A Seer in the family

‘I finished that hours ago,’ said Matijas, playing with his stuffed goose.

‘Have you cleared up your room yet?’ asked Lady Saah.

‘I just came from the chicken coop.’

Lady Saah put her hands on her hips. ‘What about the chicken? Did you feed them today?’

Matijas shrugged. ‘You really don’t have to get me anything, ma. But if you must… I’d very much like a new stuffed goose,’ he lifted his decrepit-looking stuffed yellow goose and gave it an affectionate squeeze. ‘Or you could get me something to read. I heard Klaus Weaverson released a new book.’

‘Well done, son. I couldn’t be more proud,’ smiled Lady Saah. ‘Oh, nearly forgot! What would you like for your birthday?’

It was just dawning on Lady Saah that something was a little off with her son. For once, he looked rather peaky, and seemed to have his baby fat— no, no, that wasn’t it. It was something sinister about how he seemed to know exactly what to reply before she had even imagined the question. It was almost like he knew what she was going to say. But Matijas couldn’t be one of… one of them, could he? With her heart in her throat, Lady Saah decided to impart Matijas her suspicion.

Matijas shook his head. ‘No secret there, mother. Definitely got the Sight. Could foresee things since I was five, me. Mind, it’s been getting slightly worse in the past few months, can you tell?’

Lady Saah brought her hand to her mouth. ‘Matijas, I think you might be a… a Seer.’

‘Blasted be aunt Peppy’s filthy genepool, Matijas is a Seer’, thought Lady Saah, her face swamped in horror. But that was terrible – absolutely terrible – news!

As Elder Weaveress, Lady Saah knew what terrible things that entailed. Seers were incredible rare and very, very precious to the Guild. The Weavers would do just about anything to recruit her son, and once her son made the Guild, Matijas would be used in most terrible ways. They would place the cosmic sufferings of others on his eight-year-old shoulders. Matijas would cease being a kid and become some kind of super-charged tool, honed to do the Weavers’ odd bidding.

There was no way around it: she would have to turn Matijas in to the Guild of Weavers. Refusal to do so would result in her expulsion from the Guild and her unwiring from the Pattern.

‘No, I won’t let them have him!’ Lady Saah said to herself. ‘Matijas’ Sight has to remain a secret. I’ll leave the Guild and move to another continent, if we have to. Somewhere far, where no one can smell my son’s a Seer.’

Lady Saah sat on the floor, next to her only son. Matijas was still playing with his stuffed yellow goose, unaware of the danger he was in. She opened her mouth, but the words froze on her lips. She didn’t know how to say it.

At that exact moment, Matijas turned his head. He placed the goose on the floor and with the look of youthful innocence shining on his mahogany face, he said: ‘Don’t worry mother. We’ll make ends meet. We will make – and have made – ends meet. We opened a beautiful healing practice in the sole-day-urb of Solidago. We call it the “Golden Goose Healing Practice” – I would know,’ he said, lifting his stuffed animal, ‘since I painted the darn sign myself.’

Lady Saah’s quicksilver eyes filled with tears. Were his words mere reassurance? Were they bathed in truth?

‘You will become the most successful Artisan Kranija has ever seen,’ Matijas continued, his copper eyes reflecting the purple light of a nearby candle. ‘Of course, you won’t actually be healing people with Artisanship. You will do it with Weaving disguised as Artisanship, for you are the Elder Weaveress and Weaving is what you do best. And in the dark urb of Solidago, I will be a secret Seer and you will be a secret Weaver, and no one will ever know mother, no one will ever find out. Except, of course, she who can walk between realities; she who can think things true—’

‘Who, dear?’

‘Don’t worry about it, mother,’ Matijas quickly added. ‘That is a chapter for another place, for a different time. Now go on and gather my books and your stuff. There can be no second guesses, no delays. Today we begin, mother. We start weaving our future today…’

- Louise Blackwick

Advent 2017