Weaver

Weaver

By Ryan Carrasco

A slim shadow danced over the rooftops of the Greenways. It was morning, and a Singer had just arrived. Cool clouds crawled over the Broadmount, spilling down gracefully toward the riverlands, but Delray preferred listening to looking. He pondered at the vanishing silence that came with nearing a bustling mountain town. Three alpine streams tumbled into a brisk calm, slowing into the mouth of the great Oerland River. The growing din of the waking townsfolk sat atop the softer rush of the river. Neither sound was loud or intrusive, but taking one away would insert a startling emptiness. A void. A silence only noticed because of what it replaced.

A large hand smacked Delray in the back, pushing air out of his lungs and halting his thoughts. “How long has it been, Del? I reckon we haven’t seen the Greenways for nine, ten months? Used to be we’d visit these parts more often,” said Ralie. “Almost a year, I think,” replied Delray. “The borders being in question as they are haven’t been kind to Singers. Roads were easier to navigate when they felt safe, free.” As Ralie nodded his agreement, Delray studied the man. It had been six years since Delray had earned enough of a reputation to warrant a hiring a guard, and enough of the Regent’s Sol to pay for one. What had started as a mutual necessity had grown into admiration. Where Delray was charming, offensive, and academic, Ralie was wise, calming, and sympathetic. The two continued on the Oerland Northroad, unaware of the odd shadow floating above, and headed to the town center; the Eagle’s Nest Tavern.

A bell rang out as the Singer and his companion were spotted by the townsfolk. Most families would send someone out to gather news from the Singer and begin preparations for the Songs later in the evening. Dutifully, Delray and Ralie waited outside the Eagle’s Nest, making small talk and embracing old acquaintances as the morning crowd slowly grew. Ralie watched as Delray began preparations for his first performance. A Singer could not simply deliver news, no. He had to enthrall and entrance. He had to put on the entertainers face, delivering joy, fear, and intrigue. And he had to do so without angering the locals with any creative license he might aim at their favorite authorities. Delray breathed slowly, adjusted his posture, and fixed his face into one of cunning and confidence.

Seeing a few stragglers ambling toward the town center, Delray began.

Fairfolk of the Greenways! You bring peace to my troubled heart!

What a joy it is to be back among mothers and fathers who tend to their children!

Families who care for their own, what joy!

My troubled heart feels peace.

Not since the times of the hellbound Sisters have we been so uncertain!

Not since the times of the Greatowls have we known so little!

Kings clash! Borders bend! Despots die!

And the simple folk suffer most!

The Northern Regent remains strong. May the Regency remain.

Yet, the Southern lords slither north!

Untamed, unashamed, the brittle bastards betray their loyalties, looking to the North for futile war support!

The mapmakers rend their works! Borders change by night and day!

I thrice crossed the same river in three lands in one day!

Take heart, those disputes are yet distant from this place.

Pray your Regent’s mind is firm, the regal hand unfazed.

So, take care, beware, prepare, repair the fields there to reap fair.

May the Oerland feed your crops, and your crops feed your families.

May the mountain maintain you. Retain your might. Remain you.

Delray placed a hand to his heart and bent in a modest bow. The crowd applauded, as they had at all the appropriate times. They hadn’t caught all of his tricks, but they caught the message and they enjoyed the show. Ralie smiled to himself, still amazed at his friend and employer’s ability to craft such wordplay without preparation. He spent the first year and a half only catching rhymes at the end of phrases. But, at Delray’s unwavering insistence, Ralie suffered through the linguistic lessons until he came to appreciate each performance. A swift shadow crossed Ralie’s face. Looking up, Ralie caught glimpse of a strange, stunted eagle far above the mountain ledges. I’m not too familiar with these mountain birds, Ralie thought, but I suppose it’s called the Eagle’s Nest for a reason.

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The tavernkeep thanked Delray for the news and provided the two travelers with the customary half-priced supper. The tavernkeep would refuse payment, of course, and the Singer would leave a Sol under his table for the tavernkeep to find later, of course. A crowd had congregated inside the Eagle’s Nest. It had been three long months since the last Singer had come through the Greenways, Delray learned, and news of the Southern wars heading North created no small disturbance among the people. Gossip, rumors, and wild speculation filled the tavern as Delray and Ralie ate. Ralie could sense the Singer was feeling restless, as he often did after his first performance in a long while. The last town was three days past, and Delray was itching to weave his words again.

