Brightly Woven
Page 29
“All I have is an elixir for the pain,” I said. “If we pass by a market, I’ll see if I can find what I need to help heal the burn.”
As North drank the remnants of an elixir I had made at Mrs. Pemberly’s, the look of relief on his face changed to one of surprise.
“You made this?” he asked, smelling the empty bottle. “It’s a wizard elixir, one of the strongest I’ve had. Where did you learn how to mix it?”
I traded Proper Instruction for Young Wizards for his ripped cloaks and sat down to mend.
“I haven’t seen one of these in years!” He thumbed through a few pages. “And you’re even reading it—great gods, why would you punish yourself like that?”
“I’m trying to learn, you know,” I mumbled. “You never tell me anything. I have to find the information out somehow.”
“Ask me a question about magic, then,” he said. “Any question.”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “Why did you choose me?”
“I believe I said a question about magic, not my sanity.”
“What do the colors on your cloaks mean? You have five of them, but Dorwan only had blue on his knife.”
“I could have chosen one color for my talisman, but I wanted to be able to use all magic, not one,” he said. “Dorwan stole that talisman from someone, by the way.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
North pulled his green cloak free and held it up. “Each color corresponds to a type of magic. It’s something the wizards invented for themselves, and it has little to do with the actual magic. The colors began as a courtesy in duels, so a wizard would know what world of pain he was about to visit. Now a wizard generally announces his specialty with the prevalence of any color.”
“So why do you have black as your outer cloak, then?” I asked. “I thought that color was used just for traveling?”
North smiled mysteriously, rolling over on the ground. “Black is my color.”
“Then why have all of the colors? Is that even allowed?”
“I use all of them equally,” he said. “And of course it’s allowed. Most just choose not to do it because it’s difficult to have to carry so many talismans. Besides, my father used all the colors. I guess it felt right to honor him like this.”
“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.”
As North drank the remnants of an elixir I had made at Mrs. Pemberly’s, the look of relief on his face changed to one of surprise.
“You made this?” he asked, smelling the empty bottle. “It’s a wizard elixir, one of the strongest I’ve had. Where did you learn how to mix it?”
I traded Proper Instruction for Young Wizards for his ripped cloaks and sat down to mend.
“I haven’t seen one of these in years!” He thumbed through a few pages. “And you’re even reading it—great gods, why would you punish yourself like that?”
“I’m trying to learn, you know,” I mumbled. “You never tell me anything. I have to find the information out somehow.”
“Ask me a question about magic, then,” he said. “Any question.”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “Why did you choose me?”
“I believe I said a question about magic, not my sanity.”
“What do the colors on your cloaks mean? You have five of them, but Dorwan only had blue on his knife.”
“I could have chosen one color for my talisman, but I wanted to be able to use all magic, not one,” he said. “Dorwan stole that talisman from someone, by the way.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
North pulled his green cloak free and held it up. “Each color corresponds to a type of magic. It’s something the wizards invented for themselves, and it has little to do with the actual magic. The colors began as a courtesy in duels, so a wizard would know what world of pain he was about to visit. Now a wizard generally announces his specialty with the prevalence of any color.”
“So why do you have black as your outer cloak, then?” I asked. “I thought that color was used just for traveling?”
North smiled mysteriously, rolling over on the ground. “Black is my color.”
“Then why have all of the colors? Is that even allowed?”
“I use all of them equally,” he said. “And of course it’s allowed. Most just choose not to do it because it’s difficult to have to carry so many talismans. Besides, my father used all the colors. I guess it felt right to honor him like this.”
“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.”
