The Weaver's Source

Chapter 25

Annis remained quite calm at hearing the Weaver's return. "What of his reappearance? He knows there is no trouble here. He knows the villagers won't hire him." She stated.

The man hesitated and licked his parched lips. "He says he has business with you though. He refuses to go."

Annis' eyes narrowed sharply. "What business?"

The man's eyes flicked of to me and back to Annis in fear. "The girl."

"He has no business with her." She snapped in rage. "Now tell him to leave or give him a place to stay."

"But he-"

"No! The magic is mine! I claimed it before he! He has no right to it!" She snarled and stormed over to the messenger, chasing him from the room.

"It's his." I managed to force out in a slur as she made her way back to me.

She ignored me but her eyes narrowed with defiance and rage. She whipped the knife out again and grabbed a tiny wooden bowl. Placing it beside my neck, she grabbed my chin, digging in her claws as she forced my head back and exposed my neck. The blade glinted in the faint light as she pressed against my skin, digging the edge in hard enough to cut the skin and cause a small swell of hot blood to tickle down between my beasts. I gasped in horror, my heart stuttered and chest heaved for air as I felt it dig in. For a moment, the hope that had exploded at hearing of my Weaver's appearance shrivelled up, until the door slammed open.

Annis' eyes closed and her lips thinned into a white line of rage. Trying to keep her cool, she turned to the new comer, this time keeping the knife, now tainted with my blood, in full view. As soon as her fingers had let go of my chin, I turned my head as best as I could. If I had been able to smile and cry with joy, I would've. Instead my heart sang quietly and my magic hummed in excitement as the scent I knew so well chased away the rot of the room.

Grigore filled the doorway, dressed in a loose shirt clamped to by the old familiar jack, vambraces lined with metal, worn breeches that clung to him pleasantly and a cloak that hung from his wide shoulders. He hadn't changed at all since I had last seen him in the sinking church. His hair was still dishevelled and loose, his skin torn with mean scars and his eyes were alight with life and wickedness. The only difference was the thin beard that was forming over his strong jaw and the large battered sword hanging at his hip. I wasn't sure if I was pleased to see that the dangerous aura surrounding him hadn't changed either. He stood powerfully, his muscles tense, his shoulders squared and feet set firmly. His eyes were hooded and his jaw set with fury and it was only feeding the ominous magic that crackled about him dangerously, causing me to shy away a little. I had forgotten how intimidating he was.

Annis didn't shy away however. She stood her ground and let her own power swirl about. I was surprised at the strength the old woman held. It felt ugly, cruel and repulsive but it was strong. But not strong enough. She couldn't win against Grigore, especially in the mood he was in. I knew Annis knew this by the glimmer of fear flashing over her frog-like eyes but she still faced him, intending to fight tooth and claw for my magic.

"What can I do for you?" Annis asked stiffly and quite irritably. She was becoming impatient now and struggling to remain peaceful and calm.

"Lyra. Let her go." He demanded savagely.

Annis smiled broadly. "Lyra's magic is mine. I caught her fairly."

Grigore's scowl deepened almost in insult. "I don't want her magic."

"Then what can you possibly want with her?"

"I saved her some time ago from asrai. I don't intend for my work to be undone and for her to be eaten by a hag of all things."