SEER OF STRANDS SAMPLE

For Lirianna, journeys always began with a sleepless night.

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It had always been so, whether it was a trip to the seaside with her family, leaving home for Monstar Abbey, or traveling to Castle Dúr to prepare for war. And tonight was no exception. The midnight silence between the thick, stone walls of Monstar lay heavily upon Lirianna as she turned over to face the dark window. She’d blown the candle out what seemed like hours ago, but sleep was no closer than when the bell had tolled evening services at sunset. She sighed in defeat—it would be an exhausting ride tomorrow. 

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Suddenly she frowned, squinting into the blackness beyond her windowpane. A glow was coming from one window of the tower Lirianna could see from her room—the window belonging to the Seer’s workroom.

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Lirianna sat up, her eyes trained on the greenish glow. She was sure she hadn’t left a lamp burning, and it was the wrong color for candlelight, anyway. Could Mother Brenwyn be awake at this hour? Perhaps … but the abbess hadn’t woven in months, and besides, Lirianna had thought she had the only key.

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She briefly entertained the idea of an intruder in her workroom, but that was unlikely. It would be hard enough to get to Monstar without being seen, let alone enter the abbey and its most highly secured room.

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There was only one other possibility. One other person who’d gained entrance without her knowledge before.

 

Faer Dinnán. 

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Lirianna slid out of bed and pulled a shawl around her shoulders, feet burrowing into her slippers as her heartbeat quickened. Something told her it was best not to attract attention to her movements, so she took no candle but stole quietly into the shadowy corridor. She made her way carefully through the abbey, leaving the dormitories behind and winding through the passages and stairways that led to the weaving rooms. 

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She paused when she reached her workroom, wondering briefly if it had been foolish to come alone. What if she’d been mistaken, and it wasn’t Faer Dinnán after all on the other side of the door? The looms in the weaving room stood in silent rows as Lirianna gripped the cold iron of the door handle. She took a breath and pushed.

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The door didn’t budge.

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Lirianna let out her breath, a hint of relief easing the tension in her chest. The door was still locked. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? The door was the only way in, so surely no human could have entered. It must be Faer Dinnán—unless it was some other supernatural being. Lirianna pushed the thought away with a shudder. It was hard to discount anything after the events of the past year, but it was also all too easy to let the mind run away with things.

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Lirianna’s fingers fumbled in her pocket until they closed around the key to the workroom door. She slid it into the lock and turned it, wincing at the thunk of the turning bolt in the silence. She swung the door open, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt, and stepped within.

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Faer Dinnán stood by the windows, his face serious and serene, his glow of green and gold throwing a soft light over the room. “Seer of Strands,” he said by way of greeting.

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Lirianna exhaled, half relieved, half exasperated and pushed the door closed behind her. “You could have told me you wanted to meet,” she said, turning to face the faerie king. “It’s creepy just showing up in the middle of the night like this.”

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“My apologies,” Faer Dinnán said. “I thought it best to keep our activities private.”

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Lirianna stepped forward into the moonlight spilling over the floor. “And what activities would those be?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound too wary.

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Faer Dinnán joined her in the center of the room, shadows shifting across his timeless face. “Do you recall the promise you made in the spring?”

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Lirianna’s stomach squirmed uncomfortably. ‘Promise’ was a strong word—but she didn’t want to start an argument until she had a better idea of what the faerie king had in mind. She chose her words carefully. “I agreed to help you fix things between Alyen and Aaron.”

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If Faer Dinnán took any offense at the implication that the trouble between the other two members of the Trianid had been caused by him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he merely nodded. “Exactly. The time has come for us to act. I’ve come to ask you to play your part.”

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Lirianna’s brow crinkled. “What, now?”

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“You leave tomorrow for Tiragel, do you not?”

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“Yes.”

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“Then it must be tonight. What I’m asking you to do cannot be done away from Monstar.”

