Weaver: A Silver Crown

Chapter 5

“Welcome to the Forgotten Village, Anera.” She said softly, gesturing to the mini city around her. I was dumbfounded, like a god damn fool. I had nothing to say. Words eluded me. She eyed me cautiously, failing to hide her curiosity that showed on her pretty face. Much like Fliteen's. “You are more beautiful than I would have imagined and… different.” She c****d her head to the side, her eyes scrutinising and her nostrils flaring as she breathed in my scent.

I shook my head in the hopes to clear out the cob webs so it would start churning again, but the cogs wouldn't go. I simply stared at her, my mouth the shape of an 'o' and let her scent engulf me. Her blood. She was powerful; she was mated; she was family. “I know this must be a bit of a shock. I knew I wouldn't be able to hide it from you once I was near. If I know one thing about my son it's that he wouldn't raise a buffoon.” My son. She spoke as if the wheels of time hadn't even passed her, that it was only yesterday that they had spoken; that she wasn't believed to be dead. She frowned at me then and it completely altered her face. I pushed down the instinct to cringe away. I also pushed down the instinct to s***h her down and relish the warmth of her blood on my skin. I swallowed the lump in my throat forming from the thought.

“Come girl, did Burok not teach you how to talk?” Burok was my father's name. “Or is that silent b***h Lakeash he likes to keep teaching you the ways of a Yatid.” Yatid was nobility line within the court, often known for their quietness. And boringness. It made them more deadly. I wanted to snicker at the comment about my mother, but my mouth betrayed me.

“Holy Gods...” I mumbled, putting a palm to my forehead. She scoffed at me, obviously not expecting that reaction. “Just – how?” I asked. “My father told me you were long buried.”

“And you believed him?” She countered with a knowing raise to a smooth, well groomed brow. When I said nothing she straightened her spine and smiled. “It is easy when we are young to believe the only things we are told; the only things we know.” She paused and held out a hand to me. “May I?” I knew what she asked. Oracle's found socialising easier when they could pry into the minds of others. I gingerly took the outstretched hand, feeling her soft, smooth cold skin beneath my callused fingers. She rubbed her thumb over the scars and peered down at them with a tight lipped frown. Sadness flickered over her eyes briefly and then I blinked and it was gone. “It is true you escaped the city. It bought you much hardship and pain.”

“Yes.” I choked out, feeling fingers grappling through my brain, the memories being pulled out of me. I sucked in a breath through my teeth. “I did.” I grit out, trying not to pant.

“Come,” she looked up and nodded her heard towards the highest house at the top of the canopy, stairs of wood spiralling down from it. “Let's talk more in my home. Flit, Talo and Mira await us.” Oh Gods. She began a slow pace back to the wooden door Fliteen had vanished through minutes before, careful of my slight limp and taking her hand from mine. I took in a sigh of relief, my mind becoming my own, even if it was now pounding with a headache. Oracle’s had peculiar, invasive magic when one left their mind unguarded.

“Do you like my village?” She asked turning to look at me and waving her hands to the giant place around her.

“Your village?”I chirped, surprised.

“Well,” She cackled. “I helped with its major construction. Those who were first here have since moved on.”

“Dead?”

“Some faded into the afterlife, yes, and some took their leave elsewhere. And many sought this place out.”

“Why?”

“For peace.” She stated simply as she looked around her with a small smile on her face. Villagers greeted her as we passed, some even stopped for conversation who she kindly turned away with talk of urgent matters. What peace would a Mixling seek from a Weaver?

“I am no Weaver, girl. It will do you no good to insult my intentions.” I nodded, biting my tongue, knowing better than to argue, and looked down at the clean stone pathway beneath me. My dirty scuffed boots, weaponry and dishevelled clothes looked out of place. But the villagers I had seen so far were dressed pretty commonly as you’d expect one to be in the middle of a forest. I imagined that general trading was scarce; I was curious to how they managed to sustain themselves here.

We walked along in silence with me trailing slightly behind her and eventually reached the tree Flit had vanished through what only felt like moments ago. I hadn’t realised how far I’d dawdled into the place. I couldn’t tell if they were fools to let a fully armed Weaver roam freely through their streets or contented enough knowing that their grandmother would merrily smite me if I did anything wrong. My grandmother, I corrected. I had tried to push the thought away since realising her scent.

“What is your name?” I blurted, feeling terrifically impolite of never having asked before. My father had never told me.

“Koell Diya, previously Koell Querisha but Liauzo is my maiden name.” Liauzo. That was another nobility blood line within the Weaver court. They dealt with the trade for the lands; knowing all of the major resourcing, food, tailoring and general goods tradesmen and suppliers. No wonder this place had thrived so well. She gave me a small smile and walked to the door of the tree, bracing her hand on the carved wooden surface. I interrupted her before she could open it.

“What kind of trees are these?” I asked, studying its vast height. “They have magic, don’t they? I can sense it.” Even as I said it, I felt a strange pulse vibrate through my bones. It felt odd, like nothing I had encountered in the city.

“Perhaps if you care to climb it, dear, I will tell you.” She taunted with a smirk, pushing the door open. Amber Auralight glowed within, revealing a warm, honey coloured stair case. “This will lead you up to the first balcony, from there you are welcome to climb or take the outer stairs. Most aren't brave enough to venture up so far.” She challenged with a gleam to her eye when she looked back down from the balcony to me, a sly smile spread across her face.

“Are you coming up with me?” I licked my lips nervously – a habit the Pits had swiftly knocked out of me, literally – hoping she'd lead the way.

“Gods no.” She huffed. “The bones in these legs are too old and too weak to climb the stairs. But the magic in me is not.” Something stretched and hummed behind her until iridescent Hummingbird wings straightened and fell gracefully down her back. I didn’t want to understand how stressful a task a tailor had creating her clothes. I held in my awe and confusion. That was magic of the Humming Court.

“Weaver’s do not fly.” I said with a raise of the brow and slight impressed smile.

“And who told you that I wonder.” She mocked sarcastically, putting her hand to her chin. My father. Of course. “We are Mixling Fae that resides on Mixling Fae land. You must surely be foolish if you are gullible enough to believe that we have only Weaver blood and Weaver magic coursing through our veins.” She finished and gave her wings an impatient flutter. I had never given much thought to the idea. Most that are born in the Threaded City know only that. We are born, we are trained, and we are told we are kept for our safety after the Fae War, we work and we fight. And then we die. Or murdered, I added. I supposed I was now one of them too. Insufferable imbeciles reside in the Threaded City, something within me snarled, growling in the pit of my stomach. I grit my teeth with the strain of pushing it back. Koell saw it too.

Why do you deny that strange magic of yours, girl? Her voice was like a prowling caress that rubbed up against my mind. I flicked my eyes to hers in a crackle of understanding. Then she was gone, a wink of white light in my vision; a Hummingbird fluttered away. I hope to meet you up there. I do not take the matters of strangers in my village lightly. I did not have a good feeling about this tree and its bizarre Oracle magic. And I could sense that Koell was wicked enough to enjoy the fear and puzzlement of newcomers and strangers. Just as I might do. Except it would be more enjoyable if it wasn't me.

Edging closer towards the door, I pulled out my hunting knives, feeling safer with them in hand. I took a deep breath, steeling myself and rolling my shoulders. My thin baggy shirt and tight comfy trousers suddenly felt very unpractical and un-protective in the looming abyss that suddenly yawned open to greet me. I stepped through the door and made my way to the stairs, marvelling at the smooth honey stained spiralling stair case they had managed to fit inside. And then the door slammed shut behind me and the Auralight blew out, leaving me in utter shadow.