“Why have my caravans been less profitable? Maybe you should ask the Generalissimo over there why his men won’t guard them?” Risangrin Batteaux, head of Idlethen’s largest export company and one of the city’s most powerful men, slammed his fist on the Dark wooden table like a furious toddler.
“My boys are busy, the Ysladon are pushing back down south and the Prince’s Guard are back in the city to recover. We simply don’t have the men to spare.” The Generalissimo's words were as honest as the rainbow of ribbons and medals pinned to his sky blue uniform. The Merchant guard had men to spare, men to spare for the Generalissimo's family’s new export business.
Philanthora watched the two men argue with disgust. She was seated off to the side of the large meeting room, along with nine others who wore the same formless white and purple robes of her office. Their faces were obscured by a veil of white and purple beads that rippled like grass in the wind as they breathed. The robes and veil hid the identity of each wearer, the men and women of the Needle party for that meeting.
It was supposed to be an honour to be chosen for the meeting, Philanthora felt more like she had been chosen to sit among the pigs while they ate.
“Another peaceful day among Idlethen’s elite. I wonder which one of them will storm out this time.” She muttered, thankful that the veil hid the snarl on her face. The Needle party were not supposed to speak, lest they reveal their identities and the real Needles among them.
And to make certain that they would serve the Council if they were needed, Philanthora thought.
Philanthora was one of the two actual Needles, people with the ability to bridge the impossible gaps between the Worlds Of the Weave. The others were there as decoys, shields to hide and protect Philanthora and the other Needle.
“My money’s on Batteaux this time.” Yashika whispered from beside her. Philanthora didn’t need to see her face to hear the smile in her voice. She had heard that smile enough in the six years they had been together.
“I hope so, maybe if he went outside he would see what’s actually happening.” Philanthora did her best to keep her voice quiet. Being a Needle came with privileges but she could do without being lectured again. Her lord, her Employer, had had words with her often enough about her views. She was almost certain that if it weren’t for her abilities she would have been fired and thrown to the streets many times.
“That would require him to look up from his figures for a moment.” Yashika said dryly, “but you don’t criticize a pig for grazing. It’s simply what they do.”
“Maybe they should roast him like a pig. At least he could feed people that way.”
“Oh, here we go again. Should I call LastThaw over? You and he can have a nice discussion about the unions; maybe you can convince him to start one for us Needles.” Yashika jerked her head over at the Elderly Canvul on the far end of the table. LastThaw was officially the Union council’s representative among the Oligarchs, the rulers of the Merchant city of Idletehen.
Unofficially LastThaw was just another purchase for the Oligarchs, one that had been thoroughly bought and paid for. He was there only to say yes to what they wanted and sell it to the Unions. Philanthora despised the man, he spoke about helping the workers and their families, but he was really only in it for himself, just like all of Idlethen.
“A Needle union? That would be the only good thing that man has ever done.” Philanthora said. She hated that she was right. A Needle Union would change everything. They could deny passage of goods, control the Stitch gate in the city’s center. They would become the most powerful organization in Idlethen overnight.
She could finally do something good, do something that helped people instead of add to the fat wealth of the Oligarchs.
“By the coin you’ve thought of it haven’t you?” Yashika sat back in her chair and let out a long, loud breath. One of the Oligarchs and a few of their servants shot her stern glances. “That sort of thing could earn you Iron gloves Phi. Don’t even think about it alright? I don’t want to lose you.”
The Iron Gloves were the only prison that could hold a Needle. A full replacement of a person’s fingers with iron simulacrum, powered by magic that only the oldest Darners could perform. It was the only Magic that could cut the Needle off from the Threads of the Weave and the music they held.
Yashika reached over and surreptitiously touched Philanthora’s side. It was a comforting gesture, something they had done a million times in the years they had been married. It stood out as too public for most of Idlethen’s elite. Propriety was in fashion, secrecy was as valued in relationships as it was in business.
It still made Philanthora smile though. Yashika hadn’t lived in Harkonnen for years, but some of it’s freer, experimental cultures were always in her.
“Only once. I’m sorry, it’s just, we could do something, maybe bring about some change…” Phialnthora trailed off, a breathless soldier in his sky-blue uniform and polished bronze cuirass charged into the room. Servants bearing trays of wine jumped aside and every pair of eyes in the room turned to face the gasping man.
