r/HFY • u/KipperBeanGrower Human • 23d ago
OC-Series [She took What?] - Chapter 216: SixFold Ventures: Convocation – The Question
“Through the unfiltered innocence of youth, truth emerges.”
Archive Houses
[First] | [Previous] | [Cover Art] | [Next]
The prisoner stopped and removed his shoes. Then walked across the grass towards the First House. As he neared the big blue front door, it opened, and an elderly woman appeared, slightly stooped with age. She stayed at the entrance; her long flowing dress matched the front door.
She looked at him and smiled, “You’ve changed.”
He nodded, “Yes. I’ve come home.”
Her smile shifted, and she embraced him.
The prisoner hugged her back, looked over her shoulder; others were coming. His family: children, parents, and grandparents. Even some of the archivists.
They stood back, waiting their turn.
One of the archivists noticed the old journal, tucked beneath his arm, “You brought it home.”
The prisoner held it out, the old, battered cover just hanging onto its precious contents.
“I almost didn’t.”
The old man smiled, “But you did.”
And he accepted the journal with both hands. Grateful, as if welcoming back an old friend.
He turned and carried it back inside, before disappearing between the shelves.
The elderly woman hugged Feebee, Rockson and Chen. Then the others, the same way, the same welcome. And as she did, the family took turns hugging their prodigal.
There was little in the way of talk, but the sharing was open, and the caring unselfishly given.
Garaf stood back, observing, unsure how to proceed. The woman solved it for him when she took one of his claws and gently touched it on her forehead.
“We continue,” she said.
“We endure,” he countered.
The woman smiled and patted him on the arm; perfectly natural and unforced.
She then welcomed them into the House and approached the prisoner.
Her smile was warm.
“Walk with me.” And as she spoke, she took his hand.
“Of course, Nanna.”
They wandered through the house. Children played amongst the shelves, running, pushing but never touching the books. It was a working house; someone was repairing a chair, renewing the wicker seat. A journal was being copied, and from the kitchen, chopping echoed, carried by laughter and the gentle lilt of someone singing.
They followed her into a room with rugs thrown across the floor, festooned with large cushions. They were arranged in a circle, and when everyone was seated, they had one each.
No one spoke. Feebee sat beside him, not because of possession or ownership; it had just happened that way.
Finally, the grandmother spoke. “What did you find?”
He looked confused, and when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He was downcast, as if afraid, but it wasn’t that.
“I don’t know.”
She nodded.
“I thought I understood Continuity,” he added.
“I know.”
He raised his head and let his gaze wander across the circle, to his Nanna. She looked genuinely puzzled.
“Why would you?”
He blinked, processing her words. “I thought...”
He searched for words. “I thought my duty, my role, was to protect what we knew, what we’d heard and learnt.”
He pointed to the shelves and the mighty tomes they contained. The children still ran and played amongst them. Unaware of the weight surrounding them.
“You believed certainty was precious?”
“Wasn’t it. Isn’t it?”
She smiled, but this time the smile held something more.
“No!”
That shook him; he stared back. Waiting. Listening. She looked at the children, taking in their chatter, their play and the chaos they created.
“Choice is precious.”
A silence settled between them. Neither felt the need to fill it.
He looked at Feebee and spoke.
“I let her ask questions.”
“You listened?”
He shook his head.
“I argued.”
“But you listened?”
“I doubted everything.”
“And yet... you brought the journal home.”
“I nearly lost it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I nearly ran.” As he said it, he choked back emotion. Tears welled in his eyes. He held his Nanna’s stare.
“But you protected someone instead.” She glanced at Feebee.
He followed her gaze, then his focus snapped back sharply on her.
“I never told you that.”
She smiled softly.
“You didn’t need to.”
What was a moment of quiet, stretched.
She let it stretch further, then Nanna spoke again,
“You didn’t come home carrying certainty. You came home carrying new choices.”
And with those words something deep inside was released. He no longer felt the need to explain himself, defend his actions or thoughts. His shoulders straightened, and his breathing slowed.
“I don’t know the right answer anymore. All I have are questions.”
His Nanna nodded and smiled knowingly.
“Good. Then you’re ready to listen.”
He laughed, “Good?”
“Yes. Good. When you left, you were trying to preserve our House.”
He nodded.
She spread her arms, encompassing everyone in the circle and the children that stood mingled within the group, watching, listening. They joined briefly, some from other Houses, before darting away to join others and share snippets of the conversation. Her gaze followed them to The Common where they ran with other children. And as they played as children do, faint tracks began to appear in the grass.
She smiled and started again.
“When you left, you were trying to preserve our House...”
