Chapter 16 The Weaver’s Torch
“The Way Weaver?” I questioned.
“She’s one of the herd. She can help us.”
“I thought it was Aunt Stava who could help us?” I asked with confusion.
“If Aunt Stava was…” Aster hesitated, pushing past the painful thought before continuing, “Dead, then the herd would have no choice but to appoint a new leader. Usually, it would be someone from our bloodline, though I am the only one remaining. As I was on the other side of the Rift, I wouldn’t have been able to accept the title, and so that would mean a new bloodline would take over.
Every single member of the herd would vote. ”
“Vote?” I asked.
“On the appointment of a new leader, anybody already in the herd would either accept this or leave. Anyone who decided not to vote would be seen as a threat and executed.”
I pulled a face and muttered, “Jesus, that’s a bit extreme.”
He shrugged unapologetically in response.
“What does that mean for you?” I asked, moving swiftly on from ‘threat and executed’.
“I would be executed, because I did not vote.”
I nearly choked. “But, you… you…” I could feel my eyebrows knotting together as I tried to comprehend what he was saying. “You were a bit busy helping the King in my world.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Aster said, shrugging his shoulders.
“What a stupid rule,” I muttered, keeping my voice low to make sure no one else heard. I didn’t want to offend a herd of Minotaur’s. Aster’s fighting skills were impressive, but we were seriously outnumbered.
“So, that would have meant you wouldn’t have been able to speak to this mage?”
He nodded.
“Exactly that. So, luckily, Aunt Stava is still around and still the leader,” he said, sounding more thankful than anything else.
“Oh, little bull,” Aunt Stava said before letting out a low chuckle. Both Aster and I nearly broke our necks looking across the fire to her, not realizing she had returned, and how long she had been standing there.
“You are lucky indeed,” she said, winking.
“But did I hear you speaking of the Way Weaver?”
“You know I did,” he replied wryly. He obviously knew his aunt well enough to know she had been eavesdropping.
“Then, lucky for you, the Way Weaver lives, but she is unwell and very old,” Aunt Stava said, taking a stick and poking at the fire to break up the logs, making sparks dance in the air. Then she tossed a few more logs on there, making it crackle.
“She is one of the first Minotaur’s to settle in The?kós. She knows the old magic, the kind that can bend distance if the will is strong enough,” Aster said, turning to face me.
I frowned.
“You mean she can open a portal or something?”
He met my eyes then, his expression steady.
“Exactly that.”
The words hit me like a jolt. A portal. Another tear through space and time. I’d seen what the last one did to our world, how it ripped reality apart, destroyed everything in its path. Changed lives forever. Was it really wise to open another?
But even as fear coiled through me, I knew that this might be our only hope.
We didn’t have time to waste, and if something like this could help us, then it was worth the risk.
If something went wrong with it, then it was just something else to fix.
After stopping Atlas from killing his brother first, of course.
“But will she really help us? I mean, won’t opening another portal just cause the same issues as the last Rift?”
Aster smiled widely before shaking his head.
“It doesn’t work like that, and besides, she doesn’t need convincing. She owes me.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Owes you? That sounds ominous.”
His grin widened. “I saved her apprentice once. Her niece. After that, she told me she’d repay the debt if I ever asked, and well, I can’t think of anything else I would rather ask for.”
Stava scoffed at this and grumbled. “What about a mate, so I will have some little hooves to patter around me, eh?”
Aster rolled his eyes and pointed out the obvious, “One thing at a time, Aunt, yeah?”
She rolled her eyes and huffed, her breath puffing out of her nose, making the ring there vibrate.
“And you think she can do it safely? Without opening another Rift?”
“We don’t fully understand the Rift. It’s different. But the Way Weaver’s portals are smaller. Controlled. It will get us close enough to the castle, and the Way Weaver will be there to close it instantly once we are through.”
I glanced toward the herd, where Minotaurs were settling down to rest.
“Then let’s talk to her before we lose any more time.”
“Her magic has weakened since the darkness spread. It has also caused her to deteriorate. Her illness is spreading throughout her body. But, if anyone can open a door to where you need to go, it’s her,” Stava said with a shrug.