He was older, a dusting of grey in his close cropped beard and his face red from the effort of running after years of soft living around the Common House. He stopped short of the table and bowed, almost falling forward onto the chair of one of the Oligarchs. The Cuirass and coin motifs on his coat marked him as a Major, someone too high in the Common House guard to be there on some errand.
“What is happening man! Don’t you have any manners!” The Generalissimo boomed, violently jumping to his feet and knocking his scarlet wine to the ground with a clatter. The panting major looked terrified, sweat pouring off his red face despite the first chill of winter. Philanthora knew something was wrong then, she felt it as surely as she felt the Threads of the Weave.
“The- the Empire sir. They’ve attacked. The Stitch has fallen!” The man shouted, his voice cracking into a terrified sob when he said ‘fallen.”
The people of the room fell silent, Oligarchs, House-Company leaders and servants all falling into an unbelieving stupor. The Second Empire was in Idlethen; the city’s collective nightmare had come true.
The Empire’s cruelty to humans was well known across the Weave. It was said they tortured them for the sins of the First Empire and the ones who broke and survived became their half-crazed Penitent soldiers; Human Cannon fodder to be thrown into the meat grinders of their endless conquest. Some of the other races fared better they said, the Nightkin were accepted as second class citizens and those Canvas captured were given a choice of joining and earning forgiveness or being exiled to the harshest of worlds and remote, brutal prison camps.
Philanthora forgot herself and reached over to Yashika, pulling her hand from her robes with her own and holding on. She held so tightly to Yashika’s long brown hand that the skin of her own wheat coloured knuckles went stark white. Yashika turned and even though her face was hidden by the veil Phialnthora could feel the weight of her stare. As Needles they would both be prizes for the Empire if they were captured, especially such a strongly bonded pair as they.
“Impossible! The Empire wouldn’t invade us, our commercial bonds are too strong! They might dislike some of us but they’renot that foolish!” Batteaux shouted, shattering the silence. Philanthora jumped at the sudden sound, terrified for a brief moment that it was the Empire already at their door. She chided herself and then processed the man’s words.
Of course, at the first sign of violence all he cares about is his profits.
“Shut up Batteaux you fool! Major! Tell us more, what has happened.” The GEneralissimo shouted with every square inch of his broad chest. The crashing sound of his voice wasn't enough though, the major was still on his hands and knees, pouring tears into the rich red rug that covered the floor. “Major! Report!,” The Generalissimo pushed away from the table, walking around the sitting, shaking Oligarchs.
“Damn it man, this is not the time to crash like bad stock. Tell us what’s happening!” The Generalissimo reached the Major and hauled him to his feet, shouting into the man’s terrified face.
“The…the phone sir. The report from the Stitch Guard. They had just enough time to inform us before…” He trailed off and choked back another sob, “before I heard shooting sir. Shooting and screams and flames and… By the coin we’re doomed!”
“He’s right! If the Empire is here they’ll kill us all!” One of the other Oligarchs shrieked. ‘
“We need to leave immediately. The…The future of Idlethen revolves around us.” Said another scared voice, Lady Laraime, an older human woman who ran a number of Gambling and Alcohol companies.
“She’s right,” Batteaux said. His sharp face was so pale that he looked dead, his grey eyes wide in deep, hollow sockets. Philanthora found the comparison in her mind disturbing.How long before she saw dead eyes for real “I suggest we call forth the Needles and move to the Harkonnen estate.” Batteaux continued.
Philanthora froze, beside her she felt Yashika do the same. They had been to dozens of meetings like this and she had never been asked to reveal herself., She knew the contingency was there if Idletehen was ever attacked but she didn’t think it was possible. She certainly never thought she would be the one who had to do it.
It took her a moment to realize that Yashika was pulling her to her feet. Her wife had thrown off her veil, revealing her sharp angles of her dark face and tight black curls. Philanthora kept her eyes on Yashika as she was pulled up by her wife. She could see the same mix of fear and nervousness in her wife’s eyes.
“We are your Needles, Yashika and Philanthora Meridane. We are… “ She stammered for a moment, revealing her nerves despite the hard set of her face, “We are ready to open the Weave at your command.”
Philanthora bowed low along with her wife. The Oligarchs and servants were hushed for a moment, each of them realizing the importance of what would happen. If Idletehen survived this moment would be written down in history; if they survived.
“You have our thanks Needles.” Batteux said, walking around the table with his best salesman smile plastered on his thin face. “We will be in your debt once we reach Harkonnen. Please, prepare the Stitch.”