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Lirianna narrowed her eyes. “What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?”

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Faer Dinnán’s voice was soft, alluring. “I wish you to do what you were born to do, Seer. I wish you to weave.”

Lirianna felt a shiver pass through her and tried to keep her voice steady. “How will looking into the future help? Do you want me to see if Alyen and Aaron reconcile? Search for the thing that will bring them back together?”

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“Not exactly,” said Faer Dinnán, his eyes boring into her own. “I wish you to ensure that the thing which will bring them back together comes to pass.”

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Lirianna stepped backward, her mind recoiling from the faerie king’s words, the fear she’d carried since their last meeting realized. “You want me to tamper with Destiny,” she breathed.

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“Tamper?” Faer Dinnán asked mildly. “Or fulfill?”

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Lirianna shook her head. “I can’t. The Seer can only observe, never interfere. I’d be breaking our highest law … It would compromise the Trianid.”

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“The Trianid is already compromised,” Faer Dinnán said. “And besides, what of your gift? You know there is unexplored magic within you, do you not?”

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Lirianna looked away, her face troubled. When she made no reply, Faer Dinnán spoke again, his voice soft but earnest. 

“Your magic is a gift, Seer, and Béathan does not bestow her gifts at random. What if you are meant to use your light to restore what darkness has torn apart?”

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Lirianna hesitated. She knew she should reject the idea. She shouldn’t even consider it. Faer Dinnán’s words—logical as they may seem—were nothing more than faerie mind tricks. Tricks that had already caused enough trouble.

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And yet …

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She was tempted. As much as she hated to admit it and despite the guilt clawing at her stomach—she couldn’t deny that, deep inside, she yearned to reach for the magic she sensed running in her veins. Magic that could change things. Magic that could make a difference. Magic that made her feel powerful. Unique. Whole.

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Lirianna’s eyes drifted to her loom standing silently in the strange but beautiful mix of moon and faerie light. Once she’d looked on her weaving space with a sense of peace and purpose. Now the sight of it instilled uncertainty and confusion—perhaps even fear. But that was a change that had occurred in her. The loom was the same as it had always been: sturdy, simple, and even now … inviting.

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Lirianna wet her lips and without moving her gaze away from her weaving said, “I don’t know how to fix Alyen and Aaron. I wouldn’t even know what to ask for. I don’t really know how this—my—magic works.”

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“And does this make you happy? Are you content to leave a part of yourself in the shadows?” asked Faer Dinnán, his voice mildly curious, as if unaware of the impact his words would have. Perhaps he was. 

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Lirianna swallowed against the ache in her chest that rose to her throat. She walked over to her loom, her hand running across the frame’s polished wood, the taut strings of the warp, the soft wool of the weft. 

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No. No, she was not content. Nor happy. And the guilt of it pulled at her heart with a weight like a stone.

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Lirianna sat at the loom, her feet automatically finding their spots on the treadles. Faer Dinnán joined her, standing at the edge of the moonlight that illuminated her workspace. She fingered the shuttles of dyed wool, lined neatly on a table beside her, waiting to see which color her visions would dictate for her weaving. 

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“I couldn’t promise anything,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I can reach out for the strands of the Balance, and I can make my wishes known, but that’s all. That’s all I’ve ever done before.”

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“Then we shall hope that is enough,” Faer Dinnán replied, a hint of eagerness in his voice.

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Lirianna pressed down on a treadle, and the warp shifted to attention with a clack. She looked up at Faer Dinnán’s shadowed face and whispered, “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

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The faerie king’s face was unreadable. “Would doing nothing be better?”

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Lirianna shut her eyes, biting down on her lip, indecision making her feel she was being torn apart from the inside out. Once more, she heard the faerie king’s voice whisper in the darkness.  

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“Come now, Lirianna. Don’t you want to know who you are?”

