Chapter 51: The Patchwork Woman
Sister Letha
The raven was white,
The swan was black,
And the lady came to me
Saying I had to go back.
It was the Fade and yet it was real. Its presence had been drawing on me for weeks and now I had surrendered to its calling. I had to return to meet the one who I had left behind. Even now I could feel her pulling an invisible chord that tied us.
I wandered a blurry landscape, seeing the forms of confused sleepers, trying to make sense of their prisons and awaken themselves to return to their lives and their loved ones. Some had been there so long that they had begun to diminish slowly. The forms began to evaporate around the extremities first, fingers and feet.
We are all just vapor
Sweet incense burned to honor the Maker
We were never meant to stay
Like the skeletons of the mountains
Monuments of our weakness.
These poor individuals seemed unaware of their dwindling into oblivion. They continued to struggle in their snares, some calling for help, but unable to find any. I longed to reach out to them and ease their passing, for I could not return them to the waking world. They could not see me, though I could see them, but any time I strayed toward them something fixed my feet to the fickle ground.
My Fade locked cantor still continued to call me and I had to meet her summons. Eventually the mist seemed to roll back like a curtain and she stood before me. Like me she had been torn and found, but her savior had been far less kind than mine had been, patching her with pieces of itself and other stolen fragments. It had masked her with a false face, though I could feel the truth of her, recognizing what was familiar amid the perversion of her being. She leered at me with a bent smile, coaxing with a strange chorus of discordant voices, "Hello, my sister. What think you of my new weeds?"
I gasped, for the face she wore was also vaguely familiar, though it did not belong to her. I had seen this face elsewhere, but this version was a falsely perfect reflection of the beautifully marred face I had briefly come to know. This face was marble smooth and yet the seams of the body were just barely holding her form together, the hasty stitches allowing brief snatches of light to seep through.
"You know my twin," the false pretender sneered, reading my thoughts as they flittered through my mind, "she is broken and yet her fractures knit. I cannot patch myself fast enough to perfectly match her, but the face is pretty. I have that at least. Memories balance between pretty and ugly, yet they give form. I have not enough memory to keep this guise in one piece and I was unable to take enough of what I needed to fill what I lacked. This vessel holds part of your memory as well as hers and that is what causes some of the loose piecing. That is my punishment for snatching at something as you abandoned me and fed it to the Glutton in hopes of preserving myself. I retained very little of what I took from you and even less of myself."
I shook my head slowly, feeling heavy, trying to draw out something locked still within me, something that had not been taken that might reveal the truth, "No…I did not abandon you. I had saved you. I dragged you along behind me from the darkness, the rocks and the sickly blue glow we cupped in our hands. We had been in the water, it had poured through our fingers as we prayed on bended knees beneath the monstrous circle in some strange, stone Chantry. I grabbed you before diving in as the Maker drew me in, washed me, cleansed me, and swept away my sin. He sifted us through the water as we rushed past darkness toward the light."
The barking laughter taunted, "You cannot sift us free of this taint. Not even the Maker can do that. The Templars fitted us for either the Veil or consumption by beings far more frightening than our previous jailors. The beings that fill this place are hungry and they prey on those like us, dreamers so seasoned by lyrium that we become tasty and they learn of our world without passing over into it. Instead of consuming me, the one that found me viewed me as a curiosity; he had seen shadows of our world from those who could walk these ways. He patched me, sewing me into the form of his beloved, the object of desire. He stuffed me with a strange dust to give me form. It is plentiful here and it is what maintains me, feeding me while others dissipate into nothing."
"Why?" I questioned, confused by the words that she offered. Her explanations grated and horrified, though I could not remember why such things should. There was revulsion and a sour taste filling my mouth. I drew back from her and she moved even closer.
"Those who live here only know longing," she explained in a sing-song voice, "and I am now one of them. One of the life starved, dimly glowing and yet without color. We are like them and yet we are not, just like I am like her and yet I am not. He deemed I was too poor a copy, even with my perfections. She is my rival, my aim and I am a poor archer. When she ventured again into this domain she was seeking, unaware that I sought her, that I stalked her, that I needed her to reach the ideal in all her precious flaws. I intended to fill my gaps, knit together my inconsistencies with her realities, embrace her scars and season myself with her spice and bitter sweetness. Then he would want me, he would seek oneness with me and I would no longer be alone. He had promised me this, but then he left me, his lust for her clouded his fidelity to the one he molded."
Leave me lover for the other
You wander the lost places
Searching for other faces
When you could have me
With all my hewn graces
And all fidelity that I offer thee.
With this she began to weep, tearing her hair, her limbs, her very stitching coming close to splitting with her grief. I was overwhelmed with a sense of pity for the creature who was once my sister, my friend. I was helpless to console her as I had been to help the others trapped around me in the Fade.
