The Weavers' Blessing Read online

She waited. He thought. What was it about her that made it impossible to say no? She was worse than Claire used to be.

  Claire. If the princess succeeded, everything in the kingdom would be put right again. Claire would get her sanity back.

  “Alright, I’ll help you,” he agreed. “But only because I like adventures, and only because you offer the better reward.” It was a lie. He didn’t really like adventures.

  Chapter 8

  F our days later, Elaine decided she definitely did not like adventures. They had already encountered five different hunters, a pack of vicious wolves, a tar pit with toxic fumes, an impassable chasm, a carnivorous forest, flesh-eating birds, a living hedge maze, and a troll.

  “A troll. We just fought a troll,” Brandon would not stop repeating. She had already had to beg him to keep going with her, when he swore twice that he was done with the whole affair.

  Unfortunately, nothing she said would make him stop muttering. She turned her attention to the scenery as they walked. Color was seeping back into the landscape, pinks and greens, yellows and purples. The clouds were growing lighter. The air was warming up. Then she saw something that made her gasp and stop. “Look! Mint!” There was a patch of fresh mint growing in the wild.

  That was enough to make Brandon forget the troll. He finally stopped muttering.

  “Oh, we have to make tea out of it,” she decided. “I haven’t had mint in a decade.”

  The very sound was intoxicating. Brandon, who had refused each night to make a fire because it would draw unwanted attention, said, “It’s light enough no one should see the smoke if we use dry wood, and if anyone’s close enough to see the flames, they’d be able to see us anyway.”

  “Do you have a pot?” she asked as he began to build a fire.

  “It’s in my pack. Use the water from my canteen,” he cautioned her, looking up from his work. “I don’t want you wandering into a snake pit or lion’s den looking for water.”

  The seriousness in his tone made her pause and look at him for a heartbeat. It was almost like he cared about her well-being. Hm. She was beginning to think Brandon was not the self-serving, callous man out for money that he wanted other people to think him and, as far as she could tell, that he thought himself.

  When the fire was made, they sat beside it, watching the mint leaves in the water as it heated up. The scent was beginning to exude. Elaine sniffed deeply. It smelled of childhood, dinners with her parents, winter days filled with stories and laughter. It smelled of family–it smelled of home.

  “What does it make you think of?” Brandon asked softly.

  She smiled wistfully, “Mamma and Pappa. Being happy with them.” She turned a sidelong look toward him. “What does it make you think of?”

  He seemed to have difficulty forming the words. “The good times, when the Weavers–when your family ruled. And…my mother and sister, Claire. They would always drink it when they sewed at night, and my pa would read to us.”

  “Where are they now?” she asked softly.

  He frowned fiercely at the pot. “My parents are dead and my sister’s insane,” he said disinterestedly, standing up and turning around.

  So that was the reason for his pain. Tears formed in Elaine’s eyes. He was just like her, only more alone. She at least had Derek’s family.

  “Brandon,” she whispered. She stood up and reached out to touch his shoulder and comfort him.

  “Get on the horse,” he barked, springing into motion.

  It took her far too long to understand what was happening. Was he that angry at her for asking about his family? He had nearly brought it up himself, after all. He threw on his pack and snatched up her bag, and she still had not moved. “Get on the horse!” he yelled, grabbing her and pulling her along.

  Her eyes swung around, and she finally understood. There were three horses riding toward them at full gallop. More hunters. She started running with Brandon, but it was like a nightmare in which one runs but doesn’t move forwards.

  He boosted her up onto the horse’s back, swung up behind her, and yelled. Then they were galloping away. With two riders on his back, however, Brandon’s horse was much slower than the others. Brandon shoved her bag onto Elaine’s lap, drew his sword, and handed it to her, making sure she had a firm grip before letting go. “Take this,” he ordered her, then he turned around, fitting an arrow to his bow.

  There was only time for him to shoot once, but he felled one of the hunters. The other two caught up with them then. Elaine cried out as one of them seized her arm and yanked her off the horse’s back.

  “No!” Brandon shouted, lunging after her. He grabbed her other arm, freeing her, but fell off the horse in the process.

  Elaine was not used to battle. She could hardly keep up with the fight enough to defend herself from two men and keep from cutting off one of Brandon’s arms. Their adversaries were skilled, and they were not alone. In a minute, five more hunters were upon them.

  They were going to lose. Her strength was fading, they were outnumbered, even though Brandon had taken out three more, and night was falling. Then one of them aimed to kill her. Brandon shouted, “Watch out!” and leapt in front of her, trying to block the blow with his knives and walking staff. The sword shattered the staff and glanced off the knife, stabbing Brandon in the side.

  “No!” Elaine shrieked. Some untouched power inside her swelled up in her fear for Brandon. Hollering at the top of her lungs, she fought like ten people. In a minute, the hunters were dead.

  Heavy with the guilt of blood shed by her hands, Elaine lowered her sword and looked at Brandon. His face was white and he clutched the hole in his side with red hands.

  Chapter 9

  I t was a fatal wound. He did not know much about the inner workings of bodies, but he could tell. Something vital inside him was irreparably damaged.

