《Canticle for the Death Weaver》Ninth Stitch
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***
Ninth Stitch
If you happen to fall in the Iron Sea, keep your eyes open, your body breathing, and most importantly, do not scream.
***
I hazard a gaze towards Emilia’s body, still inanimate besides an alcove filled with blue nectar. My Acolyte-executioner retracts its wings, and takes off with one powerful swoop. I extend an arm towards Mother’s corpse, and imagine grasping a fragment of her courage between my claws.
“Glory to the Spindle!” screams Juliet.
A weight accumulates in my left leg. The Forge-dweller’s arms embrace my limb, her fingers burrowing inside the Nectar-blood.
I kick the air. She holds her grip. The door inches closer. The floor withdraws further.
“Let go! Your place is here, among the Risen!” I bark.
“I know the Forge is correct. When we will fall, the Spindle will save us,” she answers.
We pass through the doorstep, and gain altitude. The Cocoon’s egg-like shape, the labyrinth of catwalks, the plating on the Nectar Pool’s exterior — all is revealed.
Gales batter against my armor, while Juliet grimaces in apprehension.
“For the Forge, brave the abyss! For the Spindle, open your eyes! For our people, savour your descent!” she recites. The scripture gives her a frown of pure grit.
A worker hanging on the dome of cobalt surrounding the Pool hears her words. He lowers his tools, and waves his arms.
“One of our own is about to meet the Spindle! Help!” he bellows.
A scissor blade flies through the air. The talons’ grasp recedes. The Iron Sea draws us towards its maw, and we fall.
“A Unified being cannot die! Death is the Calling’s mark! I trust you, Anubis! I trust the Elder Smiths’ teachings! I trust the Spindle!” screams Juliet.
The walkway leading up to the Nectar Pool accelerates into view, far from reach. Lionel, with his group of Cocoon-dwellers, watches our plunge with his arms crossed. His mouth opens to say something, but his words disappear in the wind.
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In one second, we will answer the Hundred-Year-Old Question.
The Cobalt Hive floats above our heads. Juliet gasps.
“No! Impossible!” she shrieks. I follow her gaze.
Between the Iron Sea and the Nectar Pool, there is only air.
There is no Spindle.
“The… Strands? Really?” she stutters.
I remain silent. An unseen force presses against my entire body. The plates on my armor rattle. In one motion, they all turn to face their lower side towards the Iron Sea. The Nectar-blood, exposed, ripples in the airflow.
We slow down, and stop midair. As if we had landed on an invisible trampoline, motion begins again, this time towards the sky.
“A miracle!” rejoices Juliet.
The dark expanse of the Iron Sea recedes, churning in anger at our escape. The Forge-dweller laughs as the catwalk edges closer. Lionel’s face pokes out of the ledge, stricken by surprise.
Our ascent decelerates. We lack the speed to return to the surface. Juliet stifles her giggling, and pants.
“You do not belong here. Join your kin, and tell them what you saw,” I instruct her.
The plates on my body disconnect from the Nectar-blood, and cover her body instead, with the same orientation. She lets go of my limbs, the cobalt heaving her upwards with renewed strength. My exposed body parts ways, and falls again towards the abyss below.
“Farewell, Juliet,” I whisper, unheard.
Two Risen arms reach for the Forge-dweller, and haul her on the platform, out of view.
I plummet into the surface of the Iron Sea, and sink into its black waters.
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