Page 29 of Wizards & Weavers (Cozy Questing #1)
Chapter
Twenty
Rooty tooty stew was worth the wait, surpassing Braiden’s every expectation, a salty, faintly sweet, and mildly spicy concoction in an inexplicably creamy sauce.
Halfway through his meal he’d already discovered tender chunks of potato, at least three kind of beans, a multitude of mushrooms, and sweetish rounds of turnip and carrot. Heaven in a bowl.
It was lunch time in the Underborough, and the village’s newest visitors were being treated to a hearty meal at one of the verandas outside the great tree. Mother Magda had only grazed for a bit before leaving to attend to her duties, but Warren made for a lovely host.
Especially lovely, now that he had his grandmother’s every blessing to depart. It would be a grand adventure for the young burrowfolk, even if only for the span of a descent into the dungeon.
But Braiden still found himself distracted, his mind kept busy by the promise of moongrass filament. How serendipitous that his most precious find in the dungeon was not a pile of gems, but a humble plant! Easy to transport and perfectly useable in his craft work.
He should have paid more attention to how much weaving they’d passed on their short walk through the Underborough. He couldn’t have missed how integral basketry was to the burrowfolk if he’d tried.
Even the placemats were woven out of slender wicker. The same went for the bread baskets, the coasters, and the sleeves for drinking cups designed to keep beverages cool. They reminded Braiden of the beer cozies he often conjured at the Dragon’s Flagon.
And to think that the burrowfolk had learned to weave small magic into their very wares. His mind whirled with the possibilities, all the enchantments he could embed into articles of clothing at Beadle’s Needles.
What adventurer would turn down a cloak that could protect them from dragonfire, or a knitted hat that enhanced the power of the mind?
Given enough time and practice, Beadle’s Needles would be known far and wide for its innovations in enchanted knitwear.
Every adventurer would long to possess a scarf of slaying, or a beautiful camouflaging cardigan — available in custom colors, too, naturally.
But he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. One step at a time, Braiden knew, even if he was juggling two things at the table. He knew he needed to keep his strength up, dunking a crusty hunk of bread into his delicious stew, but his other hand was busy riffling through Granny Bethilda’s sheaf of cards.
Did she really never mention anything about spinning or weaving permanent magic? It seemed so unlikely, but he’d been through the cards back and forth so many times since he’d inherited them.
“What’s this, now?” Augustin inquired, inspecting the cards over Braiden’s shoulder, chewing on a mouthful of stew. “Is this your spellbook?”
“In a way,” Braiden muttered distractedly, so absorbed in searching the cards for an answer that he’d forgotten his table manners entirely.
By the way Augustin was chewing, though, it could be argued that he’d forgotten about his manners, too.
“I inherited it from my grandmother. It’s everything I know. ”
The wizard had chosen to sit next to Braiden, for whatever reason, and across the table, Elyssandra and Warren sat side by side.
Warren was still busy with lunch, tearing up chunks of bread to soak up his stew.
Elyssandra had already demolished two bowls of the stuff and appeared to be quite busy with her journal of heroes, the one she collected signatures in.
“Grandmother never gave me her book of spells to study, you know,” Augustin continued.
“I don’t think she even has one. Come to think of it, it’s quite appropriate for wind wizards to only pass down their knowledge orally.
There’s something poetic about it, don’t you think?
To teach your magic with breath instead of ink. ”
Still nothing, after flipping through so many cards. “It’s because you’re all full of hot air,” Braiden said absently.
Augustin sniffled. “That’s very rude. I mean, it’s technically true, but still.”
Elyssandra clucked her tongue and shook her head. “They’re like this all the time,” she told Warren.
The burrowfolk only chuckled.
Elyssandra kept glancing up at Braiden’s side of the table, one hand working a quill against the page with expert, practiced strokes. Augustin didn’t seem to mind the attention, even pausing every so often to strike a pose. Braiden stuffed his deck of cards back in his rucksack, sighing in defeat.
“You’re still drawing him?” Braiden asked. “Didn’t you already have an illustration of Augustin in your journal?”
“I don’t blame her,” Augustin said, grinning broadly as he helped himself to more stew. “I’m a very good subject.”