  “You’re going to be alright,” Elaine told him. She wedged herself under his arm to support him. It hurt more to move, but he humored her efforts to save him. He wondered if she knew she was crying. “Come on,” she said. “We’ll find somewhere safe and I’ll take care of you.”

  “I should be taking care of you, Princess,” he protested.

  He almost fainted getting on to the horse. The princess walked beside, a hand supporting him in case he started to fall.

  The sun set. Evil creatures and mists would soon be out. “You have to make camp,” he told her with great effort.

  “Look! There’s a house over there,” she pointed. “We just have to make it.” By her strong will, they did. “Hello?” she called out, pounding on the door. “Someone, please help us! Anyone! Will anyone help us?”

  The door opened a crack to a man holding a bow and a woman close behind him. “Please,” Elaine begged. “He’s hurt, and we need help.”

  The man gestured with his bow. “Let me see,” he demanded. Brandon removed his hands, and the sight convinced the man they were not burglars with a ploy to get into their home. “Get in,” he said, lowering his weapon. “Madge, get equipment.”

  They helped Brandon inside and laid him on a table. “Madge knows medicine,” the man assured them. The woman began examining the wound. When she noticed Elaine hovering, she told the girl, “Go see to the horse. I’ll take care of your husband, dear.”

  Elaine’s eyes widened. “He’s not–we’re just–just friends,” she clarified, voice shaky. “But are you

  sure–”

  “I have things under control,” Madge insisted that she go.

  Brandon’s eyes met Elaine’s and followed her out of the room. “Just friends?” Madge asked him.

  With effort, he answered, “She’s–ow–special.” He met the woman’s sharp green eyes. “I’m not going to make it, am I?”

  Madge pursed her lips. “Barring a miracle,” she shook her head. “And I haven’t seen one of those in a dozen years.”

  By the time Elaine returned, his wound was bandaged. She paused at the door and looked in askance at M
adge. The older woman looked at her with pity and gave a small shake of her head. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  Elaine came to stand by Brandon’s side and took his hand. “You have to get better,” she told him. “I won’t let you die.”

  He managed a smile for her. “Even princesses don’t get everything they want.” There were things he had to say before he died. “Sorry I’m leaving you before you get to Ferngold. I’ve been a bad guard and guide. You’ll make it, though. And…when you take back the kingdom, could you–could you make sure Claire’s taken care of?”

  She nodded. He hated to make her cry so hard.

  “And…thank you,” he lifted his hand to touch her cheek. With the clear sight of a dying man, he realized he had grown to love her in their four days of dangerous adventures. “For showing me that there’s still some good left, and its strength is greater than evil.”

  He could tell the end was near.

  “Brandon,” the princess said softly.

  “Elaine,” he murmured.

  She leaned down slowly and whispered, “Be well.” His final memory would be her soft kiss and the warm tear that splashed onto his cheek.

  Chapter 10

  W hen laughter, rather than sobbing, came from the other room, Madge and her husband looked at each other and went to investigate. The boy should have passed away by now; had the girl gone mad with grief?

  The scene that greeted them made Madge think she herself had gone mad. It was utterly impossible. The boy was standing up, and the girl was hugging him. Radiant smiles covered both of their faces.

  “It…it’s impossible,” she gasped. Her husband stared at them, too, slack jawed.

  The boy looked at them then. “No,” he corrected her in his deeper-than-his-age voice. “It’s a miracle.”

  Madge started to get angry. This had to be a trick. They were very clever con artists, to be sure–she had been certain his injury was real–but a miracle? “No,” she crossed her arms. “There hasn’t been a miracle since the Weavers died. With our black-hearted king in power, it’s impossible.”

  The youngsters looked at each other. “Maybe… not so impossible,” the girl said. “Not all of the Weavers died. The princess was hidden by the king’s valet and raised in secret these past years. She came of age a week ago.”

  The princess survived? Then there was hope for them all. “So?” her husband asked.

  “So,” the boy said, “since then, things have been changing. Have you not noticed it? The earth is waking back up. Do you not feel hope like you have not felt these twelve years?”

  “Normally we still have a foot of snow,” her husband said. “It melted a couple days ago.”

  “I did see a flower yesterday,” Madge remembered. “But still, that’s hardly enough of the Magician’s blessing returned to save a dying man’s life, except in the presence of she who bears the blessing herself.”

  “You are right,” the girl said, stepping forward, eyes shining. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Elaine Weaver, Princess and rightful ruler of Clachan.”

  It was too good to be true. “Prove it,” Madge insisted.

  She took off her cloak and pulled the collar of her dress down over her left shoulder. On her skin was a tiny heart.

  Madge dropped to her knees. “My liege,” she whispered in awe.

  Before there was proper time to bask in her existence and presence, a knock sounded at the door. The boy pulled the girl behind him and drew his weapons. “The king is after her,” he explained.

  “We won’t let them get you, your Majesty,” her husband promised. He picked up his bow again, and she grabbed a pot–the closest thing she could find to use as a weapon.

  “No accommodations,” her husband yelled at the front door.

  The knocking continued. “Please, let me in,” a young man called.

  “We open the door for no man after dark,” he replied.

