Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
The smell of baking bread and cake filled the walls of Elyssandra’s hairpin cottage. It took Braiden some time to notice that the kitchen had expanded itself as well, making room to accommodate the sudden influx of so many more cooks.
Newt’s appetite for bread had encouraged them to turn out a few crusty loaves within a matter of hours. While there wasn’t much time, nor did they have the equipment to create fancy iced cakes, there were still more than enough ingredients to make simpler pound cakes and sponge cakes.
Many of them were flavored with the fiery berries plucked straight from the burning meadow’s bushes. Spiceberries, Braiden learned they were called, somehow offered a fruity, cinnamon-laced burst of flavor when used in desserts and pastries and an edge of peppery spice in more savory dishes.
He added a few to his regular recipe of Gwerenese Omelette, as passed down from Granny Bethilda, lending the dish a more genuine Gwerenese twist.
Lucie marveled as Augustin demonstrated his special technique for preparing scrambled eggs, conjuring a tiny tornado in the middle of the pan.
Warren and Elyssandra frantically chopped vegetables, making their best effort at preparing a hearty party stew with whatever ingredients they had on hand, as well as what the demons had gathered from the burning meadow.
It made for a fabulous feast in all, plenty enough to feed the encampment, with lots still left over for breakfast. Somehow, amid all the preparation and merriment, Braiden still found the time to buckle down and attempt another stringing of the Heirloom.
With its notches filled with othergoat wool, moongrass filament, and now unicorn hair — the finest, and perhaps the rarest of all the strings on the instrument — the Heirloom was finally complete.
“It’s done,” Bones said, sitting next to him on a couch in the living area, even as the room around them roiled with activity. “It’s finally done.”
Braiden held his breath. No one else seemed to have noticed, too busy with preparing or enjoying the feast, but he knew that he was happiest to have this moment be something small and private between him and his bard friend.
Magic hummed at his fingertips when he touched the varnished wood of the Heirloom, a nearly numbing electric sensation rushing up his hands and arms as he carried the device in both hands.
His mouth fell open in shock as a second frame materialized out of its top, now more closely resembling an actual loom meant for weaving. The frame and its strings extended upward in a ghostly golden projection straight from the base of the Heirloom.
Braiden licked at lips that had gone dry, excited by the possibilities of this enchanted object, yet still somewhat intimidated by what it could really do.
From across the room, he noticed that the demon Valefour was watching them. Valefour raised his cup and winked. Still unsure of himself, but knowing he was happy to have accomplished his part in his grandmother’s journey, Braiden beamed back.
“Here,” he said, handing the Heirloom to Bones. “I have no idea what to do with this. But maybe you do.”
The extended frame of the loom vanished as soon as Bones’s bony, fleshless fingers touched its wooden body. This time, in the same spectral gold as before, the Heirloom sprouted a neck, making it more closely resemble a traditional lute than a lyre.
Bones gasped in amazement, looking up at Braiden as if asking for permission. Braiden nodded back.
He had mostly only heard the more terrifying aspects of Bones’s music before, but the man was a learned musician. Surely instinct and etiquette told him what would be most appropriate for the occasion.
A sensation as warm as honey thrilled through Braiden’s body as soon as Bones strummed the first few notes on the Heirloom. Sweet music drifted throughout the elven cottage, enough that the buzz of activity suddenly silenced as everyone turned to the skeleton to listen.
Braiden clasped his hands, watching as Bones opened his mouth to sing, his voice high and fluid, accompanying the silky sweetness of the Heirloom. Something warm slid down the edge of Braiden’s cheek — he hadn’t realized he was crying.
And just as quickly as Bones had surprised everyone with his mastery of music, he suddenly launched into an energetic tune, the strumming of his fingers a little more frantic, the meaning behind his lyrics more risqué — something about an ancient Hyberidian woman, a feline fancier with a missing cat who refused to marry her suitor because he couldn’t find her pussy.
No one seemed the wiser, dancing along to Bones’s song. And just like that, the elven cottage feast had turned into a mini music festival. They danced and dined the evening away.
That night, demons, humans, elf, burrowfolk, and walking skeleton alike went to bed with full hearts and straining stomachs.
It must have been hours later when Braiden woke up, not quite as fully rested as he’d hoped to be, but at least he’d caught enough sleep to carry on with their journey.
His mind was still heavy with thoughts of what obstacles still lay ahead. Well, one obstacle in particular: a huge, locked gate. And somehow, he was supposed to be its key.
He peeled himself away from the still-snoring Augustin, a warm and tempting presence under the sheets, but Braiden knew that he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep again. No sense dozing in the dark. He got dressed and crept carefully out of the bedroom.
He clicked the door shut behind him, standing in stunned silence when he found himself facing the banister on the second level of the elven manor. That was right — he’d somehow forgotten that the cottage had created a new bedroom for the two of them up here.
He tiptoed along the pristine floorboards — not a single squeak as he stepped — then navigated the grand staircase down to the foyer.