“Then can you take us to her?” I asked before Aster could.
Stava gave me a long look, then grinned.
“You remind me of him sometimes. Stubborn, reckless, far too sure of yourself.”
“Who, Aster?” I asked, almost smiling.
She shook her head, still smiling.
“No… Atlas.”
I jerked back a bit in surprise. I also wanted to ask how she knew Atlas so well, but she gestured for us to follow her after first rising from the bench. Suddenly, my exhaustion fled me, replaced with something else… hope.
We walked through the slumbering herd, and I thought it best to keep my unnecessary questions to myself so as not to wake anyone up. Stava led us toward the far end of the cavern, where the light from the dimming fires didn’t reach.
When we stepped into a smaller chamber, I saw her, the mage, resting under the glow from a flickering torch on the wall, and the glimmering of flame danced as it illuminated the veins in the walls.
She was smaller than I expected, much smaller.
Her beige skin, visible through her white, balding fur, had a faint grey tinge, a sign of age, illness, and death.
Faded runes swirled up her arms, similar to my scars.
But hers looked like new runes, like they had been etched into her skin with a knife, and overlapped the old ones below.
When she opened her eyes and looked over to us from her bed, the pale silver of her irises seemed to look right through me.
“Little bull,” she said. Her voice was frail yet held a strength that proved to me how powerful she was, or once was. “You finally came home to us.” The frailty in her voice was easy to hear, but it was also tinged with the hint of delight at seeing Aster again.
“Yes, and to also call in on that favor,” he replied with a respectful nod of his head.
“Tell me, young bull, what is it you need from me?” she asked, with eagerness to help.
“We need to reach the capital.”
Her gaze slid to me.
“And the mortal girl is the reason, I assume?”
“She’s the reason the King still has a chance to be saved, yes,” Aster replied.
“I see.” The Way Weaver studied me for a long moment, and I swore I could feel her in my head, searching through my memories like my brain was a filing cabinet I hadn’t given her permission to look in.
“You love our King unconditionally,” she said finally. “That’s dangerous. Love can make you do foolish things.”
I tensed at this, stopping myself from saying, ‘if only you knew’.
“But there is also great strength in it, too, and that is what we have here. Despite the price you will no doubt have to pay,” she said cryptically.
“What do you mean by the price I will have to pay?” I asked because I didn’t think she meant a dowry.
“That is for you to discover.” Her reply wasn’t exactly comforting.
“Does that mean you will help us?”
She nodded once, and I knew from the twinkle in those silver eyes that she had seen the vision in my mind.
She turned her attention to a ring of small stones beside her bed.
They glowed weakly, and I had a gut feeling that the glow indicated how much life she had left.
Selfishly, it made me worry that perhaps she wouldn’t be strong enough to open the portal we so desperately needed.
But I kept those thoughts to myself and hoped she wasn’t still making her way through my mind.
“You still have time. I will open your path,” she said at last, “But I am afraid that I cannot do it yet.”
Aster lowered to one knee in front of her, as his brows furrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“I can open it,” she said, her eyes flicking to Aster. “But I don’t have the strength to do it alone.”
Her gaze shifted back to the glowing stones.
“The old ways of travel require more than will and words. They require ancient power and intense energy, both of which I barely possess anymore. I need the relic of the Way Weavers. The relic forged by Way Weavers, for Way Weavers. Once I hold that relic in my hands, I can open the portal you require as my strength will be returned.”
My stomach sank. We did not have time for this.
Aster let out a loud, frustrated sigh, one I had also been holding in so as not to sound rude.
“What is this relic?” I asked instead, but it was Aster who replied.
“You speak of the Weaver’s torch, don’t you?”
She inclined her head.
“Yes. The torch holds power similar to what tore a gateway between our worlds, though our portals are different. The Rift was created for evil intentions. With the torch, I can open a doorway to get you close to the capital, or…” Then she turned my way, her eyes entirely focused on me, so intense it was like she was trying to send me a message.
“A portal back to your realm if you so choose.”
I frowned in confusion.
“Why would I want that?” The words came out harsher than I intended, but it was also warranted.