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Lirianna drew one shuddering breath, knowing that if she let herself think too much about what she knew she’d already decided to do, she’d lose her nerve. Béathan help me, she pleaded silently, then relaxed her gaze and opened her mind to the space beyond and the threads that wove together in the tapestry of the world.

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Slowly, the workroom began to fade. Her hand reached automatically for a shuttle, her feet taking up the rhythm of the treadles while her other arm pulled the beater forward and back. As she settled into the predictable pattern of weaving, her surroundings faded ever faster until Monstar, Faer Dinnán, and the moonlight disappeared altogether, and she found herself in the misty realm of Destiny, staring ahead at the strands of the Balance that floated in the air like the many tentacles of some great sea creature floating adrift in an endless ocean of fate. 

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She paused to take a few breaths, comforted by the familiarity of the weaving and the timelessness the Balance always exuded. Then, feeling more grounded, she turned her thoughts to Alyen and Aaron. 

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Show me the Trianid. Show me my friends, the Keeper and the Slayer. Show me their present and their future together. 

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At once, one strand shimmered in the mist, floating closer as if in invitation. Lirianna’s hand reached out and grasped it, even as the same hand reached for a new shuttle as she wove at Monstar, and the world suddenly reformed around her.

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She saw Alyen, alone in the Keeper’s cottage, sadness dripping from the rafters like rain. The vision shifted, and she saw Aaron, alone in the Southlands—perhaps Brann Dala by the looks of the canyons. His face was grim, his posture slumped in a way that made Lirianna’s brow furrow with concern. Again the scene shifted and now the three of them were together, standing in the courtyard of Monstar. They all looked older, but instead of the joviality that had marked their previous gatherings, now they looked strained and tense, a chill sweeping over the courtyard like an icy wind. Lirianna watched as her future self tried to bridge the frosty gap between her fellow Trianid members, but succeeded only in increasing the awkward unease that permeated the vision. Aaron and Alyen barely acknowledged each other. No one smiled.

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The vision shifted once more, and now Lirianna was watching herself, much older, with streaks of white mingling with the red of her hair. She was alone in her weaving room, fingering her hearing stone. Without knowing how, young Lirianna knew that the hearing stone was the only way older Lirianna had spoken with Alyen and Aaron in years. Loneliness—a grieving for the connection the Trianid used to share so naturally—was etched across her every feature. It was clear that the Trianid was not only strained—it had broken entirely.

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Lirianna, unused to seeing herself in visions, felt her chest constrict. It was worse than she’d feared. It seemed that not only was the rift between Alyen and Aaron destined to remain, but that the Trianid itself wouldn’t be able to weather the storm of their shattered bond. 

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What do I do now? She thought, her hands and feet still working over her loom. What did I do before?

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Her mind raked through memories of the previous times her magic had unintentionally leaked into her weaving, searching for the common thread that had triggered an alteration of fate. The first time she’d been worrying about Aaron and Alyen as she wove, wishing something would happen to assure Aaron that not all hope for his love was lost. And the second time—she shuddered to think of it again—she had been overcome with horror and grief over the destined death of her youngest brother. She hadn’t even been capable of coherent thought—she’d just hurled everything within her at the vision, willing it to change, to disappear, to never come to pass. 

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So perhaps that’s it, then, Lirianna thought. Some combination of strong emotion with a desire to change the inevitable?

 

It seemed too simple, felt somehow incomplete. The magic in her stirred as if eager to be used, yet she couldn’t shake the thought that she was still missing something. 

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But she had no other ideas, and something told her she wouldn’t be able to figure it out tonight. So she turned her focus back to the vision. Snippets of each scene kept flashing in succession before her gaze, and with each image of loneliness and ruin, Lirianna’s unease grew. Rather than steadying herself, she allowed the discomfort to grow, larger and more desperate with each pass of her shuttle through the warp. Her face twisted as the agony of their shared future spread through her and, when finally she felt close to losing all control, she gathered the roiling chaos within her and pushed it forcefully outward into the vision.

