Page 14 of Warrior Princess (Blood Weaver Trilogy #3)
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U nder the shroud of night, with the village asleep and the stars scattered like jewels across the sky, I quietly dressed and crept out of Ronan’s house. He lay there, deeply asleep, his breathing even and slow, completely unaware of my departure. I needed this time alone without the burden of his concerns or the village's watchful eyes.
Wrapping a cloak around my shoulders, I pulled the hood over my head to shield my skin from the chilly night air. The village was silent as I passed through, the only sounds being my soft footsteps on the path and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by a gentle breeze.
Once I reached the outskirts of the village, the familiar path through the mountains loomed before me. The moon, a slender crescent, provided scant light, casting long, dancing shadows across the rugged terrain. The climb was steep, the path narrow and winding, flanked by towering pines that whispered secrets in the wind.
The air grew colder as I ascended, the scent of pine and earth strong in my nostrils. The world around me seemed to close in with each step, and I was hyper-aware of the surrounding dense foliage, the occasional call of a night creature, and the rustle of small animals in the underbrush. The mountains had always felt like a different realm, a place where the mundane worries of the village felt distant and inconsequential. At least that was how it felt when I lived in the Central Plains.
Finally, the entrance to Shiro’s cave emerged, a dark maw in the mountain's face, stark against the lighter rock surrounding it. A single torch flickered at the entrance, its flame delivering a warm, welcoming glow. I took a deep breath before entering, my heart pounding with a jumble of anticipation and nerves.
The inside of the cave was vast. Its ceiling arched high above, stalactites hanging like stone icicles along rough walls etched with the passage of water over centuries. Deeper in the cave, the torchlight revealed Shiro’s makeshift quarters; a simple cot and a small stack of books served as his sanctuary.
“Shiro?” I called out softly, my voice echoing in the hollow space.
He looked up from his book with a flicker of surprise. “What are you doing here at this hour?” He closed his book and placed it aside, his expression one of mild reproach. “You should be sleeping.”
“I thought this would be the best time to practice… when no one could interrupt us.” I gestured to the isolation of the cave. “I don’t want anyone to learn what I’m doing.”
“Not even Ronan?” Shiro’s eyebrows arched, probing. “You should tell him—”
“I did tell him. Just not in detail about what blood weaving involves,” I confessed, feeling a twinge of guilt. “He wouldn’t understand. Not yet.”
“You might be surprised,” Shiro mused, rising from his cot. “Ronan would do anything for you.”
I managed a small smile and nodded. “I know. But I’d rather tell him more about blood weaving once I’ve already mastered it.”
Shiro sighed. “Very well.” He moved to light additional torches, which brightened the dim cave with a warm, orange glow. “First, do you think you will be able to slit your wrists? After…” he trailed off, his gaze intense.
“Yes,” I responded quickly, my voice more confident than I felt. “I was able to slice my palm to feed Queen Sariyah my blood in Keldara. I can do this.”
“The palm is not the same as your wrists, Leila,” he warned softly, watching me closely.
I studiously avoided his gaze and tried to mentally prepare for what was to come. “I know,” I mumbled. “But I’m ready… I have to be.”
He eyed me carefully before nodding. “Okay. You mentioned that you attempted to blood weave before, is that correct?”
“Yes. I tried it back in Valoria, but I didn’t have anyone to teach me so it just consisted of whatever my brother and I could find in our library. When I attempted it, I was only able to make an orb.” I gave an embarrassed shrug.
Shiro raised his eyebrows. “That is actually not bad for a first timer with no assistance.” He stepped closer and withdrew a dagger from his boot, his movements slow and deliberate. The metal glinted ominously in the flickering torchlight. I tried not to flinch. “But we are going to try to do more, because you, Leila, are capable of so much more,” he whispered. “Now give me your wrist.”
With a deep breath, I extended my left wrist toward him and tried to steady my trembling hand. His gaze locked with mine, providing silent reassurance as he gently took my wrist in his free hand. The cool metal of the dagger kissed my skin, its sharp edge promising both pain and power.