Everyone in the house was fast asleep, the long tables still heaving with food, though thankfully, much of it appeared to have been covered or responsibly stored for later use.
Braiden liked that about his friends, and knew he liked it about the demons, too. This deep in the dungeon, they needed to preserve all the resources they could get.
He found the Heirloom nestled lovingly on a throw blanket, placed on a coffee table in the living area. As chaotic a creature as Bones could be, he still understood the value of protecting the tools of his trade.
Braiden smiled and gathered up the bundle with all the tenderness of lifting a newborn baby. He made his way toward the front door, unsure of what he was doing, only knowing that he needed some time alone — away from the others, away from the house, though not too far.
He emerged in the burning meadow, only a few paces away from the campfire. He raised his eyebrows in surprise when he found Elder Bahul still asleep by the fire.
The ground around him was littered with an array of empty plates and cups, like offerings to a sleeping deity on his treasure-chest altar. Braiden must not have noticed it, but Elder Bahul surely must have participated in the festivities.
He shrugged and sat himself down outside one of the empty tents. He didn’t want to wake up the elder, much less wake up any of the others.
He ran his fingers along the varnished frame of the Heirloom, thrilling when it responded with a tingle of magic, racing all the way up his hands to his shoulders.
Again the frame sprouted from its rear end, lifting into the air and transforming the device into something more closely resembling a functioning loom.
Braiden strummed his fingers along the notched strings, surprised to find a length of golden thread following where his fingers swept. He hadn’t conjured that himself. It must have been part of the Heirloom’s magic.
He wove the thread the way he’d done countless times before, over and under, warp against weft, slowly forming a piece of fabric.
He’d hardly begun when slender ribbons in all the glowing colors of the rainbow emanated from the Heirloom.
He watched in wide-eyed fascination as the ribbons, gleaming like silk yet somehow lighter than gauze, drifted along in the breeze.
Braiden furrowed his brow and looked back down at the Heirloom. Over and under, back and forth, he worked on forming a greater sheet of cloth. This time, a great, gleaming bolt of golden silk unfurled from the Heirloom, like a castle pennant, like the sail of a ship.
A soft breeze rushed with comforting warmth from Braiden’s back, lifting the golden cloth and taking it off into the air, where it swirled and fluttered, alternately taking the shape of a golden bird, a great leaf, and a butterfly.
He restrained a laugh and turned over his shoulder, knowing that the wind in the burning meadow couldn’t have picked up quite so suddenly. True to his expectations, Augustin was already standing behind him, bleary eyed, wearing a dreamy smile.
“I hope you don’t mind, weaver,” he said, softly enough not to wake the sleeping elder. “I thought you might enjoy another demonstration of our combined magics.”
Braiden patted the smoldering grass beside him. Augustin sat down, unperturbed by the cinders, knowing that they couldn’t burn through the seat of his precious trousers.
“It’s quite amazing what you and I can accomplish together,” Braiden said, suddenly unsure if he actually meant the words.
“Something is troubling you, weaver,” Augustin said, a hand resting on his thigh.
“It’s nothing,” Braiden said, lying through his teeth.
He shook his head with a sudden spurt of internal anger. Why couldn’t he be honest with himself? And why couldn’t he be honest with Augustin, of all people?
“Fine. I’m just worried, is all. It feels like so much pressure coming here, thinking one thing about the demons and discovering a whole other side of the story.”
Augustin leaned back, planting his hands in the grass, gazing up at the canopy of the obsidian forest.
“I admit, I too had my own prejudices about the infernal legions, but it’s one thing I’ve learned in all my travels — to keep an open mind and an open heart. And that’s all that you’ve done, Braiden. What more could be asked of you?”
“I don’t know,” Braiden said, resting the Heirloom in the grass, the loom’s structure fading away as it left his touch. “It’s just that I didn’t come here expecting to finish my grandmother’s story. I didn’t even know there was a story to begin with.”
Augustin frowned, fixing Braiden with a sideward glance. “But what is it that you’re really worried about?”
“It’s not knowing what to do next,” Braiden said. “It’s being unsure of whether I even have the magic it takes to open this portal. That’s so far out of my repertoire, it’s laughable.”
Augustin shrugged with an almost infuriating nonchalance.
“And we’ll figure it out together, the same way we’ve done with everything else.
Haven’t you noticed by now, weaver? Considering you’re someone who’s worked so much with patterns, there’s also a pattern to how we’ve confronted all of our challenges so far. ”
Braiden thought back through their adventures. A giant frost elemental. A frozen cube. Malicious windwalkers.
“All we’ve ever done is improvise,” Augustin continued. “And it’s just as you said. We’ve accomplished so much together. You have me — and all the rest of our friends — to help you.”
Augustin reached out his hand, offering it to Braiden.
“Let us help you.”
Braiden smiled and accepted his hand, warmer than all the cinders of the burning meadow. He smiled, feeling at least a little better about everything. Not confident, no — not entirely. But at least some of the weight had been lifted from his heart.