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It was an inelegant attempt. The magic slammed out of her, colliding with the tapestry of the Balance, sending a shudder through the vision that suddenly shattered into pieces around her. Desperate to regain control and ensure the magic did what they’d intended for it to do, she sent her thoughts chasing after her magic, out into whatever remained of the crumbling vision world. 

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May these visions never come to pass! May Destiny bring Alyen and Aaron together again. Let them find a way to heal and reunite. May their love be restored—and the Trianid as well.

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A tremble passed through the vision world, a sudden, oppressive fog obscuring everything. Lirianna gasped as her eyes flew open, sweat running in rivulets down the sides of her face. Panting for air, she struggled to reorient herself to her surroundings: her workroom, the moonlight, her loom comfortingly solid before her. As her breathing slowed, her gaze trailed down to her weaving and her eyes grew wide as they took in the sight before her.

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Her hands were resting still upon the woven cloth, shimmering with a radiance brighter than anything else in the room, brighter even than the moon hanging in the dark sky beyond her window. From her fingers, streams of blue and gold light flowed into her weaving, making its pattern glow with an unearthly gleam.

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Lirianna’s first instinct was to snatch her hands away from the weaving, but Faer Dinnán’s voice stopped her. “Wait, Lirianna. Let your magic complete its work.”

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With some effort, Lirianna willed her hands to remain still. She watched in silence as the glow of her magic slowly faded, the last tendrils of light seeping into the threads of her weaving. When, finally, the last of the glow had evaporated, and the room was illuminated once more by moon and faerie light alone, Lirianna and Faer Dinnán both leaned forward to see the image Lirianna’s weaving had produced.

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It was a harp. Simple and elegant, against a background of black wool. 

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Lirianna’s brow furrowed, her stomach twisting with anxiety. What did a harp have to do with anything she’d seen in her vision? Had she done it wrong? Perhaps she’d somehow projected her forthcoming journey to Tiragel into her magic, and the weaving was nothing more than a reflection of her anticipation of hearing the bards play while she was there. 

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But if her magic had worked in a way she hadn’t intended … which parts of Destiny had she changed?

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Lirianna looked up into Faer Dinnán’s face, her face twisted with worry. “Why a harp?” she asked, her voice sounding small in the darkness.

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The faerie king’s eyes gleamed, but his words were few. “We shall have to see.”

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Lirianna sniffed, her gaze returning to her weaving. She pulled her hands away, fingers trembling, and clasped them tightly in her lap.

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“Are you well, Seer?” Faer Dinnán’s voice held a hint of concern.

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Lirianna shook her head. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if this was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever done—or the most terrible.” 

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The faerie king studied her face for a moment before answering. “Can it be both?”

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Lirianna looked up, incredulous, but was suddenly hit by a wave of exhaustion. Abandoning any thought of a retort, she rose shakily to her feet. “I’d like to return to my room now. Are we finished here?”

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“Of course,” Faer Dinnán said, surprising Lirianna by offering her a supporting arm as she crossed the room to the door. She sensed him hesitate as she reached for the handle and looked up to meet his gaze.

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“Thank you, Lirianna,” he said softly, sincerity written across his face. “I’m aware that this night was not easy for you. Truly, I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

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Lirianna smiled weakly, too tired to register the full implications of having the faerie king indebted to her. “I just hope it works.”

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“As do I. Rest well, Seer.” Faer Dinnán’s grip on her arm tightened for a moment, and Lirianna felt a warmth spread through her that both returned some of her strength and sent a wave of sleepiness throughout her body. She sighed in relief. 

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“Thank you. Good night.”

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She left the faerie king at the door and made her way back to her room, where she sank gratefully into her bed. She was asleep in moments, Faer Dinnán’s magic granting her deep and dreamless slumber.

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And throughout Dúramair, the threads of the Balance quivered with the shifting of Destiny.