The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [45]
But what of the Anvil?
Against the Anvil the Hammer strikes, and all are caught between. What else can it mean? They seek to crush all that is alive.
But who is this one?
We do not know. We know him only. But the Anvil cannot be far from the Hammer.
We must stop them!
In large places the threads of the Pattern had aligned themselves. The voices that spoke out against Runebreaker, and the ones called Hammer and Anvil, were nearly deafening now. But suddenly, from the shadowy edge of the weaving, came other voices: coarse and rough, but deep with wisdom.
It is not Sia’s way to do harm to others, even those who would harm us.
Yes, those who do wrong will work their own ends. An evil thread has a way of turning back on the spinner.
We must not let ourselves be caught in their folly. If the Warriors seek blood, then it is their own blood they will find. And if Runebreaker desires to destroy the world, it is his own destruction he will meet. That is Sia’s way.
These words were like a balm to Lirith’s spirit, as cool and sustaining as a draught of water from a deep well. However, even as these voices spoke, others rose up, overwhelming them.
Sia dwells only in the past. We must think of what is to come. Those who cannot move forward must be left behind.
It is Yrsaia who stands for us now. If Sia is not dead, then she is dying.
We are not some band of hags cackling over toads in a cauldron.
With these words, a great swell rose in the weaving. A number of threads—the dimmest ones, and the oldest—were pushed to the very fringes of the Pattern. They were not gone, but they had been relegated to the edge—from which they might later be easily plucked without damaging the rest of the garment. Weak protests arose but were quickly strangled.
Sorrow filled Lirith. This was a mistake; they should not forget the old ones. However, the Pattern was beginning to take shape, and there was no resisting it. Thread after thread fell into place.
We must seek out Runebreaker.
Yes, he cannot escape us, no matter where he has gone.
We will stop him before he can cause more harm.
He will never destroy the world, for we will destroy him first, and the Warriors as well.
RUNEBREAKER MUST BE SLAIN!
These last words rumbled with the force of thunder. More and more threads flocked to the center. At the very heart of the Pattern shone a brilliant green thread around which nearly all the others were woven. It was Liendra’s strand—Lirith was sure of it. But where was Ivalaine’s?
Few single strands remained. Lirith’s was one of them, and there was Aryn’s bright blue strand, not far from a pearly thread that, after a moment, Lirith sensed to be Ivalaine’s. So there was hope yet; not all felt Liendra’s burning thirst for murder. Then, even as she watched, Ivalaine’s thread shuddered and moved to the center; the queen’s strand was lost in the Pattern.
Despair filled Lirith. There was no point in resisting so many voices. Ivalaine had no choice—not if she wished to remain Matron—nor did the rest of them. Although she hated what it was becoming, the Pattern would be woven, and Lirith could either be part of it or be nothing. She started to spin her thread out toward the center of the Pattern.
Caution, sisters. There is peril even in doing good.
Lirith halted. This voice was low and gentle, yet filled with a quiet strength that somehow cut across the shrillness.
If we go to war, then are we not warriors? If we destroy, then are we not destroyers? If we are to be the healers and the preservers of the world, then let us heal and preserve. Let us seek this Runebreaker, yes, and let us watch him, that we might find a way from preventing his fate from coming to pass. But let us do no harm with our own hands.
Whose voice was this? Lirith didn’t know, but the words filled her with a shard of new belief. She sensed anger and resistance from the center of the Pattern, but the few remaining threads