The Weaver's Source

Chapter 100

I didn't want to point out that they were on her bed and followed Grigore back into the kitchen.

"Olga, can you look at these."

Olga stirred slowly and stared at the drawing Grigore held out for her to see. She smiled weakly.

"She was always such a good drawer."

I frowned, confused by the reaction, while Grigore pressed on. "So this is normal?"

"Of course it is. Stela loved drawing the moutains and any animal she could see. She was a very much in love with the outside."

Grigore was quiet a moment, his gaze flicking over Olga's sad smile. "Olga, this is a drawing of death."

Olga looked confused, pained even. "That's not what's drawn. I don't understand what you're saying. Stela would never draw something like that." She said firmly as she grew distressed.

Grigore took the drawing away. "Forget what I said." He said and swiftly pressed on, not liking how angry and confused Olga was becoming. "I couldn't find anything in the house so I can't do anything else here. I'll look around the town and tell you if I find anything."

Olga nodded with her hollow eyes showing clearly how muddled and upset she was. "Thank you."

"I'll take this with me." Grigore told her, not letting her say no as he folded and pocketed the grim scrawl. "Rest for today. I'll be back when I have news."

Grigore propelled me outside, leaving the woman to stare at the wall again. The wind had died down but hail still fell and the world still looked dark despite morning now becoming old.

"Why didn't she see that drawing properly?" I asked Grigore as he looked back at the shack with hostility, drawing me close to his chest.

"Possibly gone mad, I don't know, but we need to talk to the folk here, see if they know anything and if any of the other children drew like this." He growled in frustration and grasped my hand tightly. "Stay close to me. I don't know what's happened here."

That didn't comfort me. Grigore had always been the knowledgeable one, able to find out what monster was causing a village pain and knowing how to handle it. But this time he had no clue. Everything was strange to him.

Biting my lip, I followed him, intending to follow out our plan of getting information about the children and their disappearances, but it only came to a dead end. By the end of the afternoon we were none the wiser as everyone gave us nothing. Nobody saw anything, no one had any suspicions and nobody seemed to care. They just stared at us with dead eyes and grunted before moving on dreamily. More oddly, when we showed anyone the drawing and asked what they saw, they said the same as Olga. A mountain and sun.

"It's very beautifully done. Stela was always a good drawer." The butcher said. His own son had been taken a month ago, not that he showed it. He laughed heartily although his eyes remained without emotion like everyone in this town. It unnerved me.

"Did your son draw before he vanished?" Grigore asked as he folded the drawing.

"Oh often. Little Tim loved to draw."

"Can we see them?"

"If you want. They're upstairs. You're free to look." The butcher said, jamming a thumb at the door behind him.

Grigore thanked him and he guided me behind the stall filled with flies and meats and into the tall cramped house behind it. Inside was much like Olga's shack. Dim, cold, windy and covered in a thick layer of dust.

"Why is everything always so dirty?" I asked Grigore curiously as I rubbed my freezing hands together roughly. "It's like no one is living in these houses."

Grigore grunted as he marched through the bloody kitchen filled with animal carcasses and the stink of blood and rot and headed straight for the ladder leading up into the second floor. I followed him warily. This whole village had me on edge, despite how quiet my magic was. Everything was so mechanical and dead eyed, it was creepy.

Above was pitch black and I remained on the stairs until Grigore had a tiny golden orb glowing in his hands and lighting up the room. Three beds were in here, all lined up against the wall. Unlike Olga's room, this place was a little tidier with a screen cutting off the room from the sink and privy.

Grigore held a hand out to me, giving me some support as I climbed up into the bedroom.

"The smallest bed there." Grigore pointed. "There are papers on it."

I trundled over as Grigore glared about the place, trying to see something he couldn't back at Olga's. It didn't take me long to find some of the drawings the butcher spoke of.

"Grigore." I called.

He came to my side without hesitation and loomed over me, gazing down at the picture in my hand. The butcher was there by his meat stall but his belly was open with god knows what hanging out. Blood surrounded his feet.

"A drawing of the dead again."

"Why would children do this?" I asked feeling a little sick. "And why are we the only ones who actually see it?"

Grigore didn't say a word, just stared at the drawing before he plucked it from my hands and put it in his pocket.

"We need to see Emil again. He's not telling me everything." He growled stiffly as he gazed down at me, wide eyed with worry and red faced from cold. "Keep close to me Lyra. I mean it. Something is very wrong here and I don't know why. I can't keep you safe from something that I can't see."

I smiled and tip-toed so I could press my mouth against his, lingering a little. His mouth was a comfort in all this strangeness and confusion.

"I'm not leaving your side." I promised sternly.

Grigore gazed down at my face, his dark eyes flickering over my features, drinking me in, before he turned sharply and headed back to the steps.

I glanced at the drawings we had left behind, shivering at the dead the butcher's little boy had drawn, and hurried after my Weaver.