Theoretically, we could be falling forever, but I’m not exactly eager to test this. I can’t leave Erik here alone though. He’s twisted his head and caught sight of us. Catching on, he propels his body around so that he is falling backwards, facing us, and watching my progress. And then something amazing happens. Maybe it’s the rough, thick texture of this weave or maybe, like me, he can actually see the strands, because he reaches out and grabs at them until his hand catches one. He’s still falling, but he’s slowed his progress.
Jost throws his weight against me, pushing us to accelerate until he is able to reach out with his free hand and clasp it over the outstretched hand of his brother.
It would be a real moment if we weren’t stuck in some void between worlds. At least I have a plan – thanks to Loricel. Well, an idea really, and I can only hope it works. Now that Jost and Erik are both safely within my control, I let go of the strand, and we slide faster along the mantle. As we hit the strands, sparks fly and bits fray. I can only imagine the damage we’re doing. It’s the kind of repair work they’ll need a Creweler for. Maybe I’m buying Loricel some time, though I’m not sure that’s doing her a favour.
Jost’s hand stays closed over Erik’s, and his arm is still tight against my waist. My hands are free so I reach into the strands and rip as hard as I can, wiggling my fingers under the coarse weave under Arras, and then my hands slip into something cool. Night air. The raw weave’s strands are thick and tightly woven against one another and getting one hand through is exhausting, but there’s a strange sense of accomplishment when I realise I’ve stopped our fall.
Of course, now we’re floating in an extended void, so best not to get cocky. We are outside the reality of Arras and its physical laws, but honestly, I have no idea what to expect on the surface of Earth. If Loricel is right and there’s nothing left, I’ll have killed us all. I’m not sure I’m ready to face that possibility, but I like the idea of slowly wasting away as we fall through strands of time even less.
If Jost and Erik want to know what I’m doing, they don’t ask. Even though I can’t hear them here, I would be able to see their mouths moving, but they remain tight-lipped. Right now they seem intent on letting me continue my manipulation of the strands and ignoring each other. Whatever brotherly love might exist between them, they aren’t exactly giddy at their reunion. But there’s no time for distractions. I push these concerns out of my mind and work harder at opening a new rift. Once it’s big enough to stick an arm through it occurs to me that it might be smart to poke my head in and get a look at what I’ve got myself into. I don’t want to drop us into the middle of an ocean after all.
I barely make out a cry of protest from one of the boys as I wiggle my head into the misplaced strands. It’s dark. A large full moon casts a faint glow on shadowy objects all around me. I’m hanging above a street edged by a row of buildings. The light bounces off the black and in the distance it fades to twinkling gold. There’s a stillness to the scene that makes it feel false. Another illusion. But as if to contradict me, a soft breeze brushes my face and tosses my hair. The scene remains relatively unchanged, but as my eyes adjust, I make out the wind tossing stray debris across the road. I hear the scrape of paper on concrete.
The good news is that we are not hovering over the middle of the ocean, but the bad news is that I have no idea where we are or what to expect of this world – Earth. It’s more desolate than I imagined, which seems stupid, because I know there is no one left living on this layer. But there’s shelter and, if we’re lucky, maybe food. I suppose I thought others might have made their way out, but how could they without a Creweler?
Without me?
Regardless, it’s the best option we have. I could try to open a rift and bring us back into Arras, but that would be even more dangerous. Loricel may have helped us escape, but she won’t be in a position to help us if we return. I can’t be sure she’s even alive, and they’ll be watching for our personal identifying sequences in the weave. No, it’s not safe to return, so there’s no other choice. Pulling back into the open weave, I work faster, more sure of myself now that I know we’ll be safe when the entrance is large enough. I don’t bother to look at either Jost or Erik. I’ll have to deal with that drama later. Right now I have a job to do.
Time is coarser in the raw weave and my already scarred fingers soon begin to feel the work, despite the calloused tips Maela gave me. Having two other lives here depending on me, and desperately needing to get through and figure out what to do about Sebrina and Amie, I ignore the ache in my hands. They’re in danger every second we waste on the surface, and, unlike during the moments I wove within the Coventry, time will continue to move forward in both realities.
