***

Fourth Stitch

Where silk and cobalt meet, enter our shrine to commemorate your victory against the Calling. Welcome inside all who have chosen to abandon its influence, with no exceptions.

***

She clears her throat, and stands back up, her composure returned.

“Surrounded by branches of Silkroot, or by the walls of the Cocoon, I am a teacher. I transmit the message of the Strands, so that all may be awed by their beauty and endurance.”

She stops for a moment, sobs, and struggles to catch her breath, still shaken by my demonstration of ferocity.

“However, while I stand within the Pool, I suspend my contempt for the Spindle, and ask that all of you do the same. Be respectful, for we were all once victims of the Calling. What is your name, young Forge-dweller?”

The question startles the mechanic. She steps forward, intimidated by Emilia’s imperial allure.

“Juliet.”

“Listen carefully, for I propose to you an offer. You have seen firsthand the ravages of the Calling, and were saved by the grace of the Strands. To my eyes, you are as blessed as the rest of us, and may join our sacred ritual, if you are willing. What shall it be? Will you become Unified through immersion within the Pool with us?”

The Forge-dweller clasps her hands together and gasps. She hesitates for a moment, and tension mounts among the Acolytes. A turtle enters her shell, and a rooster covers his eyes. A swarm of bees approaches Juliet, and orbits around her body, attempting to predict her answer. Their frowning Risen Father calls them back in their hive with a flick of his hand. I recover enough strength to stand up, and raise my ears to listen to her response.

“I’m honored, but I cannot accept. I want to be Unified alongside my parents, the Elder Smiths, and my friend Rose. I won’t leave them behind, no matter the respect I have for your people. I choose to be immersed tonight, alongside my fellow Scholars of the Spindle. I’m sorry.”

A chorus of hisses and growls answers her refusal. A Risen male steps forth from the crowd, and voices the Cocoon-dwellers’ disapproval.

“What is this? The faithless Forge-dwellers will be Unified too, this night? Did you know about this, Emilia?”

Mother steps back, startled by this unexpected turn of events. For the first time today, I witness her confidence dissolve into unease. She considers her next words, and finally opts for honesty.

“Fifty years ago, the Cocoon and the Forge joined forces to build this Nectar Pool. The Cobalt Hive, still standing aloft after its hundredth anniversary, is as much their home as it is ours. All enemies of the Calling are our friends, and deserve the Unification as much as you! Have you forgotten the messages of tolerance inscribed within the Stitches?”

Her plea is answered with a cacophony of jarring sounds. A squirrel squawks with fury, and a seagull screeches in outrage. The Risen male raises his hand, silences the Acolytes, and confronts Emilia.

“The Stitches are your own writing. I once thought they accurately heralded the teachings of the Strands, but I now realize their words are nothing but revisionist ramble. There are two possibilities here: you are either a Forge-dwelling spy, or your mind has been taken by the Calling. In both cases, I think it is safe to say that you are no longer fit to pass on the One True Silken Faith. I am sure the corpses in the Iron Sea will be overjoyed to meet you.”

I snarl at the usurper while showing my teeth. The Risen smiles at my intimidation attempt, and lowers his gaze to meet mine.

“Jackal. It is your turn to make a choice. Will you die with your two-faced mistress, or pledge loyalty to the Four Strands? I, Lionel, will take good care of you, if you decide wisely.”

The threat of tasting toxic black water immediately silences my growl. Lost between fear of death and guilt of betrayal, I exchange quick looks with Emilia and the speaker. None of them blink.