My wings melted into hands and arms, my feathers softening into skin with the burnished glow of the fire in me. I flew to embrace my mother.
“I’ve waited for you a long time, Maia,” she said, stroking my cheek. “It’s as I predicted: you are the greatest tailor in A’landi. A tailor worthy of the gods.”
“That is more than I ever wanted,” I replied. She drew me close, her hand sweeping over my forehead, stroking the crease lines away.
I closed my eyes, feeling like a little girl again. The girl who’d spend all her days in the corner of Baba’s shop, hemming pants and embroidering scarves. The girl who used to dream about becoming the emperor’s tailor.
“How foolish I used to be,” I whispered, lifting myself out of Mama’s embrace. “If I could do it all over again, I’d never wish to leave home.”
“You don’t mean that,” replied my mother. “If you hadn’t left home, you wouldn’t have found the other end of your thread.” She gestured at the red thread on my wrist. It tickled my skin, so light I’d nearly forgotten about it.
I licked my lips. They tasted sweet, not like the ash I had tasted in my nightmares, but of the cookies Ammi had given me to eat before going to battle. Before I had died.
The corners of my vision blurred, and I looked away so Mama wouldn’t see the tears misting my eyes.
I felt different. Weightless and free—which made sense, since I was probably a spirit like Mama. Below my feet was sky instead of earth, but my body did not panic. Instead, I marveled. I marveled at the evenness of my heartbeat and my breath, and at the serenity of this place.
I marveled that I could feel. The cold that had seeped into my soul over the last few months was gone, and so was the burning heat, replaced by a gentle warmth that sang within me. It’d been so long since I’d been warm. And when I stopped to listen to my thoughts, there were no voices but my own.
All around, stars glittered, each as vibrant as the most precious jewels on earth. The sky was a dazzling blend of colors, a mix of dawn and dusk, not unlike the dress of the blood of stars.
Mama held out her hand to me, and something glimmered on the face of her palm.
“My scissors!”
“Amana asked me to return them to you,” she replied. “They’ve been in our family a long, long time.”
“So it’s true,” I murmured, taking my scissors from Mama’s hand. They were brighter than before, and the sun and moon engraved on the shanks sparkled from every angle. “I’m a descendant of Amana’s tailor?”
Mama nodded. “Much of the story has been lost over generations, but yes, the first to make the dresses was your ancestor.”
I passed the scissors back. “Then they belong to him, not to me.”
Mama touched my arm hesitantly. I sensed whatever she was about to say next wasn’t easy for her. “I don’t know whether it pains me to see you here, Maia, or whether it fills my heart with joy. I’ve missed you….” She paused. “It is Amana’s wish for you to join her in heaven, but…but I know it isn’t your time yet, my daughter.”
“What are you saying?”
“Your brothers and I pleaded your case, and Amana listened. She offers you a choice.” Mama took a deep breath, and my heart hammered through the silence.
A choice.
“To stay here with us, as a tailor to the gods.” Mama’s voice was hoarse. “Or go back, to be with Baba and Keton, and with your enchanter.”
Heat burned into my nose, shooting up to my eyes. I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. “What I would wish is for you and Finlei and Sendo to be home again.”
“Maia, you know that cannot be.”
Even though I’d anticipated her answer, hearing it still drew a choked sob out of me.
“Baba needs you,” said Mama. “So does Keton. And your enchanter.” With her thumb, she wiped away the tears shimmering on my cheeks. “I already feel lucky to see the woman you’ve become—beautiful and strong and brave.”
She reached for my wrist, touching the red thread I’d tied there. “See? Even life and death cannot break the bonds of fate. Edan is waiting for you.”
I nodded, but before I turned to go, Mama pushed the scissors into my hands.
Holding them again made me falter. I brushed my fingers over the sun and moon on the shanks, and the blades thrummed under my touch. Even here, I could hear them humming with power.
My fingers clasped the bows, eager to be reunited with the scissors, before I shook my head. “I haven’t changed my mind about them.”
“They are the source of your magic.”
“I was happy before without magic, and I will be happy again without it. The scissors served me well, but I don’t need them anymore. Keep them for me, Mama.”
My answer seemed to please my mother, for she threw her arms around me in an embrace. But she did not take the scissors.
“Before you go, you must use them one last time.”
She gestured at the blanket of stars beneath us. There was a tear in the middle, a trace of glittering sunlight seeping through the seams.
The rip in the heavens.
I was to mend it, the way the first Weaver had in what was now legend.
“Together, Mama,” I said.
She placed her hand over my arm, guiding me as I set my scissors against the sky, letting loose its magic to stitch together the heavens. Then, when at last it was done, my mother eased the scissors from my grasp and clasped my hand, drawing me close.
She kissed my forehead. “Farewell for now, my Maia.”
When she let go, the entire world blazed, the sky ripening into a sea of flames. I watched Mama fade into the stars, the silhouettes of my brothers appearing to escort her back to heaven. Then the sea engulfed me, and I burst into flames.
And I suddenly realized what form I’d taken: a phoenix, meant to rise again.
* * *
• • •
The sound of water rippled in my ears, a misty spray tickling my face.
My first breath was full of the ocean, and I drank in its freshness. Then I started to wake.
Blood rushed to my arms and legs…and my toes dug into warm, moist sand.
Someone held me, a heartbeat other than my own softly thumping in sync with mine. I opened my eyes, lashes clinging stubbornly to my skin.
A hazy face hovered above me, features sharpening against the glimmer of the sun. A nose, slightly crooked at the bridge, a square chin, finely chiseled along its edges, more bristly than I remembered it. Hair, black as cinder, with tousled curls that desperately needed trimming, and thin, uneven lips—parted now in a quiet gasp.