The Weaver's Source

Chapter 9

"Find it." I replied. "Mother told me Sources can find things touched by magic. I want to see if I can do that."

Gabi raised her eyebrows. 

"Well, we all know about the danger sensing but I didn't know you could find things."

"I can't. At least I've never tried before. I've never really needed to." I gazed at the murky window. "I'm going to practice outside for a while. It's about time I figure out what I can actually do by myself."

Gabi scratched her neck and nodded in acceptance. "I'll be in town. Need to see my father and his bakery. I'll also check on your aunt."

I felt a small stab of worry and it was clearly written over my features when Gabi smiled.

"I'll come straight back. No river excursions for me." Gabi said firmly. "I promise, Lyra." She added when I continued to frown at her anxiously, my eyes pale.

I nodded slowly. "Just come back quickly."

Gabi promised she would again and I swallowed the thick knot of worry for her, trying to ignore the pressing image of her rotting head floating in that dead water.

We silently went about the house and prepared ourselves. I sorted out some food for me to eat and a thick blanket to sit on while I was out on the moor. We both left at the same time. After biding Gabi nervous farewell, earning myself a light scowl and command to not worry about her, I wandered off into the wet moor. For once it wasn't raining but it was colder today and still very damp.

I marched off towards the woodland and sat several feet from its border. I was still a distance from the river and the hill blocked it from view. Tugging the hood of my cloak firmly over my head, I crossed my legs and let my hands rest on my knees. I inhaled deeply then closed my eyes, hoping I could work out how to manipulate my magic quickly.

I knew the basics of feeling it. Ever since I was small I would sit down for hours, mentally touching the magic within me, curling it into balls and chains, quietening it or belting out its song. I enjoyed playing with it but I had never done anything to boost my senses. I didn't quite know how to.

I started with what I knew. I felt for the mass of magic, which was swerving from fear of the nearby river, and gently herded into a ball. It was a familiar feel now but as I child I remembered being strangely repulsed yet enthused by how the magic felt. It was like getting your hands mouthed by hundreds of fishes. For a while I just toyed with it and let myself become familiar with that action. I had stopped playing long ago, thinking nothing useful would become of it, and I was a little rusty. Now and then I would lose the magic and it would slither away. Eventually I got the skill back and I was in control.

I thought for a moment. How would I get it to heighten my senses? I mulled over ideas and then tried some of them out. Most failed. The magic was in every part of my body so it was already in my eyes and ears which made moving it pointless. Eventually I just resorted to squeezing my eyes shut and thinking of nothing but for my magic to improve my sight. Nothing happened. I sighed in frustration and opened my eyes. Things were not going well.

I glanced up at the tall trees that stood a fair distance from me. In them I could hear the sound of crows crying to one another but I couldn't see the birds. I chewed the inside of my cheek and, with another idea, tried again, trying to see those birds in greater detail. After a few moment of nothing, I heaved a frustrated sigh. This was getting me nowhere.

"Why're you so useless?" I accused the magic hotly coiling in my chest. 

It responded with a pulse of insult.

I reached for the sack beside me and pulled out an apple as my stomach gurgled, rising to my feet to walk off my frustration. I ate it as I made my way down to the spot I had met Grigore yesterday morning and threw the core into the shrubs as I turned to face the river. This was where I had met him for the third time. The time he rejected me utterly. I sighed miserably, starting to feel a little less angry at his rebuttal. I truly was of no use. Despite having this raw power sitting inside me, I was about as helpful as a twig. I couldn't use it and I was as easy to kill as any mortal.

But, just as I was about to turn to head back home, I picked up that scent again. Honeyed milk touched my tongue and my nose inhaled the strong heady scent of woodsmoke. Grigore. Flushing and nervous, I looked about sharply to see if he was nearby, gearing myself for an argument, but it was just myself out by the banks. I was alone.

Curious, I tilted my head. Why could I smell him? A song of magic, I was told it was by a Weaver years before when I asked him curiously as a child, but Grigore's song was powerful, almost addictive. It breathed over my skin, filled me with strength and warmth. I remained still, wrapping his song about me, wishing I was more helpful than I was, that I was stronger and could prove to him I was capable when I knew I wasn't, until my magic chirped.

I felt it tug, forcing my attention to the river. A very specific spot of the river. I rose cautiously, following the bank of swaying reeds and fat lilies, my eyes fixed where my magic wanted. Grigore's scent was thickening, quickening my pulse with reluctant excitement and making my lips tingle. I paused, not willing to go further towards the water's edge but I noticed there was a slight difference to the scent. It felt stale, like it had a slight echo and faded taste. Like the magic I was following was old. Suddenly I was very aware of what the magic was trying to do. It wasn't trying to take me to Grigore, it was trying to take me to his sword, a weapon soaked in his magic.

"You want him to accept us as much as I do, don't you?" I murmured, rubbing my chest. 

It purred back.

I didn't know what to do now. I'd accomplished what I'd wanted, just not in the manner I thought I'd do it in, but I was pleased I had done something to help my Weaver. I knew where his beloved sword was.

Now all I had to do was work out how to get it out of the river without being eaten by the asrai.