Brightly Woven (23 page)

I nodded again, wondering how long I could go without having to say a single word.

“Then we’re gonna get there together,” the first son said. “Fast friends, it’s like I was saying.”

We walked in uncomfortable silence, the father never once removing his arm from around my shoulder.
He knows
, I thought, and the fear shredded my insides.
He knows
.

But if that was the truth, he didn’t show any other indication of it, and his hands didn’t wander anyplace they didn’t belong. If anything, he was more interested in sneaking glances into my bag, and it was with a horrible start that I realized the numerous bags weighing down their cart had probably not belonged to them.

I focused my eyes firmly on the wild grass along the road.
Think
, I told myself,
think
. I could run—I was fast when I needed to be—but the father’s grip on my shoulder was unyielding, and a small knife had appeared in the younger son’s hand. He gave a nod to his brother, who circled back around me. We were slowly moving off the road, onto the grass fields. Another hand touched my bag, began to untie the knots that held it closed—they could have the bag, they just couldn’t have North’s notebook.

I twisted down and out of the father’s grip, but one of the sons still had a tight grip on my bag and wrenched me to my feet. The small knife was back, this time digging into my side.

“Seems like our boy doesn’t want to be friends,” the father said. He placed a hand on my head, pulling it back to get a better look at my face. “Didn’t take you fer a fighter. So what’s hiding in that bag?”

I watched the sons out of the corner of my eye as they tossed the books and yarn out of my bag. North’s notebook was thrown down carelessly into the dirt, spilling out letters and loose papers. Their hands stilled only when they touched the cool glass of my bottles.

“Drafts?” one asked. “All you gonna give us is drafts?”

“Not just any draft,” I said, my mind working fast. “Special drafts—a delivery for the Wizard Guard.”

The father’s hand relaxed slightly on my hat. If he had pulled it any harder, my hair would have come tumbling out.

“Special draft?”

“I’m a wizard’s assistant,” I said. “He was hired to create a strengthening potion for the wizards to use in the war.”

“Do you take us fer fools?” a son spat. “Only four bottles fer hundreds of wizards?”

“It’s so potent you need only a drop or two,” I said. “I’m not supposed to even say what I was carrying, it’s so powerful!”

A grin flitted across the father’s face, and I knew I had him.

“It’ll make you unstoppable—invincible—strong enough to lift a horse,” I continued. I wasn’t scared any longer, but it was easy to feign the same panic I had felt only moments before. “Please—oh,
please
, don’t take it! I’ll never be able to show my face at home again! My wizard will beat me black and blue if I don’t get the draft to the capital!”

“We’ll be taking what we want!” the father said, jerking my arm. “Those wizards won’t be keeping it for themselves this
time. With something like this we could take all the wagons and gold pieces we want.”

“And we’re gunna want a lot,” one of the sons added. “Imagine what would happen if we each took a bottle.”

“No!” I yelled. “Don’t! Please,
please!”

I almost laughed when they toasted each other in triumph, tilting the bottles back at the same moment.

“This tastes like—” the younger son mumbled. I held my breath as his knees buckled beneath him and he tumbled to the ground. The other two men collapsed into heavy sleep a moment later, their bodies disappearing into the tall grass. With the amount they drank, they would be dead to the world for at least a day.

I searched through their things, hoping to find something that would be of use. They had bent forks, several knives, an apple core, but only one musty and stained blanket among them. I wasn’t about to take anything that smelled of urine and ale.

“Idiots,” I mumbled, gathering up everything they had tossed from my bag. I flipped North’s notebook open to the front, tucking the loose sheets of paper back inside. He had written his name on the first sheet—the writing was practically illegible and looked as though a child had scribbled out the letters. He probably was a child, I realized as I scanned the first few pages. They were filled with notes on spells and simple elixirs—I laughed at Pascal’s angry face, sketched between blocks of messy scrawl and numerous lists of ingredients.

The next few pages were void of even a stray mark of ink. When his writing appeared again, it was small and cramped.

The hedge settlements of Mariton and Andover were cleared. The Guard burned all of their huts and books—lit the women’s hair on fire and left them to die. The boy that I spoke to seemed to believe the curse began as a kind of poison and would need the hedge’s blood to make any kind of antidote. He agreed to come with me to see if we can’t find her together. He knows more about them than I do, than even Father did
.

The man at my feet stirred slightly, but it was enough to wake me from my trance and make me close the book. I would have to finish reading later—for now, I had to keep walking.

The road was empty for miles ahead, which was fine with me. I didn’t stop until the sky had begun to darken, and I found a small clearing in the grass. The remnants of a fire were encased in a circle of stones, but there was no wood left—no trees or branches or even bushes for miles around me.

I sat down heavily, drawing my knees to my chest. Once I was down for the evening, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back up again. What little bread I had was almost gone after five days of walking. I wasn’t even sure of when I had last stopped. Two days ago? Three?

I unlaced my boots, allowing my sore feet some relief against the frozen ground. I had two painful blisters, but they were nothing compared to the ache in my back. Stretched out on the dirt, wrapped tightly in my thin shawl, I tried to sleep.

But hours later, it was clear there would be no rest for me; not while the cold air was trying to overwhelm my body with a thousand stinging needles. I reached for my necklace, only to remember I had left it with North.

I stood, pacing around the clearing, trying to get my blood rushing through my veins again. My feet were clumsy with fatigue, and rubbing my hands and arms did little more than turn them a brighter shade of pink. I needed fire, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut against the night air.

