The Weavers of Saramyr by Chris Wooding Read Free Book Online Page A

the pale green eyes and the light beige robes he always wore. She had never imagined a young priest - to her, they had always been old and snappy, hiding their wisdom inside a shell of cantankerousness. This one had some of the air of gravity she usually associated with the holy orders, but she remembered moments of light-heartedness too, when he had made jokes and laughed at them himself when she did not. By his speech, she guessed he had come from a moderately affluent family, somewhere above the peasantry though probably still local. While he was educated, he was certainly not high-born. The complexities of the Saramyrrhic language meant it was possible to guess at a person’s origins simply by the way they used it. Tane’s speech was looser and less ruthlessly elocuted than hers.
    ‘How long has it been?’ she asked, as she slowly ate.
    ‘Ten days since we found you. You were wandering for some time before that,’ Tane replied.
    ‘Ten days? Spirits, it seems like it was forever. I thought it would never pass. I thought…’ She looked up at him. ‘I thought I could never stop crying.’
    ‘The heart heals, given time,’ Tane said. ‘Tears dry.’
    ‘My family are gone,’ she said suddenly. She had needed to say it aloud, to test herself, to see if she could. The words provoked no new pain in her. She had mastered her grief, sickened of it; though it had taken a long time, her natural wilfulness would not let her be kept down. Her sorrow had spent itself, and while she doubted it
    would ever leave her entirely, it would not swallow her again. ‘They were murdered,’ she added.
    ‘Ah,’ said Tane. He could not think of anything else to say.
    ‘The mask,’ she said. ‘I had a mask with me… I think.’
    ‘It was in your pack,’ said Tane. ‘It is safe.’
    She handed her plate back to him, having eaten only a little. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For taking care of me. I would like to rest.’
    ‘It was my honour,’ he replied, getting up. ‘Would you like a tea to help you sleep?’
    ‘I do not think I will need it, now,’ she said.
    He retreated to the door, but before he reached it he stopped.
    ‘I don’t know your name…’
    ‘Kaiku tu Makaima,’ came the reply.
    ‘Kaiku, there was someone you mentioned several times in your delirium,’ he said, turning his shoulder to look at her. ‘Someone you said was with you in the woods. Asara. Perhaps she is still—’
    ‘A demon killed her,’ Kaiku replied, her eyes on the floor. ‘She is gone.’
    ‘I see,’ Tane replied. ‘I’ll come back soon.’ And with that he left.
    A demon killed her , Kaiku thought. And I am that demon .
    She did rest for a time, for she was weakened by her ordeal. She felt more drained than she had ever thought it was possible to feel, more exhausted than she could ever remember. The feeling spurred a memory that she had not come across for months, a random jag of pain that emerged to worry at the fresh wound of her loss. She steeled herself against it. She would not forget. Some things were worth remembering.
    It had been at Mishani’s summer house by the coast, where she and her brother Machim often stayed. They had always been competitive, and growing up with a brother had left her with some hopelessly unfeminine tendencies - one of which was a stubbornness that verged on mule-headed. One morning, she and Machim had become embroiled in their usual game of boasting who was better at what. The stakes were raised and raised until between them they had devised an endurance course involving archery, swimming, cliff-climbing, running and shooting that was far beyond the capacity of most athletes, let alone two youths who had rarely tasted hardship. Out of sheer unwillingness to concede, they both agreed to attempt it.
    The archery they handled easily - they had to shoot ten arrows, and a bullseye meant that they could run down to the beach and swim across the bay to the cliffs. Machim succeeded before she did.