“We have an understanding with the frogs,” Dala was saying as she escorted Iris into her home, “they stay out of our way, and we stay out of theirs. It’s the only way we’ve found to maintain peace.”

“But I really was just trying to help them,” Iris complained, “some of them probably would have died without me.”

Dala shrugged, “all they saw was a witch meddling in their affairs.”

The home was quaint, but comfortable. A large circular rug stretched across much of the floor, encircled with well worn cushions arranged in a ring around a small bowl of cowl in the center. Various tapestries and banners hung from the walls, and a small chandelier with glow stone lights hung from the ceiling to wash the room in warm orange light. In the far corner was a simple wooden staircase that led to a loft, where Iris could glimpse a bed. There was a simple kitchen beneath the loft with a wood stove, where Dala moved to pour tea.

“How did you convince him to let me go?” Iris asked.

“You’re not the first trouble we’ve had with the frogs. Anna and Grey, in particular, get a bit too rambunctious from time to time. I offered our usual arrangement, which is a hefty payment of gold in exchange for forgiving transgressions.”

“The frogmen use gold?”

“There are few in this world who don’t value it. Though, who they trade it with, I have no idea.”

Iris looked at the floor to hide the guilt in her eyes, “I guess I owe you, then.”

“That’s not a concern. As I said, witches always help their own. Besides, it won’t be long before one of the frogs steps out of line and the same gold is given right back to us.”

“You keep saying that, but I’m not really even a witch.”

Dala turned to give Iris a critical look, “and you keep saying that, even though you have all the makings of one — other than being a threadbearer, that part is unusual for a witch, I’ll admit.”

“Really?” Iris asked as she accepted a cup of lukewarm tea from the witch, “then where you do you get your powers? Wait, you do have powers, right?”

Dala casually twirled her fingers in the air over Iris’s cup. The tea began to swirl, and steam soon began to rise from the cup, “most certainly. Take a seat, young one.”

Iris picked out a cushion on the floor and sat cross-legged. After pouring her own cup of tea, Dala soon joined her on the cushion directly opposite.

“Threads of Power are a shortcut to meddling with the the tapestry that is reality,” Dala paused to sip her tea, the cup gently clinking against her tusks, “they are not, however, a necessity. With the proper instruction, and enough practice, one can learn to pluck at the strands of that tapestry with only their fingertips.”

Iris glanced down at the steaming cup of tea in her hands, “that’s how you heated this tea, then? You just— plucked at reality?”

“If you boil away every drop of nuance, yes.”

A thought occurred to Iris, “how did you know I was a threadbearer?”

Dala laughed, “any witch worth her salt could sense the thread wrapped around you. You’re a walking disturbance of the tapestry, as is every threadbearer — like the loose thread of a coat that hangs on every splinter or hook.”

“Can you teach me to do what you do?”

Dala shook her head, “that would take years, and you seem to be in a hurry to move on. Tell about that, where is it you are going?”

“Fale Nalore, I guess. The Shining Blue, really. Me and my friends are kind of just along for the ride on the boat that brought us here.”

“Fale Nalore is at least a month’s travel on foot, it’s a good thing you found us.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Iris took a sip of her tea, hoping it would calm the growing dread in her gut. It tasted like honey and flours, and warmed her chest on the way down.

“I can travel faster than most,” Iris said after a pause and another sip, “but not fast enough to keep up with the Gaping Maw.”

Dala raised her brow, “you’re a pirate?”

“No!” Iris answered hurriedly, “I mean, not exactly. My friends and I just hitched a ride on the Gaping Maw in Giantrock City to save ourselves a trek across the continent. We’ve never actually done any piracy.”

“What do you know of the Shark Titan?” Dala’s voice was calculated and emotionless.

Iris thought for a moment, “not a lot. He’s friendly enough, I guess, he laughs a lot — but you never really get over the feeling that he might eat you.”

“Listen to me, Iris Orion,” Dala leaned forward, “that is a dangerous man. He is a terror on any land he touches. You would do well to find your friends and escape his ship before you learn this lesson for yourself.”

