Page 27 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)

What a disaster , Braiden thought. Elyssandra made this all seem so easy.

“And I am Augustin Arcosa, at your service. We thank you for your kindness. Mother Magda. You’ve welcomed us so kindly for a community that is so secluded.”

“We have means of defending ourselves, round-eared friend. I’m sure you’ve stumbled upon some of my willful grandson’s contraptions. And if it comes to the worst of it, we have our seers and the old ways. Some of the deities still answer their prayers, Goddess Nibura protect us.”

Nibura — like the goddess Ybura? Was this the burrowfolk name for the same deity? Curious. Braiden had so many questions for the burrowfolk, but the burrowfolk clearly had their questions, too.

“My council,” Mother Magda said, gesturing at the burrowfolk elders seated closest to her with a lazy wave of her hand. “They would be interested in introducing themselves but for the fact that they clearly question your presence here.”

The council members harrumphed and murmured among themselves. Braiden had no way of telling through their fur, but he thought it safe to guess that at least some of them were blushing in embarrassment.

“Now, tell me,” Mother Magda continued. “What are you doing here? Why has my grandson brought you to our village?”

Augustin answered for the group. “We have come to discover the source of the elemental dangers plaguing the underground.”

That was better than the wizard outright stating, yet again, that he had come to seal the dungeon.

It was all about context, after all. Augustin Arcosa’s head tended to drift among the clouds, but he still had some sense about him.

To the world above, this was a dungeon. To the burrowfolk of the Underborough, this was home.

The chief’s eyes swept across the room, examining each of their faces. “Just the three of you? Is that right?”

Augustin’s posture went even straighter as he smiled. He seemed to grow taller. “You’d be surprised, Mother Magda. I’ve found myself some very fine companions.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Braiden could see Elyssandra blushing. He rubbed his cheek, wondering if he was doing the same.

“Your grandson tells us that your good people have already experienced the symptoms of something gone awry in the depths,” Augustin continued.

“We’ve encountered dangerous rockwalkers along the way.

I’m embarrassed to confess that I was injured by one of them.

And I’m sure you’ve noticed how the explosion from underground has carved new tunnels through the soil. ”

An uncharacteristic graveness darkened Mother Magda’s eyes. “We felt the earth shake the day it happened. It was a frightful moment for all in the Underborough, but our seers have assured us that it is best to stay put in the village.”

Braiden raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment. He’d mentioned the possibility of exodus to Warren, but it wasn’t his place to tell these people what to do with their lives. This was their home, after all.

“Our people have lived here for generations,” Mother Magda continued. “Our ancestors saw the growing unkindness of the world above — humans killing their own, forging stronger and sharper weapons with every passing year. It was why the Underborough was formed.”

Elyssandra shifted from one foot to the other. Braiden knew she was thinking of her own people, how they similarly vanished from Aidun. This was much the same story, all thanks to humankind.

“We are accustomed to life underground. Even here we grow food aplenty, lead lives untouched by danger. We receded to the world beneath the soil to seek safety, and now it seems that a new danger threatens to rise from deeper beneath. Where are my people meant to go?”

The council of elders murmured among themselves, throwing unfriendly glances at Warren and his unwelcome guests. Braiden was right to hold his tongue. Leaving the Underborough wasn’t an option.

Mother Magda held up her hand. The chamber went quiet.

“As you can see for yourselves, my council deems it fit for our people to seek even further seclusion. Build inward, build up our defenses. We burrowfolk excel at hiding and keeping out of the way, you see. But delving deeper in the earth to find the source of the trouble, fighting the rockwalkers head on? The idea of risking harm to our scouts fills me with dread.”

The clack of wood against wood rang through the chamber as Warren struck his staff on the floor, his face grim with resolve. “I’ve asked for your permission to see for myself, Grandmother. Time and again. Out of respect, I have resisted the temptation to defy you and dig deeper.”

Mother Magda shook her head. “You would so willingly risk your own death for our people, Warren? It’s never quite that simple.”

