchment,” Ashlin repeated, “to see the contrast in the colors.” She nodded slowly, as though she were hearing Meena’s words for the first time. “That is a wonderful idea.”

“Are you feeling unwell?” Meena asked.

Ashlin shook her head, blinking a few times. “I’m only tired. Don’t worry about me.”

“You should sleep here tonight. It is already late.”

“Did Onric tell you to tell me that?”

Meena smiled and shrugged. “I will be back immediately with some parchment.”

Ashlin shook her head, returning her gaze to the iron needle in her hand.

Meena practically flew down the spiral stairs. She felt so much better now that she had something to offer. Her thoughts tumbled with ideas as she ran. She should find multiple colors of ink to make the writing more visible than the stitching. Or perhaps chalk, like she used when she was a child. That would be faster to write with and less of a mess to work with up in the tower. When she was a child, she had loved to use the ink on her mother’s desk to draw out treasure maps for her adventures. Most of the time, she ended up staining something she shouldn’t have.

The thought of the old treasure maps made her smile. She found a few pieces of parchment and chalk in separate colors. Celesta would probably love following a treasure map.

“Meena!” Onric called her name as she ran back toward the courtyard.

“Thank you for using my proper name!” she called, not stopping her sprint as she dashed by him.

“Did she agree to stay?” Onric asked, picking up his pace to match her slapping sandals.

“Ask her yourself,” Meena responded. “I thought you said your favorite pastime in the whole kingdom was just talking to her?”

“I did. It is.”

The back courtyard was lit only by the torchlight, as night had completely fallen. Meena threw open the door of the old ruins.

“That is beside the point!” Onric continued yelling after her.

Meena stepped into the old castle. The ancient hall was completely covered in darkness. Meena turned around at the door, searching for a lantern to carry through the darkness. “Can you go find Aizel?” she called to Onric. “We think we may have found a clue in the tapestry.”

Onric handed her an oil lantern. “Why didn’t you lead with that?” His head shot up and his voice was deeper.

“I was answering your question.” Meena held the open end of the lantern up to one of the lit torches on the courtyard wall.

“What did you find?” Onric asked, taking the lantern back from her hand and lifting it higher to catch the flame faster.

“We don’t know yet.” Meena took the now lit lantern back from his hands. “Go find Aizel and mayhap we’ll find some more answers to all your questions.”

“Yes, captain.” Onric’s voice was filled with gentle mockery, but he turned immediately and walked quickly back into the castle.

With the help of the lantern, Meena made her way safely back up into the old ruins. Erich used to scare her with stories of the monsters—who were created by the Majis—who came out in the hall after dark. They lived in the old tunnels which ran under the hall as an escape route. Meena shook away the old fears. If there were any monsters, they’d been created by Erich. But the old tunnels might be the perfect place to hide a treasure for Celesta.

She dashed up the staircase, bursting into the upper room of the tower. “I found parchment and chalk!” she declared. “I’m ready to find the coded message!”

Ashlin stood still, bent over the tapestry while holding the needle at eye level. Her eyes were tense, scrunched together tightly under eyebrows. “Just a moment,” she whispered, her eyes not leaving the needle.

Meena stopped at the door, approaching the table cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

Ashlin closed her eyes and dropped the needle into the tapestry, gently running the dull point of the clumsy iron implement across the section she had been restoring.

Meena watched her movements, her concern growing by the second.

Ashlin directed the needle to an empty section of fabric and cautiously poked it through. The needle slid between the close weave of the fabric, naturally stretching the threads apart from each other. Rather than force the needle completely through the fabric, Ashlin pulled it back out in reverse. The small hole which had formed in the fabric remained pressed out of shape, leaving a tiny gap in the perfectly interwoven threads.

“It no longer works.” Ashlin’s voice was barely a whisper.

“The needle?” Meena asked, even though she knew the answer was obvious. The small hole in the otherwise flawless fabric gaped at Meena, mocking her.

