All I could see were that all the threads were out of place. Some had either skipped a stitch or poked out altogether. I walked toward the tapestry in a daze, my hands outstretched.
I could feel the tapestry’s pull, sharp as hunger, dry as thirst. Nothing would sate or slake me. All I wanted was to adjust the threads, tuck them back into place. There was an order, a pattern, like a stitching trick. I could feel it like a word balancing on the tip of my tongue and all I had to do was—
Amar’s hand closed around my wrist. He moved before me, blocking the tapestry.
“Stop!”
I blinked, my head woolly. His hands were around my shoulders, drawing me to a wobbly stand.
“Did I fall?”
“That sounds ungraceful,” he said, a smile playing at his lips. He was trying to joke with me, to ward off whatever happened as though it were nothing. But his hands were tight at my shoulders and there was the slightest tremble in his fingers.
“A graceful tumble, then?” I suggested, stepping out of the circle of his arms.
I didn’t need any help keeping myself upright.
“I should’ve explained the tapestry before showing it to you. It can be overwhelming.”
Amar led me to the throne and I sank into it wearily. There was a new ache tethered inside my bones. In the haze, the pressure of Amar’s hand against my arm was warm, comforting even. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the warm pulse in his fingers.
When I finally felt strong enough to speak, I opened my eyes to find Amar’s face mere inches from mine. I could count the immaculate stitching of his emerald hood, the stubble along his chin and the veins raised along his hand. His eyes, as always, lay hidden. But he was so close that if I wanted, and I did, I might be able to peek—
Amar jerked backward, his jaw tightening. “The tapestry is how we keep the borders between the Otherworld and human realms safe.”
He walked to the tapestry and ran his hands over the flickering threads. “Each of these threads is a person.”
“The threads represent people?” I repeated, sure I had misheard him. “And the entire tapestry…?”
“It’s what keeps everything in order.”
“Everything?” My brows drew together. “As in—”
“As in the movements of fate.”
“Fate is in the purview of the stars,” I quipped, not without some bitterness. I had been fed that line my whole life. It was hard to forget my blind jailers in the sky, shackling me to a fate I didn’t even believe. Not that it changed anyone else’s mind.
“Fate and order are entirely different. And one cannot rely on stars for order. Some of the threads represent the people who have fallen accidentally into the Otherworld,” said Amar, pointing at a darkened section near the corner. “Our task is deciding which people should be allowed in, and which ones shouldn’t.”
“Why not just keep everyone out?”
“Some people are bound to fall into the Otherworld. Their fate is fixed. All we can do is move between its fixed rules and change what we can to maintain a balance. Let me show you,” he said. I rose to my feet, masking a sigh of relief that my legs wouldn’t give out from under me.
“Touch the thread.”
10
THE BOY WITH TWO THREADS
The thick silver thread resonated warmly against my fingers. I felt a tug inside my body. The next time I opened my eyes, a forest filled with tall pines vaulted above us, their shadows crisscrossing the earth in black nets. Sweet, smoky resin filled my lungs. In the distance, the fading sun silhouetted the leaves a bloody red. My heart sank. The sight of trees usually filled me with happiness. But these trees were different. Their tragedy was tangible.
“Where are we?”
I was still trying to find my bearings in the strange woods. Amar stood by my side, his hands clasped behind his back. He raised a finger to his lips, nodding toward the outlines of two people in the forest—a mother and son. The mother’s hair fell about her shoulders and sweat gleamed on her brow. She looked feverish. Beside her, the boy jumped along the leaves and kicked over rocks.
“Is the silver thread hers? Can they see us?”
“Yes, the silver thread belongs to the mother. And no, they can’t. This is simply the projection of the thread. Nothing we do here affects them.”
He picked up a rock and hurtled it against the tree. But no sooner had he thrown it into the air than it reappeared by his feet.
“This moment in time is fixed.”
“Fixed? So it’s already happened?”
“In a way, everything has already happened and every option has already run its course. But those multiple fates are contained in the tapestry. Our challenge is selecting the best fate to maintain a balance of peace and letting the other outcomes fall away. Time runs differently in Akaran.”
“But if we can’t change anything about this moment, then why are we here?”
Amar held a finger to his lips and pointed at the woman.
She was leaning against a pair of twisted trees. With their outstretched limbs and arched trunks, the trees reminded me of someone in the act of falling. I looked at the other trees and a shiver ran down my spine. Each of the trees looked … human. And they were all in various shapes of collapse—mossy knolls for braced knees, spindly twigs for overextended arms, the language of a fall.
“What do you see?”
I tore away my gaze. “The tree reminded me of something.”
“A person?”
“But that’s—”
“—exactly what they are,” finished Amar. “This is a twilight grove, a place where the lines between the Otherworld and human realm are blurred.”
“What happened to all those people?” I asked, looking at the trees in new horror.
“They got stuck in the Otherworld.”
“Did they ever leave?”
“In a way. But by the time they were freed, they were no longer the same people and they could never return to the life they left behind.”
I watched the little boy pluck a handful of flowers for his mother.
“Then why are we here? Clearly, the mother shouldn’t leave her child behind.” My jaw clenched, my thoughts flitting to the mother I never knew, but had always wanted. Instinctively, my hand flew to my throat, fingers searching for the sapphire necklace. I kept forgetting it was gone. “Why does this need any more discussion?” I bit out.
“I’ll show you.”
Amar held out his hand. I looked once more at the little boy before slipping my hand in his. The moment we touched, the forest sank away, replaced once more with the throne room. This time I was prepared for the dizziness and I ground my heels into the floor to keep from swaying. Amar pulled at a dark green thread next to the silver one.
“This belongs to the boy.”
I looked at the thread; it was split at the end, diverging into two frays that entwined with different spectrums of color.
“Two outcomes?”
“Two fates. Let me show you the first one.”
Amar took my hand in his. I blinked once, and we were back inside the forest. But this time, the boy was alone. My heart ached just looking at him. He stood barefoot in the woods, his hands at his sides and his eyes glistening. Tears had left wet tracks along his cheeks and he wiped his eyes.
“Amma?” cried the boy.
“No,” I said, steeling my voice. “I don’t like this outcome at all.”
Amar’s hand steadied me. “Don’t be impulsive.”
Scolded, I forced myself to stare at the impassive outline of Amar’s hooded face, my cheeks flushing. It was the closest I could get to staring him in the eye, trying to show him that I wasn’t faint of heart. That I could, even if it hurt, witness this.
“The boy has two paths before him. Both are great in their own way. And both depend on when his mother enters the Otherworld.” Amar pointed to a white flag waving near the horizon. “Do you recognize that sigil?”
I scrutinized the flag—a red crocodile against a white background. It was the symbol of the Ujijain Empire.
“Yes.”