Yashika and Philanthora both nodded and stepped into the middle of the room. The thick rug beneath Philanthora's feet felt too soft, like each of her nervous steps sunk into the ground a dozen inches. It was only Yashika’s hand in hers that kept her moving. Yashika gave her the same smile she had given to her on their wedding day; a smile that spoke without words.
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‘I’m just as nervous as you are but we’ll get through this together.’
Philanthora gestured for the Oligarchs to stand back, maybe not as politely as she should have but they could live with it. Inside her robes, coiled around her waist like a green, sparkling snake was her Focus. She and Yashkia both threw off their robes, revealing their normal clothes underneath. Both of them were wearing simple trousers and basic button-down shirts. In tandem, the same way that they had practiced many times, they uncoiled their Focuses.
The length of wires, metal cages and green Methelvium crystals was as long as Yashika’s arms. Each Focus was unique to each Needle, for each Needle made their own. Yashika and Philanthorahad made new Focuses when they had been married, so Philanthora’s was an opposite of Yashika’s. Hers was a curling length of golden wire and small cages wrought in silver that surrounded the Methelvium crystals, Philanthora’s was silver wire and golden cages, the same but different, a matched set.
“Are all of your crystals aligned Phi?” Yashika asked, checking each of the small, finely cut crystals in her focus. They were the only part of their focuses that were the exact same. Each glowing green crystal was cut the same; into eight equally sized sides.
“Y-yes, they’re aligned. Are you…” Philanthora trailed off, staring nervously as her wife reached up and her fingers danced in the air. To anyone else it would look like she was plucking at invisible strings, playing an instrument only she could see.
That wasn’t totally wrong. She was playing an instrument, the instrument, the one that played the only song that mattered.
“Would you two hurry up? The Empire will be banging down these doors any minute now!” The Generalissimo boomed. He was pacing back and forth in front of the table, an ornate, long barreled revolver dangling loosely in his hands. Philanthora wasn’t shocked to see how much he was sweating profusely beneath his high, starched collar.
“Yash… Needle Yashika will be ready in a moment sir. Pulling the wrong Thread could lead to opening a portal at the bottom of an ocean or inside a mountain.” Philanthora said as diplomatically as she could. She could see some of the Oligarchs sneer at the Generalissimo behind his back. Most of them looked as eager to be out of there as he was though.
“He’s right Generalissimo , you really should be more patient, maybe you would have lived if you did.” The soft spoken words came from LastThaw on the other side of the room. He had pushed back his chair and, from inside the folds of his grey coat and vest, he had drawn a revolver. One who’s barrel was pointed straight at Yashika.
“Wh-what is this meaning of this LastThaw!” The Generalissimo sputtered, bringing his own gun up with shaking hands. He lowered it again as the two Canvul servants at LastTahw’s side brought up weapons of their own, holding them in their long fingered hands. Their sharp claws were already half curled around triggers.
“Simply doing business Generelassimo. Isn’t that all that you Idlethen heathens care about?” He smiled, the long grey fur of his muzzle curling back to show sharp, pointed teeth. His small, hazel eyes looked over at Philanthora and Yashika, “‘I’m making a trade.”
“I’m so glad that you asked the Needles to show themselves. Two well Connected Needles? His Holy Majesty will be pleased I am sure.” Last Thaw gestured for the guards he had with him to secure Yashika and Philanthora. They both turned and pointed their weapons at them, teeth showing behind a snarl of their mouths.
“Sir! The Gatehouse line is ringing! The Empire is at-“ A young male voice shouted as the speaker threw open the double doors that led into the meeting room. The young man was in Idlethen’s blue uniform and held a pistol in his hand like it was a tool he had never used before. He stopped dead when he saw Last Thaw and his guards pointing their own pistols at the room.
“Wha-what. But the Empire is outside?'' That was all He managed to say before the Canvul next to Philanthora raised his weapon and fired.
The sound of the shot was much quieter than Philanthora had heard in her training but still loud enough that it left her ears ringing. A detached part of her mind was reminded that the Second Empire used long baffles on their weapons to protect the sensitive hearing of Canvul troops. The thought was just enough to distract her from the dull slap of lead on flesh and flesh on wood as the young man died.
