Two days earlier Joeli had been the only quantal in the class and the sole recipient of Sister Pans attentions. Joeli scowled and wrapped the illegal shawl tighter around the faked bruising on her neck. She didnt look well pleased at having to share.
Clarity today, girls. Sister Pan rubbed her hand over her stump and huddled deeper into her furs. Ive put the etching of the Holothian labyrinth against the wall. She nodded for Darla to uncover it. There is a second path from door to tomb. First find your clarity, then find that route. Eyes only. She glanced at Darla as she sat down: the gerant had been known to leave her chair and try tracing paths with her finger. Zole, Nona, and Joeli will accompany me.
The three novices fell in behind Mistress Path. At least the practice rooms were warmer, lacking windows. And if they were lucky Sister Pan would let them use any Path-energy they managed to channel to heat the room first before trying anything more complex.
Nona allowed her vision to defocus and summoned the Paths image out of the blurred confusion. She let the flickers of light from Pans lantern fuse into a single burning line and followed it, her feet somehow losing contact with the reality of stone steps.
Follow close. Sister Pans voice, disembodied in a space both vast beyond measure and small beyond imagining. A different room today.
Nona stumbled out of the void into a narrow curving chamber very similar to the one in which she had practised her Path-work for the years since her gift showed. It stood between the spiral of the central stair and the circle of the towers outer wall, occupying another third of the space. The only difference lay in the nature of the sigils inlaid in silver upon the ceiling, floor, and every wall. These ones were smaller, more complex, less tightly bound. In places loops and trails from one overwrote the next, and no two looked the same.
The thread-room. She hadnt meant to speak. Hessa had told her about the chamber.
Its time you and Zole got to grips with thread-work, Sister Pan said. Walking the Path arms a Mystic Sister with forces that are very hard to use for anything but destruction. Here we focus on the more subtle Path-arts, but although they are gentle one must never underestimate them. I believe our own dear abbess has some hint of quantal blood and a rare unconscious talent for the most ephemeral thread-work. Done right a gentle pull here, a touch there, a breath just sufficient to set a thread vibrating and kings may be toppled, wars turned, the weak raised up. She gave the lantern to Joeli who moved to light three others. Thread-work is a delicate art, which is why you two have never been any good at it. It rewards patience, observation, and empathy. There is no violence to it, though that does not preclude its use for malice. Hate can be a cold thing. She pushed Nona aside and stood between her and Zole. Nona heard the creak of Pans bones as she moved. When the nun stood hunched at her side Nona realized with sudden surprise that she was taller than the old woman, and more solid. A single blow would shatter Sister Pan. A sense of unease came over Nona. It felt wrong somehow that so much knowledge and experience could be so fragile.
I will show you. Sister Pan raised her hand and stared into the space beyond it.
Nona waited, watching. When Nona had arrived at the convent Sister Pan had loomed over her as all the other nuns did. There were still more secrets locked in her head than Nona could ever learn, the keys to powers untold and yet she looked so small, so frail, waiting to cross the Path, so close that the devils must be licking their lips.
She is old, but I would not dare her.
Nona looked again. Keot was never one to miss a chance to boast. It gave her comfort to know he feared Mistress Path.
Watch! The air before Sister Pan filled with the bright complexity of the Path, a moving, living thing, twisting through more dimensions than the eye could fathom. When wool is spun on the wheel a single length of yarn is wound around the spindle. But all around that strand of yarn there is a halo of loose pieces, fibres of wool not quite twisted in, wandering out from the main body.
As Sister Pan spoke the Path dimmed and in the air all around it threads appeared, like stars when the sun has fled the sky. The threads are not the Path but they are of the Path. And because the Path goes everywhere and runs through all things, so do the threads.
Nona wondered if Sister Pan had chosen to speak of yarn to explain the matter because she knew Nona was a peasant and might not understand a different analogy so well. She was still wondering about it when she became aware that her mouth was open. She closed her jaw with a snap and wiped her lips. The image Sister Pan had made was mesmerizing. With an effort she tore her gaze from it.
Its fascinating, is it not? Sister Pans smile was a narrow white crescent in the darkness of her face. I could watch it forever.
