Soul Strings

It is the 14,000th epoch since the breaking apart of the lands. My name is Ava. I was born in Calton to a family of coal miners, but I have been sent away to study because of my gift. 

There is a string, no thicker than a line of chalk, connecting each person’s heart to somewhere high above. One holiday, when the sky was free of sooty clouds, I could have sworn they pointed in the direction of the Imminent One’s tower. (The strings were so vertical that the tower must be high indeed!) 

When I was younger, I thought everyone could see them. I discovered I was wrong when my grandmother died. My father and I were in the room when she let out her last breath, and I saw the room flash with light. A glowing orb left her chest and traveled up her string, rolling it up like she would the yarn in her knitting basket. I gaped at it until it passed through the ceiling, and then saw the concern on my father’s face. That’s how I discovered I was some type of wizard. We saved up our extra coin until I was old enough to make the journey to Terramea. 

Now I have arrived in this land of knowledge. I was given this notebook, told to write down my journey, and shown a place to sleep for tonight. 

— — — — — 

Terramea is larger than I thought. Most of the land is uninhabited, but the libraries are large. The building I came to yesterday was the directory. The lady there (I have forgotten her name) said that perhaps what I saw was a reflection of the sun, so she directed me to Solis. It is a whole library dedicated to the studies of light. I could see it from the directory, as it was up on a hill, but I had to walk all day to reach it. 

I arrived at Solis just after the sun disappeared, hunted down some food and an empty bed, and here I am. I wonder if the directory lady was right to send me here. I feel like those strings must be something more than chance reflections. 

— — — — — 

Today was fascinating! I explored nearly all the halls of Solis. The layout was rather confusing; it used to be a much smaller building, but rooms were continually added as more people studied and added their writings to the collection. Some bigger rooms have shelves of books organized by topic—sunlight, moonlight, starlight, candlelight, firelight—but others are small rooms with the writings of just a few people. 

Occasionally, an ambitious builder decided it was time to add a study room. They are small, with a table and usually just one chair. These rooms have ceilings completely paned with green obsidian. Often I found someone in these places wrapped in a cloak, bending over a book in the jaded light. I asked them for reading suggestions and wrote down what they said in my notebook. 

I pored over the shelves of books and scrolls, selecting the suggested ones and making notes of where I found them so I could return them again. By the time the green light began to fade, I had six books and five scrolls, and my arms were tired. 

The bed I had dumped my stuff beside last night was exactly how I’d left it. I placed the books on the floor beside it and scrambled underneath my blanket. Now my eyes hurt from writing in the dark. 

— — — — —

There are study areas outside too! This morning, I brought my bundle to an unclaimed table surrounded on three sides by pine trees and backed by the stone wall. It was a quiet spot, and the sun was warm after the chill of the library. I did a lot of reading today, and I shall do even more tomorrow. 

— — — — —

Did you know that color is light? I can’t wait to explain that to my sister at home. The books were full of things like that. The scrolls, on the other hand, were all the work of one man who had travelled the world to map the angle of the sun’s rays. Nothing mentioned strange string-like reflections or glowing orbs. I don’t think I’m going to find what I need here. I returned everything before bed. 

— — — — —

I tried a new tactic today. Instead of asking about reflections like the directory lady told me to, I started asking about visible strings to the soul. No one had answers for me until late afternoon. I bumped into a little old lady standing in a doorway. I apologized, but she stood there and took four more slow breaths before opening her eyes. This gave me time to notice that her string, instead of a thin grey line, was shimmering. The only other soul string that I’d seen shimmer was my grandmother’s. 

“You must be the new one,” she said, startling me out of my reverie. 

I laughed. “How could you tell?” I spread my arms to show off the quilt I had knotted around me to ward off the chill. “Did my fancy cloak give it away?”

She smiled, but there was something more stern in her eyes. “I came across several rooms missing books yesterday. Everyone else knows to return them.”

That deflated me. “Oh. I’m sorry. I’ve put them all back now.”

“Good. Now you can come help me clean them.”

She spoke so matter-of-factly that I obeyed. We went to the supply closet and then revisited every room I had taken books from. I dusted the stone walls, the ceilings, the shelves—and she watched me closely to make sure I did not miss a single corner. After every room, she put her hand on the doorframe and closed her eyes, muttering something. I thought this was strange but it would be rude to ask. 