“It’s not guiding me,” Ashlin replied. “It just feels like a regular needle now, and a rather clumsy one at that.” Her fingers worked over the hole, massaging the threads back into place.

“Are you sure?” Meena asked, the words coming out louder and faster than she intended. “Perhaps you are just overtired?” Meena made her way around the table to reach her distraught friend. “Or maybe the needle is.”

“The needle is?” Ashlin asked.

“Tired. Perhaps the needle is tired.”

Ashlin shook her head, turning sorrowful eyes to meet Meena. “It is a spelled needle. Perhaps someone removed the spell?”

“We can ask . . .”

As if summoned, Aizel pushed through the door, followed closely by Onric and Erich.

“What did you find?” Onric asked, rushing forward to reach Ashlin first.

Meena looked from Ashlin to Onric. “It’s something else—” she started.

“What’s wrong?” Onric asked, cutting her off as he reached Ashlin’s side.

“The needle stopped working, it feels . . . dead, somehow. Hollow.” Ashlin leaned into Onric’s supportive hug, but her eyes sought out Aizel. “Can you sense when an object has magic in it?”

Aizel nodded. “Usually.”

Meena handed her the needle. “It’s no longer pulsing with magic. Can you feel anything?”

“No.” Aizel twisted the needle in her hand. “It’s empty.”

Ashlin’s shoulders fell. “Did I break it?”

“What? No. It’s not broken. It’s empty. It ran out of magic.”

“Items can do that?” Meena replied.

“Of course.” Aizel handed the needle back to Ashlin. “A spelled item holds no particular power in and of itself. It only has the power that you give it.”

“Can you give it more power?” Ashlin asked.

Aizel’s mouth spread into a firm line.

Meena did not think they were going to like the answer.

Aizel kept her eyes on the tapestry as she answered the question. “Only someone who knew what the original tapestry looked like could imbue the needle with the magic to share that knowledge with someone else. I could fill it’s reserve with magic, but it would only be the kind of power that increased the needle’s ability to be a better needle.”

“Like not leaving behind a gaping whole every time it is pressed through the fabric?” Meena asked, trying to figure out how a needle could be better at its own function.

“Precisely.” Aizel nodded at Meena, but her gaze quickly returned to Ashlin.

The seamstress set the needle on the table in front of her. “We failed.”

Meena looked around the room. The somber faces, lit from below by the flickering candlelight, made her want to flee from the room. “No.” Meena stepped closer to Ashlin, throwing her arms around Ashlin and her brother. “You did not fail. You and Onric were the first to believe that the magic might be different from what we believed. You were willing to restore this tapestry even though using the needle itself was outlawed. And, you sabotaged King Gareth’s first attempt to attack Ian.”

“That is not the failure she was referring to,” Aizel’s soft voice broke the silence. “Those feats you mentioned are noteworthy, but the loss of this . . .” She spread her hands delicately over the tapestry in front of her, focusing on a particularly destroyed section. “We failed to recover this. This was part of my story.”

“I’m so sorry.” Ashlin turned her face away from the table, as though she was too pained to look at the tapestry any longer.

Aizel opened her mouth, but closed it, swallowing audibly.

“But you saved nearly six panels before the needle was drained,” Meena said, her eyes looking from Ashlin to Aizel. “Surely this is not a complete loss. And there are so many panels which were undamaged, at least twenty.”

“Sixteen.” Ashlin threw Meena a sad smile, pushing herself out of Onric’s embrace. She picked up a length of dark blue thread and started to deftly wrap it around her fingers, securing it in a skein for storage. “I know you want to make this better. You’re just like Onric. But there are four more panels which are permanently destroyed. It doesn’t sound like much, but we think they were destroyed because they contained important information about magic and its history.”

“How much of my story will I never know?” Aizel asked.

Meena felt her own shoulders deflate. She couldn’t fix this. Every problem seemed more tangled than the ruined sections of the tapestry itself.