I sit beside her, listening as she speaks.
“The spirits were friends with the old gods when the world was small. We all existed side-by-side. Think of the spirits like small gods of this world…and the old gods the keepers of the Great Beyond, of the universe in its whole.”
A small laugh escapes me.
She’s understandably confused. “What is amusing?”
“I find it incredible…old gods, spirits with true forms. Though I wish you were not in the situation you are stuck in now.”
“That makes two of us.”
Evander ducks his head inside the tent and holds out my two satchels. “Here.”
I quickly retrieve them, confirming that all the contents of my basket are inside. Everything is, save for one potato. Though I suspect that more likely rolled out when Bardulf tackled me rather than being thieved.
“Thank you,” I say earnestly, allowing him to see the sincerity in my eyes.
It seems to startle him. “You’re welcome,” he mutters hastily and then leaves.
I sit back on the cot, unfastening the button and opening the top flap of the embroidered satchel. Inside are bundles of thick thread, undyed and tightly wound. Atop them is a thin, fabric folio, where smaller loops of colored thread are coiled and buttoned behind flaps. I run my index fingertip over the lengths of four needles.
“What is each needle for?” Aurora asks.
“Bone is for the body—protection of the flesh, healing. Silver is for objects—mending, sturdiness. Redwood for the spirits—evoking, summoning. Gold is for the heart and mind.” I take the gold needle. “We spun the threads in spring and summer…after the sheep were sheared in the village. I would brush out the wool and Grandmother would work the wheel. We both would collect the dyes from the forests throughout the year—me more so at the end. She would boil the ingredients in her cauldron over Folost, who always knew just what heat would draw out the best color. Mary helped with the recipes and guiding me in the woods.”
“And the thread held on to the magic you summoned through the ritual.” Aurora pulls a length from the folio, inspecting it. I can almost see the wool shimmer underneath her fingers in the same way that it would in Folost’s flickering light. “It’s such a clever leveraging of the magic for a people who found it slippery to hold on to.” She smiles faintly and I wonder just how many early humans—early witches—she would watch over in her moonlight.
“The right combination of ritual, thread, and needle makes all the difference. But it also requires a skilled, magical hand.”
“One you have.” It sounds like she’s reassuring me of my doubts. Either I am transparent, or Aurora knows me all too well already.
“Let’s hope so.” I take the cape in my lap, gathering a small section at the base of the hood, and begin to sew.
I’ve chosen a yellow thread. We dyed it last summer with onion peels, the sharp scent to fill the mouths of any who would speak ill, rhubarb to purify the mind, and turmeric for trusting in one’s gut. The cottage had smelled of warm spices, like a stew was cooking all day. As I pull on the needle, I bring it up to my face and inhale deeply, trying to get the last dredges of that aroma to remind me of those times with my grandmother.
It only smells like the stale fabric of her sewing folio now.
“What are you singing?” Aurora asks, interrupting my focus.
“Oh.” I hadn’t even realized I’d begun to hum. “I’m not sure. It’s just something Grandma would always do when she worked on the cape.”
A slight smile curves her lips. “It is like a siren song.”
“I don’t think I’m luring sailors to their deaths anytime soon.” I grin in reply.
Aurora chuckles. “Sirens use songs to draw out their magic. They are often the music of the soul—which is in the tongueof the old gods that came before us all. A very ancient form of magic, that.”
“I didn’t learn any words of old gods, either.” I keep focused on my stitches. I’m nearly finished.
“That you know of.” Aurora leans back, resting her palms behind her. “To think, the mystery of unlocking human’s magic was merely to apply the right combination of all the others…”
I don’t respond, keeping focused on the design. It’s an eight-pointed star, each point in the cardinal directions a little longer than the other four points. I shift slightly, ensuring I am facing true north like the star it’s meant to represent.
Keep me on my course, I will into it,guide me. Ensure my thoughts are true and my heart is steadfast. Let none lead me astray from my true desires.
When I finish, I tie off the thread with a sturdy knot and cut it with the small blade in Grandma’s kit.My kit now, I suppose, I think somewhat sadly as I roll up the thread. I shake my head to try and shake the sorrow that clouds my mind. She wouldn’t want me to be sad, and this was mine to inherit, anyway.
“Did it not work?” Aurora straightens, looking over at my stitches.