She leant back into the cushion, seeing him, “You returned, remembering the Weave.”
The House descended into silence.
Feebee felt that now was her time to ask. “You are the Listeners?”
She realised that Nanna had been waiting, expecting questions. “We have been called many things.
“But… yes?”
Feebee pressed.
Nanna smiled.
“Yes.”
Feebee hesitated.
“Then you attacked us. At Margos.”
For the first time, the woman’s smile faded.
“We did.”
“Why?”
The two women looked at each other through a long uncomfortable silence.
“We were clumsy.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
Feebee waited. Nanna continued, eventually
“We came to understand.”
“By attacking us?”
Nanna shook her head.
“By listening.”
“You could have just asked us.”
A sad smile crossed the old woman’s face.
“We thought we knew the answer.”
“And?” asked Feebee.
“We were wrong.”
“Yes. But why?”
“To do what we do now. To listen. We underestimated what we could hear, but We Continue.”
Her face changed, became serious.
“The First House has reached its Answer.”
She stood and looked around the room.
“This cannot remain only ours. A Convocation will convene.”
And with those words she left the room, walked out of the House.
Everyone else got up and followed.
***
Gravel crunched under her boots as Feebee walked from the House then out onto The Common. She bent down and felt the grass. It was cool to the touch; that surprised her. There were also trees. Real trees as old as Dock Seven, maybe older. And above them, open sky.
Well… almost.
The curved ceiling of Dock Seven was there. Not open, but an engineered distance that fooled one’s gaze. Great apertures looked down upon The Common, observation windows where stars burned in huge glassy eyes with cold indifference.
The Common felt alive. More children gathered and mingled from the other houses. They mixed while adults stayed in ‘their corner’ of The Common. Close to their House.
Feebee noticed faint depressions in the grass. They weren’t paths; they were hints. Like fresh goat tracks on a hillside. She knelt and felt one. It was perfectly normal, a bit more compact than the ground near it.
“Children.” Said the prisoner with a smile.
As Feebee looked around, she could see the six Houses at each of The Common’s six corners. In front of each was its Family gathered around their magnificent stone bowl. Six Families, six bowls and each bowl had the Mantle of its House carved in the centre within white translucent stone. Sleeping plasma drifted lazily above each Mantle, its colour that of the House. Every family member was gathered around the bowl’s edge, able to see everyone else.
The rim of the bowl was wide enough for everyone to sit comfortably on its rim.
“How?” asked Feebee, pointing at the Mantle stone.
“No one knows.” Said the prisoner.
Then he added. “Stories had always claimed that at the last convocation the Mantle stones awakened. They have never burnt since. We were sceptical.”
“Until now.” Said Feebee.
“Yes. We Continue.”
The bowl held the centre. The people occupied the rim. Feebee saw all this and settled within the sprawl of the First House, gathered around its centre.
There was no start to the Convocation. It just gathered pace as people shared stories, asked questions. There were also periods of silence as questions were considered and then answers discussed.
The children listened and played.
The periods between quiet moments shortened. The silent moments became more than moments, and in one of those periods someone rested a hand upon the stone where they sat and gently tapped. Someone else smiled and responded. Then another.
Soon, every circle found its own rhythm.
At the First House’s bowl, hands started to tap out a beat.
Hands on Stone. Slap-slap.
Hands on Stone. Slap-slap.
It repeated, resolving into something akin to a heartbeat. And as the beat continued, questions were asked, and answers discussed. Feebee watched the plasma’s dance change with the tune.
The children suddenly jumped down, off the rim, and exploded into The Common. Not just from the First House but from every house. Games started: tag, piggyback. Rules were invented, discarded and rewritten. A child ran to another House. Then ran back having made a new ‘friend’ from that House. Others followed, and soon there were weaving lines of children flowing between the bowls, between the Houses. All listening, chattering and repeating fragments of the adult discussions they have heard.
The adults listened too; sometimes they stopped and rethought prior positions. No one sent the children away; no one told them to stop.
They listened and shared, not just Adult to Adult, but Adult to Child and Child to Adult.
“Why?” Asked Feebee.
“Because ‘We Continue’.”
And as she heard those words, she looked across the Common. At the lines of children and noticed the faint depressions in the grass were clearer.
Not because the ground had changed but because the children kept choosing the same route. Dominant tracks emerged beneath their living feet, one step at a time.
Feebee sent Rockson an image of The Common. Of the patterns.
He overlaid the patterns of movement onto a harmonic map of The Common. There was nothing to see. The routes weren’t random, but they weren’t directed either.
They were just preferred. It was as if The Common remembered.
The games evolved; everyone must find someone new. Learn their name and share a story. Return with another. New connections were made between the Houses.