She continued to sob, "Is it always to be this way for me? Always abandoned by those who promised to stay, to love me? My parents abandoned me on the steps of the Chantry when winter want became too great to bear and threadbare rags could not keep out the wind. My sisters in faith abandoned me one by one in the darkness, succumbing to the poisonous rock and noxious dust, all save you. Then, you abandoned me in your terror to escape and your fear of the undulating tatters, offering us a place to hide, but disguising the danger within. The Maker abandoned me in these misted lands, leaving me with no hope or succor. What other option had I but to yield to another's desire? He remade me, but could not accept my inconsistencies. He could not bring himself to destroy me, to remove what he had bestowed. Some part must have loved me, a stitch so small…but his hatred might have been more compassionate."
"I am so sorry…" I breathed.
"You wished to save me," she howled hollowly, accusing, "and yet you condemned me to this. This cannot be undone. I have not the power to end this. Are you kind, sister, friend? You are the only one to return to me."
Looking at her I realized that the eyes were still hers, the light green of spring grass, peering through the slits of false loveliness. Some small corner within me recalled those eyes crinkled with laughter and light. Now they were full of human tears and sorrow, pleading, "Help me…"
"There you are!" a mildly impatient voice observed, causing me to turn. A woman, the raven woman who retrieved me from the tree, she had found me even here. She appeared much like she had beneath my tree, enigmatic and dark, but not malicious. There was palpable curiosity in her voice and her head was cocked, birdlike, her arms crossed defensively, "I have tracked you through this place for a miserable amount of time. Why could you not stay in one spot?"
The patchwork shadow of my friend saw her and hissed, back arched like an angry cat, "Witch born…Fade forgotten…Flemeth touched…"
"Of course, even here," the raven woman groaned, "you have become one with the Fade and yet you persist in your Chantry born prejudices. The hypocrisy is complete."
I could feel my face wrinkle with confusion, unsure of whom to turn to.
"I have been sent to fetch you," the raven turned to me, beckoning me to come with her with an impatient swipe of her hand.
The patchwork woman grabbed my hand, maneuvering me behind her, placing herself between the raven and I, "You reek of deception, of ambition. You are akin to the Fade and the demon denizens that populate this place, preying on the unwary."
"You would know, for what pact enabled you to exist in such a state?" the raven countered, maintaining a severe eye without wavering.
"I know you are hunted by one even the demons give wide berth to. She trespasses on a whim, but knows the borders. She makes treaties that she only keeps when her humor compels her. Even though I am alien to these realms I have learned this from one who had attempted to trap her and failed, why do you hope to succeed when the most powerful, those of her ilk, have failed?" The patchwork woman's words tumbled forth like a spool unraveling, but the raven's words snipped it short.
"I have no interest in you and owe you no explanations. I was sent to guide this woman back to where she belongs," the raven extended her staff, indicating that I was the one she spoke of, "We need her. She is the only one who can show us the way into the Templar stronghold."
The creature listened to this, seeming momentarily stunned, and then she began to laugh hysterically: coughing, choking, sick laughter. Then, abruptly the laughter ceased and she snarled, "She no longer knows the way."
"What do you mean?" the raven woman questioned suddenly seeming unsure and worried.
The raven and the ragdoll went to war,
Fighting violently over a scrap torn
From the robe of the Maker on a thorn.
Back and forth, the tug and pull,
Empties the meaning that was once full.
"It was one of the handful snatches I could hold tight to when I failed to find her hand as she tore away from me. The lyrium tied us together and my hold on her was stronger than I could have known. Even without her physical presence, I could hold her. The seams were not strong enough to withstand my desperation. It ripped and I kept fragments. It bled me as my sculptor found me, or what remained when the scavengers had taken what they wanted. He took the pieces and tried to reform me. I could be imprinted by another's memory and molded by it. He placed new pieces, some were his own, and some belonged to others who had passed by leaving echoes in their wake, like my rival, though they were few. My rival had been called here many times and he waited for only a glimpse, unable to even touch her cloak. All he wanted was a moment of contact, and I offered him something he had been denied. This was not enough; however…he discovered others, lyrium laced and weak. Like me they could be touched for they possessed something of the Fade though they were on the other side of the tears. He wanted to find a way across and so he stalks his catalyst so that he can reach her."
"A memory thief…" the raven woman nodded, "the lyrium poisoning makes people more susceptible. There is protection offered to most dreamers, making it impossible for the beings of the Fade to directly interact with them unless something is done to break the boundaries. The lyrium poisoning is weakening the barriers. The beings are attacking trapped dreamers because of the lyrium. They are eating their memories in an attempt to experience what it is to be human since they cannot easily pass into the real world. You are right; however, it only would whet the appetite. It can never be enough for a demon and now there are tears between the Fade and the world of men appearing all over the Cauldron. It will not take long before they find a way across if the veils continue to deteriorate. You however have become like them, you are a Fade leech of sorts."
