Page 58 of Blood Weaver
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While we waited for Ronan to leave camp on his way to Lomewood to acquire my wine, Henry was in my tent sharing the latest information.
“I haven’t been able to learn anything from Ronan or Silas, but I’ve heard whispers around the camp about something else,” Henry whispered as he sat beside me on the edge of the cot. I nodded for him to continue. “Supposedly, there’s a prophecy from the Grasslands that has to do with …” He twisted his mouth to the side and scratched his head.
“With what?” I pushed.
“I’ve never heard of this before, so I don’t know if I heard correctly, Miss Leila, but they mentioned something about a blood weaver … The firstfemaleblood weaver.”
I froze.
A blood weaver? What was that? Was it the same as a blood mage? If it was, the prophecy could refer to me, as I was the first female blood mage in the only family of blood mages. My family line had only produced males, which was great for continuing the blood line, but then I came along. Besides being a girl,something else that set me apart from my male counterparts was the healing properties of my blood.
“Are you sure that’s what you heard?” I asked, just to make sure.
Henry nodded. “Yes … I think so,” he mumbled.
I didn’t doubt him. If anything, my persistent questioning was making him doubt himself. I wrapped an arm around him. “Thank you, Henry.”
“Of course, Miss Leila. I wish I’d learned something more.”
I smiled down at him. “You’ve done more than enough, Henry. Way more than I should be asking of you.”
Someone cleared their throat outside the tent before they spoke. “It’s Silas.”
“Come in!” I called out.
Silas entered the tent and his crimson eyes landed on Henry immediately.
“He won’t tell Ronan,” I said quickly. “Not unless it brings him harm.”
Silas nodded. “Very well. The witch doctor is outside, so whenever you’re ready.”
I squeezed the young boy’s arm. “Henry? Would you mind waiting outside with Silas?”
He frowned. “Miss Leila, are you sure? I’ve heard those witch doctors from the Grasslands are quacks.”
I snorted and tried to hold in my laugh and ignore Silas’s glare. “I’ve heard that too, Henry, but don’t worry. I know how to take care of myself. And if anything goes wrong, find Ronan.” I looked up at Silas, a silent warning in case he had any malicious thoughts toward me.
Henry twiddled his fingers and looked down at his sandaled feet before nodding. “Okay …” But he sounded far from convinced.
“Go on, now.” I slightly pushed him toward Silas.
The two exited the tent. Less than a minute later, the enigmatic presence of the witch doctor entered. She was garbed in clothes that seemed woven from the fabrics of various realms, an intricate interplay of colors and patterns that danced in harmony with every movement. Her skin, a canvas of artistry, was adorned with intricate tattoos. Every line and curve bore testament to ancient incantations, each etching a silent hymn of power that echoed the chants of her ancestors. They crawled gracefully up her arms, encased her neck, and sprawled across her chest, emanating an aura of sacred potency.
Her eyes were crimson, deep as blood, bestowing upon her a gaze that seemed to peer into the soul. A necklace of bones, beads, and amulets graced her neck, each piece a repository of energies and a guardian of sacred powers.
“I am Amina,” she introduced herself. Her voice was eerie and uncanny, and held the sound of much wisdom.
I regarded her with a mix of apprehension and fascination. “Hello, Amina, I am—”
“I know who you are, Leila of the Central Plains.”
“Then I’ll get to the point.” I stood and approached. “I need your help. I need to contact someone who is deceased.”
She furrowed her brows. “Not many from the Central Plains, or any of the surrounding nations, believe in our abilities. Why do you?”
I sighed. “Honestly? I don’t. But I’m sort of desperate and willing to try anything.”