My loom lay in pieces nearby, bright in the moon’s strong light. I could do it, I thought, but what would that mean for me? For many years, that loom had been my entire world, my constant companion and source of happiness. But now, the loss of the future was more painful than the past. To do it now, to use the loom in such a horrible way, would mean not having the chance to finish North’s cloak, to tie it around his shoulders and see his face.

But nothing would ever be more important than the bundle of North’s work in my bag, than bringing it to the capital.

I folded the unfinished cloak and placed it in my bag before turning my attention back to the loom. The wood broke apart with surprising ease, snapping to pieces beneath my weight. I wiped the tears from my cheeks.

This is what I had wanted, wasn’t it? To be on my own, to live my own life the way I wanted to, away from my family, from the desert, from everything I had ever known. But I had never taken into account how very alone I would be.

I rubbed two pieces of wood together furiously, as hard as I could for as long as it took—which was nearly an hour. My body came alive, flooding with warmth, but the burning behind my eyes had nothing to do with my effort. I ground the sticks again and again, until sparks finally fell onto the pile of wood like a thousand little stars.

A cloud of white smoke twisted itself up into the sky. The fire ripped through the dry wood, crackling and popping. I collapsed on the ground beside it, my arms aching, and watched the gold and red flames whip against one another.

It was not my first sacrifice, and I knew it would not be my last.

The next morning, the fire had settled down into embers. I scattered them with my foot and left the circle of stones for the next traveler. I felt noticeably lighter as I took to the road again, finally rested enough to continue.

Soon Hertford, the last small village on the way, came into view. It wasn’t more than a resting stop, with a few taverns and beds for travelers. From there, it would be a full day on foot and then Provincia.

The village was unremarkable. A thin layer of frost and ice covered the dark stones, forcing me to watch every step I took until I reached the black doors of the nearest tavern.

I stepped inside the warm room—and immediately tried to walk back out.

“Sydelle.”

I let out the breath I had been holding, allowing the door to shut behind me. Sitting at the nearest table, his chair turned to face the door, was Wayland North. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his face was set in a furious expression.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said. The wizard still looked deathly pale, and there were dark, heavy circles beneath his eyes.

“You’re right,” he said. “I should be in bed in Arcadia, and
you
should be at my side, nursing me back to health!”

“Stop it!” I hissed, taking the open seat at the table. “Don’t turn this into a rotting joke!”

“I’m not joking,” he said. “How could you be so careless as to go off on your own like that? You know that Dorwan is still out there, wounded or not. What do you think would have happened if he had—if something had—?”

“You were in no condition to travel,” I said sharply. “You
still
aren’t in any condition to travel! The whole reason we’re together is to bring Provincia your report! If you couldn’t bring the news, then I was going to do it in your place. I want to stop this war as much as you do—I thought you would understand that.”

North’s face softened slowly, and he reached across the table and pulled the hat from my head. My hair tumbled down around my face.

“You foolish girl,” he muttered, now looking more relieved than angry. “You really are too much.”

“I would have made it, you know,” I said, pulling a piece of bread from North’s plate. “I had everything planned out.”

North leaned back in his chair. “You made excellent time for being on foot.”

“Why, thank you,” I said. “But how in the world did you get here before me? I only stopped a few times along the way.”

“A horse!” he said. “I don’t know why one wasn’t part of your cunning plan.”

“If you were on a horse, how long have you been here dawdling?” I asked. “And why did you not see me on the way?”

North suddenly found his gloves to be very interesting. I didn’t miss the way his cheeks colored.

“You got lost?” I asked. “North, it’s a straight road all the way to Provincia!”

“I might have taken one or two—or four—wrong turns trying to leave Arcadia,” he said.

“You’re hopeless!” I said with a laugh. “And besides, you shouldn’t have been riding with your injuries.”

“Yes, but how else was I going to keep up with my beautiful, beautiful darling? A wizard can only twist so far.”

I rolled my eyes.

“How did you get away from Pascal?” I asked. “He seemed intent on keeping you in Arcadia until you were completely healed.”

“He’ll be staying with Aphra for a while,” North said.
“He’s angry about the entire situation, and I’m sure we’ll both be receiving a few scathing letters from him. But for now, he recognizes that Arcadia needs protection, at least until Dorwan’s been dealt with.”

“There you two are!” The table shook as Owain’s massive form sat down across from us. I wasn’t sure who was more surprised—North or me. He reached over and took one of the rolls off North’s plate and tore it apart with his teeth.

“What are you doing here?” North said.

“I’ve been skulking around here the past three or four days, waiting for the two of you to show up,” Owain said.

“You couldn’t wait until we were in the city?”

“That was a rash promise I made,” Owain sighed. “They threw me out of the Wizard Command before I had a second to catch my breath. Not interested in the word of mere humans, I suppose. Figured I would wait until you got here to try again.”

I cast a sidelong look at North, but he didn’t seem surprised.

“We’d better head into the city,” he said. “They close the gates at nightfall.”

“I’ve got Vesta and a wagon ready, though I feel bad about making her haul the three of us,” Owain said.

“Not to worry,” North said. “I’ve got a horse we can hitch up. It’s tacked up around the corner, brown with white spots. Go ahead. We’ll catch up in a moment.” North nodded in the direction, and the larger man set off.

I had just enough time to change my clothing before Owain came to find us again. North took my bag as we walked out into the daylight. The wagon that Owain had scrounged up was covered with a patched sheet of linen, but the wood of the bed looked distorted and cracked.