The Weaver's Source

Chapter 107

I felt the strange dense fog rising away from my mind, releasing me from the deep sleep. I opened my eyes, fighting away the darkness that swamped me, and focused on the ugly face peering down at me.

"Wake up now. Come on." A familiar voice said.

I grunted as my blurred vision slowly focused and I narrowed my eyes in confusion when I registered Nanny Rutt kneeling over me, registering the hut full of herbs and animal skins gradually.

She smiled, showing the gaps in her mouth and wrinkled lips. "Now I am curious. Why would a Weaver just up and leave his Source behind?" Rutt asked me as she helped me sit up.

I noticed wards falling fading, slipping away into dust as my magic cried out victoriously, absorbing the last of Grigore's magic.

"Grigore." I murmured with a horrible tightening of my chest and looked about the clearing earnestly, seeking out a sign of his presence.

I didn't see any. No a whisp of his scent or pulse of his magic. All I could see was Rutt. There was no looming figure, no dark warm eyes or a smile that melted me instantly. He'd left me. He'd truly gone. But he was alive still. My magic still hummed in my chest, filled with as much life as ever, although it was growing nervous. If he had died, the magic would be waning. It gave me some hope.

"How long have I been here?" I asked as I pushed myself up, only vaguely aware I was still naked.

Rutt shrugged and hobbled to her chair. "A day or so. I've been trying to get you awake the moment she turned up and started hounding me." She sighed. "I told her it's none of my business if a Weaver wants to go off on his own but she wouldn't listen."

"By who?"

Rutt jabbed a thumb behind her and I looked to see Lillith standing a fair distance away, her golden eyes filled with awareness and her once proud statue shrunk down to that of a fawn, enabling her to stand within the house.

"The sylph turned up some hours ago and told me to wake you up. Not that I could do much, witchcraft and weaving aren't very compatible, and you seem to have woken yourself up without much help." She unveiled a basket beside her and picked out a small bun with thin crooked fingers. "Eat. If you've been out for a while then your body will need nourishment."

When I didn't move, she grasped my hand and placed the bun firmly in my palm. "Eat." She commanded.

I wanted to say I didn't have time to eat. Grigore was out there, hunting Sorin down alone. He needed me by his side if he was going to survive. But the firm haggard look on Rutt's face told me I didn't have much choice.

I swallowed the growing fear for my Weaver and nibbled at it tentatively. It was doughy and bland but, as soon as I gulped down the tiny bite, my stomach growled. Hunger washed over me and I couldn't stop myself from wolfing it down.

"I would say you were asleep for maybe a day or more." Rutt said as she watched me eat, handing me another roll when I held my hand out. "Eat and go. If your Weaver has gone to slay that lunatic alone, he'll be in for a fight. A necromancer is as bad as a hag and their magic is dangerous."

My gaze turned miserable and worried. "But it will take days to get there."

Rutt couldn't respond. She had no horses to offer and, even if she did, I hadn't the first idea on how to ride one.

"Just move quickly. You know where you are going. I can give you food and warmth for your journey at least."

I stared at her, noting the exhaustion in her wrinkles and narrow face. Rutt's eyes were paler than before by the darkness surrounding them. She looked so tired.