After the fourth room, she gave a grunt halfway through her little ritual. She turned to frown at me. “Ava, you said you returned all the books? And the scrolls?”

“Yes, I did.”

“In their proper places? Did you rip out any pages? Leave bookmarks? Color in the margins?”

“No, of course not!”

She scanned the room, then pointed to a corner. I had spilled some water and put a rag on the puddle to soak it up. “Pick that up.”

I did as she asked and waited until she did her eye-closed-muttering thing. Then I couldn’t wait anymore. “What are you doing?”

“Resetting the room.” 

I was dreadfully confused, so she explained that she was Lautus, caretaker of Solis. She had the gift of removing the effect of time. She could keep the books young, so that the pages didn’t turn brittle and the ink would not fade. By turning back the time in the whole room, she could remove all the day’s dust as well. Changes in the books, such as coloured margins, were difficult to reverse and would tax her strength. Missing books could hurt her. That was why she had asked me to clean. These rooms were three days behind.

I apologized profusely and asked if there was anything else I could do to help. Lautus said I could join her for a rest, so we stopped at the next empty study room and sat down. She asked me what was studying. I told her about the soul strings.

“You said they point toward the Imminent One’s tower? Higher than the sun?” 

I concurred.

“Well, have you tried researching that?”

I hadn’t. She said I’d have to travel to Annalis, the library of history and geography. So I’m here for tonight yet, then I’m heading out!

— — — — — 

The morning was chilly. I’m glad my “cloak” is warm. It’s heavy to carry along with my food pack, but the morning and now this evening make me grateful for it. It’s going to be a long, cold night. 

— — — — — 

It’s been seven days since my last entry. I was too stiff to write. That’s getting a little better.

The directory lady said I was supposed to write down my journey. 

There are a lot of trees. Mostly pine trees, I think. The ones with needles. The ground is rocky and covered with reddish-brown fallen needles. The trail I’m following is an old cart track, so at least I can’t get lost. 

I’m tired.

— — — — — 

Nine days of walking. I made it to Annalis. I get to sleep in a bed tonight!

— — — — — 

No one I met today knows anything about soul strings. This library is way bigger than Solis, though, so I’ve got a lot more to explore and hopefully more people to meet. 

— — — — — 

I looked for information on gifts today. Gifts of reversing time, like Lautus’s, are given to successors. Every library has at least one caretaker with that gift. Some gifts come upon a person during times of duress, and others are manifest from birth. There are a lot of different kinds, too. Some people can help plants grow, or cast protection domes around themselves, or heal others, or make themselves invisible. It seems no one else can see strings tying souls to the tower.

— — — — — 

A man I met today directed me to a section about the Imminent One and his tower. 

He told me that the tower used to be on a level with the land; well, actually, all the lands used to be one. Then something happened that displeased the Imminent One—it’s a long story—and he retreated to his tower. It rose up out of the ground and broke the lands around it into what we know today. 

Interesting thing about this man: his string was shimmering too! I was thinking that maybe that only happened to old people, but he was probably younger than my father. Maybe it happens to people who are going to die soon… I don’t know. I didn’t mention it to him. 

— — — — — 

I found the most amazing story today in some old scrolls! I have to transcribe it:

The world of the Imminent One was falling into ruin. Roads were overgrown, trees were rotting, fruit was withering, and houses were falling apart. The Imminent One sent his son to the people to teach them. Crowds came to listen. He said that for every word a man shouted, a vine grew across a road. For every bitter word a woman whispered, a tree developed rot. For every lie a child told, a fruit would shrivel and wither away. He told them many things, and the people strove to follow his ways, for they saw that it was good; but they could not keep up with their crumbling land. 

Ancient spell books said that the blood of a king could cleanse a land. It had been tried before: a king had held his cut hand over a river, a king had slain another king during a sea battle, a group of brigands had slit a king’s throat over a waterfall. All the lands touched by the waters were helped, but never permanently. 

The Imminent One’s son claimed that he was a king above kings, and that he would cleanse the land once for all. A band visiting from Letochi heard his words and were enraged, for they did not believe he was who he claimed to be. They kidnapped him under cover of darkness and tied him to a supply dragon. Then they flew around the world, stopping at the High Springs of every country, and shed his blood at each point. Nothing changed, and they were pleased, thinking they had proved their point. Finally they flew right up to the Imminent One’s tower and dumped his body into the churning water around it. 

