Chapter 12 - Errata, Woven II

The sound of it still resonated in my head; a piece of parchment ripped in a single slice so quick it was barely a whisper in your ear. A cut so subtle it was nearly silent when the Leavanny’s head moved, and I’d been ripped back to right before we’d fought, a migraine pulsating against my skull. While my Pokemon postured for a fight, Hayate froze in place and asked what we should do—but I could not bother answering any of them right now.

The bug was content to stare at me with the most obnoxious of smiles as his words continued sinking in. The fifth time we fought. I distinctively remembered the last, but not the other four, which could mean two things.

One, somehow, this Leavanny could mess with time, which as far as I knew was impossible. Such territory was the domain of Legend beyond even Mesprit. Future Sight could be used to glimpse at most a few minutes ahead, and certain psychics such as Xatu or Gothitelle could peer deeper into the future, but that was all they could do. Look, and to some extent influence.

They did not reach into what had already happened, tear it loose, and force the world to live through it again. The fact that a bug could reach the same results as a psychic type wouldn’t surprise me—not when I knew how similar the two energies could be even if bugs required far more effort to do what a psychic could, but this was impossible.

Two, and this was where my mind was headed, I was trapped in an illusion of some kind where Leavanny had complete and total control over time. A working this elaborate would require a degree of finesse and control I’d rarely encountered in a Pokemon, but unlike actually turning back the clock, it was within the realm of possibility. 

A growl from Sunshine snapped me out of my thoughts. “I’m thinking,” I told him, and everyone around me. “It’s okay, don’t attack first.”

What was strange, however, was that as Mesprit’s Shard I should have been shielded from anything trying to influence my mind, and thus should have remembered this apparent time loop from the start. Of course, Leavanny could have been lying, but I did not smell it off of him. 

Either way, while curiosity wanted to eat me alive and leave my corpse to nourish the forest, we still needed to hightail it out of here. Running away might have been possible in the real world, but as things stood Leavanny would simply rip us back to this exact moment.

And here, we came to the heart of matters. The being I realized was most likely the Weaver of Histories wanted something from us. 

“Let me do the talking,” I whispered before inhaling sharply through my teeth and raising my voice to the Leavanny. “I assume you want something from us, then.”

The Leavanny laughed, and when it did it was as if many more voices stood behind him. Yes I do, you strange child. He spoke into my mind as he scraped his scythe-like forearms together. Hayate took a step back until my Tangrowth placed a reassuring vine on his shoulder. Don’t pretend you do not also require answers from me. Have you not been seeking me out all this time? I have puppets all over the forest, and you spoke to one of them about me.

My blood ran cold with the confirmation that we were facing the Weaver of Histories, but I did not let it show on my face. My feet stayed firmly planted in the moss, and my back remained straight. 

“I have. If this offended you, I apologize and I am willing to never speak of this again,” I tried.

You do not get to seek me out and walk away on your terms, the Weaver said, this time to everyone—not that Hayate could understand. The poor kid was incredibly terrified and confused, but I would explain it all later and at the very least he had the sense to stay quiet and not demand answers.

“Okay. Then what are yours?”

Your mind, he told me and me alone, is quite the intriguing construct. I could not cut away your memories for very long.

He should not have been able to do so at all, no matter how far away Lake Verity was.

“And you want to know why.”

The bug nodded, eyes gleaming crimson with a rapacious voracity for knowledge. I am no fighter, see. That is not the Role entrusted to me, he explained. That explained why I’d managed to ‘beat’ him, even if he’d most likely been holding back. That fact made me bite onto my tongue.

There was always a bigger fish in this big world of ours.

Still, with enough attempts I would have been able to cut you open and dissect you, but violence is never my first choice, and there is no guarantee what shrouds your mind would disappear even in death.

I inhaled sharply. “You attacked us.”

The first two cycles, the Turtonator attacked me first, he told me, and I did not sense a lie. The next three, therefore, I decided to strike and enjoy myself a little. But independently of this, I realized your mind was special and that I would not be able to stop you from remembering for very long. The fifth cycle, you used a different Moonblast, and from that point on, the patterns I had learned to get the best of you failed.

I did not know why I’d decided to use my teacher Bellatrix’s variant of Moonblast instead of Princess’. It had just felt… right in the moment.

“Very well. A question for a question, then.”

The Weaver giggled, mandibles clicking together. Not at all. I will ask my questions, and see if yours are worth answering if you can satiate my hunger.

“That’s not—”

Fair? He tilted his head. I am no fairy, you half-thing. I take, and you give or die.

It’d feel like an itch I couldn’t scratch, but we had no choice. Before the exchange could begin, I explained the situation to my Pokemon and Hayate, the former of which seemed less than pleased at the idea that their memories were being stolen and the latter just wanting to do anything to get the fuck out of here, in his own words.

