The Last of the Runners
Chapter 1

The door shook as the heavy knocker crashed against it.

Mrs Bruntler looked at Kyrin.

“The side window. Quick now!”

The knocker thumped again, but they were on their way. As she pushed Kyrin ahead of her, Mrs Bruntler whispered.

“Left at the end of the passageway; third left, second right, fourth right and you’ll be at the Lattern Gate and out into the country.”

“What then?” asked Kyrin, as he climbed onto the sill.

“Use your imagination, boy!” she snapped. “That’s all you’ve got!”

For centuries, all had been calm. The colours had traced their patterns through the golden threads that spread out across the frame, weaving their tales of life on the eternal loom. Here was the Weave of the World that had maintained the balance since Arun the Weaver made the great sacrifice to create it.

Now, however, the Weave was uneasy within the chamber beneath the tree. It was falling out of balance. The threads were pulling tight across the frame made from the living roots and twisting it out of true. She could feel tension in the golden threads through the deep enchantment, pain she was not supposed to experience, even though they were her living hairs.

Only the promise of what was to come, the hope bound up in this one, the last of the many, maintained her enchanted slumber and let the colours trace their path through her golden hair.

The time was drawing near.

One question remained: when the ultimate moment came, would he stay or would he run?

It had been in the air since the Summer Solstice. As the news rippled out through the villages, the excitement had begun to bubble. Little groups of people could be seen talking excitedly and hugging each other with the intensity of expectation. This was more longed for than the arrival of spring and much less certain. Spring would come, one week or another, but for this event, they had been waiting more than two hundred years.

If you noticed anything particularly unusual about what was happening, it was that only the adults were caught up in the excitement. They would fall silent if any child came within earshot, or start talking loudly about the weather or the price of potatoes. The excitement vanished and was replaced with the anxiety that something had been overheard that could spoil everything.

“Just two in the Lists at Solstice,” they were saying, “The lowest number for years. Do you think it’s time?”

“It has been down to two before,” the conversation went on, “You remember, Garel and Kyrtis, but then the numbers go back up, because the youngsters get excited and more run.”

“The numbers have stayed low for several years, haven’t they?”

“The numbers getting through have been kept low. The Magister and his Watchers pursue them with such vigour these days that many more get caught. Just two made it through this Solstice.”

“Would that fulfil the prophecy, though, if just one got through?”

“When just one runs, that’s how it goes. It doesn’t say anything else.”

“One runner against all those Watchers? That’s going to be hard.”

“It’s why that runner will be special.”

“So we wait – for the Winter Solstice?”

“Or the next one. It could be at any one. The important thing is not to stir the youngsters up. We don’t want them running if they’re not the one.”

Only when he raised his head did the pale face with its wild patterns swirling across the cheeks appear. For the moment before the brown cloak opened to reveal the wild swirls on his body, the ancient oak tree had a human face in its trunk.

“You have come then?” he said.

“Is the other one here?”

“He is expected.”

“Why sit you by the tree?”

“Because it is nearly time.”

“Why do you care still?

“Because we created this world.”

“Yet we left it.”

“We had to leave. Our quarrels had disturbed the balance. There was no choice.”

“And the sacrifice?”

“It has held the world in balance for many years.”

“And now?”

“The Weave is strained. She struggles to hold the balance. His followers are in the ascendancy.”

“Yet still he is expected.”

“When the time comes, when the change happens, we must be united.”

“How can we be united?”

“We must be, for her sake.”

“She is to be released at last?”

“I cannot tell.”

“Is there to be no end of her imprisonment?”

“The Weave has its own life now. Only it will know when it has created its final pattern.”

“When is he expected?”

“At the right time.”

“Then I shall return at that time.”

“You will not wait?”

“Waiting is for the middle way. I must follow my path. As he does.”

“Still you must strive. Can you not sit at peace and help the balance return?”

“Only you set such store by the balance, brother. We came through the mountains to seek it. Then he and I grew strong in our own right and always you were there to impose the balance upon us. You trapped us here, out of time, for all time!”

“It was for the good.”

“The good? Was it good for Tresse?”

“It was for the good of the world! Had you but seen that, Tresse need not have made her sacrifice!”

“I will not argue, for you will never concede.”

“Then at last you have achieved wisdom.”

“Always you must have the last word, brother. I will not wait. I will return at the time.”

Alone again, he wrapped the cloak across his chest once more, bowed his head to his knees and there was nothing to be seen against the trunk of the ancient tree.

The mother left the house silently, leaving the child asleep, and made her way to the wood at the end of the village. She took her place on the fallen oak trunk as she had many times and waited for the shadow to come and speak to her. She sat, staring straight ahead and straining her ears for the least hint of his approach.

“You have heard the news?”

As always his whisper made her jump. Thrilled to hear his voice, she just nodded.

“Does he show any signs?”

“He dreams. He talks of Story Weavers with his friend. That is all.”

“You don’t encourage him?”

“As we agreed. I do everything I can to put him off. How I hate it!”

“It is close now. It is in the Weave.”

“And if he fails?”

“He fails. We can do nothing more.”

“And you? Do you return?”

“I don’t know. The Weave is not clear.”

“Kyrl, I…”

“We must remain resolute. No weakening now. We are so close.”

“You will help him, if he goes?”

“I can watch, that is all. You know that.”

“He won’t know anything. He won’t know where to go.”

“Mrs Bruntler will tell him all he needs to know.”

“Will it be enough? What if he gets lost?”

“Souci, he will be fine, I promise. Besides he may not want to run. You may have to make it easy for him to get away.”

“How do I do that? After all the harshness, how can I suddenly make it easy?”

“You have been harsh for a reason, to steel him against what may come. Just make it easy for him to leave. Go and visit your sister. Leave him free to make up his own mind”

“Kyrl…”

She felt his hand briefly squeeze her shoulder and then she was alone again.