“This darkness here is worse than the darkness in your realm. It would not be cowardice of you to change your mind, go back, and build a new life, whilst co-existing with those that you call Myths.” She took a deep, rattling breath before adding, “We would not hold it against you to change your mind. To go back to Riley and forget about The?kós.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying. My mouth was gaping open at her words. I was stunned into silence. How could I forget about The?kós? How could I forget about Atlas? How could I do any of those things she suggested? But also, how the hell did she know about Riley?
Had she read my mind?
“Sweet child. They were not suggestions. Only the easiest path for you to take,” she replied to my inner turmoil, telling me that I was right, she was reading my mind. My fists clenched until my nails were digging into my palms.
“I would take an impossible path to help Atlas, even if it meant sacrificing myself.”
The Way Weaver laughed, clapping her fragile hands despite the effort.
“Excellent then, for you clearly know your own mind. Which you will need for the journey ahead when you pick the path most dangerous, one that has already been forged for you by the gods of fate.”
“So that was a test?” I asked, making her grin.
“Yes, but not for me. To think of the path ahead and to speak it are different things. But you argued against any other option, and that is something else entirely. I see now that the Gods chose well as the King’s anchor.”
I shook my head a little, trying to make sense of her words.
She was speaking as if I had somehow been prophesized for the king.
When, in reality, we had started as enemies before falling in love.
Of course, I didn’t really know what was supposed to happen when two people were fated to fall in love, but I doubted it started with wanting to shoot each other.
“So, if we get the torch, then you can get us there?” I confirmed, making her nod her head. “Where will we find this torch?” I asked.
“We do not know. It has been lost for generations,” Stava replied, making me gasp.
“You’ve got to be kidding?” I asked, my hopes of reaching Atlas all but disappearing into the abyss.
For a moment, none of us spoke. The silence hummed with the faint pulse of the stones, their glow flickering.
A faint hum came from the stones as if they were excited to be filled with energy once more.
I looked at Aster, and in that moment, I saw resolve, fear, and something deeper written on his face, mirroring my own.
“What is it?” I asked, biting my lip because it was rare to see fear on Aster’s face.
“The torch is not lost,” Aster said slowly, glancing at his aunt, who looked as shocked as I did. The Way Weaver’s brow raised in question.
“So, you know where to find it?”
Aster’s silence answered for him. He looked down, his expression dark.
“I recall many stories about our ancestors and the relics. They interested me more than anyone else’s tales because my father told them.
There were whispers, too, of someone beyond our herd, who took a great interest in relics.
A collector. One who sought artefacts of all kinds.
If he has the torch, which I believe he does, it’s kept somewhere within his fortress. One we can’t just walk into uninvited.”
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of all their words in one emotion. Dread.
“Where is it and who is ‘he’?” I asked, not liking how cryptic Aster sounded. His eyes flicked to Stava’s and then to the Way Weaver before he shifted uncomfortably.
“It might not be there… but I was young and rebellious once…”
“That hasn’t changed,” Aunt Strava muttered with a laugh.
“We were always told to stay away from the Badlands, but Atlas and I decided one day that we wanted to explore them. We wanted to understand why the land next to The?kós had been given that name.”
Aunt Strava shook her head, her mouth gaping. “Oh boy, tell me you didn’t?”
“We did,” Aster admitted, rising to his feet and crossing his arms. “We entered the Badlands and found his home, his fortress. We trespassed, making our way through his palace until we found it.”
“Found what?” Stava and I asked at the same time.
“A corridor full of treasures and other prized possessions, one that bore a resemblance to the Weaver’s torch from the stories told to me as a boy,” Aster answered.
“Atlas dared me to take something. So, I put my Axe down, ready to pick it up. But as I touched it, an almighty roar echoed through the entire castle. I swear the walls shook. We ran! And I left my axe too… my father’s axe.
” His jaw tensed at the memory as he looked ashamed.
“Ah, so that is how you lost it.”
He released a sigh and nodded before continuing. “We ran across the Badlands toward the safety of The?kós, but just before we made it across, we looked back at those chasing us and realized that the stories were true.”
“Why, what did you see?” I whispered, wholly invested in the story.
“We both saw the fabled…”
“Gorgon King.”