6 Trials of the Weavers: Part 2
This short story was made using the solo RPG: 6 Trials of the Weavers, by tallywinkle.
CW: Insects, Spiders, Trypophobia, Body Horror
The needle was made of old dry bone, and the thread was a thin strong silk. The fabric had a pattern already sewn into it with the same white silk, and the paper — the paper was thin dry leather, skin from some animal. Holly struggled not to think about what kind of animal it might have been.
On the parchment, a strange and scratchy handwriting surrounded bizarre symbols. It was writing of some kind, possibly a language…diagrams? Were these instructions? Holly looked at the sewed pattern on the fabric; it certainly appeared incomplete to her.
She studied the needle carefully and observed the spool for markings. She flipped the fabric over, checking the stitching from both sides. She gave the strange language only a cursory glance — she knew she wouldn’t be able to decipher it — and focused on the ornate symbols.
“I don’t suppose you offer hints?” Holly couldn’t help herself. The cooing weaver shifted, the rustle of robes in the dark louder than thunder.
A sister would need none.
Holly threaded the needle. Well what if I don’t want to be a “sister,” whatever you mean by that? she thought to herself. She didn’t bother asking; she was certain she wouldn’t like the answer.
She began slowly, haltingly, carefully checking everything she did, twice. She wasn’t about to do anything rash, not with her life possibly on the line. She continued sewing, trying to ignore the weaver behind her.
The weaver’s mandable’s clicked. Holly froze.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Holly slowly began to pull the silk out of the fabric. No, that wasn’t right! If she’d have kept going, it would have turned out all wrong! But she was following the directions, she knew…
Holly blinked. Idiot of a girl! She looked back at the instructions and read over them again, this time reading them not left to right, top to bottom, but in a spiral, like a web.
She started over, slower this time, but more confident. The needle moved smoother now, requiring less repositioning when the instructions were followed in the proper order. By the time she had finished one cycle, she was certain. This was the correct pattern.
In her head, her grandfather’s voice gave a tsk. Don’t get cocky. Just because you think you know the answer doesn’t mean you’re right. Holly looked back at the directions. Should she really be ignoring the words? She didn’t recognize the lettering or the language, and the pattern fit correctly on the fabric…was she missing something?
She stared at the fabric again, and the stitching that had been sewn in before hers. The different pieces had similarities to the pattern she was sewing, but it was different enough she couldn’t just copy it. She followed the stitching in a circle, turning the fabric as she did. Wait… The stitching had shifted. Turning the fabric back, she followed each stitch until she was certain — the pattern had changed as the stitching progressed.
She looked back at the symbols and scratchy writing. How was she supposed to know how to change the pattern if she didn’t speak the language? Idly, she turned the parchment.
There! It astonished Holly how quickly it struck her. Ignoring the cooing from the weaver, she continued her stitching, slowly turning the instructions along with the fabric. As she sewed, the diagrams made more and more sense. The circular writing, while still unintelligible, made a kind of horrific sense.
Before long, Holly wasn’t looking at the instructions any more. The symbols had burned themselves into her brain as she sewed, turning and spinning and weaving in and out of the fabric.
Finally, she was done. The needle slipped out of her cramping hand and clattered onto the table. Holly gasped as the pain she had been ignoring finally registered. Clutching her fingers, she turned to the weaver. “There,” she said. “Have I passed your test?”
The weaver’s mandables moved in a strange and horrible way. With the soft sound of cloth brushing the ground, the weaver stepped back into the fog. Five more tests await you. Follow the path.
Holly looked back at the table, only to see it too had vanished. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she muttered, heading down the path again.
The mists didn’t seem as dark or as choking as they had before. The path was clearly visible, and even the crunching sound now reminded Holly more of leaves than insects. She wasn’t even feeling as cold. “Alright then,” she said to herself, “where am I going to end up next?”
She was answered by a loud snapping sound and the ground falling away beneath her. With a shriek she pitched forward, tumbling into the darkness. She screamed as she fell, hitting dirt and stone before at last landing on something relatively soft. She sputtered, spitting out dirt and coughing up dust.
She had fallen into a small cave, barely big enough for her to stand. Nothing felt sprained or broken, so she stood up, noting she had fallen on more dead insect carcasses.
By the time she was upright, she realized she was hearing a sound; somewhere nearby was running water. She ducked her head down and followed the cave into a small cove covered with luminescent moss. A small spring of water filled a crystal clear pool of water. Risking a drink, Holly dipped in her hands.
The water was icy cold, but she didn’t care. She sipped gently, and then drank greedily, quenching the thirst that had been building in her ever since entering this dry and dusty landscape.
The water was clean and fresh. It tasted like a night breeze or an autumn rain. It soothed, balmed, and centered Holly in a way she had never expected water to do. Throwing caution into the wind, she dunked her head in the pool and flung her hair back, scattering shards of water across the cave. She wanted to laugh, it felt so good. So normal.
Catching her breath, Holly looked around. The cave continued upward, and at second glance she could see what looked like the same path as above ground stretching out before her. “Right,” she muttered, giving a sharp sniff. “Let’s see what else you’ve got for me.”
Holly climbed out of the cave and continued walking. Everything felt clearer now. She could see the swirls in the mist, and knew how they came to be. She saw every crack in the bark of the trees, and knew how long they had been there. She looked at her hands, marveling at how she could see every pulse of her heart, the flow of her blood, the twitching and twisting muscles as they pulled her fingers back and forth.
With every step, a new cruching noise met her ears, and she knew what kind of carcass it once had been. That was a stag beetle, she thought to herself. That was a centipede. That was a butterfly and a bombadier beetle. That was half of a termite, along with a cockroach and a quite old fly.
She could smell her blood pumping; her heart pounded louder and stronger than ever. She felt alive. She could even taste the burning acids in her leg muscles before they gave out.
And gave out they did. Holly stumbled, barely catching herself before she fell. Whoof, she thought, I’m more tired than I thought. But of course, I drove up today and that’s a long trek. I even pushed through that rest-stop which I don’t normally do but I really wanted to get up to the cabin so I could unpack before bed and have the chance to swim though I didn’t because I needed to turn on the gas and that took longer than I planned —
Holly collapsed again, her palms cracking on the rough path. What is happening to me? her muddled thoughts managed to choke out. It was like the whole world had become a tapestry, twisted and knotted together in a whirlwind of thread. She was seeing things and hearing things that couldn’t exist. Spider people? Was she going insane? Was this all some horrific nightmare?
“Get up,” she told herself. “Keep going. It’s just in your mind, you’ll get home soon, just…just keep going.” She repeated it to herself until her limbs finally listened, and she staggered upright again. The world continued to spin as she struggled down the path.