Again the frame sprouted from its rear end, lifting into the air and transforming the device into something more closely resembling a functioning loom.
Braiden strummed his fingers along the notched strings, surprised to find a length of golden thread following where his fingers swept. He hadn’t conjured that himself. It must have been part of the Heirloom’s magic.
He wove the thread the way he’d done countless times before, over and under, warp against weft, slowly forming a piece of fabric. He’d hardly begun when slender ribbons in all the glowing colors of the rainbow emanated from the Heirloom. He watched in wide-eyed fascination as the ribbons, gleaminglike silk yet somehow lighter than gauze, drifted along in the breeze.
Braiden furrowed his brow and looked back down at the Heirloom. Over and under, back and forth, he worked on forming a greater sheet of cloth. This time, a great, gleaming bolt of golden silk unfurled from the Heirloom, like a castle pennant, like the sail of a ship.
A soft breeze rushed with comforting warmth from Braiden’s back, lifting the golden cloth and taking it off into the air, where it swirled and fluttered, alternately taking the shape of a golden bird, a great leaf, and a butterfly.
He restrained a laugh and turned over his shoulder, knowing that the wind in the burning meadow couldn’t have picked up quite so suddenly. True to his expectations, Augustin was already standing behind him, bleary eyed, wearing a dreamy smile.
“I hope you don’t mind, weaver,” he said, softly enough not to wake the sleeping elder. “I thought you might enjoy another demonstration of our combined magics.”
Braiden patted the smoldering grass beside him. Augustin sat down, unperturbed by the cinders, knowing that they couldn’t burn through the seat of his precious trousers.
“It’s quite amazing what you and I can accomplish together,” Braiden said, suddenly unsure if he actually meant the words.
“Something is troubling you, weaver,” Augustin said, a hand resting on his thigh.
“It’s nothing,” Braiden said, lying through his teeth.
He shook his head with a sudden spurt of internal anger. Why couldn’t he be honest with himself? And why couldn’t he be honest with Augustin, of all people?
“Fine. I’m just worried, is all. It feels like so much pressure coming here, thinking one thing about the demons and discovering a whole other side of the story.”
Augustin leaned back, planting his hands in the grass, gazing up at the canopy of the obsidian forest.
“I admit, I too had my own prejudices about the infernal legions, but it’s one thing I’ve learned in all my travels — to keep an open mind and an open heart. And that’s all that you’ve done, Braiden. What more could be asked of you?”
“I don’t know,” Braiden said, resting the Heirloom in the grass, the loom’s structure fading away as it left his touch. “It’s just that I didn’t come here expecting to finish my grandmother’s story. I didn’t even know therewasa story to begin with.”
Augustin frowned, fixing Braiden with a sideward glance. “But what is it that you’re really worried about?”
“It’s not knowing what to do next,” Braiden said. “It’s being unsure of whether I even have the magic it takes to open this portal. That’s so far out of my repertoire, it’s laughable.”
Augustin shrugged with an almost infuriating nonchalance. “And we’ll figure it out together, the same way we’ve done with everything else. Haven’t you noticed by now, weaver? Considering you’re someone who’s worked so much with patterns, there’s also a pattern to how we’ve confronted all of our challenges so far.”
Braiden thought back through their adventures. A giant frost elemental. A frozen cube. Malicious windwalkers.
“All we’ve ever done is improvise,” Augustin continued. “And it’s just as you said. We’ve accomplished so much together. You have me — and all the rest of our friends — to help you.”
Augustin reached out his hand, offering it to Braiden.
“Let us help you.”
Braiden smiled and accepted his hand, warmer than all the cinders of the burning meadow. He smiled, feeling at least a little better about everything. Not confident, no — not entirely. But at least some of the weight had been lifted from his heart.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
The party,now over two dozen strong, broke camp early the next morning. Breaking camp in these terms meant casually distributing what was left of last night’s festivities as rations, tidying up the cottage as best as they could, then leaving it empty to return it to the size of a hairpin.
The actual camp-breaking involved Valefour, Ophidia, and Newt taking down their tents and leading the way forward and downward, on to the ruined portal.
Braiden turned over his shoulder, giving the burning meadow a last longing glance before he followed the demons deeper into the foliage far across from the obsidian forest.
Here the plants more closely resembled those that were found above ground, except for the somewhat unsettling little differences. Bare branches resembled the gnarled talons of a bird of prey a little too closely. The fruits on these trees seemed to pulsate as they passed.
