“Well, the good news is that our little detour actually put us ahead of schedule.”

Emmet looked up to Sophia, who seemed to have spoken out of nowhere. “How do you know that?” He asked, looking around to see no real identifying markers. It had only been a half an hour since they had left the farmstead, and it still wasn’t totally clear when they would reach another town, let alone their destination of Bradson’s Peak.

“I’ve been around this area quite a bit, recently.” She replied. “I was actually on my way back to the monastery when I was sent back to retrieve you.”

“And what exactly were you doing?” Emmet asked, attempting to hide the worry in his voice as he pictured Sophia on some covert mission to murder somebody who might have crossed her superiors. But she just gave him that playful smirk.

“That is a secret, I’m afraid. But I assure you that whatever you have in mind, it is nowhere near as exciting as reality.”

Emmet wasn’t sure if he believed her. After seeing her strike a bear with lightning from her palm and heal a wound that would have left anyone crippled, he couldn’t imagine someone with her skills would be doing anything mundane.

“Well, what about me? What am I going to be doing?” He asked. It was an issue that had been on Emmet’s mind for some time. He was putting himself at the mercy of this woman and whatever group she was a part of, and yet he had no idea what their intentions were for him.

“Well, when you first arrive, you are going to be given a room, some fresh clothes, and a day or two to rest from the journey before you get to work and begin formal training. You're lucky we aren’t making this journey in the winter, otherwise you might need the extra time to recover.”

“Is the route dangerous?” Emmet asked.

“No more dangerous than our journey so far, at least at this time of year. So as long as you don’t go poking your head in any caves, we should be fine.”

“Hey! I wasn’t the one that was looking around for bears.” Emmet snapped. “And what else? This is a monastery, so you aren’t going to make me shave my head, are you?”

Sophia laughed at his concern, amused by his naivety.

“No, no. Not at all. Esphell hasn’t housed monks for almost a century now, but the name stuck around.”

That came as a relief to Emmet. He had to shave his head when he was younger after he had gotten a bout of lice and it was not a look he was hoping to have again.

“So what does your group call themselves?”

Sophia smiled, but kept her gaze directly ahead as the two continued walking down the path.

“I think’s fair to say it would be our group. You’re a weaver, aren’t you”

Emmet felt conflicted. On the one hand, she was right about him being a weaver. And the way that others have treated him so far would make a group of weavers banding together seem like a good idea. While on the other, he didn’t know anything about this group or what they stood for. He didn’t even know what to call them.

“Ok, well, what do we call our group.” He said, hardly sounding confident in his acceptance.

“We are called Magi. It’s a bit of an outdated name… but it is ours.”

“Outdated?” Emmet asked.

“Remember how I told you that magic and weaving are two different things?” Sophia asked.

“Yes, but you never really explained how.”

“Well, magic is a superstition. People would confuse weavers for demigods or beings of limitless power, when the reality is that weaving is an art form that takes years of discipline and training to master. No doubt you’ve heard stories of witches that can turn men into pigs, or wizards that can rain fire from the sky and turn entire armies to ash?”

“Yeah, everyone has.” Emmet replied.

“Exaggerations.” Sophia replied. “If someone can change a person into another creature, it would be a feat studied for centuries to try and replicate. And anything greater than a burst of fire is going to take more than one weaver to create. At first, we went with the name Magi as it came from magic, but people always correlated magic with all powerful beings or some other superstitious origin. Well, we eventually got sick of the high expectations of others, and started calling magic weaving. It seemed easier than trying to get people to believe the reality of our abilities.”

“But why not have people think you can do anything with weaving?” Emmet asked. “I mean, it sounds like it would be better for you if someone was afraid you could turn them into a toad with the wave of your hand.”

Sophia laughed in reply. “Oh, you would think. But when the old kings started asking us to end droughts and cure plagues, or when aspiring heroes wanted to challenge us for glory, we decided it wasn’t worth the hassle anymore.”

“So, what exactly do magi do all day?” Emmet asked. “I mean, anything that wouldn’t be a secret, anyway.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“Well, most days we study. We practice weaving and try to pioneer new techniques for weaving spells.”

Emmet couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. It just sounded like endless, tedious tasks that they do for the rest of their lives.

“Of course the most skilled out of us will often be called on for various tasks.” She said, giving Emmet a mischievous grin. “I get the feeling you are someone who would rather work more with your hands, and not sit in a library all day, am I right?”

Emmet nodded. “Yeah, I think I would much rather get out than stay cooped up in an old monastery.” He said.

“Then you will need to work hard.” Sophia replied. “Study hard, commit yourself to being the best weaver you can be, because the sad reality is that most of the new blood we bring spends the good part of a decade doing legwork around the monastery before they get to go out on their own.”

Emmet suddenly had a mental image of himself sweeping floors and organizing books for at least a decade, his free time spent studying and trying to “feel the rock”. Just the thought of it was enough to make his chest tight.