Where we reached an impasse for nearly ten minutes, however, was that Leavanny wanted for me and me alone to come with him while we spoke. My Pokemon tried pushing for at least one bodyguard, but my mind was already made up.

“If he wanted to kill me, there’s nothing we could do anyway. I don’t sense any hostility from him.”

Obviously Princess posited that there was a chance he could not turn back the wheel of time endlessly and that it would take a toll on him and we’d eventually find a way to escape the illusion, but thinking in such a one-dimensional way had brought us close to ruin many times. Only Angel, bless his heart, agreed with me. The grass type had always been the biggest pacifist in the family, and his pleas ended up convincing the others even if it left a horrible taste in their mouths.

Thus, I hesitantly trudged toward Leavanny with heavy steps. Like an old friend, the Weaver, towering over me, placed a sharp hand over my shoulder and ushered me toward nowhere in particular. The trees had no end to them, and the sweet scent hanging over the grove was still sickeningly rich, coating the back of my throat with every breath like syrup. The bug was tall, but not overwhelmingly so. Still, he towered over my meager frame.

Gesture of peace or not, I was no fool. This game we were about to play was a very dangerous one, and each step needed to be taken carefully if I still wanted my head attached to my shoulders by the end of it. If the Weaver grew disappointed, or if he had no need for more answers, there were no guarantees I would not be disposed of. The important matter here was to never give him an excuse to strike.

How wonderful, how wonderful, the Weaver idly said with a pleased hum. Don’t you find it quite pleasant here?

My eyes narrowed, not understanding the point of the question. Lying was considered, but my gut told me that would be a mistake. “It makes me feel ill.” I glanced up at the amber glow above. “But I can handle it, and it’s a unique sight for sure.” I paused for a moment. “But did you not want to ask me questions?”

There is no point in not savoring a succulent meal, human! Leavanny sang. Or before you realize, it’ll be gone and there will be no more feasting. 

Not wanting to push my luck, I remained quiet until Leavanny spoke again once he brought me back to the Sewaddle and Swadloon. While the Sewaddle were still in their trance, the Swadloon bowed to the Weaver with great reverence, staying frozen in place until he told them to rise. 

“You do not rule them,” I guessed, “but you are a religious figurehead?”

A representative, and an aspiration, he said, and left it at that.

The offerings had grown into a small mound at the foot of the central tree. Leavanny inspected them as we passed, occasionally brushing the edge of a parcel with one of his blades. The Swadloon watched every movement with rapt attention. 

“Is this your domain, then? Pinwheel Forest?”

Leavanny laughed, and one of the Swadloon passed out from the excitement at the sight. Oh, you say the most hilarious of things! His smile was sharp as he peered down into my eyes. Me? Holding dominion over this place? Don’t be foolish.

Yet he’d given me all the signs that this was his domain, even if it did not encapsulate the entire forest. He had even spoken about his Role. Still, as I glimpsed into his emotions, there was no lie spoken. 

When I glimpse into your mind, he suddenly began, I see three things barring my way. A veil that conceals it beyond sight, a shield that repels what would harm it, and a needle that would mend it all should it be torn. 

We stopped walking, and he motioned at me to sit amidst the moss. I did so, and he followed suit, facing me. The way he sat was delicate, folding his limbs beneath himself one at a time until his bladed arms rested across his lap. His antennae twitched with curiosity, and his usual sharp smile turned into a wicked thing. A sickle catching a glimpse of amber light.

So what has taken such pains to keep you whole that even I could not cut through it permanently? he asked as he leaned forward. I could see my reflection a hundred-fold in his crimson, compound eyes.

“You shouldn’t have been able to cut through it at all. I’ve been around my fair share of powerful beings.” The statement was more to give information than anything else. A way to offer that not even a Pokemon of his calibre could hope to break through.

Mesprit was technically a psychic type Pokemon—not that the Pokedex would tell you that. Type effectiveness or not, they were a god. Even dark types would find no purchase in the barrier they’d crafted.

Oh? Leavanny’s mandibles clicked, and he finally leaned back a respectful distance, allowing my breaths to finally feel whole again. Then I believe, human, that you are worth trading information with as of now.

I allowed myself a relieved exhale. “My name is Grace Pastel. It feels weird when you call me human.”

Tell me more about this barrier, human, he said, ignoring me.

I did not plan to divulge everything right away. To needle information out of him, I needed to drip feed mine and barter. The concept of trade was not limited to fairies, even if it would most likely still not be a fair bargain.

“There’s this old Sinnohan myth about a Claw, a Fang, and a Plume. Do you know of it?”

Whispers. Only whispers, the Weaver eagerly said.