Someone behind her screamed and the two guards outside the room turned to look through the swinging door as they realized something was wrong. They saw the corpse of their comrade, the Canvul guards and the terrified Oligarchs. One of LastThaws guards fired at them but the shot went wide, blasting splinters of wood from the door by one of the guards' faces.
Chaos erupted then as the two Idle Then soldiers brought up their short rifles and fired. The Canvul next to Philanthora went down with a scream and a spray of dark, hot blood. It splattered across her face and shocked her so much she collapsed, falling to the ground as the room erupted with noise.
“Phi!” Yashika shouted next to her and dropped to her side. Hands running frantically across Philanthora in search of a wound. “Phi, oh no, Phi!” Yashika looked terrified until she realized her hands hadn't found any wounds and she just hugged Philanthora tight to her chest as they both tried to weather the storm that was bursting around them.
In the brief moment that Yashika clung to her wife several guns were fired and a number of people died. LastThaw fired a shot at the Generalissimo that missed and killed Lady Laraime. The remaining Cnavul guard screamed an oath to his Emperor and charged the two Idlethen men. One of them went down clawing at the ruins of his throat as the other managed to hit the Canvul in the shoulder.
The Canvul spun with the force of the bullet tearing into his shoulder but he kept going, launching himself at the Idlethen soldier with a roar and tearing at the man’s face with long, sharp claws. The two struggled until the soldier’s rifle went off just as the Canvul landed a blow that severed the man’s windpipe, leaving him choking in his own blood as the fight finished in the room.
The Generalissimo was finally able to control himself enough that he shot LastThaw clean through the chest. The old Canvul fell back into his chair with a grunt and his sneer went slack. His voice, so often used for his own benefit, went silent with a last watery rattle.
The room was silent for a moment save for the ringing of gunfire in everyone’s ears. Several people had been hit by stray bullets or stray blood but, save Lady Laraime, all of the Oligarchs were still alive.
Alive and terrified.
“Needles! Open the portal at once! We must leave, the Empire are among us!” Batteaux shrieked, his voice was broken with panic and he ran from where he had been hiding. Batteaux was on Yashika before Philanthora realised, pulling her wife to her feet and shoving her over to the Focus on the ground.
“Open it! Now!” Batteaux’s cry was taken up by many others among the Oligarchs. In just a few heartbeats Philanthora went from scared of the Empire to afraid of her own people. The people she had served for many years, ever since she had learned of her magic as a child. They were looking at her with hungry eyes, eyes that made clear to her that she was just a tool, another product to be used and discarded.
“Right away sir, but please be patient, I can’t just-.” Yashika stopped as the Generalissimo spun around and pointed his still smoking pistol atPhilanthora.
“Do as he says Needle,” he spat the last word, “Or I will kill your wife. We only need one of you to hold the Stitch from this side.”
Phialnthora’s heart stopped, he wouldn’t do that would he? Looking at the hard, maniac set of his eyes, the set of every Oligarch’s eyes, that the he would
She realized then, more than she had ever had reading radical lectures from Harkonnen’s Free Cities or listening to the impassioned speeches of Unionists in the streets, that she meant nothing to them besides what she could produce. What she could do for them.
She looked to Yashika, then to the Generalissimo's hard set blue eyes. There was a chill in them as cold as the winter that grew outside. She felt a chill as she saw how wide his dark pupils were, almost as wide as the unwavering barrel of his pistol, locked to her heart.
“Fine! Stand back, all of you, or we all die.” Yashika sneered, glaring at the Generalissimo as she reached out her long fingers and plucked at the Threads.
For a brief moment Philanthora was sure she could hear it, the music of the Weave as Yahsika played it. She played the Weave softly, quiet notes and gentle melodies as her fingers plucked the Threads of the world and found the songs that connected every place with everywhere else.
The music reached a gentle chorus and the air in front of Yashika shimmered with a pale lavender light. Yashika’s hands closed to fists and she pulled her arms apart. Philanthora could see the cords of muscle under her shirt straining as the music surged, growing louder and higher until it faded away, somewhere beyond her range of hearing. In its place the mouth of a purple tunnel appeared, as wide as Yahsika’s outstretched arms and half again as tall as she.
“About time, now let us be rid of this place.” Batteaux sneered and ran across the bloody, smokey room with as much dignity as he could muster. He shoved Philanthora aside and vanished into the Stitch.
