The Weaver's Source

Chapter 50

Despite the rain, the lights were raised. Throughout the day and for as long as the men dared to continue until the dark light of dusk came, several torches were created on the outskirts. By evening, not even Jacob could get the men to continue to work. They fled to their homes and the inn, running from the coming night.

Grigore didn't complain. Long thick poles holding thick wrought iron braziers now surrounded the houses furthest from the town and closest to the woods. Within the town, the lamps were ignited for the first time in weeks. The villagers had hoped darkness would shield them, keeping them hidden without realising that was what the black dog needed.

As dusk died, Grigore took me back to the inn. We sat in the main hall, beside one of the numerous fireplaces that held a large cauldron of stew, which I was grateful for. My bones felt like they were made from ice and my stomach growled after only eating a small roll and cheese for lunch, desperately trying to keep up with Grigore and his urgency. We ate in tired silence and the other men in the inn spoke quietly, creating a low hum about me.

I sat opposite to Grigore, free my of drenched cloak and glad my clothes were finally drying. While he appeared to be calm and content, I was not. I still didn't feel safe around these men and it didn't help that they'd give me dirty hostile glares. I ate quietly and quickly, wanting to go back to my room and remain there.

With my back horribly straight and my eyes observing the fire with intense interest, Grigore sat silently, holding his bowl without any intent of finishing. I peered at him curiously. He seemed intent with his right hand, his breath deep and even. He held it out, flexing his fingers and twisting his wrist as a ward wove in his palm. His pleasing scent kept bursting into my nose, stirring up my own a little, and my eyes picked up weird slithers of magic running over his fingers like lightning. His expression was so distant that I wasn't sure he was aware of anyone else in the room. Slowly, another light glowed in his hand. It swirled, caged in his fingers, faint like the mist in morning light. I found it beautiful.

"What is that?" I asked softly.

Grgiore's eyes flicked to me, showing no sign if I had startled him. He gave me a firm look, as if he was debating something, before he shook the mist away.

"Are you done?" He said instead and stood sharply the moment I nodded, taking my bowl and striding off to Ian.

I watched his back before looking at the space where the little ward had been summoned. I could still see it, faint and weak, its thin lines wobbling. I hesitantly reached out and touched it.

My magic stirred and reacted as my fingers brushed the strange mist and I stiffened as something Grigore's sent filled me, swelling over my tongue and quickening my pulse. Then something pressed against my eyes. I saw woods and roads and fields, recognising it almost instantly as the farming village. A strange need to keep moving filled me. I was running from something. I was scared. Death was coming for me. Flashes of the far eastern road and beyond came to mind, the sight of a great mountain, and then it stopped.

I blinked wearily and the ward faded into nothingness. I didn't know what that was nor did I know what I had experienced. All I knew was that I suddenly had a pull to go east, following the small mountain roads into the range beyond. I stared at where the remnants of the ward still glittered, bewildered as to what I had experienced. I wanted to understand it but my confusion would have to remain. Grigore was a guarded man, always closing down about what he was doing or where we were going. He wouldn't tell me if I pressed it.

I looked up sharply when Grigore called me severely and found him watching me intently yet impatiently beside the bar. I wondered if he had seen what I had done or knew. Strangely, I hoped he didn't. I had a feeling that small cloud and the strange sensations within it was something I wasn't meant to know about and he wasn't going to be happy to know I pried, unintentionally or otherwise.