They made it through the pass without meeting anyone else and on the fifth day of quiet travel began the steep climb up the Arras Ranges. With four days’ worth of supplies having fallen off the cliff they were down to rations. It was hardest for Claire, Jemroth and Gareth, who had all used magic in fending off the priests. Their stomachs throbbed and they got snappier and snappier with each passing hour so that two days later, wrapped in every spare stitch of clothing they owned, they tumbled out of the cart, hungry, bruised and tousled.

Claire couldn’t believe how flat it was at the top of the snowy mountain peak. Once he’d secured the horses, Jemroth pulled his hood around his ears and waved her forward as his breath misted. “The Enchantment Weavers lived in a lodge on that side when I knew them.” He strode to his right, as the wind howled, and snowflakes whipped into his face.

Claire exchanged a doubtful glance with Lotte. She couldn’t see evidence of life. Still, she made herself battle on, bowing her head against the wind. Within fifteen minutes, she knew their search was fruitless. There was no sign of buildings anywhere along the plateau at the top of the mountain.

“Let’s think about this logically,” she said, trying to ignore the damp seeping into her boots and the hollowness in her chest. “Where would you build a settlement on a mountain? Somewhere with proper shelter. Everyone, take a side each to look over and shout out if you see anything.”

She strode over to the nearest mountain edge and made herself look over its precipice. A series of ledges rose to meet her and drifting from under them she thought she saw smoke. She narrowed her eyes, trying to pick out a route that would lead them down. White snow blinded her, but as she stared, an enormous salamander appeared, sudden warmth spreading through Claire from head to toe. “Help me find my way,” Claire mouthed as the Saura’s bulging eyes pinned onto hers, crimson and orange fire spouting behind the elemental leader’s great head like a cloud. At last, the creature flicked a long molten gold tongue at two grey boulders, standing tall on the mountainside. Claire saluted the Saura, then straightened and turned back to the others. “I think there’s a path,” she called out. She fell to her knees and began to shovel snow aside, glad of her thick gloves. Her salamander protector had already vanished by the time first Lotte, then Gareth and Jemroth were helping too, everyone digging side by side.

Claire’s fingers brushed against something hard. She was definitely onto something. If I can dig deeper then … yes! Stone pavers peaked at her. Claire punched the air and silently thanked the Saura.

Soon, they’d uncovered the start of a trail. She waved at the others and they stopped, hands pressed into the smalls of their backs. “We’ll need to leave the cart. It’s too steep.”

“What about Agea and Livia?” Jemroth asked.

Claire thought for a moment. “We can’t leave them alone in a blizzard,” she said. “They’ll die. I know we could be about to walk a dangerous path, but there may be buildings further down the mountain that could shelter all of us. Besides, they’re part of our party. We can’t just abandon them.”

The others nodded their agreement and ignoring thirst and her terrible hunger, she directed Jemroth and Gareth as they shoved the cart into a lee made by the peak, then they adjusted their coats and cloaks and set off on the near vertical path, each step painstakingly slow as they shoved snow aside.

Claire skidded numerous times and even fell over once, having to be half-dug out of the snow by Jemroth, but she was too excited at the prospect of warmth and shelter to do more than shrug and push on. She’d lost count of how long they’d trudged as her muscles strained and blinding white dazzled her vision, but at last they crossed under the ledges and Jemroth shouted, pointing ahead.

A sturdy rectangular building, a little like a small fortress, snow coating its domed cupola, greeted her. As they drew closer, she saw the structure was made of dark stone, almost the colour of rust. Claire led the way, the others falling into a neat line behind her. As she reached what she assumed was the entrance to the abode, she slid her glove off and rapped her hand against the heavy wood. No one answered, so she pushed against the door. It opened easily.

She stepped over the threshold, unsure what to expect. Would the Enchantment Weavers be friendly or standoffish, would they even be inside at all? She hoped so; she, her friends and the horses would die without new supplies soon. Someone had better be here after everything she and the others had been through to find them.

As her eyes adjusted to the muted gloom inside, the only light coming from lanterns hung from hooks on the stone walls and the flicker of flames up ahead, she couldn’t help but draw in her breath. She’d stepped inside what looked to be a huge single-roomed shed reminding her of the old shearing sheds on some of the farms back home. The only real difference was that the roof of this place was a huge dome instead of the triangular shapes she was used to in Shale. To her left and right were wooden pens full of sheep, the ground strewn with hay, sweet-smelling and fresh. The sheep baas echoed in the cavernous space and Claire felt suddenly at home.

The brutal cold left her bones as the rest of the party entered the shed, Lotte hurriedly closing the door against the chill. The air was stuffy and smelt of lanolin and smoke, but it was also warm, and pleasant to hear the wind howling outside now it couldn’t touch Claire.

Lotte clutched at her hand. “These people must be rollin’ in coin to have so many livestock,” she whispered.

Claire was too busy imagining she was back in Shale with her parents to register Lotte’s comment at first. It took a moment to process. It didn’t seem like so many sheep to her, but then she hadn’t grown up in a fantasy world where wealth could be measured by the number of animals you owned.