He was followed a moment later by a rush of the other Oligarchs, each of them pushing and struggling to get through. Phialnthora, as the opposite needle was supposed to go through first and set up her Focus on the other side, to stabilize the Stitch. That wouldn’t happen this time, she could only hope that Yahsika’s strength didn’t fail and the Stitch collapsed; if that happened…
“Go now Phi! I can’t hold this forever. I can feel the crystals struggling already. There’s too many people, the Weave doesn’t like it.” Yashika said through gritted teeth. Philanthora could see the sweat growing on her brow, see the strain in the taut muscles of her face and arm. She was right, Philanthora had to go through quickly and help hold it from the other side.
“I will, I love you, come through as soon as you can alright?” Philanthora nodded at her wife, hoping that she wouldn’t do something stupid for these Oligarchs. They didn’t deserve even a stupid gesture, she wasn't sure they deserved any help at all now. Philanthora leapt over the Focus that had caught the bottom of the Stitch like a line of clamps, stretching the bottom of it flat against the ground. The green Methelvium crystals were vibrating and glowing a bright green. Philanthora was sure she could already see spiderweb cracks growing across their cut facets.
The inside of the Stich was unnaturally quiet as she stepped over the threshold. Even her own heartbeat and breathing sound muted, like the sound was coming from the next room over. Philanthora ran through the purple gloom, her feet slapping at a solid floor of wispy pale lavender fog. It didn’t matter how many times she had been through a Needle’s stitch, it never stopped being strange.
The light coming through the other end of the tunnel seemed far away, much further away than it seemed from outside the tunnel. Already several of the Oligarchs were stumbling into the bright, summer light of Harkonnen, a world away from where they had been moments ago. The exit of the Stitch had been chosen years ago; the white stone courtyard of an offworld palatial complex on neutral Harkonnen for just such an emergency.
Philanthora made it to the exit in less steps than she thought, space didn’t always behave normally inside a Stitch. The Oligarchs gathered around the exit or vanished into the large limestone palace around them. Philanthora quickly laid her Focus on the ground and reached for the Threads. Through the long-short tunnel of the Stitch she saw Yashika holding the Threads open as the last of the Oligarchs and the Generalissimo ran through.
Philanthora hummed, rolling through notes until she felt the tune and the invisible threads in her hands align. Her whole body hummed with the noise of the Weave and the green Methelvium crystal of her Focus resonated like a tuning fork. She felt the pressure of the Weave pull at her hands as she pulled in the opposite direction, stretching out to hold this side of the Stitch.
“Yashika! I have it! Come through!” Philanthora cried. Yahsika wouldn’t be able to hear her but she could see her face. Phialnthora watched the relief spread across Yashika’s face and her wife started to release the Threads one at a time, fingers opening from her clenched fists.
Something stopped her, half her fingers splayed open as she froze. Fear was written plain on her face; fear and desperation. Philanthora, watching through the pale purple gloom of the Stitch, didn't understand. Why had she stopped? What was happening? What was wrong?
Philanthora desperately wanted to let go of the Threads but doing so now could kill both of them and the few Oligarchs still coming through. All she could do was watch helplessly as she saw why Yahsika had stopped.
LastThaw stumbled into the small window of light at Yashika’s end of the stitch. His fine clothes were stained with dark, crimson blood, his long ears drooped low against his grey head with pain. Despite that he still held his pistol, pointed straight at Yashika.
She cried out, a noise that, even a world away, Philanthora could someonehow still recognize it as her own name. She knew it as surely as she knew the music of the Weave. It was another Thread, one that joined her and Yashika.
LastThaw stumbled into Yahsika’s still outstretched hands in a gross mockery of an embrace. Philanthora could just see the wounded Canvul press the muzzle of his pistol to her chest. The Generalissimo was half out of the Stitch, stepping through with the help of one of the Oligarchs. There was nothing Philanthora could do.
“Yashika!” She screamed and LastThaw pulled his trigger.
Power and a furious cacophony of discordant music blasted through Philanthora’s arms and into her body. It threw her backwards into the crowd of Oligarchs. Her body sent two of them sprawling onto the hard stone ground with her as the power of the Weave bled off her in wisps of Lavender smoke. She just had time to see half of the Generalissimo's body, the half that had been through the Stitch’s opening, collapse to the ground in a bloody mess before she passed out.
The last thought that went through her mind was not of the horror of the Generalissimo's ruined corpse or the terrified screams of the Oligarchs; but of her wife’s face as LastThaw pulled his trigger.