Soulweaver, p.20
SoulWeaver, page 20
part #1 of Chronicles of the Eyes Series
“Oh, don’t patronize me, Father. Tell me their names. What a treat to have an Eye here!”
“My name is Llyons. This is Weaver,” The Warrior said curtly, motioning towards Weaver whilst giving an icy stare to the girl. “And this is a private matter.”
“Private matters are my absolute favorite kind of matters!” the girl said lightheartedly, not seeming to notice Llyons’s glare. “And who is this beautiful creature?” Atsumae cooed, moving towards Turro with a hand outstretched.
Turro growled lowly, his lips pulled back against his teeth as the girl’s hand drew near, causing the Harkina to gasp and stop short.
“Turro,” Llyons scolded shortly, then turned to the Harkina. “Touching him would not be in your best interest.” Weaver saw the edge of the warrior’s lips curl in a satisfied smirk.
Atsumae, still staring at the huge wolf, chattered on. “Well, it would seem you need to train your pet better, it doesn’t seem entirely safe, if you ask me. I should think that it would be safer if it were to be left outside, or put on a chain, or let back to the wilds entirely. Though the fur is beautiful and would make for an excellent coat or—”
Another growl slipped past Turro’s lips.
“Atsumae, please!” the Harkon interrupted, more pleading than chastising. “We are in the middle of a very important discussion.”
“Father, this beast has snarled at me twice!” the Harkina chided. “Yet you snap at me?”
“These are our guests, and it is our duty to treat them with respect,” the Harkon answered, his voice firm, but not quite resolute.
The girl’s lower lip puffed out and she seemed about to reply when her eyes locked onto Weaver and Amara. “And you,” Atsumae said motioning to him, “Your name is Weaver then, yes?”
Weaver nodded.
“What a peculiar name. I should certainly think I have never heard anyone called that before. It reminds me of someone who makes baskets or rugs. Do you make baskets or rugs? I see you also have a little beasty, what is its name? Is it friendly?”
Again the girl began to approach with outstretched hand before Weaver could respond.
“She’s friendly,” he managed to get out, but the Harkina had already began to stoke the small pup’s head.
“How perfectly soft and wonderful! Father, you must get me one of these little beasties, I am quite sure I must have one. They are so soft and adorable and I am sure we can find one that is nicer than that large white one, but I do like the white color, so do look for one that is both white and nice. But I guess I don’t know where I would find one. Weaver, where do you find wolves like these? Can you show my father on his big map on the table over there so he can go retrieve one for me?”
Weaver didn’t have time to answer. In fact, he felt quite out of breath just listening to the Harkina. Luckily the Harkon answered, freeing him of the responsibility.
“I am afraid we do not have time for this right now, Atsumae. Perhaps another time—”
“But what if there isn’t another time? What if this is the only chance we have and I miss that chance and never get a cute little beasty all my own? What if—”
“Harkon, I do not have time for this.” Llyons cut in before the Harkon could answer his daughter or she could continue to speak.
The Elven King directed his attention to the Warrior. “I apologize, Master Eye. Atsumae,” he said, “Why don’t you take Weaver to my study and have him look at the maps there? Or you could go and play in the gardens.”
“I would prefer the boy stay with me,” Llyons interjected.
“Oh, what fun!” Atsumae’s high voice chimed in. “A new friend to play with! We can go to the study, and you can show me on the map where I can find a wolf cub, and then we can play in the garden, or I could show you my room. Or we could play hide and seek. Or we could do all of those things — or none of them, if something better comes to my mind.”
The Harkina then proceeded to scoop Amara out of Weaver’s arms and head for the door, leaving him dumbstruck. Looking to the men at the table, Weaver saw the Harkon’s pleading face.
“Please, Master Llyons, I assure you the castle grounds are safe. This may be the quickest way to plan what needs to be done, given my . . . situation.”
Weaver didn’t know what the Harkon meant by ‘situation,’ but Llyons seemed to understand.
“That is my fear. The boy’s safety is of concern.” Llyons returned.