A brief motion outside the eastern window caught Ralie’s eye. He could just make out talons gripping a darkened branch near the top of the window’s view before the bird flew off. “Weird eagles you lot have here,” said Ralie as a group of women took seat at the table next to him. “Eagles?” asked a short, red-haired girl, surprised to be caught in conversation. “Yeah. I’m not too familiar with the mountain birds ‘round here. I saw a couple birds today that looked like eagles but with odd heads and legs. Some kind of Greeways eagles maybe?” Ralie asked. “Uhh… maybe.” The girl said, looking up at a stuffed eagle that had held it’s post over the Eagle’s Nest doors since before the tavern had a name. She smoothed her apron and adjusted her chair, looking pointedly at her friends. “Mister Singer, sir?” asked one of the older girls. Delray looked over at her, noting her aged boots and the worn-in creases in her work apron. “Sorry, sir. I’m Mathely. I just wanted to thank you for visiting our little town here. We haven’t had a Singer in ages and we always enjoy the way you perform, in particular. The other Singers can be so… uptight. You perform with a looseness and it’s… well, it seems like you really enjoy your profession. We here often take Singers for granite.”

Ralie caught the abrupt smile on Delray’s face. Oh, please don’t, he thought. But Delray had already stood up on his chair and was waiting for the rest of the gossiping tavern-goers to take notice. “My dear Mathely, you’ve inspired me. Lend me a moment and I’ll sing a lighter sort of song.” The tavern quieted to a whispering buzz. Delray had a reputation to uphold, after all. I just wish he didn’t have to do it like this, Ralie thought. A simple mistake, a common mistake. Don’t make her feel bad.

Delray motioned to the half of the tavern on his right. He bobbed his head in an exaggerated motion, setting the tempo he wanted, and had his audience on that side alternate a foot stomp and a hand clap as he directed. Then he had the other side of the tavern hum along with him in a slow repeating pattern that matched the percussion from the other side of the tavern. Delray shrugged off his travel cloak and strutted with a pronounced wink toward the center of the room. With a smile, he began.

I don’t take my gift for granite,

I just sit back and marble at it.

I can entertain, of quartz.

Tell your gneiss and nephew ‘bout it.

You say I loosen up but I stalactite,

Tuff under the limelight,

I could make a limestone shine bright!

Ralie glared at Delray, who didn’t seem to notice him. When he was performing he did his best to maintain the appearance of eye contact with the crowd, but Ralie knew the Singer was basically blind in that moment. He had a practiced lackadaisical demeanor, but inside he was formulating and concocting his words, weaving them into intricate patterns, and doing his best to insult the audience in ways only he would catch. “Stalactite; still act tight. You blasted idiot.” Ralie chuckled to himself. Mathely was clapping and stomping along with the rest of the tavern, wide-eyed and doing an awkward seated dance as Delray delighted the crowd. At least she doesn’t know she’s the butt of the joke, Ralie thought.

A swirl of motion at the eastern window grabbed Ralie’s attention again. Ralie furrowed his brow and squinted at the sight. An odd bird with large, black eyes and a face shaped like a saucer was at the window. Spotted brown, it’s white face stark against the night sky, it stared intently at Delray, moving its head in odd circular motions to follow the Singer as he danced and sang across the room. Ralie felt sweat beading on his face. This is what he’d been seeing. This was impossible. This was a Greatowl.

They all died before the Southern Collapse. That was hundreds of years ago. I - I thought they were servants of the Sisters. Delray said they were evil. BLASTED EVIL! My dad used to call them Listeners… I - oh, Del. Ralie shut his eyes tight and tried to control his breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Slow down. Slow down. Slow. Down. Ralie opened his eyes and saw that Delray had finished singing but the whole tavern was up and dancing now, with Delray cavorting right through the middle of the crowd. Slowly, warily, Ralie turned his eyes toward the window. The Greatowl was there, but its gaze was fixed on Ralie, now. A sudden voice pierced his mind. "You know this Singer, fairfolk? He calls to us, and we Listen. It is time again to hear the weaver."

With that, the Greatowl stretched its wings and was off. Ralie sat amid the frivolity and fervor, staring out the empty window. Frightened, confused, and wondering what a blasted Weaver was.