The Weaver Archives

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The Weaver Archives

Chapter 1

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Holding my bleeding leg, I limp through the fire. Trees creak and groan, loudly turning to ash around me. The air crackles with flames and a single note carries through my mind. It’s unbearably hot.

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Pain radiates from my shoulder and the entire left side of my body feels wrong. Tears stream from my stinging eyes as smoke overwhelms me.

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This wasn’t supposed to happen.

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A drop of water splatters across my face. Then another. Hissing sounds encircle me as rain hits embers. The soft sound of rain falling feels otherworldly after the cruel crackle of flames. 

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I limp forward as the water soaks into the ruined landscape. As the smoke dissipates, I can see further and further. There is nothing green, only skeleton trees with no leaves and ash covered dirt. As far as I can see there is nothing but burned trees stretching out before me

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I look down to see I’m covered in ash. The rain mixes with it on my skin and clothes. That’s never washing out. I try to shift, to get far away from this place, but my body stubbornly stays where I don’t want to be. 

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Everything aches; from my temples to my lower back, a deep ache thrums with my heart beat. I rub my hand down my face, covering it in filth. 

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From the darkness, a thread of golden light seeks me out, circling around where my hand holds my leg together. It sinks beneath my skin and the pain dulls, but to what end? I don’t have enough mana to shift and now the tiny bit I found has decided to be a savior.

Wisps of mist tangle themselves between the burned trees, making for an uninviting scene. I finally catch a glimpse of green peeking out in the dying light of the day from between branches. 

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It’s curious. I’m sure I’ve never been in these woods before. The trees are much too small, the air too still and peaceful. 

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The trees close in around me and I walk until I stumble upon a stream. My legs give out on the sandy bank and I pull myself into the moving water. Sitting in the middle of the stream, I watch the water swirl around me and over my legs, carrying away a dark cloud of ash, mud, and blood.

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I can’t imagine what brought me here, but I can sense that there aren’t any mages around me right now. Normally, the Observers are easily detected. Being thrown into a burning clearing is new, but not too far from their usual testing methods. The woods are all wrong though, and I can count on one hand how many times they’ve left me unsupervised. 

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I splash backwards into the water, letting it flow completely over me. The loud rushing noise is calming. Without breathing or thinking, I focus on opening my mind. I reach out and wait for mana to respond. Sitting up, I wait for the lights to react, as they always do. 

Threads of light peak around trees before approaching me to wrap around my wrists. I smile at the familiar feeling of mana sliding along me.

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“Where have you been?”

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I cup my hands and the strands of light pool in them. A bunched mess of twisting lights form into a ball.

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“There’s not much mana here. Lead me to more.”

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The ball of lights flies out of my hands, darting away to dance around the trees of the bank opposite where I entered the stream. I follow them into the lush trees as the light of day fades.

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— — —

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Mana acts differently in these strange woods. It’s much more abundant than I originally thought. Strands gather and float through the trees. As though shy of me, they dart behind trees and then slowly drift out from their hiding spots. The shadows cast by the many lights stretch and sway, but there is no other movement, or signs of life in these woods. No small creatures snuffling about and all the other familiar sounds of nightlife are missing. As though I’m the only thing alive in these woods.

 

Threads of light float gently in front of me. A few break away toward me only to circle back and rejoin the majority. Their playfulness calms me. They’re more lively than I am used to. A large contingent of lights move as one and rush over to me. Settling on my skin and combing through my hair. 

 

Relaxing, I slowly lift my hands, palms facing up to feel the flow of the threads. The threads’ frenzied energy flashes as they chase each other, pleased with themselves and my reaction as they course through my body and dance on the surface of my skin again. Threads the size of ribbons are joined by thinner strands of every color, which wrap happily around my arms and legs and from what I can feel I am covered by the threads everywhere except for my eyes. Incredible. This is more mana than I have ever seen before.

 

As the threads detach from me, they start spinning and leaping away from me. I reach my hand out to them and some curl around my fingers before tugging me forward.

 

There is no path, but I do not stumble. Strengthened by the threads, my legs are surer with every step. The threads begin moving faster and those pulling me match their pace. Faster and faster until I’m running through the woods after them. Running without limits is exilirating. The trees and sky above meet and mix as my view of the world spins, and the threads cover my vision. 

 

When the movement around me stills and I stand in a new forest. The trees from before would be dwarfed by the giants towering here. The strange familiarity of this new environment isn’t comforting.

 

The light of the threads bounces off the ground, revealing that it’s covered in large knotted roots which twist together. Moss clings and grows up the roots which breach the ground before rejoining it, creating a woven forest floor of deep green and dark brown. 

 

I stand on the tallest of the roots. The drop from the side is steep and perilous.

 

The number of threads are steadily increasing. Pooling together in the air, many flitting between groups, some laze around me still, completely comfortable on my skin. They swirl gently above me, weave in and out, creating a pattern of light I can scarcely begin to understand.

 

Walking across the large root, I carefully place my feet, and move toward the flattest part of the root. I sit on the rough wood and lean back on my hands to take in the sight of these threads gathering together. 

 

They’re no longer a single grouping of color. They form multiple pools, which merge and reform. When the colors meet they form gold, black, and white pools. The mixing creates something more, a weave of color. The pools steadily grow larger as more and more threads slip through the branches of the giant trees to join in the massive pool of mana forming above me. 

 

The individual threads become indistinct from one another until there’s a single floating pool of light. Every color is braided together and moving as one in a slow, swirling circle.