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‘You could fix it,’ I say.
‘Yes, I could, but that’s not why I’m here. You must make the hard choice, Adelice, before you can move forward. Decisions must be made. Often between life and death. It is hard to make a decision to save thousands when it compromises one.’ Her voice is a hollow whisper, and ghosts echo in her eyes. ‘It is easier not to be put in that position.
‘As Creweler, you can create new places – oceans, lakes, buildings, fields. It can be rewarding,’ she continues, and as I watch she enters a new code into the companel. A moment later, a new piece of Arras appears on the loom. It’s nearly blank, a hint of green glistening against the bands of gold, and she clicks the zoom wheel to bring it into more detailed focus. It’s a simple piece of land. Maybe a park or a field lying outside metro limits somewhere. There are no trees, no rocks, just a valley of lush, green grass. For the first time I notice the small bag she carries with her as she places it at the foot of the loom and gestures that I should let her sit on the stool.
‘Normally, I work in my own studio, but I brought my supplies with me today,’ she says with a kind smile. ‘You must get a feel for your own loom. I have clearance to call up the weave on any machine. Now if I must show you destruction, I want to balance that with the beauty of what we can do.’
From the bag, she draws out spools of thin blue thread. It’s hard to describe what raw material looks like. The colour of the strands is an innuendo – the possibility of colour rather than a clear shade. As though I understand it’s blue only because I’ve seen the colour before. The thread itself is light and cool to the touch, and when she unwraps it from the spool it glimmers and sparks with energy. This is the very raw material that is sewn into the weave by the skilled hands of Spinsters, composing all objects in Arras. I can’t think about it too much, because part of my ability stems from my hands’ natural desire to weave. My conscious mind plays little role in the task. I’ve added to Arras before, but that act adhered to a strict pattern established by more experienced Spinsters.
After carefully removing some of the green threads from the weave on the loom, Loricel takes a blue strand, and slipping it through a small thin needle, begins to add it to the spot. She works quickly but expertly, subtracting the green and adding the blue in a tight weave. When the entire section has been replaced, she takes another piece of sheer thread and embroiders along the edge. My mother cross-stitched kitchen towels when I was a child and the technique is similar, but Loricel uses no pattern and her embroidery illuminates the section. Even in its abstract state, the weave is stunning.
‘This binds the new addition,’ she explains as she finishes embroidering the edge. ‘It’s key to permanently altering the weave.’ When it’s done, she puts the extra raw materials back into her bag and clicks the zoom wheel on the loom. Where previously she’d shown me a simple valley, a radiant lake now resides. A source of water for the residents nearby.
‘Later, the farmers can add fish, and the town can ration it as food,’ she explains. ‘I’m particularly fond of adding lakes. Something about water tugs at my soul.’
I am silent with awe, finally understanding her significance now. With the ripped strand from earlier resting in my palm, I feel in even greater contrast to the woman sitting beside me. She is life. I am death.
I’m not surprised when Enora announces I’m training for Crewel work as we walk to the dining room that evening during our meal shift. At the table I sit next to her and watch as Pryana takes her spot at the end of the table – next to my empty chair. We’re assigned to sit by rank of importance at the table. Now only Pryana, who is still training, sits at the end. To anyone else she would look oblivious, but I see the slight fury blazing in her cheeks when she spies me towards the front of the table. Her head stays down throughout dinner. I feel badly for her. At least I have Enora, but Pryana sits alone, isolated from the rest of the group. I’m sure she hates me even more now.
‘How long have you been training, dear?’ The Spinster who speaks to me draws out her words until they sound like warm, thick honey dripping slowly off her tongue. She must be from the southern stretches of Arras. We don’t have much of an accent in the Western Sector.
‘What day is it?’ With the travelling, I’ve lost track of the date.
The Spinster oozes a slow chuckle. ‘It’s October fifth, dear.’
The still-warm air had a bite to it the day I made my fateful slip at the testing facility back home. The leaves were barely yellowing, and running home might have pinkened my cheeks, but a jacket wasn’t necessary yet. That was September. Only a couple of weeks of my life have been spent in the Coventry. In many ways my life in Romen feels like a faded, long-past memory, and yet it seems that only yesterday my mother commanded me to clean my room or I braided Amie’s hair. My memories of them are vivid, but blurry at the edges as though they are slipping away.
‘Less than a month,’ I say out loud. I don’t tell her how much of that time was spent in cells.
‘A month?’ Her eyes widen, and her deeply lined lids look garish and frightening. ‘That must be some kind of record.’
A few of the others nod in amazed agreement. Enora, who has been busy talking to the woman next to her, notices my discomfort and jumps in. ‘She scored very highly on her aptitude tests and we needed more help in the Crewel department, so we brought her up.’
She smiles warmly and everyone relaxes into other conversations, except the southern Spinster, whose eyes stay fixed on Enora in a fierce way. She looks l
ike a caged animal, both frightened and eager. I don’t like the way she stares at my mentor. Who could be threatened by Enora? I make a mental note to steer clear of this woman from now on. She’s a climber.
I pretend to lose interest in everything but eating, but I feel eyes on me. I look up to discover Maela studying me. We are roughly equal in our positions at the table. She heads up the lower Spinsters, and I trail behind the trained Spinsters, apprenticed to Crewel work, so we overlap. I see the wheels turning in her mind. Eyes slightly glazed, the purse of her lips, the tightness of her jaw; she has nowhere to go, and I’ve only begun my own rise in this world. But she’ll find a way to climb further up – her kind always does.
‘Are you excited?’ the southern Spinster asks sweetly.
‘I’m sorry.’ I blush, confused by her question. ‘Should I be?’
‘For the State of the Guild ball,’ she says, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘It’s next week.’
‘You’re right,’ I say, remembering images from the Bulletin. The ball was always held in the autumn months. ‘I had forgotten.’
‘Will Cormac be escorting you to this event, too?’ The sugar is gone from her voice.
‘No,’ Enora says, looking directly at the other woman. ‘Spinsters don’t have escorts at events held within the Coventry, remember?’
‘I must have forgotten,’ the woman says flatly, and turns back to her other conversation.
I guess we won’t be friends after all.
‘Don’t worry, your dress is ready,’ Enora whispers from her spot a few spaces down.
‘I didn’t think I’d have to ward off Cormac for a while,’ I mutter, not sure she can hear me.