“Just making sure I get the details right,” Elyssandra said.
Braiden leaned over the table, trying to get a better look, but she quickly snatched up her journal, pressing the pages to her chest.
“No peeking,” Elyssandra said.
“I saw,” Warren told Braiden, nodding his approval. “It’s a very good likeness.”
Augustin sat up even straighter, flexing his arms, showing off muscles that didn’t show because of his tunic’s generous sleeves. Braiden sighed and focused on finishing his meal.
There was no grand sendoff for the Underborough’s favorite grandson. Warren’s willful ways rubbed the other burrowfolk wrong, but at least Grandest Mother Magda recognized his spark of intellectual curiosity. Even better, she encouraged it, too.
The burrowfolk elder was clearly curious about how life had changed beyond the Underborough. Sending Warren out to scout deeper would perhaps partially slake their shared curiosity, but something told Braiden that this first small expedition would hardly be the end of it.
The four were making good time, trekking back through the mushroom passageway and out of the luminous wilderness cavern. This new passage was darker, danker, and colder. Wet, too, a mucky, squelchy path down the dungeon.
Half an hour or so away from the Underborough, Warren sidled up to Braiden to bump elbows and talk.
“I’m not sure what you and Grandmother discussed in the moongrass grotto,” Warren said, the faint hint of a smile creasing his lips. “All that matters is that you convinced her to let me wander farther from the village. For that, I thank you.”
Braiden chuckled. “I’m convinced that your grandmother convinced herself. The two of you obviously care about the future of the Underborough. I admit, I’m also worried about what lurks underground and what that means for those of us who live above.”
Warren nodded gravely. “Anything that was powerful enough to tunnel all these new passageways into stone should be considered a potential threat. It’s part of what’s made the village more susceptible to rockwalker attacks.
We keep finding new directions for them to come from.
We’re plugging holes all the time, it seems.”
“Plugging holes?” Augustin asked, poking his head into the conversation. “What I’m hearing here is two friends who are now understanding the value of sealing the dungeon.”
“Or sealing away their home,” Elyssandra corrected.
“You know, there are still many elves who believe in total seclusion. With the magical and structural barriers they’ve put up around their hideouts, they may as well be invisible.
But Warren, something tells me you’re not of the same mind.
You don’t strike me as the type who wants to stay in the village forever. ”
Warren took too long to answer. The droop of his ears said plenty enough.
“If it helps,” Elyssandra continued, “I’m very much the same.
The elf lands are magical and mysterious, but there was a whole other world out there for me to see.
It’s been difficult, exploring the rest of Aidun for myself.
But I don’t have any regrets, and I’m thrilled to have made myself some new friends along the way. ”
Four little tomatoes. Braiden smiled to himself.
But that only reminded him of rooty tooty stew, which reminded him that he should have had some more to eat.
It really was as delicious as Warren promised.
Perhaps when they made their way back, after they’d sussed out the source of the dungeons danger.
And speaking of which, here was Augustin still going on about sealing the dungeon. Braiden slowed his pace, allowing Elyssandra and Warren to exchange stories about their similarly seclusive communities. He tugged on the end of Augustin’s cloak until the wizard hung back to match his step.
“It’s awfully nice,” Augustin whispered, “seeing new friends get along like this.”
“Very nice,” Braiden replied. “Yes. Listen. Now that we’ve met the burrowfolk, surely you agree that haphazardly slapping a seal over every conceivable entrance to the underground isn’t a feasible option. You’d be blocking them off from the rest of the world.”
Augustin raised a lecturing finger. “Unless it’s what they want in the end.”
Braiden frowned, remembering his talk with Grandest Mother Magda, remembering her face. He couldn’t imagine a world where she would be happy for her village to be closed off from Aidun — unless it was what the rest of the burrowfolk wanted, of course.
“It just doesn’t feel right,” Braiden said. “There could be other communities living down here, too. Remember what Elder Orora said? Who are you to decide whether the dungeon deserves to be shut down?”
Augustin cocked an eyebrow. “A fine time for you to mention my dread pirate grandmother. She didn’t put you up to this, did she? Surely Orora Arcosa wouldn’t stoop to sending someone into the dungeon to babysit me and influence my decisions.”
