#aldwe

Despite having this thought, she grasped at the next branch of the gnarled tree. This tree was supposed to be the domain of a fey, but she didn’t really care about that. She’d never seen a fey, so she didn’t know if they even existed at all, or if they were just another story. Sure, her parents said they were real, but they said a lot of things. Like “don’t eat the honey, we’re saving that for later,” but then she’d caught her dad sticking a goopy finger in the jar anyways.

And anyways, she was just climbing. The tree was so much taller than any of the others that she’d been itching to climb it for ages. Surely the fey wouldn’t mind if she did.

At least, that was her thought process when she reached up for the next branch and it snapped off in her grip.

She plummeted.

Ah, she thought. I’m probably going to die.

I see, she thought. That is unfortunate.

I don’t want to die, she thought.

Why? she thought. Death is not to be feared, it is merely a cessation of life.

There’s a lot of stuff I haven’t done yet, she thought. I haven’t grown up or fallen in love or any of that stuff.

She suddenly realized that she had been falling for quite some time - much longer than she had any right to be, given the circumstances. I see, she thought in a voice that came from her mind but was not hers. And what if I could grant that wish?

You’re a fey, she thought.

Yes, the fey said inside her mind.

My mom says you shouldn’t make deals with fey, she thought.

Your mom also said not to climb that tree, and you did anyways, the fey thought back.

Yeah, but look where that got me, she thought, mentally gesturing to her current circumstances.

Touche, the fey said.

She thought. On the one hand, the fey might be trying to steal her soul. On the other hand, she was definitely going to die if she didn’t take this deal.

So, what do you want in return? she thought, after some time.

The fey was silent, and then spoke. I want to see it. Those things you spoke of.

What, you mean, like, falling in love and all that? she thought, a little surprised.

Yes. Mortals are so curious, in their simple, earnest desires. I want to experience it for myself.

She thought about this. How? Do you want me to, like, find you a date?

She felt the fey chuckle. No, child. I want to become a part of you.

That sounded... bad, probably. Uh, how do you mean?

I will give a fragment of myself to you, and it will become a part of you in the same way that your adventurous nature is a part of you. And at the end of your life, that fragment will return to me.

Hmm. All things considered, it sounded better than dying.

She thought about it for a long time. Finally, she thought towards the fey: Okay. I’ll do it.

Thank you.

At once, there was a pressure inside her head: not a physical pressure, but a mental one, that made her feel like she was going to pop at any second. She clutched her head and shut her eyes, but that only seemed to make the pain worse.

By my authority as the Queen of That Which Inverts into the Same Class, I bestow upon you my fragment: She Who Inverts Inertia.

And, just like that, the pain evaporated into naught.

Do take care of her.

And then, as before, she was falling. But this time she was not afraid, because all she had to do was invert her own inertia and land safely.

She stood up from her landing, and inspected herself. She did not feel any different, but at the same time she supposed that it would not be a change she could easily detect. Hmm.

“The reason we normally weave with yarn we spin ourselves is because weaving is generally better with yarn that you’ve spun yourself, but since this is just a small project this should be fine. Now, let me show you the pattern you’re going to be weaving.”

She pulled out a large book full of weaving patterns and flipped to a certain page, revealing a diamond-shaped pattern. “Today, we’re going to be weaving a pattern of protection. It might not be very useful in everyday life, but it’s the easiest one for us to test.”

Caleo sat down at the loom and began weaving. “Now, Caleo, as you weave, keep the pattern in your mind and imagine the pattern keeping you from harm, diverting any harm that might befall you onto a different path. Imagine that thought permeating the cloth as you weave it...”

Ms. Hyugeo coached Caleo as she weaved, until a few hours later the cloth was finished. “Alright, let’s see how you did. Wrap yourself in that cloth, and I’m going to throw some marbles at you.”

“Wait, why are you-” Caleo hadn’t even gotten the question out before a marble hit her square in the chest. “Ow! What gives?”

But Ms. Hyugeo kept throwing marbles, one after the other. Miss. Hit. Hit. Hit. Miss. Hit. Hit. Miss. Miss. Hit.

Ms. Hyugeo wiped her brow. “Alright, that should do it. You did a pretty good job, for a first time using borrowed yarn.”

“Why were you throwing marbles at me?!”

“To test how well you did. You’re standing only a few feet away from me, so I ordinarily shouldn’t have any problem hitting you with a marble, right? But I missed, four times out of ten.”

“Wait... huh, I guess that makes sense. And that was all me?”

“Mhmm.” Ms. Hyugeo nodded. “Weaving isn’t very glamorous in what it does; it tends to work in ways you wouldn’t even notice. It didn’t divert any of the marbles mid-course, it just made it so they wouldn’t even hit in the first place.”

Caleo studied the cloth wrapped around her. “But it wasn’t very good at making them miss.”

“No, six of the marbles still hit. But with thread you made yourself and some experience under your belt, you could make 99 out of 100 marbles miss.”

“Wow... Do you think I could do that someday?”

Caleo’s mentor chuckled. “Of course. I was like you once - I actually think I did worse on my first pattern. But nowadays, I could do that easily.” She checked the clock. “You have to go home now, right? Keep that cloth; maybe it’ll bring you good luck.”

Caleo waved goodbye and took off down the street. Ms. Hyugeo watched her go, then settled down into her empty kitchen. It was nice to know that there were still good kids like Caleo around nowadays.

Weavers had a bit of a bad reputation. It was said that they brought curses down on those who wronged them; most of the children called her a witch. Most of the adults thought that too, but at least they didn’t say it to her face.

That was the reason weaving was starting to become a dying art. She wouldn’t be surprised if in fifty years there were only a handful of weavers left, if there were any at all. It was sad to think that this gift, which had been given to her by her mother and her mother’s mother and all those who came before her, would soon be wiped off the face of Aldwe.