The slow motion of the threads reflected in Zoles and Joelis eyes.
Theres a danger there, Sister Pan said. The Path will throw you, sooner or later, but the threads will hold you. If you lack the will to free yourself they will keep you until your years have run from you and all that remains is to cross the Path into darkness. She waved at the pattern and it faded, releasing the others.
Joeli blinked and focused on Nona. Mistress Path, you said that these two novices have no talent for thread-work because theyre so predisposed to violence. But do you think they might just be violent because they know they lack the talent for deeper work? A small smile played on her lips, as if the humiliation at the convent table had never happened.
Sister Pan waggled her hand. We shall see. Path-work is closer to the brute force approach of the Red Sister, and thread-work more subtle, like the arts of the Grey Sister, all stealth and guile. Mystic Sisters shade either towards the Red or Grey.
I would rather be open. Straightforward. Honest. Nona wrinkled her nose. Manipulating people, using them, feels wrong. It feels like lies. People should be allowed free will
Sister Pan barked a laugh. Were all puppets. Other people pull our strings every moment of every day. The only difference between us and Sayan-Ra dancing in the street show is that we can also pull our own strings and those of others. Threads arent something external to the world that only a privileged few can touch. Every time you speak to someone threads are pulled. Every glance exchanged. Every punch thrown. Every kindness shown. In thread-work we are just more direct about it. More focused. She turned and fixed Nona with her dark eyes. You need to know how to draw a thread or how will you prevent your own from being drawn? She reached forward, plucking at the air with finger and thumb. At first it will help you to visualize the task, see it before you, use your hands. Its nonsense of course. Not needed. But the mind loves the familiar. There! She pinched and pulled. How do you feel, Nona?
Hungry! Nona clapped both hands across her stomach. Starved!
Basic needs, simple emotions, are the easiest to influence. Sister Pan opened her fingers as if releasing what she held. And now?
Full of breakfast. Nona laughed despite herself, then frowned. But you couldnt do that with just words.
I couldnt? Sister Pan tilted her head. If I described a roast chicken in exquisite detail, steaming on a plate of buttered potatoes, its skin golden and crisp, seasoned with salt and pepper your mouth wouldnt begin to water? Your stomach rumble?
Full of breakfast. Nona laughed despite herself, then frowned. But you couldnt do that with just words.
I couldnt? Sister Pan tilted her head. If I described a roast chicken in exquisite detail, steaming on a plate of buttered potatoes, its skin golden and crisp, seasoned with salt and pepper your mouth wouldnt begin to water? Your stomach rumble?
Nonas mouth had already filled with saliva. When it came to food her strings were remarkably easy to pull. Hessa worked with threads when she tried to stop Yisht stealing the shipheart. She shot an angry glance at Joeli then frowned at Zole, who still, years later, felt tainted by that association. And I saw it because we were thread-bound.
Young Hessa was a remarkable talent. Ive not seen another so gifted at such an age in all the years Ive taught. She was a great loss. Sister Pan settled her hand on Nonas shoulder. And perhaps you will have an aptitude for thread-binding, novice. Its a rare skill and difficult to achieve but always greatly aided by strong and honest friendship between both parties. It only ever works between quantals though. You need to share the same blood.
Sister Pan stepped back and addressed them all. Two things you should always remember. Firstly: you can never pull the same thread twice. Every action you take changes the thing you act upon and changes its connections to the world. Secondly: you can never pull just a single thread. Every thread is bound to every other, sometimes through many links, though always fewer than you might imagine. Pull one thread and others are pulled: the effect spreads like a ripple on a pond. You can play at thread-work and think that you are alone, but if you pull on a strand of a web hard enough and often enough a spider will come. It is the same with the threads that bind the universe. Sooner or later you will be noticed. The spiders will, like as not, be humans, older, more powerful quantal thread-workers, marjal sorcerers with particular talents, intuitives such as Abbess Glass. But there are bigger spiders out there too. This world is not ours: it is older than us, the Missing were gone before our ships beached here. When the Corridor was a thousand miles wide and there was no moon in the sky they were gone. Echoes of them live among the threads, vibrations that will not fade. And there are others; their servants and things more ancient still. So tread softly, work sparingly, and hope. She waved her stump at the walls. In here, however, there is no need for hope. The sigils seal us from the world, and the few threads that penetrate even these walls are beyond your reach.