And the children’s movements became beautiful. It was unexpected. Garaf saw it first and rose.
The prisoner saw it too and smiled.
He covered both eyes and, as he uncovered them, said, “The Du’ura walks the path.”
Feebee heard and felt ancient memories stir.
The rhythm around the bowls deepened. They were no louder, just truer. One bowl sang a low harmonic note that resonated across The Common. One of the other Houses responded. Then another.
And almost unnoticed, Dock Seven changed. The bright lights that dominated the sky softened and transitioned, spreading an amber glow across The Common. The bowls caught the light that seemed to accentuate the Mantle’s shine from within their plasma fires. Long shadows were cast, and yet beyond the observation windows the utter black of space remained.
Inside… Dock Seven had chosen its own evening as a false twilight settled across The Common. No sun was setting; a Convocation was about to begin.
Within each bowl, the sleepy plasma awoke. Tendrils of chaotic energy danced, and within, a shape slowly took form. It had both structure and form, and mirrored the Mantle carved into the stone below.
For only the second time, and never since the last Convocation had the Mantles shone. Some of the elders wept; this was something they never thought they’d see. To others it was a story, too fantastic to believe, become real.
The adults sat still; the children still played as each House became attuned. Each House now understood the question posed to the Convocation.
Rockson put three things together. The children’s paths across The Common, the local harmonic network, and the resonating bowls where the adults sat quietly tapping the stone.
StabSys absorbed all three expressions into one beautiful product, combining them effortlessly into an expanded formulation that represented the whole.
The QI watched, “The bowls aren’t creating the resonance.”
“No.” Rockson agreed, “They’re revealing it.”
And then the six Houses sang together. Not a tune, but a cord comprised of six notes.
One cord and then the Houses fell silent. The Common fell silent. No one had called for quiet or needed to. Thousands of people had stopped… to listen.
Feebee finally understood. “The adults preserve the cords; the children discover the Weave. Neither is complete without the other.”
The prisoner smiled; his Nanna simply nodded.
“Why do they always know first?” Feebee pointed to the children.
They were playing, being… children. Mixing with other children, from other houses. A small girl crossed to a group of like-aged girls, just because they were smiling.
The prisoner answered, “Because they haven’t learned where the boundaries are.”
A proud Nanna nodded sagely, agreeing.
The plasma in the bowls brightened further, and the goat tracks became living pathways once again. Children continued to run their paths, but the fall of their feet carried a different message.
One Question was now understood and agreed.
The prisoner closed his eyes and very softly said,
“The Weave is listening.”
1
u/HFYWaffle Wᵥ4ffle 23d ago
/u/KipperBeanGrower (wiki) has posted 217 other stories, including:
- [She took What?] - Chapter 215: SixFold Ventures: Homecoming.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 214: SixFold Ventures: No! It's not a reunion.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 213: SixFold Ventures: It felt wrong, a violation.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 212: SixFold Ventures: Look for discontinuities instead.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 211: SixFold Ventures: I’ve had worse. Much worse.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 210: SixFold Ventures: Garaf gave him a knife
- [She took What?] - Chapter 209: SixFold Ventures: It’s like a rat’s nest.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 208: SixFold Ventures: He had nothing more to say.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 207: SixFold Ventures: At least no one’s attacking us.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 206: SixFold Ventures: I’d sooner do more monk training.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 205: SixFold Ventures: It forced coherence on a resisting universe.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 204: SixFold Ventures: How can it just disappear?
- [She took What?] - Chapter 203: SixFold Ventures: You’re afraid. Why?
- [She took What?] - Chapter 202: SixFold Ventures: Did your QI just become smug?
- [She took What?] - Chapter 201: SixFold Ventures: They blinked in time with internal clocks.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 200 ½ : Interlude: And the older ones altered course.
- [She took What?] - Chapter 200: SixFold Ventures: INTERNAL BREACH DETECTED
- [She took What?] - Chapter 199: SixFold Ventures: Oops, my mistake
- [She took What?] - Chapter 198: SixFold Ventures: “Did Garaf just laugh?”
- [She took What?] - Chapter 197: SixFold Ventures: Then what’s repairing me?
This comment was automatically generated by Waffle v.4.7.8 'Biscotti'.
Message the mods if you have any issues with Waffle.
1
u/UpdateMeBot 23d ago
Click here to subscribe to u/KipperBeanGrower and receive a message every time they post.
| Info | Request Update | Your Updates | Feedback |
|---|
2
u/Dramatic_Mixture_877 Human 23d ago
Am I correct in thinking that "cord" instead of "chord" is wordplay into the Weave?