The Weaver's Source

Chapter 35

The next morning went pretty smoothly. I woke, had breakfast brought to me by Arthur along with the news that Grigore was once again out hunting. I was confused as to why he left so early but my questions would have to wait, or not be asked at all. His mood would probably be worse when he got back, I knew. It seemed whenever he came back from these hunts, wet and cold, his mood was considerably worse than before. I wasn't looking forward to his return if he was going to grumble at me.

Arthur continued with teaching me in the long hall. I was a little hesitant about speaking with him after my intrusion into the sealed off room last night but Arthur spoke to me as he had first met me, warm and happy. It settled what worry I had of him being angry. I found it strange he wasn't. Throughout my life, if I was somewhere I shouldn't be or wasn't wanted or said something wrong, people would at me. Even Grigore, in a less extreme, did the same. Arthur didn't though. He remained quiet and content with the events of last night. He didn't grow angry or rant at me. I had to admit that I found it a little confusing.

But I continued with the archery quietly, putting all my focus into trying to hit the sack at the other end of the hall, forcing my aching arms to continue hold the bow stead and the string taught. I kept missing and the arrow would clink against the wall and scuttle across the floor noisily over and over again. Gradually this noise began grate as my patience grew thin. Frustration filled me as I continued to miss, not once hitting the stationary target. If I couldn't hit something that couldn't move, how was I going to be of any help?

Arthur noticed my frustration and smiled. "It takes time, Lyra. You can't rush this. It takes years of training to master it."

"But I'm running out of time, Arthur." I grumbled as I took aim again. I let it fly but once again it went wide, significantly wider than the others, a sure sign of my growing impatience. I sighed in exasperation. "I'm not going to get this."

Arthur came to my side, rubbing my arm in comfort. "You will Lyra. You're just pressuring yourself."

"But the storm is dying down. You said it will finish in the next day. Once it's gone, Grigore's going to want to go. I have to be able to hit that sack before then." I said with a faint tone of despair.

Arthur frowned. "Let's have a break for now. I'll get you something to eat. We'll continue after."

I wanted to argue but I didn't. I was becoming infuriated with myself and the arrows that missed the sack. Having a rest would probably be for the better.

I let Arthur guide me to the library where he left me to read while he went to warm the food Grigore had cooked for me before he left. I was alone at first, moodily flicking through some of the books from the pile I gathered during my stay. The moment my magic stirred in interest, I knew I wasn't quite as alone as I thought.

My magic was calm, alert but calm. It wasn't a violent whirl of joy whenever it felt Grigore approaching me so I knew he wasn't back which meant it had to be the little elf. I glanced about the room, trying to spot the fairy. I couldn't see it, only feel it. My magic whirled in my stomach, following the essence of the silent elf as it flittered about the room, invisible to my eyes. For a moment I couldn't feel it and my magic settled. Thinking it had gone, I returned to my half-hearted attempt at reading. It was then that I heard a small voice in front of me.

"Fair lady, fair Source, so kind, so gentle." The elf said.

I looked up and stared at the creature on the table. It was no bigger than my hand, thin and ageless. With long pointed ears, a large hooked nose and great black oval eyes, it wore trousers made of green leaves and a large blue flower for a hat, covering its golden hair. It was a strange creature and, while it appeared harmless, there was a mischievous look in its black eyes.