The Weavers

I remember a day when I could ask for a weaver, and they would bring the woman with her baskets. What a simple time that was. How settled everything seemed. But if history has proven to me one thing, it is that all that is settled can in a moment not be so. Empires stand for a thousand years and are plucked from Iris in a day. It sickens me, dear brother. We are told it will always be the same, but never is it true. How many of us truly live a life so calm? Not I who lives as Keeper. The weight of this name is heavier than ever, and when I dream, I wonder if the old Keepers before me felt it too. I do not know how much longer it can sit on my shoulders.

I have done all I can to defend us against weaver wrath, but still I wake sweating in the night and fear I have not done enough. The other empires have been forcing weavers to their ranks, doing unspeakable things to attain them since we have learned how their powers pass on. Advisors have told me to do the same, but I cannot do it. I have outlawed any such practice and I pray that choice is right. If it comes to a war where the weaver is the greatest weapon, what can we do if we hold so few?

I would rather not think on it.

Do you remember the words father often told us?

“Burimans are always sure,” he’d say.

I hope he was sure when he said it.

May your children be well, brother. You must come to the palace soon so I may see them. I must hear your stories of the far west to distract my mind from what is east and south. 

I pray your debts paid.

With love,

Lord Keeper Eidel Burima, NCY 41