WEAVERS: A GothamX Story

15

It was a warm and pleasant sunny day. Fluffy cotton candy clouds ride in on the comforting breeze that blows across the open, grassy field that Soren lays in. Soft, waist-high grass keeps her well out of view, even when sitting. It was her hiding place for when things got a bit too much; with the guys she had for friends, a bit too much was a daily thing, especially when something new about their world and history was discovered.

Their latest obsession was the other half of the Giving Tree; Death and Darkness. She was open-minded and equally as curious as they were about anything and everything about the Vale but something about how little information was available made her suspicious. She was not one to ignore her intuition; looking for Death and Darkness would not end well for anyone.

When the storm clouds began to roll in from the Southeast, she returned to the school and attempted to track down her friends but was summoned by the Grand Matron, the most powerful Weaver in the Vale. She knew from the whispers of those who had been called to the Grand Matron's side that the black-veiled individual was known for speaking in tongues and knowing all.

Soren thought she was familiar with all the corners, cracks, and crannies of the school. After all, she spent first couple of weeks exploring after everyone else had gone to bed. But when she was led down the narrow hallway to a dark, round room with a single wooden door that had to be ages old, she had found herself in an unimaginable place.

The materials used to build the round room were completely different from the rest of the school; large blackish bricks that had specks of shiny stone within them and in the light of the candle the Matron led her with, it shimmered. She also found that warmth was absent in the space she was led through that opened up to a large, room with high ceilings.

The room was dark too, except for the light that came through the white, grey, and black glass shards of the giant vitrage. A large wooden chair sat center of the oval of light and a bony hand was the only visible human part. Soren approached with caution; her intuition held strong to her, keeping her steady as she struggled to remain calm in the space that made her ill and uneasy.

She was given a stool to sit on while she shared her presence and in minutes, she was completely alone with the mysterious person who held a large black book in their lap.

The Grand Matron stares up into the unique and hair-rising stained glass window art, "They are curious." The Grand Matron breaks the silence.

"The book in your lap is an Atlas right?" Soren replies, her stomach flips at the thought of what the book holds.

The Grand Matron smiles big and nods at her, "The book holds the story of Light and Darkness. Do they want to read it?"
Soren stares at it. Her heart said no but she wanted to say yes, "I-," She stutters, unable to arrange the words she wanted to say.

"Allow them to tell them the story of the First Light." The Grand Matron purrs, turning their head to face Soren with silvery eyes that remind her of blue moons.

"Okay." Soren accepts, inhaling with a gasp at the sight of the ghostly orb eyes.

"In the first Cycle of the Vale's existence, there was a town called Penetrail." The Grand Matron began to speak, only to have their voice drowned out by the tolling of a bell.

Soren tried to follow the Grand Matron's reddish lips as they continued to speak completely unfazed by the bell that grew louder with each toll. After the fifth and confusing toll of the bell, she realized that the Lyceum doesn't have a bell. It isn't real but it feels real. The eighth toll was painfully loud and blinding for Soren but the Grand Matron remained unbothered as they spoke.

It was the tenth toll that made Soren go looking for the door to free herself from the room and the noise. She could hardly see through the blurry tears that spilled from her burning eyes. The pressure behind them was excruciating, far worse than the pain she felt from Weaver's Burnout. And there was a smell in the room that she couldn't make sense of either; a smokey and sweet smell.

She heard the voice of the Grand Matron on the eleventh toll, "The Parallels. They are not seeing the Parallels. The brightest are not seeing the Parallels." It was repetitive, rambling-sounding nonsense from what one would assume was a senile old person.

A chilling touch of a hand on her arm made things clear and silent for a moment. Soren stood in the light of the strange vitrage, staring up at the strange pieces of colored glass that sat surrounded by black glass. She didn't notice how much of the glass was black when she first laid her eyes on it. It was Darkness.

"Darkness is here. They must see the Paralells." She hears the Grand Matron's voice again, turning to see the silvery orbs look into her.

I closed Soren's Atlas with a terrible feeling that I am going to get all the answers to their questions, my questions, and answers to things I didn't want to know about. I focus on the growing lump in my throat; I want to push it down, swallow it, and remain in control but holding it back hurts- it burns my throat.

The petrichor tickling my nose is a good distraction. I look up from Atlas in my hands and see the heavy sheet of rain drifting in my direction and for a moment I consider staying where I sit and let it cleanse me of the dread that has taken root in me. Instead, I make myself get up. I barely make it to the doors before the rain overcomes the garden.

"Alexa?" My name is said I close the door behind me.

Master Malakai stands in the corridor with tears in his eyes and falling down his cheeks like the rain that falls outside. In his small hands, he holds an Atlas; the Atlas of his son and only family, the Weaver that was Chosen by the Grand Matron, the Weaver who died when he touched and opened the Great Tome.

"I didn't know." He stutters to me, falling to his knees on the cold, stone floor.

"I know." I whisper, joining him on the floor.

I take the Atlas from him and feel the dreaded dimness that claims us both. He must have read what I didn't, what I refused to read and it makes me feel dirty. I didn't read it. I knew what was going to happen and didn't want to feel it and have it sting me like the bee in the flowers or like my Atlas the first time I opened it.
He cries into his empty hands. Heavy, painful sobs and his body trembles until he finally goes still and silent.

"Master Malakai?" I whisper to him, reaching for one of his small hands.