  But the princess moved them aside with a touch. She held the door handle with one hand, held her other hand up for them to wait, and met their eyes. Then she opened the door wide and exclaimed, “Jeremy!”

  Chapter 11

  I van, it is getting worse,” King Eric said, vastly displeased. He had spent the whole day burning piles of weeds and wildflowers, but had scarcely made a dent. It did not help his foul mood that, as soon as one plant was plucked from the soil, three more replaced it.

  “Her magic grows, and ours wanes,” the magician sighed. “My strength is almost spent.”

  “She has some help,” Eric hypothesized, pacing feverishly. “Every time she encounters some of my slave hunters, they end up dead.” He paused his pacing. “Can you give them any help?”

  Ivan the magician slowly walked over to a table piled with books and flipped through them, squinting to see. He found what he was looking for and looked grim. “There is one option left, but it will require great sacrifice. We can withdraw our struggling, cursed claim from the whole land and focus it only on the region in which the princess is.”

  “What will then happen?” Eric inquired.

  “Most of the land will revert to the Princess’s dominion. Its people will no longer be under your control. The blackness of your heart will be concentrated on the Princess and it may be enough to undo her. If she dies, you will regain control without opposition.”

  “If she does not die?” the king asked, though he already knew the answer.

  “You will lose everything,” Ivan answered.

  Eric walked over to a window. For a long time, he stared out at his kingdom. The mighty Clachan, which he had tamed. What was he willing to do to retain power there?

  A timid knock interrupted his thoughts. Eric strode across the room and opened the door on his Chief of Espionage. “Report,” he barked at the pale man.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, the fear in his voice obvious. “The ravens my lord Ivan the Magician enchanted as spies have returned. The princess is alive and traveling in the direction of Ferngold with a slave hunter. They just defeated a group of six hunters that attacked them. The princess is strong, they say.”

  “Get out,” Eric pointed at the door.

  The spy bowed repeatedly and backed out of the room.

  “She must not get to Ferngold,” he fretted, pacing once more. “How dare one of my wretched hunters betray me and help her!” Abruptly, he stopped and faced Ivan. “Do it.”

  “Eric, are you absolutely certain? Once this is done, it cannot be undone,” the magician cautioned. “There are so many variables that could go wrong.”

  “Do it,” Eric repeated. “Focus all our power on that cursed girl. Let us crush her once and for all.”

  Chapter 12

  T he next day, they had set out again. Madge and her husband wanted to accompany them, but they decided a small group would gain less attention and move quicker. The hunter led the way and Jeremy brought up the rear, with Elaine safely between them.

  He did not trust the hunter–Brendan? Brady? There was something suspicious about him. How did he happen to find Elaine and gain her trust? He looked at her too much, touched her arm too much, helped her over obstacles too much, and his voice! Jeremy frowned in displeasure. His voice was altogether too deep and soothing. Surely he was up to no good.

  Jeremy pulled Elaine aside. “Lainy, I don’t trust him,” he whispered with a significant look at the hunter’s back. “Let’s part ways with him.”

  Elaine gave him a disappointed look and touched his shoulder. “Jer, trust me. We’ve been through so much together these past days. He’s saved my life more times than I can count–did you know that?” He did not. “He almost sacrificed himself for me, and would have, too, but for a miracle.” Her voice grew soft and she looked at the hunter, who looked back just then. “Brandon is good,” she assured him. “He is on our side.” She moved forward to join the hunter, who had stopped when he saw they were not moving. The hunter smiled and gave her a look Jeremy knew well. It was the look Jeremy always gave
Elaine.

  Jealousy. That was what he was feeling. Since they were children, he had loved her, and he always assumed she would grow to love him when they were older. Now, this reformed slave hunter could ruin everything.

  “It’s getting darker,” Brent said in his stupid, deep voice. “I don’t like this.”

  It was getting darker. Even worse, the plants were withering and the sweet smell in the air was turning to rot.

  “I don’t understand,” Elaine frowned. Jeremy frowned when she tucked her hand between Brody’s side and arm and looked up at him for answers. “The king’s power is supposed to be fading.”

  They had no explanations, but they had to move. The ground started bubbling and vomiting nauseating fumes. Choking, the trio ran forwards, looking for solid ground.

  They ran right into a thicket of thorn bushes. The thorns tore at their skin and stung the exposed flesh underneath. From the roses, which had fallen, black, to the ground, crawled thousands of maggots. Elaine screamed and threw up. Brandy used his sword to cut a path for them.

  They tumbled out of the thicket straight into an ogre’s leg.

  All three of them were so busy fighting for their lives they did not notice the creeping mist growing thicker at their feet. By the time Brayan put an arrow through the ogre’s eyes and the young men turned to look for Elaine, it was too late.

  They were just in time to see her take a deep breath of the mist.

  Chapter 13

  T here were two young men in front of her, calling her name, telling her to stay with them. She knew them, knew their names. No, she could not remember their names. She only knew one of them, the one with a deeper voice and a shadow of a beard on his face.

  But no, they were changing. They were big, screeching birds, pecking at her arms. Yelling, she slapped, trying to drive them away.