A sudden cough echoed through the shed-like structure. Claire glanced ahead. She could just make out people at the other end of the building, the sheep pens and narrow walkway opening out into an open space. She nodded at Lotte, then Gareth and Jemroth, who was leading the horses, and strode further into the room until she stood before four women and four men all sitting on sheep-skin rugs with a wooden frame loom in their laps and wooden spindles and combs in their hands. Each was at a different stage of weaving a tapestry.

They wore grey tunics and dresses with a strange brown hat ending in frayed tassels over their heads. To their right, four tapestries hung from nails on the stone wall. Gareth looked at the nearest one longingly and Claire knew it had to be made by Marianne. It depicted a woman standing on a mountaintop, sheep surrounding her, as she stared down at the sea. Under the pictures, wood crackled inside an iron grate, the source of the smoke. Claire longed to rush over and stand as close as she could to it, but she remembered her manners in time as she sank into a curtsy.

“Welcome travellers,” a young woman to the far left said without looking up from her work. Her voice was low but clear and she spoke with authority.

Jemroth cleared his throat as he stepped ahead of Claire, passing Agea and Livia’s halters to her as he passed by. “We have come to ask for your help. I visited you many years ago to ask about my future.”

“Ah yes, I remember. The hour is almost upon you when you must rebuild your House, Jemroth.”

He bowed his head. “Even though my elementals haven’t found me? Even though my learth talents are weak?”

“The Gofannon awaits you, young man, but you shall only meet the blacksmith when the time is right. The gnomes will find and lead you to him and he shall teach you all you would know.”

“When?” Jemroth asked eagerly.

The woman smiled enigmatically. “Soon enough. Away from Maellwyn Manor, the gnomes will come to trust you, and when they do, we’ll be ready. As you know, Lord Maellwyn entrusted us with Lord Domain’s jasper ring and his green and bronze uniform. He had his friend washed and burnt, but he salvaged these things knowing their importance. They are to be yours. We have seen it in the weave.” She paused, stopping to stare at Claire and the rest of her party. “But you have not introduced these strangers. Not all of them have the mark of a Maellwyn.”

“No, good dame. Pardon my lack of courtesy. Beside me is Lady Claire, Suranne’s daughter. She has come in Kelnarium’s hour of need. Gwenivere, leader of the Dream Mages, had a second vision. The Rift explodes this year, taking all of Kelnarium with it, unless Claire closes it.”

The woman continued to weave her wool. “I should not have thought you needed our help with her by your side. As I have told both Lord Dorran and Lord Maellwyn more than once, we cannot weave the Beast out of existence. It is not a person, and as such, we cannot touch it.”

Claire took a step closer to the Weavers. “We didn’t come for that, good dame,” she said, adopting Jemroth’s form of address. “We came because of Eidan.”

“Why? He knows as well as the others what we can and cannot change.”

“He’s turned against us and attacked Dorran House,” Jemroth explained. “Claire’s grandfather is dead.”

The Enchantment Weavers froze, their eyes boring into Claire’s party.

“It’s true,” Claire said, shuffling from foot to foot under their intense scrutiny. “Eidan’s put out proclamations saying that surviving Dorrans should be hanged, and I don’t think it will be long until he turns on other magical brethren.”

“How do you know this?” The young woman asked. “It is a serious accusation to make about the leader of Kelnarium.”

“Because I was at Dorran Manor during the attack. I saw him murder Great-Uncle Aed.” She clasped her hands. “Please, couldn’t you weave Eidan a different future? One where he doesn’t listen to whoever has fed him the lies that have led to this? I’m afraid for my brother, Marcus. We need him to close the Rift.”

The woman began work again, as did the other Weavers. “What do you mean?”

“I had a vision. A member of all four Houses is needed for success. Somehow, Marcus has House Ushanan learth running through his veins, probably through my grandmother. If Eidan’s madness means he kills Marcus, we’re all doomed. Even if Marcus is alive, we’ll have to go to Kelnariat to rescue him and could end up in terrible danger ourselves.”

Lotte stepped forward before Jemroth could stop her. “Please,” she begged. “Please help us.”

The woman shook her head. “You don’t know what you ask. Magic is dangerous these days.”

“I know it is,” Claire said, hoping she sounded braver than she felt, “and I wouldn’t ask unless all of Kelnarium depended on this.”

The Enchantment Weavers muttered amongst themselves, heads pressed together. At last, an old man spoke, his voice phlegmy. “We work our magic less and less these days.” He waved towards the left corner of the shed towards piles of neatly folded cloth stacked from floor to ceiling. “This stuff isn’t the stuff of people’s lives. It is ordinary cloth we ask merchants to sell, but …” He turned to the young woman who had first greeted Claire’s party. “What do you think, Lyssa?”

Lyssa wove silently, as though she had not heard the older Enchantment Weaver. Claire thought she was thinking hard. At last, she looked up. “We don’t have much choice. Even if you are mistaken in your vision, Claire, I can hear in your voice that what you say about your people being attacked is true. If Eidan turns on magical brethren, the merchants won’t buy and sell to us and our little community will die. So yes, I will see if I can weave him a different future.”