I put up three fingers. “Three humans, bound together by something. Anything. I believe it to be a story, but some might say fate, or even happenstance. Three Gifts given, but not for free.” A slight, mirthless smile stretched across my lips. “Nothing is ever free, see? And as it turns out, the price for such a gift,” I tapped a finger on my temple, “is to not just take a stand at the end of the world, but to be expected to just walk away afterwards.”

I could see the gears turning in the Weaver’s head as he carefully considered his next words and he deciphered each syllable I’d uttered. And the bearer of this gift. Did it offer you the Claw, the Fang, or the Plume?

“Why do you ask,” I said, “when you already know the answer?”

Perhaps it was to see if I’d lie to him. If he had heard whispers of the story, then I guessed correctly that he was well-versed enough in it to know what each item symbolized. He most likely hadn’t known the myth was real up to this point, nor that the gift actually bore significant power.

The Plume, then, he accepted with a nod. Emotion.

“A very powerful Concept. Incredibly large in scope—larger than I think anyone could properly define without inevitably leaving something out. A third of the reason why anything with a mind at all even acts. The reason people destroy themselves for things that matter and endure things that should have broken them long ago. I revere it.”

Revere, it said again. Perhaps you are its herald, then. 

I shook my head, smiling. “No. I’m a friend.”

The Leavanny let the words sit, utter silence spreading through the grove once again save for the Sewaddle working nearby. I’d gotten carried away and given the Weaver more than what was needed, but it was obvious its curiosity was nowhere near sated.

One question. He inclined his head towards me.

There it was, an opening to learn something. I could ask him about the secrets behind his power given that he held no domain, or about what I’d come here to find out—why Pokemon were not fighting back against humanity on any level, at least in anything that was not a frontier town out west. Or about its role within the forest in more detail. Or. Or. Or. It was a cascade without end. After careful consideration for what felt like an eternity I settled on this very simple one, for its shape would allow me to unravel the most information should I play this correctly.

“How did you cut through it, then?” I asked. “Be as thorough as possible, please.”

Devious child, the Weaver commended. Not without your edges.

He looked up at the canopy. At the amber-golden light falling through the leaves like rain.

I cut through it using an implement given to me by the one who rules this place. I am its herald, its representative, its hand where it has none of its own, for it seldom intervenes. I and my predecessors before me have served diligently through each cycle since it created these woods.

I blinked at him—so he was no fixture upon the world. No immortal ruler of Pinwheel Forest. He would one day die of old age, although I guessed his lifespan was far longer than what would be natural for his species. More importantly, 

“And this implement…” I trailed off, eyeing every inch of him. It was more of a symbolic power than anything physical.

And to have the power to cut through my Gift, it had to weigh quite a lot upon the world. Not anything beyond Mesprit’s means, but still capable of some harm until the shard adapted to the attack.

It is a sword. When I looked at him expecting more, he scoffed—or as close to it as a Leavanny could. Do not test your luck, human. My turn, now. What else does this Gift offer you?

A wince tried to pull at my face, though I did not let it. That was the question I wished to answer the least, and I decided to once again obfuscate as much as I could—not by lying, but by staying as vague as possible. 

“Emotion is more difficult to hide from me, if I so choose.” By implying the power was still fallible, I hoped to stave off further needling, but the Weaver was smarter than that and asked me to bare my heart open to his sights if I wanted to know anything else about him. “Fine, sorry.” I swallowed harshly, and explained the ins and outs of my power.

Should I choose so, a human mind, to me, was like a canvas. It was never blank save for Team Galactic’s Cyrus, for everyone felt emotion even if some did more mutedly than others. Colors were matched to emotions, though they might be different for some—a deep green could be envy for some and a soft kindness for others. I could feel them intuitively regardless, but a painting told a story my instincts could not replicate very easily. A secondary part of my shard was that I could also tell what a Pokemon was saying, though they were not distinct words as much as I could just feel what they meant when they spoke.

Such breadth, the Weaver said, breathing out. One of his scythes lifted up my chin while the other scraped my cheek. It was the perverse touch of something more powerful than I could imagine, the herald of what was possibly another deity. He was no fighter, yet power came in many different forms. You wouldn’t be holding out on me still, would you? My stomach rumbles.

The edge against my cheek wasn't sharp. Not yet. It traced the curve of my face with impossible delicacy, lingering beneath my eye as though the Weaver could peel something from me simply by touching it. 

“Th—that was it, I promise.” The words spilled out of my mouth before I realized. “And there’s still plenty more,” I hurriedly added as the bladed arms nearly pierced into my flesh. “I know so much.”

Understanding shone in the Weaver’s eyes. I know you fairies do not promise lightly, and so I believe you. Ask another question.