When I finally manage to carve out a wide enough gap, I nod dramatically to let my companions know we need to go through. I see Jost’s mouth moving, and his eyes squint in concern. I shake my head to let him know I can’t hear him and reach out with my free hand to suggest that he should enter. His mouth forms one word that’s easy enough to read: No. Fine. Sooner or later he’s going to want to come through. Of course, if I let go of him, he’ll return to falling and probably never find this open space again. About the time I realise I’m chewing on the inside of my cheek, Erik impatiently struggles to the open spot. His left arm is still on my waist, and he pulls me along with him, like he’s swimming in the air. When his free arm slips through the hole, he releases me and catapults himself forward, disappearing entirely. I turn back to Jost and raise my eyebrows. His arm tightens around me, and he frowns, but seems to realise that anything’s better than being stuck in this interspace. Moving forward more slowly than his brother, he smoothly pulls me along until we are at the mouth of the opening. Looking at me for reassurance, he takes a deep breath and drags us both through. We land in a pile of crumbling concrete; it looks like the remains of a road. Apparently my hole wasn’t exactly flush with the ground of the real world, but it’s not so bad. We could have fallen much further.
‘I thought maybe you were dropping me off,’ Erik calls to us, his usually droll voice flat. He’s already on the edge of the ruins, and he doesn’t stop for us.
‘Dare to dream,’ Jost grumbles back.
And there it is. The first words they’ve spoken as brothers in front of me. The exchange adds a chill to the frigid night air. Erik stalks forward until I see only his silhouette in the moonlight. We watch him make his way into the metro beyond us, and Jost puts his arm around me.
I shiver in his embrace, staring out at the abandoned remains of Earth. Here time seems to stand still, and yet all around me are signs of decay – the natural erosion of a place forsaken by men. We linger in a moment suspended on the verge of possibility and ruin. But before I can reach out to break its mysterious hold, on the horizon a bloated mass appears, a ship in the air, flying low along the skyline, and from it a sweeping light bursts forth, as though to welcome us back home.
END OF BOOK ONE
Acknowledgements
As this is the closest I will ever come to an Oscar acceptance speech, I would like you to imagine me in a beautiful gown clutching this book as you read. Now that you have the proper visual, let us proceed.
Many thanks are owed to my agent extraordinaire, Mollie Glick, whose passion never ceases to amaze. Thanks for getting on that plane. A similar debt of gratitude is due to Janine O’Malley, who understood the book from day one and is the best editor a girl could ask for. And to Beth Potter, who helped me navigate part of the editorial journey. This novel is infinitely better thanks to you three.
My sincere thanks to Simon Boughton and Jon Yaged, who made me feel right at home in my new house. I can’t express how grateful I am for the team at Farrar Straus Giroux and Macmillan.
I’m proud to call Foundry Literary + Media my agency. Thank you to Hannah Brown Gordon and Katie Hamblin for answering all my emails.
I would be a lonely girl if it weren’t for my writing friends, who have been with me every ste
p of this crazy adventure. Thank you, Bethany Hagen and Robin Lucas for laughing, crying, and screaming with me, and Kalen O’Donnell, who came late to the party, but decided to stay.
My husband informs me that my wrap-it-up music is playing and that I can’t thank every English teacher I ever had, so I’ll hit the highlights: Bob Brennan and Alan Hunter, who both kept me reading during the lost years, aka high school. Dr Miriam Fuller, who taught me to look at stories more closely. And Dr Devoney Looser and Dr George Justice, who somehow always knew I had it in me despite evidence to the contrary.
Most important, thank you to my family, who never laughed when I said I wanted to write books but rather cheered me from the margins. To my children, who accepted my ‘job’ early on and proudly proclaimed ‘Mommy writes books’ to strangers. And to Josh – my first reader, my first everything – thank you.
About the Author
Gennifer Albin holds a master’s degree in English Literature from the University of Missouri, and founded the tremendously popular blog theconnectedmom.com. She lives in Lenexa, Kansas, with her husband and two children. Learn more about her at genniferalbin.com.
First published in the US by Farrar Straus Giroux
Books for Young Readers in 2012
This ebook first published in the UK in this edition in 2012
by Faber and Faber Limited
Bloomsbury House
74–77 Great Russell Street,
London, WC1B 3DA
All rights reserved
© Gennifer Albin, 2012
The right of Gennifer Albin to be identified as author
of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77
of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
A CIP record for this book
is available from the British Library
ISBN 978–0–571–28290–6
Gennifer Albin, Crewel
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