The Woven Crown (Completed)

Chapter 7

The Caravan traveled for days through the foothills and then into the mountains themselves, bristling with trees. The farther in they went, the closer the trees became. The trunks and branches leaned into each other, cutting out much of the light that trickled through the tangled branches. Ryla wondered how they knew where to go. Yesterday, they had turned from a path that looked like no more than a trail used by animals and forged straight through the trees.

It was slow going as there was barely enough room in places for the wagons to squeeze between the rough trunks. The ride became too bumpy to sit in the wagons, so everyone got down and walked alongside. The horses took their time picking their way through the exposed roots snaking across the ground.

"Not much farther, now," said Thistle.

The seed of worry resting in the bottom of her stomach began to unfurl. She tried peering ahead through the mosaic of leaves and trunks, but couldn't make out more than a few feet in front of her.

Just as she was about to ask Thistle if they would arrive by nightfall, a man swung down from the branches and landed with a thud in front of the Caravan.

"Wasn't expecting you back for some time," said the man. He was as large as any of the guards Ryla had seen at Wightmanstry, if not larger. The dirty tunic and pants he wore were the color of the surrounding forest. He had a square jaw lined by a scruffy beard. His eyes, cold and calculating, cut over each of the crew members from behind thick eyebrows. One scarred and massive hand rested on the pommel of a great sword strapped to his hip. This was exactly the way Ryla had pictured the Woven.

Like criminals.

"We picked up an unexpected guest, Janek," answered Thistle.

"We've cleared her," said Willem who was the only one of the crew that came anywhere close to matching the man in size.

"Let me have a look at her then," said Janek.

Ryla swallowed hard as Graphiel gestured her forward with a smile. "Nothing to be worried about, Ryla. He just needs to make sure you aren't a particularly cunning spy." He winked.

Ryla walked towards the man until his towering figure cast its shadow over her. She kept her eyes on his boots. He took her chin in his rough hand and tilted it up until he could see into her eyes. A change came across his pockmarked face. "That's odd." He turned her face from one side to the other, sparing any gentleness. "Is she Woven?" This question was directed towards the crew.

"Yes," Thistle spoke. "We've made all the necessary inquiries, she's quite safe Janek."

"It's just, I can't find... I'll let Oran take a look at her. Where ya from?"

"Wightmanstry," she managed to squeak out.

"Got any weapons on ya?"

"N.. No." He ran his hands roughly down her sides to make sure. "All's well in Religo?" he asked, eying Thistle.

She was ready with the practiced reply. "Not until the Woven Crown is worn again."

"All right then," said Janek, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Go on through. I hope you have some news to share with us tonight." He turned and stretched a palm towards an apparently random patch of forest.

After a moment or two of silence, the air in front his hand shimmered with light. Ryla saw threads of magic coming undone as if he had pulled a string from a sweater. It was like an invisible sheet hung in front of them, separating part of the forest from the rest. The rip he started grew larger until it was big enough to fit the entire Caravan. No one but Ryla looked the least bit surprised.