Page 76 of Wizards & Weavers
Mother Magda shook her head.
“The council will not be swayed. Not now, and it seems, not ever. The burrowfolk, you’ll find, are very set in our ways. It’s in the name, after all. We dig deep. We set down roots. We stay there. And the council has decided. The Underborough is our home, and home is where the burrowfolk shall stay.”
Augustin pinched the bridge of his nose, that same uncharacteristic darkness taking over his features. “They don’t understand how very serious this is. There’s no telling how powerful a blast the cube might emit the next time it discharges its energies.”
“They brought up how our people weathered the last one,” Mother Magda said, shaking her head sadly. “And they insist that we shall weather the next.”
Warren rubbed his arms. “Even now the cube’s influence reaches out with its freezing touch. Do you feel it? Is it just me?”
At first Braiden had considered that it might have been a residual chill, something from the deeper passages that clung to the bones. But he looked to the others, finding them nodding in agreement. He cupped his hands and blew into his palms, alarmed to find that he could see his own breath.
“Then we have no choice,” Augustin said. “I will hurry back to Weathervale and convince my grandmother to disable the cube with me. The wind magic runs in our blood. Draining the cube’s power alone would kill me, but perhaps with two of us, it might work.”
Elyssandra folded her arms. “In the meantime, would your people know to keep warm in colder weather? Warren told us that you see no winters here. I fear the worst for the burrowfolk.”
“It is unheard of. The goddess Nibura blessed us with a perpetual summer. We are ill prepared. Even the previous blast’s effects were so fleeting, the cold fading after only a day.”
The chief glanced over her shoulder, off to the workshop and grotto in the back of the great tree.
“I suppose I could instruct my sisters to focus on producing thicker garments. But to craft enough to clothe our entire village? We would be half dead from the cold by then.”
Her eyes fell upon Braiden’s sweater. He stuck his arms out and glanced down at himself, plush, thick sweater sleeves and all. A shiver of excitement ran up his spine.
“The storage room,” he muttered. “All those sweaters. Finally.”
“What?” Augustin asked, pressing the back of his hand against Braiden’s brow. “Are you quite all right? You’re rambling, Braiden.”
“I’ll come with you,” Braiden said, taking Augustin’s hand in his. “To the surface, I mean. I have an entire storage room of sweaters and scarves just sitting there. If we find enough free hands to help us, we can come back in time with warm clothing for the village.”
Mother Magda clasped her hands and smiled. “I knew there was a reason you came to us.”
Braiden reached for her hand. “Dozens upon dozens of them, Mother Magda, and I made them all with my Granny Bethilda. Remember what you said? Stories and spells, from grandmother to grandmother. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
“I’ll come with you,” Elyssandra said, hands balled into fists. “You’ll need all the spare hands you can get. Maybe we can convince some adventurers to help us, too.”
“I don’t think I’m wanted on the surface.” Bones wrung his bony fingers together, the only part of his body that wasn’tconcealed by his borrowed cloak. “Oh, no. I gave myself away! Spare me, oh great and powerful chief! Bones is only bones!”
Mother Magda chuckled. “I live underground, my dear. I’ve met my fair share of the undead. But best to keep you cloaked all the same. Not all the burrowfolk are as welcoming of those from the outside world, as you’ve seen for yourselves.”
Warren steepled his fingers, staring hard at nothing before he spoke. “Perhaps Bones can help us in a different way, Grandmother. He’s proof of what happens to a civilization when the threat of an elemental cube isn’t taken seriously.”
The skeleton thrust his waist out proudly, fists on his hips. “That I am. Dead as dead can be, murdered by a thingamajig.”
“You have a point,” Mother Magda agreed. “I am hesitant to re-enter the council chamber again so soon — I do tire of all the bickering — but you may help sway the fools who sit at the wicker table. With your permission, my undead friend?”
A chance to bask in attention and glory? As if Bones would turn that down. The three disappeared into the great tree, and Braiden knew it was time for him and his own party of three to ascend to the surface.
“I’ve only ever used this spell in times of direst need,” Augustin said, his forehead creasing with concentration as his fingers traced an intricate pattern. “It takes too much out of me. You’ll forgive me for withholding its power, I hope.”
He pressed his wrists together and blew down the length of his arms. The wizard’s breath rushed around their feet, wreathing Braiden and Elyssandra’s shoes in faint clouds of swirling vapor. Braiden picked up one foot to test it, then the other, stamping his soles against the veranda floor.
“I hate to be so banal about it, but my feet genuinely feel lighter than air.”
Elyssandra spun in place. “We’ve walked a long way from the cube and the frozen cavern, but my legs suddenly feel so refreshed.”
“It’s a fleetfoot spell, meant to quicken our movement.” Augustin kneaded his forehead with his thumb. “As I said, I try to save it for matters of great import. Casting it on the three of us is taxing enough. If I’d used it on all five of us at full strength — good gracious. You might have to carry me out of here.”
Braiden clasped him by the shoulder. “Your talents brought us this far, Augustin. We’ll make it to the surface and back in good time.”
