The Weaver's Source

Chapter 41

I clutched at his bloody torn shirt, trying my best not to wail as I stared in horror at the wide wound in his chest still pumping blood and the remains of his cut open shoulder yawning raggedly at me. He was alive but only barely. He wasn't going to survive this time, he hadn't the magic in him to. I pressed my lips together to swallow my cry and looked at the dust that had once been Arthur and the tiny ashen body of the elf. Everyone was dead but me. Again.

"Please live, Grigore. You have a task you want to complete. I know you do." He didn't say anything still. "Don't die. Don't you dare." I choked out.

I fiddled with his blood coated hair. I didn't know what to do. Grigore should be healing, I'd seen him recover from a savage wound to the neck, but he hadn't the magic. My throat closed as I realised with dawning horror he hadn't for days. Grigore had been out hunting since we arrived yet he couldn't find what he wanted. He didn't want food, he didn't need it. There was plenty within the house. I thought maybe he was doing it to relieve stress or avoid me but that wasn't it. He was hunting for monster souls. I realised hollowly he'd run out of magic. He had a long time ago, otherwise this fight would've been won with ease. He was now mortal and he was dying.

But he shouldn't be. Weavers carried flasks that held a backup supply in case they didn't find any souls to eat. He must have one. He had to. If I found it, I might be able to save him.

I stood sharply, tearing myself from him. I ran from the room and sought out Grigore's room. His pack would still be there, he had only taken Ursus on his hunt with him. As soon as I stepped into his tiny room, my eyes were seeking that tattered pack he always carried. It took some searching as he never left his belongings within sight. He always hid them. In this case he had stuffed them under his bed and shoved a blanket in the way. I pulled it out and tore it open then looked inside frantically.

There was an assortment of things in there. Clothes, small boxes containing herbs and a few bits of flint and tinder, but what I sought was buried underneath all that. I pulled it out and carefully examined it. It wasn't big, probably no bigger than my fist, but I was certain this was the flask. It had a stopper at the top made of what appeared to be iron and the whole thing was made of a weird wood. It felt strange too. Even though my magic was still in the grips of a dreadful fear, it still reacted to the soul flask. Something magically strong had touched it. But something bothered me. On one side of it was a small circular clockwork dial covered in glass with bronze gears and a little thin arrow pointing an arch of numerals I didn't understand. But the glass was broken and the cogs were frozen. It looked badly damaged.

Trying not to worry about my last hope in saving Grigore, I took the flask back to him as quickly as I could. Once I reached his side, I let my hand over his mouth. A weak tickling sensation covered my skin. He was still alive but only just.

"It's going to be okay, Grigore. I found your flask." I said gently as twisted out the iron stopper.

For a moment I didn't know what to do. I had no idea what a monster soul looked like nor did I know how Grigore ate them, but I needed Grigore to live so I had to try. At first I waved the neck of the flask under his nose then pressed it against his lip. Nothing happened. No soul went into him and his heartbeat grew weaker. It was empty.

In a fit of rage, I threw the flask across the room, watching as it clattered . I didn't care. It was broken and condemning him to death.

I choked back a sob as I stared down at Grigore's bloodied scarred face and his ruined body. Why couldn't I help him? I was his Source. I was supposed to give him his strength and immortality. I wiped the tears away hard roughly, smearing blood over my cheek, and scowled in determination. I was Grigore's Source. If his flask couldn't save him, then my magic could. I just needed to figure out how I was going to get my magic in him and I had to do it quickly. He was running out of life.