Weaveworld

2

They exchanged the bones of their stories as quickly as they could, leaving the meat for less urgent times.

‘Shadwell doesn’t want to sell the Fugue any longer,’ said Suzanna. ‘He wants to possess it.’

‘And play the Prophet forever?’ said Cal.

‘I doubt that. He’ll drop the pretence once he’s in control.’

‘Then we have to prevent him seizing control,’ said Cal. ‘Unmask him.’

‘Or simply kill him,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘Let’s not linger then,’ he said.

They stood up and looked down at the world that now occupied the length and breadth of the valley beneath them. The unweaving was still not completed; filaments of light crept through the grass, spreading flora and fauna as they went.

Beyond the interface of Kingdom and Weaveworld the promised land gleamed. It was as if the Fugue had brought from sleep its own season, and that season was an everlasting spring.

There was a light in the shimmering trees, and in the fields, and rivers, that didn’t come from the sky overhead, which was sullen, but broke from every bud and droplet. Even the most ancient stone was remade today. Like the poems Cal had rehearsed as he’d driven. Old words, new magic.

‘It’s waiting for us,’ he said.

Together, they went down the hill.