The fur on Warren’s shoulders seemed to bristle as he stepped forward, slamming the tip of his staff on the ground again.

Before he could speak, the council burst into outrage.

Braiden watched in uncomfortable silence.

Well and good that the burrowfolk adhered to tradition, the respect of elders and all that.

But this was a question of their survival. Didn’t Warren have a point?

“Silence,” Mother Magda said, the single word cutting through the chatter of the chamber. “Very well, Warren. As if it wasn’t clear to me before why you’d thought to bring these adventurers straight to the council.”

The chief folded her hands on the table and leaned forward. Though she kept her features carefully straightened, Braiden thought he caught a glimmer of something in her eye.

“What say you, new friends of the burrowfolk? We share the same concerns. As willful as he is, I trust my grandson and his own strange brand of juvenile wisdom. Will you let him accompany you and serve as the eyes and ears of the burrowfolk down in the deep?”

The thrill humming through Warren’s body was almost palpable. Braiden truly believed he felt a tingle of something electric in the air.

“Of course,” Elyssandra answered. “It would be our pleasure to welcome another skilled warrior to our party.”

“The more, the merrier,” Braiden blurted out.

Augustin Arcosa beamed his approval, and that was enough for the Grandest Mother. Like Mother Magda had done only moments ago, Warren kept his features deathly serious, straining to contain his excitement. His ears betrayed him, wavering over his head like triumphant banners.

Braiden couldn’t help smiling. He should have sniffed it out from the start. Here was another pincushion tomato longing to see the world outside.

Warren had the presence of mind to turn away from the council before pumping his fist, but it didn’t matter. Braiden could tell that Mother Magda was just as happy for her grandson — no smile on her face, but there was no mistaking the twitch of her ears.

At least this grandmother had a sweeter flavor, nowhere nearly as manipulative as Elder Orora. Still, Braiden tried not to seethe with too much jealousy. He thought it a little unjust that his friends should have such liberal access to their grandmothers, no matter how they demonstrated their love.

Preparing to leave the chamber, Braiden was surprised to find Mother Magda already at his side.

He threw Warren a pleading look as she separated him from his friends, but Warren only turned his hands up and shrugged.

Magda linked elbows with Braiden, then stroked the sleeve of his sweater with a single furry paw.

“This really is impeccable workmanship. And the feel of those fibers, too. Tell me, young round-ears. You didn’t actually kill some soft, pliant creature so you could wear its hide, did you?”

Braiden stammered. “Not at all. This wool is shorn from othergoats in the summertime. It grows so thick that the heat can be stifling for their species, perhaps even fatally so. I purchased the wool, then spun and knitted this sweater myself.”

“You made this yourself? A craftsman. A weaver.” Mother Magda’s eyes lit up, her silvery whiskers quivering with interest. “Come with me, Braiden. There is something I would like to show you.”

He didn’t have much of a choice, locked in her grip, but he didn’t very much mind, either.

This close, Braiden could smell a delightful fragrance emanating from Mother Magda.

It reminded him of crushed herbs and spices.

He couldn’t name any of those underground plants for the life of him, and yet the smell transported him to a familiar place, like this was somewhere he could belong.

Wherever their adventures might lead them, Braiden hoped he would be granted the opportunity to visit the Underborough again in the future. Maybe Warren wouldn’t mind very much if Braiden borrowed his grandmother for a spell.

She guided him to another part of the building. The wooden walls looked the same as in the rest of the chambers, but the entrance ahead had no doors, only a patterned tapestry.

“Right through here,” Mother Magda said, parting the hanging tapestry with a brush of her arm.

Braiden held his breath. Bundles of reeds and switches lined the walls, the room filled by basketweaving burrowfolk women, all of them as silver-haired as the elder. Braiden thought he might burst into tears.

Not only was he about to witness the weaving arts of the burrowfolk. He had the rare privilege of receiving that knowledge from a roomful of grandmothers, too.