The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [46]
They were not many; they formed barely a scrap of cloth compared to the great tapestry that was the Pattern. But now that they were bound as one, their threads could not be denied. The resistance from the center ceased, and the new strand was woven into the Pattern. Around her, a single voice spoke in grand, resonating unison, and only as it sounded did Lirith realize her own voice was part of it.
By our hands Runebreaker will not die. But we will seek him, and we will capture and hold him. We will not let him harm himself or the world.
There was a chime, like the ringing of a bell. Lirith’s eyes flew open. Once again she stood in the garden, two hundred witches around her. All wore looks of awe that Lirith knew mirrored her own.
On the rostrum, Ivalaine set down the silver bell. For a moment the queen seemed to sway on her feet. What had it cost her when she joined the Pattern and Liendra’s strand? However, before Lirith could wonder more, Ivalaine’s face grew hard, as if hewn of marble. She drew herself up and spoke in a crystalline voice.
“The Pattern is complete.”
Immediately, witches began to leave the gardens, their green robes merging with the shadows between the trees, leaving only moonbeams in their wake. Many of the witches would depart Ar-tolor that night, and nearly all would be gone by tomorrow’s sunset, journeying back to their homelands. How long would it be until they all wove together again? Yet that was the purpose of the Pattern—to bind them all together even when they were apart.
“Lirith! There you are!”
She looked up and saw a flash of white moving through the remains of the gathering. Lirith rushed forward, and they met in the center.
“Aryn.”
She embraced the young woman, holding her tightly. Aryn returned the gesture with no less fierceness for her one arm. At last they pulled back.
“You were beautiful tonight,” Lirith said. “No, radiant. I was glad to see it, although I must say you were not so confident when last I saw you. What happened?”
Aryn shrugged, smiling. “I decided to be myself. Just like you told me to do.”
Lirith squeezed the baroness’s left hand. She started to say more, then halted as a tall form with fiery gold hair passed nearby. Lirith felt the warmth drain from her, and Aryn stiffened. Liendra walked at a stately pace from the garden, surrounded by a tight knot of witches. She kept her gaze fixed forward, as if unaware of the attention she was receiving, although her smug smile betrayed the illusion.
Suddenly, as if she sensed eyes upon her, Liendra turned her head. Green eyes sparkled in Lirith’s and Aryn’s direction, and the smile on her lips deepened. Then Liendra walked from the garden.
Aryn drew in a hissing breath as if to speak. However, her words sounded not in Lirith’s ears, but in her mind.
She’s absolutely awful. Look at how smug she is. You’d think she was queen of this place.
The delivery of these words startled Lirith more than their content. When and how had Aryn mastered the art of speaking along the Weirding? Lirith had yet to work with her at the skill.
Lirith spun a quick thread, answering the young woman.
She is not queen. But remember—it was Liendra’s thread at the very center of the Pattern. I don’t know who she is or where she came from, but the Witches seem more than ready to follow her lead.
Not all the Witches, a warm voice said.
The voice was not Aryn’s, but by the baroness’s wide blue eyes she had heard it as clearly as Lirith.
Do not forget, the voice continued, there were some threads who did not align themselves with the heart of the Pattern. Not all witches think the same as Sister Liendra.
For a moment Lirith wondered if it was Ivalaine who was speaking, but there was no sign of the queen. Besides, the voice was different than Ivalaine’s. Softer, smokier, yet powerful in its way. Then the thinning crowd parted, and Lirith saw a witch whose jet hair was marked by a single streak of