Chapter 9
Rose Tyler was absolute shite at arts and crafts. Like any growing child under the care of the public education system, she was exposed to all kinds of crafting activities, but had shown no aptitude for any of them. Her drawings more closely resembled chaotic blobs of color as opposed to pastoral scenes; her sole attempt at pottery had yielded nothing more artsy than an obscenely shaped pencil holder; and her only experience with weaving had resulted in a place mat that her Mum promptly buried in the bottom of the dishrag drawer.
So it was with no little apprehension that she trailed behind Zaizan as he led her to weaving class. The instruction was held outdoors, and Rose could see a small flock of fledglings seated on the grass. They sat in a semi-circle around a tall female Farinzian adorned with rust colored plumage.
Rose nervously hung near the periphery of the circle, uncertain of her welcome. As she stood there shifting from foot-to-foot, a loud voice greeted her.
"Golden Mother," cried Acaxia from her place in the circle waving her wings frantically. "Golden Mother! Come sit by me!" To make sure Rose got the message, Acaxia scooted over ensuring the Golden Mother had ample room.
The effusiveness of the greeting brought a smile to Rose's mouth. She quickly ducked her head at the teacher, walked around the circle, and plopped down next to Acaxia, who chirped happily.
"Call me Rose," she said with a smile. "It's less of a mouthful than Golden Mother."
Beaks are not suited to expressions such as smiles, but Rose had no doubt that Acaxia was smiling. "I will, Rose. I'm so glad you are here. I could tell you were nervous, probably because you don't have wings and all of us do. But don't worry, I'll sit right here next to you and help. Weaving is fun!"
The teacher warbled loudly and Acaxia automatically clapped her beak closed. Rose suspected that the teacher had to reprimand the verbose moppet often.
"Class," the teacher began, "we are the Chosen, charged with the task of teaching the Golden Mother the art of Weaving."
"I am Leiarga," she said before bending over in a grandiose bow. There was a lot of rustling as all the children rose to their feet and clumsily imitated the gesture.
"It is our now and future honor to serve you, Golden Mother," recited the teacher. Smaller voices followed the recitation, and Rose realized it was the same phrasing Zaizan had used when they had first met. Obviously it held some ritual significance, but Rose was at a loss on how to respond.
When no one moved, Rose climbed to her feet and bent at the waist. "Thank you," she replied.
Her response seemed to be enough, and after a few moments of shifting, fluttery movement, the class resumed its seat upon the soft red grass. The instructor made her way around the semi-circle, depositing needed materials in front of each student.
Rose stared at the items. There was a large pile of brilliantly hued yarn and an exact replica of the weaving chamber she had seen, only in miniature. The domed roof had been sliced off, she noted, and the hooks lining the inside of the small room were larger than the ones than in the original, no doubt an accommodation to smaller, less coordinated hands.
The last piece she was given was a small silver ball. Rose rolled it around in her hand; the surface was smooth and cool, but it felt more like water than metal and seemed to ebb and flow across her palm.
Leiarga resumed her place at the front. "Now, what is the first step of Weaving?"
Acaxia waved her wing in the air. "I know! I know!" When the teacher nodded at her, Acaxia answered in a pleased tone, "Pay respect to the Polestar."
"Very good, Acaxia. And how do we do that?"
"We sing the Song of Creation."
"Correct. Is everyone ready to sing?"
There were nods and excited chirps from the students, but Rose felt her stomach clench. "I don't know the song," she whispered to Acaxia.
The depth in Acaxia's eyes reminded Rose of Zaizan. "Yes you do, Rose. You just don't remember. But that's OK. We'll help you remember. It's our duty."
Rose would have protested, but Acaxia started singing, her voice rising to join that of her classmates. The notes were scratchy and hesitant, a song sung by amateurs instead of the professionals she heard in the Weaving Chamber, but the melody came through strongly. Rose looked wildly at the teacher and her fellow students hoping someone would provide her with guidance.
When all Rose received was an encouraging nod from the teacher, she sighed. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on hearing the notes and rhythm. Unlike the song she had heard earlier, this tune was full of joy and sunlight, and she unconsciously started to sway to the music. After a minute or two, Rose realized that she had heard this song before, though she could not place where or when the tune might have become familiar.
Though she was not particularly musically talented, it wasn't long before she found herself humming along. After a few tentative starts and stops, Rose started to sing. It felt as if the music was a living thing that moved through her, as if the song itself were guiding her to the next joyous note. The melody filled her with happiness and anticipation, like she was poised on the cusp of seeing the birth of something wondrous.
"Rose," said an awe-struck Acaxia, "you're glowing."
The song died in her throat as Rose's eyes popped open. "What?"
"Look."
A quick survey of her person revealed that Acaxia was right. Everywhere Rose looked, an ethereal glow covered her skin. The polestar hovered about a foot above her palm, hooks extended, shining with the same golden light.
Instead of being alarmed, Rose felt content and accomplished. Whatever this energy was, she could feel it flow just beneath her skin, and the sensation was familiar and somewhat comforting. She flashed a big grin at Acaxia. "I did it."
"See? I told you, you'd remember."
