The Tower

Chapter two- Khari

Chapter two- Khari
Present time
Mabon
Early  Autumn
24th September
Three Sun Bells

Khari's eyes were trained on the horizon as a new ember dawn painted it's face onto the skyline. The old day flowed out of Khari with a gentle humm, as the new day began to fill them with its energy. Khari placed a hand on the hilt of their sword with one hand still firmly on the reins. The sword gently pulsed as the enchantments glowed in the sun, Khari frowned, their shoulders tensing as their lips pursed and eyelashes fluttered. The remnants of the blood stains still resided upon Valkyrie. Khari sent a silent wave of apology into Kyrie as they used their sleeve to wipe her down once again. In weaver culture dirty tools were seen as bad omen. The weaver's magic relies on the connection between Weaver and their material. It was simple physics, the molecular structure of a solid, liquid or gas could be infused with magical energy. Magic itself was a weightless energy and if one mastered the art of weaving, an object would remain the same structurally, but with new energies and functions. The physics and sciences of magic never ceased to amaze Khari, they had spent countless hours researching and attempting to piece together the puzzle. But no matter how deep they explored, magic always had more to teach them. Countless hours of research had made Khari an exceptional Weaver, so much so that each object in their home was enchanted with as many spells as it could carry. Khari thought back to their home.

Each plate, vase and table thrummed with the beat of Khari's energy. The door was enchanted to close by itself since oftentimes the two carried in large bags of vegetables from the market and had no free hands. They bought vegetables since they were always the cheapest food source, except in coastal towns where fish would be sold by the barrel. But back at home the town had been in Finnport harbour, and while there was a tendency for crabs to wash up on shore, fish were not in abundance. It never bothered the pair much. Mateo had a tendency for smart spending, to the point where even a few pennies held value to him. As a manifestor he deemed each penny to mean something, and believed everything had a purpose, no matter how seemingly low the value. Khari was never unhappy to buy cheap food since the enchantments placed into each meal they cooked could make anything taste delicious. Mateo wasn't one for cooking but he was always mesmerised by the way Khari managed to create a whole new flavour profile each evening. As well as being delicious each dish served a practical purpose. Some gave strength for their odd jobs around town, while others granted stamina for when Mateo had a long day of fully booked readings from a bunch of on edge patrons. All not wanting to be caught with a witch. Sensing their desperation drained something in him since he frequently found himself being the bearer of bad news.

Khari often wished they could take away the pain the two of them had carried since that day. Each moment they spent reminiscing about the past brought them only a temporary comfort, before a storm of loss tugged at their gut and forced them back to reality. Khari couldn't help it, the thoughts were addictive, the kind of soothing sadness that can sometimes be felt in violin music. The violin was lost in the fire, it had been a lucky find in a traveling market stool. It was supposedly carved from blossom wood in Sulveria, and Khari couldn't pass up a taste of home. The sound was a melody of somber warmth. When Khari or Mateo didn't play the violin in their free time, it had been enchanted to play a melody in time with Khari's heartbeat. This meant they had some silence filling song to wash the dishes, sweep the rug or knit a blanket too. Khari knew they could enchant something to clean for them but firstly, it was bad weaver etiquette to not take care of ones tools, and secondly, Khari often enjoyed the repetitive motions of washing a dish, casting a spell or lapping a sliver of wool over iron needles while the fire crackled on a cold winter's night. 

Khari shook their head and forced the memories away. They would not dwell on the loss... Not today. As if sensing their discontent Mateo had risen from his slumber. He had climbed the top of the wagon and plopped down next to Khari, taking the reins from their cold, stiff hands. Khari let his hands take the reins as they picked up the sword and rubbed it down with the sleeve of the coachmans spare uniform they had found in the wagon.