darkness. The person who had woken her flicked the switch of her lamp. The dull light called Tristian’s face from the shadows.
“What are you doing here?” Serie gasped.
“I’m here to help you. Whatever happens next, remember to breathe,” he said.
Serie’s gaze fell to her side, expecting to see a string attached to her hand, but it wasn’t there.
“What. . .?” she mumbled. She tried to lift her arm, but a sharp pain shot through it.
“I know it hurts, Serie, but you need to start moving for yourself. Your body hurts because the strings have always controlled it. Just try to lift a finger.”
Serie breathed, clearing her mind of everything but the simple task she was asked to do. She focused her energy on her right index finger. A surge of energy zapped through her arm as her finger hovered in the air. It remained there for only a few moments before she placed it back down.
“Great job. Don’t stop now.”
“It hurts, Tristian,” Serie croaked.
“The pain will go away soon, just keep moving.”
Before the hour was over, she had lifted her arm from the bed, allowing it to drop with a thud.
“You”ve made great progress tonight. We’ll continue more tomorrow.”
“Why can’t we keep going?” Serie asked, as she lifted her arm again.
“The hour is almost over. Your strings will be returning soon.”
“I thought you got rid of them like you did yesterday.”
“The strings go away if I touch you. But the hour before dawn every night the strings disappear, so they can be maintained. It’s a flaw in Maître’s curse.”
“How come I haven’t woken up before?”
“The strings’ magic prevents you from waking up until they return.”
“I don’t want them to come back.”
Tristian smiled. “You aren’t strong enough to walk away from them yet. Give it time. You will be free of them.”
Tristian turned off the lamp as he tiptoed towards the window. Sunlight crept through, casting shadows across the floor. Serie watched as her strings appeared through the ceiling and descended to the place where they had left their victim.
“Don’t struggle,” Tristian murmured.
Serie could do nothing as the strings pierced through her flesh. Her mind became hazy. Her arm refused to move when she willed it to.
“This won’t last forever,” Tristian assured her, as he climbed out the window.
Three
The day performed its usual rhythm—the strings in unison, each instrument playing its part in Maître’s symphony. But from her waking moment, Serie did not play her part with ease. She fought against the strings all day. When Tristian returned that night, with much effort she lifted both of her arms off the bed.
On her walk to work the next day, she paused to take a deep breath of the spring air. The sweet aroma of wildflowers mixed with freshly cut grass invited her into the woods. She walked with fresh hope. She could defy the bidding of the strings; she could be free of them and not die.
Serie came to a fork in the road; one road led to Kalan, the other to somewhere she had never been. She toed the edge of the unknown path and looked through the overgrown trees. Vines sprawled across the path that covered the road ahead. The path called her forward, but the strings regained their control, dragging her back towards Kalan.
Tristian returned that night, stirring Serie from her slumber. She was prepared for the heaviness in her muscles.
“Why,” Serie sighed, “can’t you fix me with your magic?”
“Magic is not going to fix you, Serie.” he said. ‘the pain will go away. You just have to keep moving.”
Serie sighed and lifted both her arms off the bed. She pushed them down, trying to sit up. Tristian helped her up, propping her against the bed head. Serie concentrated her energy into her movements.
“You”ve made a lot of progress in a few days,” Tristian said watching Serie’s arms rise and fall in almost fluid movements.
“I was practicing today,” she said, as she admired her fingers curling into a ball.
“Maybe you can try lifting your leg,” Tristian said, giving her right foot a small squeeze.
A look of uncertainty crossed her face, but she fixed her eyes on her knee and tried to visualise lifting it up.
It didn’t move.
“I can’t do it! Why can’t I do it? It was easy to lift my fingers.”
“You’re feeling some resistance. your body is used to the magic of the strings. Something inside you is telling you this isn’t how it should work.”
“Yeah, it feels like a rock.”
“But you know you can get past that rock. It was the same when you tried to lift a finger, or your arm, or your head. You can do it.”
She wiped away her tears and turned her attention to her foot. After a moment her toes wiggled. She smiled at Tristian. “The fact that I knew I could do it made it easier.”
“Remember that,” he said. “Some of the others took weeks just to lift a finger.”
“Others?”
“The others I have helped, the Stringless. There is a large group of us now, scattered in places around the world. There are about two hundred of us southeast of Kalan. Our home is a few hours’ walk along the coastline. It’s beautiful by the beach. We call it Haven.”
Serie’s interest piqued; Tristian wasn’t the only one.
“It sounds amazing. I hope I get to see it.”
“The way you are going, I’m sure you will.”
“When did you lose your strings, Tristian?”
“I never had any.”
“How is that even possible?”
Tristian paused, his lips pursing when he tried to think of the right words to say.
“The day you came into the world, you didn’t have any strings, no one does. The strings are not a natural part of humanity. While you were in your mother’s womb, your only experience of the strings was when they forced your emergence into the world. A child’s strings come for them at dawn. Mine never came. My parents woke up the next morning thinking I had died in the night. They realised I was still alive. They waited for months, but the strings never came. Maître found out and