His arms let go of me, and I crawled back by sheer instinct. Something about the way he looked at me as if I were nothing but a meal unsettled me. No, not a meal, I realized. Information to satiate his curiosity. Was this how he’d always been, or had his Role shaped him this way?

I touched my slightly scraped neck, rubbing it gently. “This world. Is it an illusion, and how do we leave it? Go in as much detail as possible,” I said again.

Leavanny tilted his head. It is no illusion.

My throat tightened, as if I was breathing through the tiniest of straws. “That’s impossible.”

It is very possible, he countered flatly. With my master’s sword, I cut away this piece of the world over which I hold complete control right as you entered it. With my master’s sword, I cut away what shrouds your mind four times before it adapted and I found the matter impossible. With my master’s sword, I cut apart time itself, although only in this small bubble, and I sewed it back together to my liking.

“I—”

Like so.

The Weaver cocked his head to the side/

And I was back to sitting against a tree next to Hayate, discussing his missing Ranger/

And I was back to facing him, eyes glowing in the amber light with my team and Hayate around me/

And I was walking through the woods, accompanied by a sharp arm behind my back/

And we were back to sitting in front of each other, my heart hammering at my chest. It was all so seamless. Quicker than a blink, as if we were teleporting, with nothing but the harsh yet subtle sound of a sword cutting through the fabric of time.

Thus, time outside the bubble flows the same way it ever does: onward, he explained, but should I want to, I could keep you here quite a while. Eventually the world would notice that this small area is not keeping up with it and collapse the bubble in a violent stitching of timelines that would potentially create many anomalies at its borders, but it could be days. The bug type smiled sharply at my apparent relief that I would not be stuck in here for months or years. The bigger the bubble, the less leeway I am given.

Sweat trickled down my forehead. “Their memories?” I asked, looking toward where we’d come from.

They retain them at this current time, given I have brought us back to this point. He noticed the pang of anxiety on my face. Do not worry, it is harmless. I have generations of practice behind me, and I carry with me their memories. 

That was the many voices I kept hearing when he spoke, I realized. It was still impossible to make out how many, but they were there.

The next question he asked was about my time in Sinnoh and what must have required such a gift to be given. With this, he shared a further nugget of information that although his patron could roam the world freely, they often went ‘cycles’ without showing themselves, however many years those were. I told the Weaver about Team Galactic—about their attempt to trick Time and Space into ending this world and creating a new one where Cyrus would have been a God.

Thus, we arrived at my third question. This one was… no, it was not more important than the others, but there was the subtle urge in my brain to make it count, and so I decided to cut through the matter of why I’d sought out the Weaver of Histories.

“I came to Unova for a few reasons, but this one weighs harshest on my heart, Weaver,” I said. “This region has one of the harshest repressions of Pokemon I’ve seen, and apparently they do not fight back. There are no recent records of any attacks anywhere on any of Unova’s largest cities, and trainers are not attacked on routes.” If Pinwheel Forest was hiding monsters such as this one, then Unova most likely had plenty of powerful milling about. “While repression from the League could be the reason most stay their hands, there is no explanation for no attacks to have taken place at all.”

The truth of the matter is, human, we are no monolith. Some Pokemon, both from the weak ones to the powerful ones, have learned to enjoy this arrangement with the Unovan League. Pokemon would have to worry not only about reprisal from humanity, but from these groups as well. The further east you go, the more you’ll find with this ideology. These Pokemon, the League often finds common ground with easily enough. Should you want to change things, you’ll find yourself at odds with these as well.

That made sense, though I did not think they would be such a significant number. And Pokemon could be far more ruthless than humans often were in their punishments. Still, you’d think that at least one would strike every few years, but I could tell the Leavanny did not want me to push this line of questioning.

“Where do you stand?” I asked him.

I stand where my master stands.

“And where would that be?”

We are, the Weaver of Histories began, near the end of a cycle and the start of something new. By the end of the year, I predict the face of these lands will have changed. Leavanny suddenly stood, and for once, I could not tell what he felt. My master does not intervene in human affairs until times appear desperate, always amidst great change, and thus, I take the same position. I run the forest it created in its name until the time has come, and I allow the humans their due without a fuss. Even I would have trouble should they come after me.

A fire burned on my tongue, daring me to push my luck and ask one more question. 

“Who do you serve, Weaver?”

He did not look at me. 

Earlier, you told me that you represented one third of what made a being capable of any action at all, he said wistfully. I serve one third of the reason consequence follows choice. The reason right and wrong carry weight at all. The reason the wicked are punished and the innocent spared. He turned toward me, and for once, did not smile. Instead, I saw grief. I serve one third of Justice, and what a cruel mistress she is.

Leavanny cocked his head to the side/

And then, with my team and Hayate at my side, I faced a Pokemon Ranger tightly bound in silk screaming for help.