The Last of the Runners

“Brother, are you here?”

“I did not expect you so soon.” The voice spoke beneath the cloak and he did not reveal himself.

“The time is approaching, is that not so?”

“Why do you ask, who scorns such superstition?”

“You can force no advantage. You may not help.”

“The Weave will ensure there is balance. Even now, it has created a champion for each side.”

“A champion?”

“One who will work for your followers, whether he will or not. He will strive to counter the Weaver King whenever he can.”

“Why do you give such fantastic title to those you set up to counter me and mine?”

The cloak flew open and he stood up, the fiery blue patterns blazing against the eternal shadow of the tree.

“Because a world without imagination is too dreadful to contemplate! Fantasy and legend sustain the soul against the grim struggle of life. You and your followers would take that out of the world.”

“It serves no purpose, brother.”

“As you would define it.”

“And what makes your definition right?”

“I imagined the world. I created the weave that set it on its path, that allowed your followers and those of your brother to thrive. I created the weave that holds the balance between the ways.”

“Always you insist on balance. Balance is for the weak!”

“No, brother. Balance is fair and just. It respects the strong and the weak and allows them to follow the paths they have chosen.”

“Yet you will not allow my followers to achieve the domination they seek?”

“At your brother’s expense? No, I cannot allow it. But the time is coming, brother, the time we should unite.”

“Unity is weakness. Why should I unite with those whose way is opposite to mine.”

“For the world’s sake. And for hers.”

“She never favoured me, yet I must concede a position of strength for her sake?”

“She sacrificed everything for the world, and to maintain the balance.”

“No! You sacrificed her for it, just as you trapped us outside!”

“You would have continued to weave to increase your power. We had to be kept outside to allow the balance to be restored. Now another balancing has to be carried out and we must unite.”

“So you say, brother.”

He turned to leave.

“You will return when it is time?”

“Will he be here too?”

“We must all be here.”

“I will come to ensure he obtains no advantage and for no other reason.”

“Will you never stop fighting?”

“Only when I am victorious!”

“Then we must wait a long time.”

The one sat back down and wrapped the cloak around him, merging once more with the trunk of the tree. Conversation at an end, the other walked away.

Shortly after the autumn equinox, they had been taken to visit the Training School. Its all-pervading greyness had further unsettled Kyrin. Despite its shining white exterior, inside the Training School was a grey world. The teachers were in grey. So were the students who filed round the grey building, grey faced and serious. There was no laughter, no idle chatter in the corridors that were lined with dark oak boards, bearing the names of famous students who had done well in their assessments, won prizes or gone on to high positions in the Council of Elders. Peering into the classrooms, he could see the walls were covered with posters explaining different points of calculus or grammar, guidance on how to achieve high marks in the assessments or simple exhortations to hard work for the benefit of the state.

The students sat rigidly at their desks, not daring to acknowledge the presence of a friend or relative in the band of visitors at the door. They were frantically copying their lessons from boards which slid aside automatically after the allotted time and, with a hiss of steam, the next one would take its place, whether you had finished the previous one or not. The power of steam ruled the classroom.

At the front of one class, a girl stood at a high desk. She was not in the grey uniform of her fellows. She wore just a shirt and trousers which were mud stained and torn. A heavy metal band around her waist kept her fixed to her desk. Kyrin’s classmates nudged each other and whispered. That was what happened to captured runners.

“Her father has been taken to the Council House every night this week, my mother says,” whispered one, “And not back until four o’clock either.”

“He used to work in the wood merchant’s office,” whispered another, “And now they have him sweeping out the saw pit!”

All in all, it was as unwelcoming a place as Kyrin had seen, but he said nothing to draw attention to himself this time. He listened closely to all the teachers demonstrating their subjects, searching for something in the flat words that might create a spark within him, a spark that could become a saving warmth to keep him secure and protect his mother from such humiliation. Nothing, however, inspired him as the grey day continued and he longed for it to end, so that he might be spared any further embarrassing encounters with the Head Learner, who he had seen flitting around the corridors, smiling sweetly at all who passed. Kyrin kept his head down so he did not have to speak to her, for she was bound to ask him if he had changed his mind about the place and he had not.

At last, the bell released them out into the street. Most of his classmates started to chatter about what they had seen. Their excitement seemed all the more because of the relief of being out of the oppressive silence of the Training School. Kyrin found their chatter as annoying as the silence they had just escaped from and turned down a lane off the main street at the first opportunity. He wanted to think and all the chatter got in the way.

He wandered down the lane, turned left into a narrower one and then right into an even narrower lane, where the houses almost touched above the road. It was a part of the City he had never entered before, darker than any place he had seen. The lane continued down and got narrower still, until Kyrin could almost touch the walls on either side.

At the end of that lane, Kyrin found himself in a small square. The houses climbed up high on all sides and leaned into the square, leaving just a small window of sky to filter the light down as if the square were at the bottom of the sea.

