I stayed true to my word. I didn’t do a thing to help with this next tapestry. I kept my distance, sadly meandering the infinite hallways of everything we created together. I couldn’t help my curiosity, though. I did have to take a peek at what Weft was doing, just to watch them fail. Just so they would know that they couldn’t do it alone, that I wasn’t useless, or just a means to speed up their creation.

Weft created a sturdy loom, strong strings. I couldn’t make out their template from this angle, though, and I didn’t want them to know I was looking. The silence in this eternity stung more than anything I’d ever created. They didn’t reply to me. They didn’t ask for me. They didn’t call me for help in dyeing the threads, in spooling them. In determining anything at all for this mystery cartoon they made and now began to weave.

Well, the world was not yet alive. The one thing that we were both required to do for a world to be born was to each have a hand in it. But if that’s all I was, how much of a Creator if Worlds was I?

While Weft focused on spooling a color across the way, I approached the tapestry, silent as could be, and reached out my hand to touch it.

The world I saw before me knitted together, crosshatched, untampered but slowly coming to. Colors wove together before me and began to form an image. Although the world was foreign to me initially, I understood it all as it came together. Leather and sweat, swords and wars. Deep forests, long deserts, people searching for hope and love and purpose. I could feel the longing of every being, of every insect in the grass to every noble in their ivory towers. My Weft had created a world without me, full of feeling and, seemingly, without incident.

As I focused on the threads before me, I attempted not to let my sourness taint whatever story was being told. Whatever my Weft created, without me, was still a world. I didn’t want to affect it with my bitterness.

Buildings bespeckled a field of green. A city, made of stone and wood, populated with plain-looking people. All of it seemed insignificant compared to a collection of threads in a stout tavern.

A woman, strong and in simple traveling clothes, sitting at a scrappy, wooden table with two others. The room was dark, lit only by candles, but loud and full of a rhythm from instruments I couldn’t yet identify. This woman was obviously the subject of the tapestry. Her colors filled in first: her dark hair in micro-braids braided into an even larger one behind her neck. Her hazel eyes, light with laughter. As she clanked her tankard with her two companions, the foamy head from the grog spilled onto the table. The large gentleman let out a whoop louder than any singer or joker in the tavern.

A skinny, young boy in an apron gestured to the table at which the loud trio sat, and in approached a tall man in a hefty, black cloak with a letter.

“Excuse me,” he called to the table. The woman and her two friends looked to him, eyebrows cocked, sizing him up and obviously unimpressed with everything they saw. “I am looking for a Lady Kimba. Might that be you?”

While the woman was about to speak, her friend clapped her on the shoulder.

“Good man, if you’re looking for a Lady, you’ll never find one in this lass!” She was just as quick as his quip, however.

“Any more than you’ll find a good man anywhere in this tavern!” And while the traveler stood and waited, the trio continued laughing and poking jokes at one another. It took maybe a full minute before the traveler got a word in again.

“Please, just a moment of your time—”

“Alright, alright,” the woman said with tears brimming in her eyes. She wiped at her rosy cheeks and straightened up from her bout of laughter. “What is it?” The traveler hesitated, obviously waiting for some sort of courteous title to append her words, but found himself wanting.

“I—I am looking for the mercenary known as Kimba. I have a message. A request for her services.” And while she looked quite intrigued, her friends continued to laugh. “And I request, L…uh, good…woman…that you let me know your answer by the time I leave in the morning so that I might send a message ahead of you. I will be staying on the third floor of this…fine…establishment.” And, after a quick nod of goodbye, the traveler left Kimba with a sealed letter and left her to her friends.

She opened the letter quickly, carelessly, and scanned it just as promptly. While she tried to hide her surprise, she did, for a moment, let her eyebrows jut upward for just a moment.

“Uh, Messenger,” she called as she turned around, looking for him. He stood just at the bar, attempting to flag an ale.

“Yes?” he answered through the crowd.

“No need to await. I accept this….” But the words she looked for died on her tongue, and she just waved the paper. The messenger nodded, showing he understood.

“Well, might we travel together, then? Time is of the essence.”

“Dawn it is,” she agreed. Kimba then twisted back to her two friends and lifted her cup to them. “Boys, you owe me a couple more rounds. If my gut serves me right, this is probably the last I’ll ever see of you.”

She tucked the letter away in her shirt, but not without giving it another once-over. I took the opportunity to read it for myself.

To the Mercenary Known as Kimba,

Your protection is requested by the King and Queen of Cudwi. Due to this timely, sensitive, and confidential request, simply traveling to hear the terms will award you ten gold pieces.

We look forward to your reply,

Emiko

Castle Cudwi Steward