"Yeah," said Rose. "Remember." Rose's brow furrowed. There was something else she needed to remember, and it was hanging just out of reach.
"Don't worry," said Acaxia sagely. "It will be there when you need it."
Rose turned surprised eyes to Acaxia. "Are you sure?"
"Of course." Acaxia's chest puffed out with importance. "Brood-father says it is so, and he is always right."
Rose hid a grin. "Yes, Zaizan is very smart."
"The smartest," Acaxia added. "You aren't glowing as much anymore."
The golden light was indeed fading from her skin, Rose noted, but the feeling of warm energy coursing through her veins did not cease. She tried to work up some concern, but her heart felt too light and happy. And the energy, well, it felt like hot chocolate on the coldest winter's day, or seeing her Mum holding her new baby brother, or how she thought she would feel upon seeing the Doctor once more.
It felt like home.
Rose looked at her Polestar which still burned like a tiny star and smiled broadly. Leaning towards Acaxia, she asked, "Think the teacher will let us sing it again?"
The room exploded with the screech of metal against metal followed by a booming crack. The tapestry flashed a blinding gold which quickly receded. Where once there had been a pink thread that turned into gold, there was now only gold spreading in either direction as far as the eye could see.
"Shit," said Atropos. Her shears were still intact, but a large nick in the blades was clearly visible. "This should not be possible. Nothing can withstand my shears."
"The transformation is nearly complete," breathed Clotho.
Atropos rounded on the rapidly approaching Doctor, brandishing the sharp scissors. "Who is this Rose Tyler?" she demanded.
Donna saw her traveling companion open his mouth to reply, but before he could respond the other Doctor ran towards him, grabbed his lapels, and dragged him in close. Even from where she stood, she could see the fury in his blue eyes. She shook herself free of Lachesis and Clotho and dashed to the Doctor's side.
"What happened to Rose?" demanded the younger Doctor.
"Let go of me." The suited Doctor twisted to get free. "Pacifist, remember?"
"Violence against myself doesn't count." Despite his words, the leather-clad Doctor set him loose with a shove. "Tell me."
The Doctor straightened his jacket before replying. When he did respond, it was with extreme reluctance. "She looked into the heart of the TARDIS."
"What? How could you be so stupid? Didn't you realize what would happen? She'd burn!"
The Doctor ran his hands through his unruly hair. "It wasn't me!" he yelled. "It wasn't me!"
The blue-eyed Doctor stared at him, horrified. The blood drained out of his face and he looked like a man who had just been dealt a terribly powerful sucker punch. "I did this?" he whispered.
"You did nothing except what you should have. You tried to protect her. We've both tried to protect her, but Rose…"
"…is headstrong." He let loose a dry laugh that contained no humor. "And extremely jeopardy friendly."
"She is, indeed." The suited Doctor looked at his younger self with an expression filled with understanding, and perhaps some compassion. "We hold all of our companions in our hearts," he said.
"But Rose is special," finished the leather-clad Doctor.
A moment of shared appreciation passed between the Doctors, a silent acknowledgement of a similar sentiment and purpose. The moment was rudely interrupted by an old and crabby voice.
"Before the two of you sit down to sing Kumbaya, would one of you like to enlighten the rest of us?"
Donna whirled around and glared at the crone. "Can't leave them alone for a minute, can you, ya harpy?"
"In case you hadn't noticed, girl, we've got a major problem."
"And if you gave him half a minute, he'd tell you that Rose has been communicating with us from the other universe."
Atropos sneered back at Donna. "Really? And what does she say?"
Donna raised her chin defiantly. "She says that the Bad Wolf is coming soon."
Donna had seen the reaction those two words had on the Doctor; she was pleasantly surprised to find that the three Fates reacted even more violently. As one, the three moved speedily to the console and rapidly pressed keys. The holographic display zoomed from one section of the tapestry to the other in rapid succession, finally scrolling so fast that the pattern blurred.
"This can't be right," muttered Atropos under her breath.
"Of course it can," replied Lachesis in an even tone. "This is what we planned for."
"Yes, but a Time Lord companion? Chronos will never let us live this down."
"Why not a Time Lord companion?" piped the suited Doctor, leaning over the crone's shoulder to peer through his glasses at the computer. "Hmmm?"
"After all," the one in leather said as he similarly crowded Lachesis, "we take only the best."
The two Doctors shared a smug grin.
"Who's Chronos?" asked Donna, elbowing Clotho and staring at the incomprehensible foreign symbols.
"Well," said Clotho, "there it is."
"Where's what?" demanded Donna. "There's nothing there." She pointed at the Tapestry display. Where once there had been tendrils of life spreading out as far as the eye could see, in the section that was now displayed, there was empty space. "I think there's something wrong with your doohickey."
"There is nothing wrong with our computer," snapped Atropos, "cursed Time Lord tinkering not withstanding."
"Then what I am looking at?"
"The end," said Clotho quietly.
Donna glared at the young woman. "End of what?"
"The end of all that was, all that is, and all that ever will be," replied Lachesis.
"Unless," added Atropos, "this Rose Tyler decides to save us."