Seated on an upturned bucket outside one of the houses was a woman. Though faded with age, her skirt was bright blue and there were ribbons and feathers in her hair. Underneath the grey soot, there were colours on the house too, still struggling to make themselves seen. There was blue on the ground floor, red on the first and yellow on the second, with the beams all picked out in green. Even in the dim light on the square and with its sooty overcoat, it stood out to Kyrin like a torch against the dull grey of the other buildings.

The woman was reading and looked up as Kyrin stepped into the square. Her eyes shone as brightly as any cat’s and Kyrin stepped back into the shadows. He stood still, trying not to breathe, hoping he had not been seen.

“Come out, boy,” the woman called quietly. “Come out where I can see you.”

Kyrin did as he was told. The woman looked at him closely.

“I wondered when I’d see you,” she said with a smile. “Come into the house. I’ve been expecting you.”

Gan had been able to have a bath and had been given an ash grey robe to wear. He was wearing dark spectacles as his eyes found it hard to adjust to the light. His hair was slicked back, and deprived of his wild mane, he had a cold and unfeeling air, even though he had been thoroughly warmed with food and drink.

He sat at the desk in his newly acquired rooms. Fine paper and pens lay there and a heavy journal. The inkwell was made from finely engraved pewter. It all spoke of the success he had been promised.

The door opened and a fat man shuffled in.

“I trust you are comfortable, Sub-Magister,” he wheezed.

Gan nodded.

“Where should we start then?”

Kyrin’s brain was buzzing as he made his way back though the lanes. Suddenly, he had exciting possibilities before him. There was no need to give into the grey life the Training School promised. There was an alternative, a life where imagination was rewarded. All it took was that one moment of bravery, the courage to start - the courage to run!

Mrs Bruntler had said little of her own – just answered the questions that had come tumbling out of Kyrin as he sat at her kitchen table. How had she known he would come to see her? Who were the Story Weavers? How should he respond to the question that would soon be asked? Why was everything at the Training School so terrifyingly dull? Why did they pursue the runners so ferociously? Was Villombre such an evil, frightening place?

There was mystery in the answers she gave, with much reference to “the Weave” that was feared by the authorities and yet had suggested he would visit her. The Weave had been created by the Story Weavers to maintain the balance in the world and everyone’s thread made its pattern across it. Finding those who would become the best Story Weavers was the whole purpose of making a run. As the authorities in Villblanche feared and hated the Weavers, they tried to stop others joining them, even though the success of the City was itself founded by the first of the Weavers. However, the Weaver who had founded the city had created such a powerful weave about the joys of industry that it had squeezed the joy of imagination out of the City. The development of the steam machines had put more power into the hands of the City authorities. They required knowledge but no imagination to operate. The Training School did all it could to stop imagination creeping back in, as did all the officers of the City. So much was new and mysterious, yet Kyrin found her responses clear and easy to understand. It was as if a lamp had been made to shine on his future path.

“They’ve been trying to reduce the number of runners for years,” said Mrs Bruntler. “But I don’t think they’ve remembered the danger. They don’t pay heed to what’s in the Weave, my boy, or they might have taken more care of you.”

“When should I run?” asked Kyrin.

“When you are ready,” she said simply. “We need to talk a little more, so we can be sure you know how to get to where you are going and where you can get help. But you will know when it is the right time to go.”

“Can I come and see you often?”

“Take care not to make people suspicious of where you are going. They may not be happy to learn that you are spending time with the Bruntler. My name is not welcomed in many families close to Villblanche. You do not want to attract any attention to me or my house.”

She had shown him out of a back door and sent him along a different set of lanes back to the main road. Kyrin hurried home. His mother would have started to worry, having seen others come home from their visit to the Training School, and, true enough, she was standing at the door of the cottage waiting for him.

Vague about where he had been for the last couple of hours, Kyrin was as positive as possible about what he had seen at the Training School and how helpful the day had been.

“Didn’t I tell you?” his mother had said with a smile. “It isn’t as bad as you thought. Perhaps we could take another look at that booklet after dinner? Maybe decide on a course of study?”

Kyrin had smiled and agreed with her. It was important that his mother did not suspect he had quite a different course of action in mind. Let her think he was happy to be apprenticed to an apothecary or a merchant. It was a small deception, but necessary if it was to give him time to leave Villblanche forever.

Kyrin’s mother hoped he was just saying it to please her. She had not suffered for ten years to see it fail now.

“When do you think he’ll be fit enough to travel?”

“It takes time for a body to recover from such privations, Magister, and one cannot rush nature.”

“If the Rector wants things done, doctor, nature itself has to move.”

“With respect, Magister,” said the doctor, “Even the Rector cannot make sap rise. Let him rest. You have been working him very hard. You do not want to lose him now.”

The Magister muttered something that sounded unpleasant and shuffled out. The doctor dimmed the lamp and followed him out.

Gan opened one eye carefully to check that all was clear before sitting up. It had worked so far.