Iris was taken aback by the sudden warning, “he’s scary, but he doesn’t really seem that bad. He wasn’t a terror on Giantrock City, or Gellorn Keep.”

“Giantrock City is a den of thieves, murderers and usurpers, it’s no surprise he fits in there. As for Gellorn, not even he would be arrogant enough to pick a fight with the marble giants. Stick around him long enough and you will see how he treats those who are not kin nor stand above him.”

Iris wasn’t sure what to say, so she took another ship of her tea.

“Enough talk of the tyrant,” Dala said, “you come from Giantrock City, but know very little of these lands and their history. I take it you traveled there for the Grand Hunt?”

“Yes, sort of,” Iris nodded, “I didn’t actually mean to, though. I was teleported there from my home in the Emerald Empire by one of my powers, and I joined up with a party of adventurers to stay alive. Those are the friends I told you about.”

“I must be honest, Iris. You are not company I would normally keep.”

Iris looked up at Dala with concern.

“You participate in the invaders’ cruel rituals of murder, and sail with the tyrant shark. Under most circumstances, I would sooner levy a curse on your bloodline than offer you tea.”

The words were like knives to her heart. Though she had only just met this woman, the contrast of this welcoming coven to the harsh loneliness of the swamp had made her much quicker to grow attached than she otherwise would have been — not to mention, it was easy to imagine herself fitting in here. The idea of being a guest they regret inviting filled her with guilt and discomfort.

“Do— do you want me to leave?”

Dala took a sip of her tea before answering, “no, at least not yet. First, we will see what the bones have to say.”

“The bones?” It was Iris’s turn to raise her eyebrows in concern.

The witch placed her tea on the floor and reached into a pocket to withdraw a handful of knuckle bones, “hold out your hands.”

Iris sat aside her tea and did as she was told, leaning forward to take the bones into her cupped-together palms. As she leaned back, Dala twirled a hand to light the coals in the iron bowl between them.

“You’re familiar with mana control, I would imagine?” Dala asked.

“Yes,” Iris nodded.

“Imbue the bones with your mana, and then cast them into the fire.”

There were a dozen questions Iris could ask, but her presence here was already growing tenuous, and she thought it best not to push her luck. As it stood, finding a way back to her friends hinged on the help this coven may be able to offer. She did as instructed, and dropped the bones onto the coals.

The flames turned green as the fire abruptly doubled in size before slowly dying down as the flames shifted to purple, and then to white. When the fire returned to its previous size, Dala waved a hand and the flames extinguished as if blown out by a sudden wind. The bones rested atop the coals with black sigils now seared into them.

Dala leaned forward and silently observed the bones for some time before speaking, “your heart is pure, though your soul is naive.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“Your past has scars, and your future bears many more.”

Iris shifted uncomfortably.

“Your mother lost to time — yet tethered to your destiny.”

Iris’s eyes went wide at the mention of her mother, “what else do they say about her?”

Dala held up a hand as her eyes still scanned the bones, “a darkness clutches your soul and haunts your sleep, your life is the prize it seeks.”

Iris’s breath caught in her throat.

Dala blinked several times as she leaned back away from the coals as if waking from a momentary trance, “well, you are quite the interesting one.”

Iris’s heart was beating fast, “what was the point of that? How did you know those things?”

“The bones told me, and you told them,” Dala picked up her tea and took a sip, “and the purpose was to discern if you are truly worthy of our help.”

“Did they tell anything else about my mother?” Iris asked desperately.

Dala shook her head, “the bones know nothing that you do not already, in some respect, know for yourself. In any case, I am satisfied. The darkness on your soul is not your own, and you are not evil at heart — simply too young to have learned to be careful with your actions.”

Iris scoffed, “all this and you end up using more words to say what everyone else always says. I’m young and dumb, that’s all anyone thinks of me.”

“They think it because it is true,” Dala said flatly, “being naive is not shameful, we all once were. That is, unfortunately, a lesson that only comes with wisdom.”

Iris sighed and slumped her shoulders, “I feel like you’re spinning me in circles. Will you help me or not?”

“We will. Or, more truthfully, we will help you help yourself.”

“How?”

Dala smiled, “by teaching you how to fly.”