Then the land revived. Roads still overgrew, but at a pace the people could keep up with. Trees still rotted, but only as fast as new ones grew. Some fruit still withered, but most grew juicy and ripe. Houses only fell apart during storms or after many years had passed. 

But according to legend, when every drop of his blood has gathered back to centre of the world, the Imminent One’s tower will lower to receive it. He will restore all the souls he is safekeeping. Roads will stay clear, trees will thrive, fruit will always grow ripe, and houses will never fall down. 

Here’s the strange thing: after I read it, my own string started shimmering. Does that mean I’m going to die soon? 

— — — — — 

I don’t think I slept at all last night. My string shimmered even brighter in the dark. When I closed my eyes, the story about the Imminent One’s son played behind my eyelids. It was like I could see it: the hard-faced Letochians in leather armour, sneaking through the common room of the inn. The silent way they opened his door and crept in. The brief struggle as they stuffed a gag in his mouth and bound his hands. The retreat to the dragon stables. Then the flight, days of it, through cold and heat, stopping at every High Spring to cut part of him open with their black obsidian knives. The way the red blood would have swirled in the rushing water. The pallor of his face before they reached the last spring. The way his slumping body finally lost its last strength. 

My imagination was working so handsomely that I could almost hear the dull plunk of his body hitting the water, the whoosh of the falls around the tower swallowing it, the wings of the dragons as the Letochians flew away. 

But that promise—the promise of a future, a perfect future, when the Imminent One is amongst us again—that was the crowning jewel of the story. I know the Imminent One created our world. I know that it is at his bidding that the sun circles his tower, that riches spread beneath the earth, that us inhabitants live and die. It would be amazing to have him live here with us!

I’m going to see if I can find the man from yesterday.

Turns out his name is Makoto, and he knows a lot about the Imminent One! Some of the stuff I know already; the things I mentioned before, my grandma taught me. But there are many more things written about him. I asked Makoto what was going to happen to the sun when the tower descends. Surely it couldn’t come all the way down; the sun travels around it in a groove in the rock. The waters would extinguish the light. 

He said: “Yes, but that won’t matter, because he himself is light.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It will.”

I still don’t know what to think of that. Then later I came across a passage that said that, when the tower descends, all the lands would become one again. I was still sitting with Makoto, so I asked him about Lymiah. That country is just a few islands and a lot of water. He said that it will be a lake instead of open, and that the rivers everywhere will be connected with it, so the Lymiahns can travel anywhere. There will be no more borders, and peoples can mix freely. 

Finally, I worked up the courage to tell him about my gift, and the way our strings shimmered when so many others’ did not. He asked why I thought that was, and I told him my death theory. 

He tilted his head to the side. “That doesn’t sound so bad. It would be wonderful to meet the Imminent One early.” 

When he said it like that, it lost its sting. But what about my family, and my friends back home? I couldn’t help mentioning them.

“Well, they’ll come eventually, won’t they?”

“But I’ve never seen anyone die besides my grandmother. Her soul shimmered the same way her string did. Do ordinary souls and strings work the same way?”

The look on his face told me that he was thinking the same thing I was. 

“But what is it that began the shimmering?” 

“When did it begin for you?”

“When I read the story.”

“The first time?”

I had to think about that. “No. I was going over it the second time, and just thinking that it was crazy but it made perfect sense.”

“And you believed it.” 

“So my family, and my friends. They need to believe it too! But how will they believe it unless they hear the story?”

He smiled at me. “And how will they hear it without a storyteller?”

This solidified a suspicion I had. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? A storyteller?”

“Yes. I’m studying so I can go back home and teach them more.”

“That’s what I’m going to do! Not the studying more part, but the telling. Thank you. Thanks for telling me. It was nice to meet you.” I hastily put away the scroll I had and ran out of the room.

I’m writing this down now while it’s too dark to walk but just light enough to see the page of my notebook. I’m two days away from the directory, and from there I’ll catch a boat. Maybe I’ll be lucky and catch a dragon, that’d be faster. And cheaper. 

— — — — — 

I’m on the boat now. It doesn’t seem to go fast enough. I walked as fast as I could to get here, and now I can do nothing. I’m trying to rest. 

I started to wonder would happen if someone died before they heard the story. What happens to them then? I can’t remember anything I read that addresses that. 

But this I do know: the Imminent One is good, and he is in control. I am doing what I can. Other than that, I can rest.