The Weaver's Source

Prologue

I stomped my way through the mud, not bothering to pick up the hem of my dress when clods of dirt sprayed up the thin cloth. I just wanted to get home where I could get away from the bullies who scowled at me so terribly. Tears trailed down my dirt covered face and made my vision quite blurry but I could see the outline of my house that sat alone on the outskirts of the town. I began to run now, slipping up and falling to the ground hard now and then, making my already wet and filthy dress even dirtier. My small fingers fumbled with the door handle as soon as I slammed myself against the oak surface and threw it open, crying out to my mother as I did.

My mother, a plump woman, looked up, startled from her work of fixing my father's clothes. Instantly she was standing when she saw me wet and muddy with tears filling my blue eyes, and came to my side.

"What's happened to you, Lyra?" She asked as she shut the door behind me and observed me. 

My lip just wobbled and a strange hiccup sound escaped my throat. With a heavy sigh she began to take off my boots and filthy clothes. 

"It was those kids again, wasn't it?" She guessed.

I nodded a few times and forced my voice to work. "They called me a monster."

My mother frowned and glared a little then took my tiny hand and guided me to the small bathing room. She gathered a bucket of water and forced me to sit on the small stool that sat at the centre of the room. Hooking it over a small fireplace, she lit the wood underneath and waited for the water inside to warm.

"You're not a monster." She said firmly as she gathered soap, towels and that horrible scrubbing brush I hated. "You're very special."

My eyes, which were currently a stormy blue, lightened a little and turned slightly pink. "But even the grown-ups say I'm a monster. They say I'm not normal." I said, pouting a little.

"You aren't normal, I won't deny that. Not every girl's eyes changes with her emotions nor predict danger." Mother said as she got the water and began to wipe away the mud on my face. "But you aren't a monster. You're human and a very kind one at that."

I smiled to myself and looked down at my clasped hands before a sad frown tugged at my mouth. 

"Why can I see death?" I asked quietly.

Mother was silent as she thought. 

"I guess you're old enough." She mumbled before she poured some of the water over my head and began to clean my tangled hair. "Lyra, you're a Source."

"A Source?"

"Yes. You remember what Weavers are?"

I nodded my head a little, trying to not to disturb her cleaning. "Weavers eat monster souls so they can use magic."

"That's right. Weavers are very powerful and understandably not trusted. They're needed soldiers against trolls, dire wolves and the like, but their strength depends on their magic levels. Those levels only increase with monster souls. So when they don't hunt enough, they become weak and very easy to kill." Mother said. 

I hummed. I knew that. Weavers kept us safe from monsters with their magic just like witches kept us safe from sickness. 

"There is however the Source, a very rare woman. The Source is a well of magic that only one Weaver is able to absorb from. The Source becomes their strength and life. Any Weaver lucky enough to have one is far superior in strength to his lone kin."

"So I'm made to give someone strength."

Mother nodded and smiled. "To give strength and be strong. You'll be a hunter! A warrior, just like those men, standing beside them against dragons and goblins. You'll protect your old father and I from things that would want to eat us and from those who use their magic to bring harm. I've no doubt you'll be very powerful one day." She stroked my face before patting it dry. "The ability to sense death and danger is a way to guard your Weaver, to keep him safe, and yourself. The magic within you is very powerful."

"When will I meet him?" I asked, suddenly intrigued. "I want to hunt."

She laughed. "You're a baby, Lyra." She poked my small nose lightly. "It needs to grow before he or yourself can start using it, and I most certainly wouldn't let you go until you were grown. So you get strong, Lyra. Okay? Stand up to those who fear you, show them they're wrong. Show them your kindness, your patience, and that your magic isn't to be feared but to be used to keep them safe." She touched my hair lovingly. "One day, they'll see how strong you are, how beautiful and alive your magic is."

I nodded, my eyes now a soft yellow. Mother grinned and wrapped the towel around me. 

"Now go get dressed."

I giggled and darted out of the room, waving briefly to my father as he stepped in through the door, confused as to why there were filthy clothes at his feet and me running about stark naked. I ran upstairs to my room and hurriedly found some clothes to keep the goose bumps from growing over my skin. It was slightly chilly.

Those words mother told me stayed with me and gave me hope and meaning against the hostile glares and savage words the townsfolk gave me, especially after my parents' deaths. I kept my head high for years and did what I could for myself until my Weaver found me. My Weaver was just a little different from what I had imagined when I finally did find him. Very different.