“Are you ready?” Shiro’s voice was soft yet firm, demanding my full consent.
I nodded, not trusting my voice not to waver.
“Use your words, Leila.’
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, my voice was a mere whisper lost in the vastness of the cave. “Yes.”
Without further delay, the demon fox made a precise incision across my wrist. It was a practiced, careful motion designed to allow blood to flow without endangering my life. A sharp sting shot through my arm and I winced slightly, but I kept my eyes locked on Shiro’s crimson ones.
Vivid red blood welled up from the cut and dripped down in a steady, mesmerizing stream. Shiro watched the flow intently, his expression one of concentration and slight concern, making sure the cut was not too deep but sufficient for our needs.
“Now, focus on the blood,” he instructed, his voice a grounding force in the echoic space of the cave. “Try to sense its essence, its life, then channel your will to manipulate it.”
I stared at the crimson liquid in apprehensive fascination. My heart thumped loudly as I reached out with my mind, touching the essence of my life force as it flowed freely from the wound. It was a strange sensation, both empowering and daunting, as I attempted to weave the blood into something more than just a part of me.
Shiro observed my concentration, his eyes narrowing slightly as he monitored the flow of my blood. “Good, keep your focus,” he encouraged. “Blood weaving is about more than control; it is an art. It is about understanding the life that flows within you and directing it with purpose.” He paused for a moment, and his gaze drifted to the torch-lit shadows dancing along the cave walls as if gathering thoughts from a distant memory. “Celeste was a master at this,” he began, his voice taking on a reverent tone. “She used to say that blood weaving is akin to composing a melody with the soul’s orchestra. Each drop of blood carries a note, an intent, and when properly guided, it can sing.”
I focused on the trickle of blood and tried to tune into the essence Shiro described. The liquid was warm against my skin, strangely alive. “How do I make it ‘sing’?” Unwilling to break the concentration that steadily built, my voice was barely above a whisper.
Shiro moved closer, his presence both comforting and imposing. “Visualize what you want to achieve. Start simple. Celeste would often start with shapes—circles, waves, spirals. They are fundamental elements, but they help you understand the flow.”
I nodded and closed my eyes to visualize. Imagining a circle, I tried to bend the blood flowing from my wrist into that shape. It was clumsy at first, and the blood merely pooled without direction. But as I focused more intently, recalling Shiro’s words and thinking about the fluid movements of nature—the way water curves around stones in a stream, the way wind whirls leaves in a dance—I began to feel a subtle connection, a thread of control.
“Now, gently,” Shiro instructed, his voice a soft command. “Use your will to guide it.”
Opening my eyes, I looked down and saw the small pool of blood beginning to respond. Slowly, almost timidly, it stretched out and curved into a crude circle. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. An excited thrill strummed through me.
Shiro nodded approvingly. “Very good, Leila. Now, try something a bit more complex. Think of a spiral. Celeste would weave her energy into every thread of existence—spiraling, ever expanding.”
Encouraged by my initial success, I focused on creating a spiral. This time, I visualized the pattern more clearly, emboldened by growing confidence. The blood moved to follow my intent, swirling into a tight spiral. The sight of red, vivid against the stone floor of the cave, was mesmerizing to watch.
“Yes, just like that.” Shiro’s voice was warm with praise. “You are doing beautifully. This is merely the beginning, Leila. The more you practice, the more intricate and powerful your weaving can become. Celeste could manipulate not just her blood, but the energies around her, which she would blend into powerful spells.”
I looked up at Shiro, my awe mingling with determination. “I want to learn more.” My voice was firm with resolve.
“And you will,” he promised, a smile touching his lips. “There is much to teach you, and you have the potential to surpass even Celeste, should you choose to dedicate yourself to this path.”
As we continued the session, I felt a deep connection not only to my own power, but to the legacy of the Moon Goddess herself. A power that threaded through the ages right to the heart of the blood that now danced at my command.