The mornings exercises began with Nona and Zole paired, each seeking to visualize the threads that bound the other to the world.
See the Path first, Sister Pan instructed. Each of you must see it as it runs through the other. You know it from your dreams. You hunt it in the serenity trance. You follow it every moment of your life. And when the Ancestor grants you grace, you walk it.
Nona stared at Zole, at the black hair laid flat against her blunt skull, the stone-dark eyes, the broad cheekbones, the reddish hue of her skin as if the burn of the ice-wind had never left it, and the short, hard line of her mouth. She tried to see through the ice-triber to the Path, past her wide shoulders, past the height and strength of her. Time seemed both to race and to crawl in exercises like this. It always felt as if she had been at it an age, and when she stopped, Nona often discovered that the hours between one bell and the next had been devoured and yet with hindsight her efforts felt like just the work of minutes.
At first the Path showed as a single line, half-imagined, dividing Zoles imperfect symmetry. In the next instant Nona saw it as Sister Pan had shown it, flexing at right angles to the world. A single, bright Path. The only difference being that where Sister Pans had been haloed by the diffuse white infinity of threads straying from the Path, each following its own convolutions before ending or returning to join the whole, Nona saw just the Path and nothing else.
I see her threads, Zole said.
Good work, novice. Try to follow one back to where it left the Path. Sister Pan called from across the room where she was working with Joeli on some more advanced matter. Keep at it, Nona: there is still a little while before its time to return.
Nona felt the familiar sense of surprise a nearly whole class spent and nothing to show for it. She gritted her teeth and stared harder. The Path twisted across her vision, threadless. A bead of sweat rolled down her neck, the muscles of her jaw twitched and bunched. Her vision blurred. Nothing.
Help me! Nona never called on Keot but she needed this.
Helping is not in my nature.
Nona stared at Zole, willing her threads to appear. Abbess Glass had had Sister Pan try thread-work to hunt down Yisht and the shipheart of course, and without success, but Nona had been there, in Hessas head, watched her as the shiphearts power filled her and sharpened her talents into something keen enough to dissect reality. They had been thread-bound. There had been an unbreakable connection. Something of it could have survived. Must have survived. For more than two years Nona had waited to be taught these arts. Years spent waiting for a chance to use them to avenge Hessa. And now nothing. She hadnt the skill!
Well, novice? Sister Pan touched Nonas shoulder. Have you been successful?
Nona tore her stare away from Zole, her eyes hot and dry, too wide open yet unwilling to close. She found herself sweat-soaked and aching in every limb.
She doesnt have any! Behind Sister Pan Joelis laughter tinkled like silver coins.
Sister Pan shook her head. Of course she does. Every living thing, every dead thing, and every thing that has never lived is bound by threads. Stone, bone, tree, and thee. She pushed Nona aside and took her place. Allow me to She paused, frowned, and squinted. Then blinked. That is quite remarkable. More remarkable, to me, than the fact that four bloods run in your veins, Zole.
Zole glowered at the old nun.
She really doesnt have any threads? Nona asked, feeling vindicated.
Of course she has threads! Sister Pan snapped. Were you not listening to me? She frowned again. But only the deepest and most fundamental, those hardest to find. Where there should be a myriad blazing around her, there are just a few, and buried deep in the stuff of the world. I have never seen the like.
As if it had been holding its tongue and waiting for Sister Pan to pause Bray tolled, the sound of the bell reaching them faintly through the stones.
Come. Sister Pan waved for them to follow. I will consider this later. And she began to walk the path that would take a nun through walls.
7
Hurry up! Jula beckoned at them from down the rock passage, a black shape behind her lantern.
Breathe out. Ill pull. Nona grabbed Darlas wrist and heaved as the girl exhaled. Behind Darla the outside world intruded as a line of brightness, glimpsed through the cliff-face.
Darla lurched forward, gasping for air, free of the crevice. Further down the passage Ruli gave a brief round of sarcastic applause. I still have that grease if we need it!