“O-of course not,” Braiden stammered. Somewhere in his rucksack, somewhere in his coin purse, those Il-venessi dragons were still sitting, clinking, waiting.
“Because it would be just like her to try and do something so devious,” Augustin said, sighing. “And for her to send someone with such a pretty face to distract me, too.”
Now Braiden was too worried about spontaneously bursting into flames out of embarrassment to worry about being caught in a lie. He stared dead ahead of him, biting the inside of his cheeks. Did Augustin like him like that? A pretty face, he said.
“Come now,” Augustin teased. “Let’s not tread eggshells around it. You’re a handsome fellow. It’s not as if you don’t own a mirror.”
This was too much for Braiden. He thought he could feel steam rising from the top of his head. He stomped his foot, curling his fingers like hooks into Augustin’s cloak to stop both of them dead in their tracks.
“It’s very demeaning of you to think that I’m only accompanying you down the dungeon because your grandmother is somehow playing matchmaker and pulling the strings from the surface.
And thank you for the compliment, you’re very kind, even if you’re embarrassing me so much it’s making my skin crawl.
And of course I own a mirror. Don’t you think that — wait. ”
A mirror. Something just up ahead, silhouetted in the half darkness. A shiver ran down Braiden’s spine. A figure just at the edge of the passage, just nearly out of sight — it seemed to be mirroring his every move.
In fact, there were four figures at the end of the hallway, one for each member of their party, and each perfectly mimicking their movements.
“Stop,” Braiden shouted. “Everyone. Don’t move.”
Up ahead, Elyssandra and Warren stopped walking, throwing confused glances over their shoulders. And farther up ahead, the figures in the near distance stopped walking at the exact same moment, similarly craning their necks over their shoulders in the opposite direction.
“Augustin, do you see what I’m seeing?”
The wizard nodded, the passage turning ominously chillier when Braiden noticed the gravity in his expression.
“Elyssandra,” Augustin said. “Would you please light the way with your berries? There seems to be something strange up ahead. We need to identify the danger before we proceed.”
Elyssandra sent her blueberry pin hovering toward the four ghostly figures. Gooseflesh rippled across Braiden’s skin when he saw the other Elyssandra copy her exact motions, sending its own spectral facsimile of the blueberry hairpin.
Closer and closer the blue lights floated, until they met in the middle with a glassy clink and a blinding glare.
It took every ounce of bravery left in Braiden’s body not to turn and flee.
If this was where two worlds met, Braiden thought that he would be safest already running at top speed in the opposite direction.
Augustin rushed forward. His copy rushed to meet him, too. Braiden’s heart leapt up his throat — and then he frowned at their four reflections. Maybe the wizard really did know better. Braiden felt very sheepish by the time he realized what they were actually looking at.
“Ice,” Augustin called over his shoulder. “It’s just our reflections in this great, gigantic thing of ice.”
Fair enough, but as little as Braiden knew about the world of winter, he also knew that normal ice didn’t reflect images as vividly as a mirror. This was magical stuff, naturally — or supernaturally, this deep in the dungeon.
“Then we’re drawing closer,” Braiden called out. “Closer to whatever it was that caused the explosion.”
Augustin tapped the end of his nose. “Exactly right, my weaver friend. I only dread to think what swirling tempest of the elements could have erected something quite like this.” He rapped his knuckles against the ice, making a hollow, glassy thunk. “Look at the size of this thing.”
“There are no winters here,” Warren said. “It’s never been this cold so close to the Underborough.”
Elyssandra leaned her body to the left, and then to the right. Her hovering blueberry pin followed suit, illuminating the great icy mirror, revealing its tremendous height.
“There’s a way around it,” she said. “At least it isn’t blocking the entire passage. It looks like we can keep going.”
Except it really didn’t sound like Elyssandra wanted to keep going. Braiden glanced at the others with uncertainty, his nerves in a tangled knot.
Rockwalkers infesting the underground, those dangerous, diminutive elementals. Great holes punctured through the earth by some indescribable explosion. And now these enormous pillars of shimmering ice that seemed to stretch up to the cavern ceiling.
Braiden decided that it could be far worse. Whatever elements they encountered down here, at least there wasn’t any fire.