“We have not had a complication in nearly a year. I have guards all around the grounds that will keep an eye on them.”
Llyons did not respond with anything other than a hard searching look of the Harkon’s face. Finally, he nodded to Weaver.
Weaver left for the hall. The door slammed behind him, causing him to jump, and the sound reverberated down the long corridor. Allowing his heart to settle, he looked around, but didn’t see the elven princess or Amara.
“Harkina?” he said quietly. How had she moved so quickly? Didn’t she realize he wasn’t behind her?
“Harkina?!”
This time he spoke in a near yell, his own voice echoing between the walls. In truth, he didn’t really care whether or not he found the girl. But she still had Amara, and now that he had time to think, he realized his pup had just been taken by a complete stranger into a maze-like castle he didn’t know a thing about. Weaver turned to his left and began to walk down the hall in the opposite direction they had come. He knew she was going to head towards the study or the garden, neither of which he knew how to get to, but at least he knew that he hadn’t passed them.
“Harkina Atsumae!” This time he actually did yell as he lengthened his strides and picked up his pace.
“What?” came the short, irritated answer from the Harkina as she popped into view around the corner at the end of the hall, Amara still tucked in her arms. “Do try and keep up, Weaver. I thought boys were supposed to be fast. Well, at least that’s what the other children say when I get to play with them, which isn’t very often. But every time I have had a footrace with a boy, I’ve always won, so maybe they’re all wrong. Or maybe I am just very fast . . . or I suppose they may all be exceptionally slow. Well, whatever it is, you’ll just have to try harder to keep up with me.”
Weaver was just reaching the end of the hall as the girl disappeared back around the corner before he could say anything. Changing his pace to a jog, he rounded the corner to see the Harkina walking rapidly down another identical hallway: high ceilings, purple runner, grey stone walls with intricate carvings. At least he now had someone to follow.
Running, Weaver caught up with her just as she turned right into another descending spiral staircase.
“Oh, good, I’m glad to see you are able to move your feet,” the Harkina said loftily. “I can’t abide things moving slowly. It just takes up so much time, and time moves too quickly for things to move slow, except for when time moves slow, which is such a bore and always happens when you are the most bored, which makes the bore all the longer! Like when you must study, or sit through long, drab ceremonies. And then when you are having the most fun, time up and moves faster on you, which is truly a bother and means you have to move doubly fast just to make the most of it. Which all goes to prove it is important to move quickly, don’t you agree?”
“Uh, I guess so,” Weaver answered. He was still jogging just to keep up with her and was focusing more on his footing than actually trying to comprehend the long-winded statement of the young princess.
“Good. I much prefer it when people agree with me. It’s so frustrating when they don’t because, naturally, I am right, and that would make them wrong, and who wants to spend time with someone who is wrong all the time? I certainly don’t. I think you and I will get along just fine, Weaver, you seem the smart type, who knows things – especially the most important thing, which is that I know things.”
He wasn’t sure what to think of this Harkina. He knew he felt annoyed, but at the same time, he was also impressed by her confidence. Maybe she was right about being . . . right. After all, she had just bullied the Harkon into getting her way, and there were not many who could do that, save Llyons, and he seemed to be right often enough.
Well, right or not, he knew he wanted Amara back. He just didn’t like having the small pup wrapped up in someone else’s arms, so he kept up as best he could.
“How old are you, Weaver? I’m twelve, soon to be thirteen, and a right lady,” Atsumae continued. “My father says I’m still a child, but I don’t think I am. Someday I will be the queen of Murrandeyl and all the Elemencey, but I apparently have to wait for my father’s reign to end, which is such a bore and goes right back to what we were just talking about. You still haven’t answered my question, Weaver; how old are you anyway? Please don’t be another slow person who keeps me waiting.”
“I’m ten,” Weaver answered quickly, for fear he would be cut off again.
