Page 49 of Wizards & Weavers
Braiden raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment. He’d mentioned the possibility of exodus to Warren, but it wasn’t his place to tell these people what to do with their lives. This was their home, after all.
“Our people have lived here for generations,” Mother Magda continued. “Our ancestors saw the growing unkindness of the world above — humans killing their own, forging stronger and sharper weapons with every passing year. It was why the Underborough was formed.”
Elyssandra shifted from one foot to the other. Braiden knew she was thinking of her own people, how they similarly vanished from Aidun. This was much the same story, all thanks to humankind.
“We are accustomed to life underground. Even here we grow food aplenty, lead lives untouched by danger. We receded to the world beneath the soil to seek safety, and now it seems that a new danger threatens to rise from deeper beneath. Where are my people meant to go?”
The council of elders murmured among themselves, throwing unfriendly glances at Warren and his unwelcome guests. Braiden was right to hold his tongue. Leaving the Underborough wasn’t an option.
Mother Magda held up her hand. The chamber went quiet.
“As you can see for yourselves, my council deems it fit for our people to seek even further seclusion. Build inward, build up our defenses. We burrowfolk excel at hiding and keeping out of the way, you see. But delving deeper in the earth to find the source of the trouble, fighting the rockwalkers head on? The idea of risking harm to our scouts fills me with dread.”
The clack of wood against wood rang through the chamber as Warren struck his staff on the floor, his face grim with resolve. “I’ve asked for your permission to see for myself, Grandmother. Time and again. Out of respect, I have resisted the temptation to defy you and dig deeper.”
Mother Magda shook her head. “You would so willingly risk your own death for our people, Warren? It’s never quite that simple.”
The fur on Warren’s shoulders seemed to bristle as he stepped forward, slamming the tip of his staff on the ground again. Before he could speak, the council burst into outrage. Braiden watched in uncomfortable silence. Well and good that the burrowfolk adhered to tradition, the respect of elders and all that. But this was a question of their survival. Didn’t Warren have a point?
“Silence,” Mother Magda said, the single word cutting through the chatter of the chamber. “Very well, Warren. As if it wasn’t clear to me before why you’d thought to bring these adventurers straight to the council.”
The chief folded her hands on the table and leaned forward. Though she kept her features carefully straightened, Braiden thought he caught a glimmer of something in her eye.
“What say you, new friends of the burrowfolk? We share the same concerns. As willful as he is, I trust my grandson and his own strange brand of juvenile wisdom. Will you let him accompany you and serve as the eyes and ears of the burrowfolk down in the deep?”
The thrill humming through Warren’s body was almost palpable. Braiden truly believed he felt a tingle of something electric in the air.
“Of course,” Elyssandra answered. “It would be our pleasure to welcome another skilled warrior to our party.”
“The more, the merrier,” Braiden blurted out.
Augustin Arcosa beamed his approval, and that was enough for the Grandest Mother. Like Mother Magda had done only moments ago, Warren kept his features deathly serious, straining to contain his excitement. His ears betrayed him, wavering over his head like triumphant banners.
Braiden couldn’t help smiling. He should have sniffed it out from the start. Here was another pincushion tomato longing to see the world outside.
Warren had the presence of mind to turn away from the council before pumping his fist, but it didn’t matter. Braiden could tell that Mother Magda was just as happy for her grandson — no smile on her face, but there was no mistaking the twitch of her ears.
At least this grandmother had a sweeter flavor, nowhere nearly as manipulative as Elder Orora. Still, Braiden tried not to seethe with too much jealousy. He thought it a little unjust that his friends should have such liberal access to their grandmothers, no matter how they demonstrated their love.
Preparing to leave the chamber, Braiden was surprised to find Mother Magda already at his side. He threw Warren a pleading look as she separated him from his friends, but Warren only turned his hands up and shrugged. Magda linked elbowswith Braiden, then stroked the sleeve of his sweater with a single furry paw.
“This really is impeccable workmanship. And the feel of those fibers, too. Tell me, young round-ears. You didn’t actually kill some soft, pliant creature so you could wear its hide, did you?”
Braiden stammered. “Not at all. This wool is shorn from othergoats in the summertime. It grows so thick that the heat can be stifling for their species, perhaps even fatally so. I purchased the wool, then spun and knitted this sweater myself.”
“You made this yourself? A craftsman. A weaver.” Mother Magda’s eyes lit up, her silvery whiskers quivering with interest. “Come with me, Braiden. There is something I would like to show you.”
He didn’t have much of a choice, locked in her grip, but he didn’t very much mind, either. This close, Braiden could smell a delightful fragrance emanating from Mother Magda. It reminded him of crushed herbs and spices. He couldn’t name any of those underground plants for the life of him, and yet the smell transported him to a familiar place, like this was somewhere he could belong.
Wherever their adventures might lead them, Braiden hoped he would be granted the opportunity to visit the Underborough again in the future. Maybe Warren wouldn’t mind very much if Braiden borrowed his grandmother for a spell.
She guided him to another part of the building. The wooden walls looked the same as in the rest of the chambers, but the entrance ahead had no doors, only a patterned tapestry.
“Right through here,” Mother Magda said, parting the hanging tapestry with a brush of her arm.
Braiden held his breath. Bundles of reeds and switches lined the walls, the room filled by basketweaving burrowfolk women,all of them as silver-haired as the elder. Braiden thought he might burst into tears.
Not only was he about to witness the weaving arts of the burrowfolk. He had the rare privilege of receiving that knowledge from a roomful of grandmothers, too.
