Brightly Woven(30)

“So the…talismans,” I said. “Each can only be transformed into one kind of magic?”

“Right, it’s all about channeling the elements, changing the talisman into the one element each attracts. Magisters are the ones to choose the talisman for the apprentices, and depending on what element your talisman is best attuned to, that’s your specialty.”

“And the cloaks took to all magic?” I said. “That was lucky.”

North laughed. “Yeah, but I wasn’t exactly thrilled when he handed me a piece of red wool on my fourteenth birthday, especially when he turned around and gave Oliver a sword. Oliver’s never let me live that one down, even after I left them.”

“Boys,” I said, shaking my head. “Were you fourteen when you finished training?”

“Yes,” he said. “Oliver went to Provincia to join the Guard, and I went anywhere but Provincia.”

I started with the top cloak, his color, and worked my way in. The black—the cloak that twisted all of the elements together and allowed us to travel—had seen the most trouble and was split almost entirely down the middle. Next, red, fire, sorely torn almost down the middle. Yellow, air and light, untouched save for a singe that even I could not fix. Blue, water, missing a corner. Finally, green, earth, five gashes from top to bottom.

How many times would I have to repeat the same process? I had been with him for only a few weeks and already my stitching crisscrossed every cloak. Sewing wasn’t the same as weaving, not even close. Weaving was the creation of something new, the coming together of a pattern or a scene that took on a life of its own. Mending wasn’t anything more than an insult to battered fabric. It was a lucky day, indeed, when I had to do only one. Five of them were enough to cramp my fingers and strain my eyes.

“Would it be possible,” I said, “to have one cloak able to channel all magic?”

North looked thoughtful. “I’ve read about it being done in the past, but I’ve never found a cloak with an equal amount of every color, and I’ve certainly never been in the position to commission one. But yes, I think it would be possible.”

The green cloak slipped from my fingers and floated to the ground. That was the solution, wasn’t it, to both our problems? A single cloak would provide him with all of his colors at once, rather than having to switch back and forth between the thin, ragged pieces of cloth. I could picture exactly how I would make it, with everything from woven dragons to shimmering grass and mountains. It would be sturdy and well made—to save his skin and my patience. As long as I kept track of how much thread I was using, it could work.

I looked at my loom; the moonlight seemed to be shining directly on it. It was a personal gift, but how many other times had I woven things for friends? Henry had at least three blankets; the other boys in the village had everything from socks to hats…so why did this feel different?

“Syd?” North mumbled, rolling over again to face me. “Put them aside for now. They’re good enough.”

I blew a curl off my face. “I thought you’d gone to sleep.”

“Takes me longer to fall asleep these days,” he said.

“I might have some sleeping draft in my bag,” I said.

North made a face. “I just meant I’m not much for sleeping outdoors anymore.”

I folded the cloaks. “Did you—in the past, I mean?”

He was silent so long I was sure he had drifted off, his gray blanket tucked around his body. I unfolded the blanket my mother had hastily packed. It was poor protection against the coming winter, but it was something.

“When I was younger, after I finished my training,” he said quietly into the darkness. “I never had enough money to rent a room.”

I watched his face closely, studying the way his dark lashes fell against his cheeks. I could see him years ago, wrapped in the very same blanket, lying there, on the cold dirt between the trees.

“Where was your mother? Your father?”

North’s eyes remained closed.

“They…left me a long time ago.” He turned back away from me. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Of course it matters,” I whispered, holding the braided metal of my necklace between my hands.

“Sleep,” he said. “There’s still a long way ahead.”

CHAPTER SIX

The next afternoon, our shadows were long against the dying grass, spread out over the ground like one of my blankets. It was a strange shape, but one that was ours.

Which is why it was so disturbing suddenly to find another, unfamiliar shadow trailing ours.

At first I thought North had slowed, but the shadow was moving too quickly. It skimmed in and out of the grass, like one of Henry’s little brothers in a game of go-seek-find. By the time I had enough sense to point it out, North had seen it, too.

“A neat little hedge trick,” he said, seeing my startled look. “But it can’t do anything to hurt you.” He threw a stone, which struck the shadow and passed through it. The shadow scattered, falling apart into small pieces before pooling together again on the ground. It disappeared back into the blades of grass and did not reemerge, even after North threw another rock.

“Where did it go?” I asked. “What happened to it?”

“It’s a messenger shade,” North said. “It’s going back to Arcadia to tell him we’re coming.”