The green eyes were angry when she regarded the raven's interpretation, "At least my leeching was unintentional. Can you say the same, scavenger?"
"Keep a civil tongue, creature, or I will…" the raven threatened the patchwork woman.
"I fear you not. There is nothing you can do to me now and I possess what you desire. If any should be wary it is you!" the woman warned, realizing her power over the haughty raven.
The raven appealed to me sullenly, "We need her cooperation. I have not the means to coerce her. There is a force of Avvar men, among them a knight that knows you, and they are preparing to attack the Templars. Those men will go to their deaths if we do not weaken the Templar defenses from within. We need that passage!"
Though I could not comprehend why, the raven's words inspired a sense of urgency in me. I turned to the patchwork woman who was once my friend, the one I had failed despite my best intentions, and I called her by a name that seemed to materialize into words from amid the fog, "Sister…Galatea…help me please…return to me what I have forgotten."
She regarded me hollowly, but the name awoke something that had slumbered. A fragment of her humanity seemed to find its place in her hollowness, "I can show you, but I require a boon in return." She allowed this softly, the voice that had been a harsh discord of many voices together became singular, distinct.
"I am unable to return all that was taken," she swallowed, "but that piece is distinct enough that it might be removed."
With those words, she gripped a spot on her forearm and viciously tugged. There was a sound of tearing and popping as a patch pulled free from the rest of the whole. Through the hole she had created, blue glowing grains poured forth, seeping out in steady streams, as if she were bleeding queer sawdust. She grabbed my hand and closed my fingers around the grubby patch that now resembled a piece of old leather. I clutched it close to me as her knees buckled and she toppled over.
Dropping to her side, I pulled her into my lap and cradled her, much like I had previously been cradled. Her body slowly emptied, until she had nearly sunk in. Even flattened, she still lived, but she was a limp rag. With what remained she whispered, "Be wary of those who wear masks, sister. They wear them for many reasons, some for their harm and some for the harm of others. Thank you for remembering something of me beneath the mask."
With that I pulled the false face from the empty life-sized doll. Underneath I saw the pallor, the freckles still distinct against her skin, the red hair beneath what now appeared to be a brown woolen wig. The bowed mouth weakly smiled as the light in the true green eyes extinguished into grey.
I could not weep, I felt empty….
The rush of wings, the Fade sings,
As the end and the beginning appears
Like a gentle boat on the sea
That understands the drawing eternity.
She comes as mother and maid,
The wise and the ever young.
A shadow in the shape of large wings fell across us and I turned to see a woman approach from a swirling mist. A hood concealed her face, though I could just barely discern a pair of kind, colorless eyes gazing down at me.
"I have come to collect your friend," she spoke softly, the voice reminiscent of wind through ruffled feathers.
Without waiting for an answer, she crossed to me, gathered the quilted corpse like a blanket it in her arms and gently tucked it into the folds of her cloak. What was left of my friend disappeared, concealed in the safety of the downy warmth the woman exuded.
"She has been redeemed and must go to her rest," the cloaked woman intoned, before turning to the raven thoughtfully, "What you seek will not be what you expect, little sister. There is always a price. It could cost you your wings."
The raven's only response was to snort derisively as the woman turned away from us both. The figure diminished, shrinking, her clothes turned into feathers and her limbs spread into wings, lifting her into the air. She cast one final look at us down a blood red beak and a voice chided, "You have loitered here long enough. They wait for you. The time of consummation draws near. You both have parts to play before the Veil should take you." With a final lazy loop in the air, she flew into a bank of mist and disappeared.
"Come," the raven commanded, reaching down to pull me to my feet, "we cannot tarry here. It is best not to tempt the denizens of this place. I must return you or my allies will cease to cooperate with me."
"Thank you," I offered, trying to appease her displeasure.
My thanks caused her pause before she hesitantly replied, "That is not necessary. I was only enabled to be here by the old woman. She could not come, but chose to anchor me here. She was concerned that she would not be able to protect you aptly enough herself. You live still because of her, not I."
"You found me and you could have left me in the tree," I offered.
"True," she nodded curtly, losing patience and dragging me in her wake as she walked toward an unknown destination, "but I did it out of a misplaced sense of sentiment for someone else, not for you. Stop trying my patience or I may be tempted to take my chance and leave you here."
As I looked at her back, I thought I saw a strange whiteness amid the black, flickering like a pale light in the mist while she remained oblivious. The scrap of memory, meanwhile, melted into my skin until my hand was again empty.