The Knights of Aragon

Chapter 46

Changed and ready to go, I wait for my herd of angry and annoyed friends. I look down at my attire. I spent the last two days in the same clothing in my depressed haze. So, it was time to change. There weren't many choices to choose from since I need to hide my skin now. I'm wearing a black long-sleeve blouse over top of a white underskirt that I found in a random room. I look and feel weird, but my hair feels much better. Since, I've gotten sick, I've been sweating frequently out of exhaustion and hot flashes. How bad did I stink before I changed, I wonder? Oh, gods! I slept with Rhydian in those grim clothes. I grimace at the thought. At least I'm better dressed now.

Ouroboros is still in its box on the ground to my left and various weapons to choose from on my right. My foot taps impatiently waiting for them to stomp down the steps. I tilt my head to the side, my left ear high in the air and listen. The echoes of annoyed grumblings and confused questions make their way down. I think it's mostly the boys; the girls have yet to make their presence known. I brush the imaginary dust off myself as Gawain's heated face comes through the door with the others right behind him. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" Gawain furiously points at me. "Is your mind also deteriorating or are you actually losing your mind?" I pay no mind to his anger; I simply smile at him.

"Choose, Gawain."

His stance falters and steps back at my wicked smile. "What?" I point at the weapons on the ground. "Choose your weapon," I repeat myself. "Make it a good one because I won't let you pick again." Gawain glares at me before stepping forward and picking up a sword without breaking eye contact. After, and only after, Gawain straightens up, I look away from him. "Next," I beckon the twins to step forward. Without any hesitation, both Boaz and Beaufort chose two blades. Vera picked up a sword, throwing me a questioningly glance. Rhydian chose his spear and a sword. "Good," I clap my hands, "Now, today you all will train normally while Goosey and I work on a project. But later I will join you and fight each of you to test your ability to fight someone like me." Vera glances at Gawain almost immediately. I'm willing to bet he's been waiting for an opportunity like this.

Gawain crosses his arms with an insufferable grin on his face. "No, you can't Val." Boaz shakes his head. "You're too weak to endure such physical exercise." Beaufort agrees with his brothers and says, "You can't block an attack, let alone a sword." I take a long and contemplative breath. "You would be correct, if I was sparring with you as Valencia." I cross my arms as Gawain lets out an exasperated breath. "Please stop talking in riddles and tell us what you have planned." Rhydian glares at him, but I pay no mind to either of them. "You will be fighting me as an Otherworldling. As Samsara the Cursebreaker." With that said, I pick up the pieces of Ouroboros and beckon Goosey to follow me.

*  *  *  *  *

"I'm not entirely sure what you want me to do, Val," Goosey eyes the fractured glasses with suspicion. I gingerly pick up a piece and hold it up to the sun. The white light pours into the broken Ouroboros and out flowed blue light. "You didn't do well with the mustard seed," I place the glass back on the ground with the others, "so I think we should get creative." I hold my fists, side to side of each other, pull them apart with a snap. Various golden threads appear in my hands surprising Goosey. She holds a hand over her mouth in awe. "Magical artifacts can never truly be entirely gone. They change," I let them go and they float in the air, desperately searching for something to entangle themselves in. "They turn into something new."

"Like you!" she exclaims, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Yes, like me," I laugh at her excitement. "Ancient artifacts like this, the Ouroboros, are malleable and potent to change." I pinch my fingers in the air, sharpening a single golden thread, and jab it through the glass I had in my hand. Before our eyes, it immediately stitches itself along the edge. "Our sorcery makes connections instinctively." Each stitch causes the glass to crack and mold around the threads. "It's the purest form of magic." Goosey mumbles under her breath, something that I cannot hear. The threads weave themselves into the glass until it couldn't anymore. "What do you need this for?" I admire the finished piece as I answer her, "Well, you needed something creative and fun to practice rather than that stupid mustard seed. And, who knows," I smile as the glass glints when the sunlight hits its reflective surface, "we might need something special to help us win in the end."