Crewel

in hints of gold and copper. It’s thick despite wear and even now as it slowly decays, there’s a sense of vibrancy. If Loricel had imagined this would be easier than ripping one of a thousand threads in a complex weave, she’s wrong. Removing this strand feels like a violation – an act against nature. It’s the life force of this piece, and everything this thread touches, regardless of our attempts to repair around it, will be irrevocably damaged once it’s gone.
    Taking a silver hook from the small cubby at the edge of the loom, I slide the crook under the large fraying thread and gently pull it loose. It comes out quickly and the threads around the gap look homeless now that I’ve removed their base. The thread hanging on the end of my hook was the starting place for so many of the other threads. Its loss affects them all.
    But I feel nothing. I wait for tears or vomit to burn up my throat, but there’s nothing but numbness.
    ‘Now this can be sent to Repair,’ Loricel says quietly.
    I nod, and Loricel enters a new code. The rest of the piece moves slowly off the loom, creeping to the Repair Department, which will bind the piece back together, closing up the hole and tidying the frayed ends caused by ripping out that one thread.
    ‘ You could fix it,’ I say.
    ‘Yes, I could, but that’s not why I’m here. You must make the hard choice, Adelice, before you can move forward. Decisions must be made. Often between life and death. It is hard to make a decision to save thousands when it compromises one.’ Her voice is a hollow whisper, and ghosts echo in her eyes. ‘It is easier not to be put in that position.
    ‘As Creweler, you can create new places – oceans, lakes, buildings, fields. It can be rewarding,’ she continues, and as I watch she enters a new code into the companel. A moment later, a new piece of Arras appears on the loom. It’s nearly blank, a hint of green glistening against the bands of gold, and she clicks the zoom wheel to bring it into more detailed focus. It’s a simple piece of land. Maybe a park or a field lying outside metro limits somewhere. There are no trees, no rocks, just a valley of lush, green grass. For the first time I notice the small bag she carries with her as she places it at the foot of the loom and gestures that I should let her sit on the stool.
    ‘Normally, I work in my own studio, but I brought my supplies with me today,’ she says with a kind smile. ‘You must get a feel for your own loom. I have clearance to call up the weave on any machine. Now if I must show you destruction, I want to balance that with the beauty of what we can do.’
    From the bag, she draws out spools of thin blue thread. It’s hard to describe what raw material looks like. The colour of the strands is an innuendo – the possibility of colour rather than a clear shade. As though I understand it’s blue only because I’ve seen the colour before. The thread itself is light and cool to the touch, and when she unwraps it from the spool it glimmers and sparks with energy. This is the very raw material that is sewn into the weave by the skilled hands of Spinsters, composing all objects in Arras. I can’t think about it too much, because part of my ability stems from my hands’ natural desire to weave. My conscious mind plays little role in the task. I’ve added to Arras before, but that act adhered to a strict pattern established by more experienced Spinsters.
    After carefully removing some of the green threads from the weave on the loom, Loricel takes a blue strand, and slipping it through a small thin needle, begins to add it to the spot. She works quickly but expertly, subtracting the green and adding the blue in a tight weave. When the entire section has been replaced, she takes another piece of sheer thread and embroiders along the edge. My mother cross-stitched kitchen towels when I was a child and the technique is similar, but Loricel uses no pattern and her embroidery illuminates the section. Even in its abstract state, the weave is stunning.
    ‘This binds the new addition,’ she explains as she finishes embroidering the edge. ‘It’s key to permanently altering the weave.’ When it’s done, she puts the extra raw materials back into her bag and clicks the zoom wheel on the loom. Where previously she’d shown me a simple valley, a radiant lake now resides. A source of water for the residents nearby.
    ‘Later, the farmers can add fish, and the town can ration it