The Weaver's Source

Part Four: Chapter 42

That worried me even more. It meant Grigore didn't want to fight it. Was it too strong for him? Or were there too many? I fretted quietly to myself until we reached the top of the hill and Grigore stopped abruptly. I was so deep in my thoughts that I bumped into his back softly and peered around. Far below was a great flat land of fields and woodland. In the centre was a village, a small cluster of buildings glowing gold, while the further farmsteads were connected by thin roads and walled lanes.

Grigore shifted his eyes, turning slightly to look at the darkened woods behind us. 

"We'll stay there tonight. It'll be safer than the road."

I nodded in agreement and kept close him as he guided me down the spiralling hill road, his pace now matching mine. But the closer we drew, the stronger my magic began to fret. I knew Grigore could feel it as his head constantly twitched from side to side, listening and watching the woods and fields. I noticed that the herds of cattle and sheep were nowhere to be seen, locked away into barns. Nothing stirred out there and the woodland slowly became eerily quiet. I knew instantly something was wrong with this village. It was being haunted by something.

Grigore followed the main road which was scarred with hoof prints and wheel scores. Soon the barns and little farmsteads became houses, some large, some small, but all glowed with the light of civilisation. We moved deeper into the village where the houses became numerous until we came to the heart of it where a large sycamore tree stood, surrounded by communal buildings and small trading shops. All were closed and silent apart from the biggest of them all. The inn was quite long and only two stories high and, once again, oddly quiet. There were lights but no sounds of music or loud voices. Everything was so hushed here.

"What's going on?" I asked softly as we made our way to the front door.

"Fear. The village is thick with it." He responded darkly. "Keep close to me."

I shuffled closer to him as he opened the door and a thick wave of warmth and light instantly bathed my cold face. I pulled my cloak tighter over my shoulders, pulling it up to my red nose, as I followed Grigore into the inn. Inside were numerous men, some travellers, some farmers, but all were looking sombre and talked quietly over their drinks. As soon as we entered though a weird hush came over the place. Eyes swivelled to us instantly and wariness filled them.

Grigore let his hand take mine, engulfing it easily, his grip firm and protective. I was surprised by the contact and shyness touched me but I was grateful for the interaction. I didn't like the expression on these farmers' faces.

Trying to hide my small joy by pressing my cloak harder against my face, I let him guide me over to the bar. A skinny man with a massive moustache that practically became his mouth gave us a long look.

"I need a room." Grigore simply said.

The barkeep hesitated as he glanced over Grigore's scarred face and Ursus dangling from his hip. 

"Are you passing through?"

"Yes."

The barkeep nodded. 

"I have a spare room. It'll cost a couple of silvers for it." He said and fished out a key from under the bar. "It's up the stairs. Last door on the left."

Grigore took the key and thanked him after handing over a couple of coins. I kept close to him, keeping my head low, but someone still saw me. A large muscular man who had been sitting at the bar suddenly grabbed my arm and wrenched me out of Grigore's grasp. I squeaked in fear as the man grabbed my chin and stared at my face with cold scrutiny. My eyes, which had been a soft pink of quiet pleasure, suddenly turned pale as fright filled me. The man's expression suddenly twisted into rage and he shoved me back into Grigore. I fell into his chest, heart pumping in fright but comforted by Grigore's arms which circled around me protectively, pulling me close.