The Weaver's Source

Chapter 44

The moment I entered the village and its oddly place buildings, a little bit of me regretted it. Despite the curiosity of the drum's calling me, I slowed my pace. I felt people staring at me, all hostility and dislike, as they bowed their heads and shuffled away as if they'd seen a devil. I knew it was myself causing the discontent. They grew wary or curious at the sight of Grigore but it was when they saw me that they suddenly changed their attitude. They didn't like me at all and it stirred up flashes of that mob, crushing my already shrivelled soul and marching me off to die, and the fear I had kept pushed down for so long began to rise. It made me realise how at ease I had been recently. Ever since I left home, I hadn't had that daily fear knotted in my chest like a dull ache, nursing it every day. It had untangled since I had begun following Grigore, soothed away by hiking over rough terrain and conversing with a rougher man. Now it had come back to me, set deep in my chest and growing tighter with every scowl. It was rubbing Grigore the wrong way too. The more people we saw and the more silent hostile scowls and harsh whispers I was subjected to, the tenser he became. I could feel him behind me like a darkening storm, his magic crackling irritably, gaze fixed on the back of my head with a heavy silence surrounding him dangerously.

Eventually I felt my body lock up with nerves and my hip ache. I turned sharply and tried to just ignore the call, marching back the way I had come, but Grigore's arm slipped about my waist, pulling me into him roughly and preventing me from retreating. I stiffened, my heart fluttering nervously as I watched how darkly he gazed at the back of the farmer that fled from us quickly.

"Grigore, I'll learn to ignore the call, so let's leave."

"Why?" He said tensely, his stormy eyes slipping to my face with a snap.

I flinched a little, my heart pumping hard. I didn't want to admit this village scared me and reminded me of home, of those people who wanted me dead to save themselves.

"You're annoyed." I said simply instead.

"Yes, I'm annoyed. You've suddenly become sheepish and timid." He said lowly. "You're a shy woman, easily flustered, but you're not fearful."

I found myself flushing a little at the small observation he had of me. "This place reminds me of home." I said, instinctively trying to make myself as a small as possible and ducking my head down habitually when I noticed someone walking our way. "The less attention I draw, the better." I muttered.

I felt Grigore's magic reach for me heavily, his scent thickening as he gazed at me standing beside him with dark eyes, head low.

"Lyra." His voice rumbled deeply, coaxing my attention to his stony expression when he touched my chin, tilting my face to meet his. "These people aren't anything to be afraid of. They're full of fear and only fear."

My hip throbbed and memories flashed of rocks and words. I pressed my mouth together tightly at the memory of what fear could do. How it could twist people into a mob of hate. He sighed sharply at the cloudy colours swirling in my eyes.

"How on earth can you be scared of these people when you've raised a poker to a fairy-possessed man and constantly face me down with such stubborn fire?" He demanded in heated exasperation. "I'm the man to be afraid of, Lyra, I'm the one who could kill you in any horrific manner I choose, not a bloody goat farmer."

I blinked heavily, realising that he was technically correct, he was the bigger threat than anyone in this village, both magically and physically, but the thought that he was one to me was ridiculous.

"You'd never hurt me, Grigore." I murmured.

"I could if I decided to flout the laws." He growled out lowly.