Lyssa got up and stepped into the corner of the shed, stooping to pick up something small. She returned with a spindle covered in strange carvings Claire didn’t recognise. From Jemroth, Gareth and Lotte’s expressions, it didn’t seem like they did either. Lyssa sat and carefully picked up her loom again. Now Claire was watching closely, she noticed intricate flowers and vines carved into the frame of the Weaver’s loom too.

Lyssa smiled at Claire. “This spindle and loom have magical properties. When I use them together, I can weave new lives and change destinies.”

Before Claire could tell her how grateful she was for Lyssa’s help, the woman’s eyes became dreamy, like she was someplace far away and her hands speedily worked with almost invisible threads on the loom.

“Please. Take a seat,” the old man said, gesturing to the skins laid on the floor by the fire as the other Weavers moved closer together to make room for the travellers. He smiled when Claire hesitated beside the horses. “Adair here will take care of your mounts. There’s a spare pen and plenty of hay near the entrance to our abode.”

Claire surrendered the halters gratefully to a younger Weaver who led them away, then sank to the floor.

“You must be weary after your journey and this will take some time,” the older man said once Claire’s whole party was seated. “There’s fresh baked bread in a basket to the side of you. Help yourselves.” He made a signal to one of the men next to him, who quickly rose to his feet.

Gareth snatched the bread, then tossed a piece to everyone, already cramming his into his mouth. Claire sat cross-legged on the floor, the silence and the stillness making her notice just how cold and tired and hungry she was. She ate three pieces before she felt sated enough to ask: “Why do you choose to live up here, so isolated from the world?”

“It’s easier for us to live away from people. They do not like knowing that we can see and even change their futures, intimate secrets, affairs, unborn children, mortal sickness and even death. All of this we note and track. Before we sought refuge in the mountains, people offered payment if we’d interfere with those they hated by writing them awful futures. Some of us were tempted and did terrible things. Still other citizens accused us of changing their lives when even the smallest thing went wrong. It was easier, in the end, to stay away from civilisation.”

Claire nodded her understanding even as she eyed Lyssa continuing to weave, the tapestry on the loom clear enough now for images to be seen. Claire could make out Eidan in its folds, him giving a speech to a cheering crowd, drinking wine in a chamber, sitting with her brother playing chess …

Her breath caught at the sight of Marcus. Even just seeing him in woollen threads made him feel closer.

Now, Eidan slept, black all around him and then a riot of colours tangled together. Claire narrowed her eyes, trying to make out what it depicted. She saw its mouth first. With a small scream, heart thudding, she got to her feet. It’s only thread. Calm down. Cheeks flushing, Claire made herself sit still.

Lyssa’s eyes locked onto Claire’s. Even as Claire watched, the Weaver’s hand spasmed and the spindle fell from her fingers, landing with a thud against the paving stones. Leaving it where it lay, the Enchantment Weaver shuddered and came to stand before the travellers. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I cannot change Eidan’s future.”

“What do you mean?” asked Claire.

“The Beast watches, blocking me from touching Eidan.” She reached down to pick up her spindle, then tapped it thoughtfully. “I can try again with all of us, but I suspect the same thing will happen.”

Claire let out a long breath. Perhaps they weren’t beaten yet. “It would be wonderful if you could, but is it possible for you check if my brother is safe first, and can you weave him a future where he remains safe? After all, there’s no future for all Kelnarium unless he’s by my side.”

“We can try. You’ll have to sit quietly, and it may take a little longer.” Lyssa glanced to the other seven Enchantment Weavers. “Maybe this time we should all work our magic.” As one, her fellow Weavers got up to collect their specially carved looms and spindles from the same corner Lyssa had, then moved to sit again. “Let’s begin,” Lyssa said.

Fifteen or twenty minutes passed. Claire couldn’t stop exchanging anxious glances with Jemroth, Gareth and Lotte. If Lyssa and the others couldn’t change Eidan or Marcus’s future, they’d have no choice but to head to a hostile Kelnariat as fast as they could, dangerous as it could prove to be.

Finally, Lyssa and the others looked up, shaking their heads. “Your brother is safe for now, but we cannot touch his future. The same shadow over Eidan is also over your brother.”

“There’s one last thing,” Claire said softly, voice wobbling. “Can you see if I’m the betrayer the Beast claims? Will I save Kelnarium or destroy it?”

If Lyssa was surprised, she and her brethren hid it well. This time, it felt like it took an age for her and her fellow Enchantment Weavers to return from their vigorous weaving with an answer.

Lyssa’s deep, grey eyes caught Claire’s green ones. “I’m sorry, child. The Beast obscures all. Perhaps you will betray us. Perhaps you won’t. We cannot tell one way or the other, but I can tell you this; there is no future for Kelnarium without you. The sign of the prophecy is upon you, even in the weave. If you do not close the Rift, no one else can.”