“Ten! Why, that makes me two years older than you! How funny is that? I usually don’t play with younger children, because they just act so juvenile and a mature lady, such as myself, just can’t abide that type of behavior — you know the type of behavior I am talking about don’t you, Weaver? I am sure you do, all that child stuff. Just don’t act that way around me, and it will be alright for me to play with you, I guess. Besides, you have such a cute little beasty. What’s her name again? Amara?”
Before Weaver could confirm this, Atsumae began to dig her face into the pup’s fur. “Hello, Amara! Aren’t you just the sweetest, softest little beasty I have ever seen? I’ll bet you’ll grow up to be a nice, snuggly wolf, not like that mean white one, won’t you? Yes, you will!”
Weaver watched as Amara looked over the young princess’s shoulder at him, and could swear it was a plea for help. Before he could rescue her however, they reached the bottom of the stairs and he was dazzled by the bright sun suddenly shining in his face. Blinking rapidly, he forced himself to focus.
They were in a garden unlike any he had ever seen. Even though it was autumn, there were still flowerbeds full of every color petal imaginable: blues, purples, yellows, reds, and everything in between. Massive, bronzed oaks with golden leaves planted in rows surrounded by perfectly round-trimmed hedges were only outdone by the large shrubs that were shaped into every manner of animal. Horses, elk, wolves, cougars, and more were all realized in a green ocean of foliage. The marvelous garden stretched out in both directions. It seemed endless.
“Where are we?” he asked in wonderment, more to himself than to the Harkina, as they passed by a huge obsidian statue of an elven warrior guarding his body behind a large kite-shield but with his spear outstretched.
“This? This is just the garden. It’s where I am often sent to play, though I wish it was bigger. I have seen every square inch of it. I’ve been begging my father to add on to it so I will have something new to amuse me, but he has only added a few extra statues each year, hardly enough to keep me entertained.”
“Well, I think it’s wonderful,” Weaver, said respectfully as they passed another warrior statue, this one with a giant two-handed axe and his tunic fluttering in an unfelt breeze.
“Well, I suppose for someone like you it might be wonderful, but to someone like me it’s all very dull. Besides, the gardeners have been doing a very poor job of — hey!” The Harkina’s complaint was cut short as Amara wiggled free and plopped onto the soft grass.
Weaver couldn’t blame her. He would have done the same. But now that she was free, the wolf cub was running as fast as her little legs would carry her towards the nearest hedge wall.
“Amara!” Weaver cried, taking off after her. “Wait!” He could see that Amara had no intention of following his feeble command because the pup redoubled her efforts and ran even faster towards the wall of foliage. Weaver could hear laughter behind him and turned to see Atsumae chasing behind him, a look of pure glee on her face as her blue dress flapped about her ankles.
“Catch her, Weaver! Catch her!” the sing-song voice of the elf princess rang out.
Weaver moved his legs as fast and hard as he could, a smile spreading across his lips. He was gaining on her. In a moment, she would be his. Weaver leaned forwards; she was almost at his feet now, all he had to do was scoop her up. As he outstretched his hands, the little wolf looked back at him and gave a yelp, veering sharply to the left. Weaver grabbed for her but missed, lost his balance, and went tumbling to the ground. The metal arrows in his quiver scattered in the grass.
Atsumae’s laughter grew louder as she changed direction to chase the pup. “Get up, Weaver, get up!” she called. Weaver grinned and rose to his feet to begin the chase anew. He could feel the ground pounding beneath his feet, and to his surprise, he was quickly gaining on the Harkina, whose tightly braided hair was starting to come loose. Soon, he was passing her, and he could tell Amara was starting to tire as her pace let up.
“Well, well, it seems some boys are fast,” Atsumae puffed as Weaver passed her by in his pursuit.
He could see Amara turn and look at him, then start her frantic running again. The pup turned hard right this time, but Weaver was ready for the trick. Diving to the right, he landed on his belly, slid towards Amara, and scooped her up in his arms.
“Gotcha!” he yelled triumphantly as Amara let out a surprised squeak at her unexpected capture. “I’ll be holding onto you from now on,” he said with a grin, stroking the pup on the head before raising himself back to his feet.
