The Weaver's Source

Chapter 9

I thought for hours on how to go about getting Grigore's sword back. I couldn't think of anything however. The sword was somewhere in the lake and only magic would be able to point to where exactly. It annoyed me knowing that while I had a lot of magic held within me I couldn't use it.

I sat up until the night grew old, going over the same pages over and over again while I sat in my father's ancient chair. The room was cold and the darkness was barely kept away by the small sputtering flame of the candle in front of me. Gabi had fallen asleep long ago and I was fighting to stop my eyes from closing. Outside I could hear the gentle patter of rain and the soft singing of the asrai that curled my toes. I bit my mouth in worry as I knew Grigore was out there, trying to hunt them down. Just how many were there? I kept recalling him on the bank, his throat ripped open and his clothes showing clear signs of other wounds that had healed before my arrival. It made my heart hurt thinking he'd get cut open again, maybe he already had been, but I couldn't go to him. It would only make things worse between us.

As I battled sleep, I thought back to my mother. She knew more than the average man about Sources, only because she'd stop whatever Weaver she saw passing through town and bombard them with questions, and it was because of her that I was prepared for the dreams and understood what was happening when I felt fear not my own. She took a lot of abuse from the town because of me but she was always proud to be my mother and did anything to protect me, which eventually cost her life as well as my father's. I frowned softly to myself as the old stab of sadness thudded into my chest. But I continued to try and remember my mother's words, the little snippets of information she's scraped together in the hopes of preparing me. Something eventually bubbled to the top. She had told me that, as Sources couldn't actually use magic like a witch or a Weaver and were often targeted by monsters, they needed to have a defence mechanism. This came as the ability to sense death and dangers. I knew that well as ever since I was small I could tell who was going to die in the coming months and when a stranger who entered the town was a threat. But what my mother had also told me was that I could manipulate the magic in me to heighten my senses, to feel incoming malice, the sense the emotions and lies of others, and to seek out things touched by magic. My magic struggled to a lot of these things though.

I tilted my head in thought. The sword had been in the care of Grigore, a Weaver. It was possible that it had enough magic in it that I could maybe snag myself to it, to see where in the river it was. I could give it a try, but it would have to wait until morning. The asrai were at their most dangerous right now and Grigore was down by the river. He wouldn't be happy if he knew I was going down there again.

I let out a deep sigh and folded my arms firmly over my chest, wiggling to get myself comfortable. Swiftly sleep came and the next thing I knew dawn birdsong twittered outside and pale sunlight seeped in through the thin curtains. My eyes were sticky and I rubbed them fervently until the blurry vision passed. I yawned and stretched then glanced across at Gabi who let out a grunt as she slept. She couldn't come with me but for once I wasn't waltzing off without telling her where I was going.

I stood up and went about my usual morning business. Boiling the kettle, washing and changing my clothes then checking on my food reserves. Rapidly the kettle was singing and I made us some tea which I presented to Gabi as I shook her gently awake.

She was startled at first and gave me a long stare when she realised it was me. 

"You're here for once." She stated and took the tea I offered happily.

"I didn't want to alarm you again."

"Didn't stop you before." She grumbled and tugged the blanket over her legs to keep the cold away. "What are you planning to do with the sword then?"