The Weaver's Source

Chapter 100

I moved across the room, glancing at Grigore's hands briefly, wanting to see him work for just one moment. He looked so stern as he drew several wards, cutting them up and sticking them together again. But my focus returned to the room when I reached a tiny staircase.

I glanced at Grigore one last time before I placed one foot on the first step. It groaned horribly under my weight and I wasn't sure it would hold me. I waited to be certain before I slipped up the stairs cautiously. Webs hung from the walls and spread over my face when I walked through them and dust from the bannister clung to my gloves. The stairs coiled around, guiding me to a tiny bedroom.

Inside there were more toys scattered around and clothes were hanging limply from drawers. It was a messy place but what struck me was the level of dust. It wasn't the level you would get from not cleaning, it was the level that gathered when things remained unused.

I stepped inside, noting the footprints that lay in the thick grey dust. There was a large pair and a smaller. Stela and Olga. It was strange how rigid the path was though. The footprints never strayed from the path from the stairs to the bed and the sink in the corner. Never did they venture over to the drawers or toys. Never to the window either.

I carefully followed the trail of footsteps and came to stand in front of the bed. It had been slept in, it was clear, but nothing was abnormal about it. No dust lay here and toys and paper lay scattered on it. I glanced at the drawings Stela had done and frowned. I picked it up to look at it closer and instantly became worried.

The drawing was scribbled in a childlike manner and in vibrant colours of red, green and blue. But it was the violent nature of the drawing. Their heads were missing and skeletons surrounded them. Heads scattered at their feet and red rain fell from a blue sky. I picked up another drawing and it was very much the same. Skeletons, corpses, blood rain. It unnerved me terribly. But the drawings further away from the paths of footprints, covered in dust and webs, appeared to be of something warmer. Of flowers, deer and mountains. Not death.

I scooped up the drawings and trundled back downstairs and shuffled to Grigore's side. He remained still, brow furrowed deeply in focus.

"Grigore." I whispered urgently, keeping my voice low so Olga couldn't here.

He grunted in response, letting me know he had heard me.

"You need to look at these." I crouched down and spread the pictures out on the floor. "Olga said there was nothing wrong but clearly something was bothering Stela."

Grigore glanced down at me with those dark eyes of his before he hunkered down beside me slowly, his fingers brushing the scrawled pictures with gathering danger.

"I think you need to see the room as well." I said. "It was...unsettling."

"Your magic didn't feel anything up there?" He asked and gestured to the sketches. "Or from these?"

"No."

"I can't sense anything either. I'm trying to sift through the emotions of the house but it's like it's forgotten. There's nothing. I can't sense any magic or malicious intent."

I frowned and shifted my weight. "I don't like the level of dust in the house, Grigore. The loom hasn't been used in years and a lot of the toys haven't been touched either."

"That may be meaningless, Lyra. These people are poor." Grigore said, although his tone didn't brush aside my thoughts entirely. "Whatever takes the children never stepped foot in this place. Something calling to children or, if it's human, they ask the children to meet them when their parents sleep."

"You don't think we're going to find anything else here."

"No but those pictures are interesting." He picked one up and held it high. "Children drawing things like this without their parents worrying is curious. Let's go see if Olga knows of these."