“How wonderful!” Atsumae squealed as she came to a stop next to Weaver. “What a fantastic dive,” she huffed. Weaver could see her pale cheeks were flushed, and one of her silver braids had fallen from its place and was draped over her left shoulder. “Of course, I would have done the same thing and caught her the first time, but because of my beautiful new dress, I obviously couldn’t. Don’t you just love the brilliant sapphire color? Father had the dye shipped all the way from A’rastad. It’s not as if I was wearing some old commoner’s clothing like you. In a way, I envy that. I shall have to have some commoner’s clothes made for me so that I can dive around as you did. It looked like such fun!”
Even though the Harkina was noticeably winded, she still managed to speak endlessly. Weaver wasn’t sure how that was possible. He was so confused that he forgot to be offended by Atsumae’s remark about his clothing. In truth, he wouldn’t have taken much offence anyways; these were the best clothes he had ever owned, and he didn’t care what some rich elven princess thought of them.
“It was fun . . . but I think it’d be best if I held onto Amara’s leash while I go pick up my arrows.”
“I will have you know that I am more than capable of holding onto that leash myself. I was just . . . taken by surprise when she started wiggling in my arms. And I saw all of your arrows fall out when you fell, they flew all over the place. You did look frightfully funny tumbling along the ground as you did.” The Harkina began to giggle again, apparently forgetting her offense at Weaver saying he would hold onto Amara’s leash.
He could feel his cheeks flushing. He wasn’t used to having any girl pay attention to him. It made him uncomfortable, but to have her laughing at him was humiliating. Instead of retorting, he just began to walk back to the patch of grass that held his arrows.
“I say, I completely missed your quiver and bow before this. And are those knives?”
Weaver’s lips turned up, and he could feel the blood in his cheeks begin to drain away as pride in his weapons filled him with confidence. “Yes, they are.”
“Well, why on earth do you need those? You’re only a boy, not a soldier,” Atsumae sneered.
“Because,” Weaver began, trying to make his voice sound even so as not to let his irritation show, “Llyons is going to teach me to become a warrior.” He paused for a moment, then confidently continued, “I have a magic power that uses these weapons.”
“A magic power, you say,” Atsumae responded with a strange tone in her voice, though Weaver couldn’t tell exactly what it was. “And what might that be?”
“I have these solid metal knives and these metal arrows,” Weaver picked up the first arrow to show the Harkina, “because I can make lightning with my hands.”
“I see,” the princess responded with a smirk. “Well, Skyward, that is impressive, but not nearly as impressive as me. You see, I have all the magic powers.”
23
For the first time since he had met her, Atsumea did not immediately launch into a stream of rambling, disjointed thoughts. Instead, she just stared at him, baiting him, he knew, to ask for clarification. Part of him wanted to ignore the obvious attempt for attention and the inevitable gloating to follow, but the statement had piqued his curiosity. Llyons had told him that everyone had some aptitude for magic, but there were so many kinds. How could anyone have them all? Biting his lip, he took the bait.
“All the powers?”
“Yes. All the powers.” A grin spread across Atsumae’s thin lips.
“So you can make yourself stronger? And run faster? And even heal people?” Weaver looked at the Harkina skeptically. Could anyone really possess all those skills?
“What? Of course not! You are a strange one, aren’t you? Making myself stronger by magic? Or running faster, or healing people? I’ve never heard of such silly things. No, indeed.” Atsumae puffed her lip out. “I’m speaking of real magic. I can use all of the elements, and Father says I have the potential to be the most powerful magician in history. No one can do what I can, just like no one else has beautiful silver hair as I do,” the Harkina said as she pointed to the top of her head. Her hand brushed against the misplaced braid that had fallen free, and she frowned. “I told the servant to make this tight. No one ever listens to me. You would think after years they would learn!”
Weaver jumped in before she could continue down that tangent. “I thought that if someone had the power of lighting, that they couldn’t do other types of magic.”
Atsumae’s irritated face softened, as she let go of the loose braid.
