She kept her face neutral, as she was still not entirely sure what he was getting at. Spelled objects were so rare that they were almost considered a thing of children’s tales. But the penalty for using one was imprisonment. “Isn’t that what the Council is doing, though—why they’ve confiscated all the magical objects?”
“Well...” His face was serious, but his eyes were begging her to understand. “Just between you and I, they really have not given us anything to work with. Even the advisor they sent has not been hopeful about their findings. I’m not taking this defense lightly.”
She believed him. The reign of the Majis had been brutal. At that time, the non-magical had been forced to live as slaves, with neither freedom nor the ability to accumulate wealth. She had grown up hearing tales of the original quotidian heroes who rose up against the power of their overlords and freed the entire continent, splitting it into the five kingdoms: Allys on the northern shores, Falqri to the South, Iseldis in the East, Etrar to the West, and Chendas in the center, uniting them all. On the east coast of the continent, Iseldis was closest to the Isle of Exile. As a child, Ashlin had lain awake at night, wondering if the powerful Majis had found a way to break free from their non-magical containment and come back early to demand retribution. Her father would wrap her in a tight hug and tell her whimsical stories of children who could wield magic but used it to create toys and clever tools that would get them out of their chores. She would fall asleep, safe in his arms, dreaming of a kind of beautiful magic that didn’t exist.
“We truly havenothingto defend ourselves with against their magic?” She could not keep the disbelief from her voice. The Council had had two hundred and fifty years to research the magic behind the spelled items and the source of power for the Majis. Surely they had found something.
Onric nodded. “Nothing worth noting. They say they have created a series of defense spells that can be used by a specially trained quotidian and that they will send them to us at next season’s session, but will we have enough time to implement them? Some are afraid that the Majis have been returning for some time, disguising themselves as non-magic users but prepared to take us down from the inside when the time comes.”
For a moment, Ashlin’s fears from her childhood surfaced. She had been terrified when she had learned that the Return would take place during her lifetime, but once again her father had eased her worries, saying that he himself was not worried about it and that they should trust the Council to properly prepare for the reintegration. But he had been wrong. The Council had not prepared. They would be attacked and slaughtered, made to pay the price for a few generations of freedom.
Suddenly, her own problems felt very small in comparison. “Let’s hope this maybe-tapestry has some clues for us, then.”
Onric smiled at her, looking relieved. He probably felt better for having shared his worries and secrets. No wonder he wanted to be a hero. He was obviously trying to be a hero for Iseldis by finding a way to protect them all.
They went to the back chest, and Ashlin carefully removed the canvas she had placed over it. The prince went to the other side of the chest and buried his hands in the rolls of fabric. Together, they slowly lifted the large pile out of the chest.
“Gently, gently,” she couldn’t help whispering as they lowered it to the ground.
It was, indeed, a tapestry. The bundle of fabric was rolled into a massive scroll that was several hand-lengths tall. Placing it against one corner of the room, they carefully unrolled it a few turns. It was stunningly beautiful and seemingly untouched by time.
Ashlin sank to her knees to study the first panel. A brilliant sky-blue background was framed by a thick border of leaves and flowers. The actual image depicted multiple figures on different types of terrain. Each figure wielded a different type of tool, and the areas of terrain closest to the figures contained more vegetation. The whole image was filled with blues and greens, with occasional splashes of red, yellow, and purple. It was breathtaking.
Onric paced around it. “Are they gardeners?”
“I don’t know. That seems like the obvious answer.” Ashlin reached out to gently touch the stitching on one of the figures. “I don’t recognize any of the tools they are using. I can’t imagine that shovels and plows have changed that significantly.”
“Let’s unroll the next panel.”
“Wait, I’m not done looking at this one yet.” She was trying to understand how the stitches had been constructed. Many of them were simple, especially the thin, dark outlines. But some of the solid crosshatching and textures were incredibly intricate. When she moved her head, the light played off the textures in different ways, making it seem as though each object were real and could be lifted off the fabric.
She lifted the edge of the tapestry to inspect the back of it. Even the reverse was stunning. This was truly created by master artisans. The embroidery was anchored with tiny interlocking stitches on the back side so that there were no knots or lumps to disrupt the shape of the fabric from the front. She realized she could probably learn more about sewing from studying the back of this piece of art and deconstructing what the masters had put together.
The prince had stopped moving and was standing beside her, waiting for her to finish.
“Alright, let’s keep unrolling.” She stood. “Carefully, though—we don’t know if the whole thing is in as good a condition as this first section.”
He had already stepped around to the back side of the roll. “Absolutely. We will take it slowly.”
She helped him unroll the tapestry to show the next panel. It was the same size as the first, about twice as long as it was tall. And again, it was edged in a border. This time, the border was brown and filled with brambles. The image itself depicted much smaller figures, which were spread throughout the space. These were using regular gardening tools, but the land around them was fairly desolate. Mostly brown and gray. A thin line of blue seemed to denote the ocean on the horizon.
“You’re right.” Onric dropped to his knees on the other side of the unrolled strip. “This panel has been damaged.” He pointed to a few areas near the edge where the base fabric had torn, disrupting the stitches.
“I could possibly patch that,” Ashlin said. “It might take some practice to emulate the stitching pattern, but since the damage is around the edge it would not be too noticeable. Especially if we found the right color of thread.”
“That should not be a problem. I can make sure you have access to the best thread and filaments.”
“You might need to have a tanner dye some specially to match. These colors are surprisingly vibrant.”
“How old do you think it is?”
“I was hoping you would know.” She looked up at him.
“Maybe some of the scenes further in will show what king or historical event inspired it.”
They began to unroll another section. She gasped. The next panel was almost completely destroyed. It was full of a tangle of threads, but the stitches had been broken, and the base fabric was full of holes.
“It looks like a rodent’s breakfast,” Onric said.
