Chapter 8 #3
Her grip pinches my fingers, her green eyes unwavering as they gaze into mine.
“Your magics were so unstable and there was fear over what would happen after the Raveng Horror.
Jinx was the only thing keeping you alive.
She wrapped around you like a living swaddle, slipping into a deep, meditative state.
It left her completely vulnerable, but it allowed her to guard your soul while she struggled to stabilize your threads.
For six weeks, I held you in my arms, never daring to set you down.
I was fully prepared to send anyone who tried to take you back to the Weave.
But we could not live like that forever.
I knew if I could not convince the Council, then I had no choice but to convince Atticus to save you.
As Archweaver, he makes the final decision on if a Dual Thread is a threat to the Order or not.
“I went to him, got on my knees while clutching you to my heart, and begged. I cried harder than I ever have before in my long life. I reminded him of Gildra’s proclamation, about the power you showed at your birth.
I swore I could train you, teach you, save you, and in return, I would give him an Heir that would rival all those who came before.
I shamelessly wielded his fear that his child with Luciana would not survive against him.
I succeeded. He let me keep you and I bound him to that decision with an oath before the Council of Weavers.
Thank the Weave for my own foresight because it was that oath that kept you from the culling when Alasdair was born healthy and strong. ”
Viola and I stare at each other, our hearts the only sounds in the archives. I whisper my own confession: “I hurt, Vi.”
“I know, my little love.” The skin under Viola’s eyes is swollen and dark, red veins marring the whites of her eyes.
Too many meals skipped, too many sleepless nights worrying about me have stolen the alabaster glow of her skin.
Her too-thin hands tremble around mine. “If weaver magic cannot save you, then we must look outside the rigid laws of man.”
I step out of the stacks into an alcove of thick darkness.
Where others would shy away, I step forward.
The brick ripples, dissolving away as I approach.
Blood and paint blend together to form a pentagram along the brick.
At the joints, crystals of my own making glow brightly in the darkness, holding together all four sources of magic in a continuous cycle of power.
The heart of my store.
My creation.
I place my palm flat along my pentagram, stepping close to the brick until my forehead rests against it.
An ordinary notebook is pulled from Viola’s skirts. I frown at the yellowed, curled paper that crinkles in my hand. I turn to her in confusion, but she simply nods towards the book. The paper crackles loudly in the silence as I open the cracked cover. I draw in a harsh breath. “Vi…”
She covers my hands with hers so I cannot let go of the notebook. On the pages are runes, ancient from before the first Archweaver. “But the priesthood burned?” I ask.
Viola wets her lips and scoots closer. “Not all. They hid within the Order, whispering what magic they could to their children. Grimoires were too easy to find. It was easier to hide some of the lore in ordinary paper. Rossana, Gildra, and I collected all we could into this book.”
“But if the Archweaver discovered this—”
She cuts me off quickly. “He can never know about this. This will be our secret.” She turns the pages in my numb hands, gazing down at the three different handwritings that fill the pages.
“We spent decades trying to solve the black flame, to learn why it burns so cold and kills all who wield it. When we couldn’t, we moved on to other mysteries, like why the family lines are withering away.
Why Duals are culled. Why threads cannot wield conflicting sources of magic. ”
She closes the book. “From now on, the two of us will meet in the dead of night here and I will teach you what I can of the art of rune creation. And when you are with the Bauers, Rossana will teach you the tricks of blood magic and how it can strengthen your spells.”
I shake my head. “There are only so many permutations and all the ones that work have already been discovered. You can’t create new runes.”
“Correction, most weavers cannot, for they are unable to look into the complexities of magic and perceive the threads of the divine that spin together to form something new. They cannot see because they will not open their eyes. Out of the three of us, Gildra was the only one who mastered this craft. I believe you have inherited this innate skill from her. Now I will open your eyes and you will save yourself. You will save us all.”
A pulse beats against my hand. A heart that thumps but does not exist. A woven masterpiece of magic the likes of which no weaver grimoire ever could imagine.
A secret. A priesthood notebook holding two thousand years of whispered lore passed from mother to daughter, buried under my hand within the wall so that no one can ever destroy it.
My mother’s secret legacy and the runes I created to hold it all together. Forbidden magic that I wielded so effortlessly, without the rules of the Order to hold me back.