“So what do I get to do if I can leave the monastery?” He asked.

Sophia smiled once again. “You’ll get to find that out when you are ready.” Was all she said.

----------------------------------------

Around noon that day, a thought occurred to Emmet. He was officially farther from home than he had been in his entire life. An intense feeling of homesickness washed over him, and he felt hollow. He had been so caught up in the roaring ocean that had been the last week and a half, that he had hardly taken a moment to think of how his family might be faring. Lord Forcetti said he would look after them, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough to heal the hole they must be feeling. Was his father still tending to the horses? What about his mother? Emmet couldn’t help but picture her staring over his empty bed, untouched since that fateful night. His body wanted to match how his heart felt, and he felt like he was going to vomit right there outside the gates of Dalli. Sophia was speaking with two of the local guard at the moment, and one of them looked over to Emmet.

“He looks sick.” He said plainly.

Sophia whipped around, confused by Emmet’s sudden change. “He was just fine a moment ago, I’m sure he just needs some water and a bit of rest and–“

The guard raised his hand, interrupting her. “No entry. Wait until he gets better, then come back.”

“Sir I promise, he is fine. Right, Emmet?”

Emmet snapped out of his thoughts and looked between the two guards, eying him like he were a pest that they were itching to be rid of. These were not the local guards he was used to. He had known guards to wear gambesons and other worn down equipment. But these men looked more like soldiers, with well kept armor and weapons that looked freshly sharpened.

“What? Oh! Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit tired, and my mind was miles away.”

The two guards didn’t seem to buy it. They gripped their pole axes tight as they rested them in the ground, prepared to brandish them if necessary. One opened his mouth to speak, before Sophia whipped out a small, jingling sack. The guard took it, looked between the two, and stashed it away before nodding his head.

“Go on in, then.” He said, keeping a close eye on Emmet as he and Sophia entered the gates of the city.

Emmet had never been to Dalli, or even thought of it outside of using it as a source of direction when picturing the map of Sidia in his head. He knew that it was a central hub for the republic’s armies, but he had never expected something like this. Where Elksbrooke’s buildings were all built from wood and made for comfort, the buildings of Dalli were all made of stone brick, with iron bars protecting the windows. At the center of the city, a walled citadel loomed overhead, and Emmet could just barely make out the shapes of the sentries that patrolled walls.

The entire place put him on edge, reminding him of the dungeon back at Elksbrooke…

The moment Sophia could, she ushered Emmet into a dead end street, crossing her arms and looking sternly at him.

“Are you sick? Be honest.” She asked.

“No, I’m sorry, I was just–“

“Emmet,” she interrupted. “I just had to use the last of my money to bribe that guard into letting us in, so that we weren’t sleeping outside the walls for the better part of a week. Or gods forbid they put us in quarantine!” She scolded.

Emmet couldn’t help but feel guilty for this. They might have been in the city now, but how were they going to pay for food? Or a place to sleep?

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking…” he hesitated before going on. “Thinking of my family.” He said, starting to choke up. Sophia’s stern glare softened, and she let out a sigh.

“Emmet, I know what you are feeling, most of us had to feel something similar. But I promise you, things are going to be ok. Lord Forcetti told me himself that he was going to look after them.”

“That doesn’t exactly change the fact that they think I’m dead. I just feel so… so guilty.” He said, spilling out his thoughts. “I could go back and let them know I’m alive, I could–“

“Emmet.” Sophia said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “How about this: we worry about our problems right now, and then we can talk all you want afterwards. Ok?”

Emmet nodded. She was right, they needed money. At least enough for tonight, and they weren’t going to find any just sitting around.

“So, what should we do?” He asked.

Sophia stepped away, looking down the street where people were going about their business for the day. Shoppers haggling, people running to craftsmen, soldiers going on patrol.

“I have some business I need to attend to, so I am going to leave this one in your hands.” She said.

“What?” Emmet replied. “This whole city is a fortress, don’t you have any other magi nearby that could offer us some money? Or a place to stay the night?”

Sophia shook her head. “Afraid not.”

“Well then, who are you going to see?”

“An old friend, he owes me a favor that I am going to collect on.”

“And I’m going to guess that favor isn’t a room for the night?” Emmet asked, dryly.

“Trust me, even if he had one to offer, you wouldn’t want to stay in it. Besides, this is something more important than a room for the night.”

Emmet began to speak in protest, but felt it was no use.

“Alright, I’ll go try to find some work for the day.” He relented, to which Sophia nodded.

“Very well. There is an inn not too far from the gate we entered, has a big sign out front with ivy growing on it, you can’t miss it. I’ll meet you there at sunset.” She said, turning to leave before Emmet had time to reply. He rushed ahead to follow her, but she had vanished from sight. No flash of red in the crowd of people. Emmet let out a sigh, looking at the city streets before him. He had worked with horses his whole life, why wouldn’t the stable outside the gate take him? Or maybe there was one in the citadel? And even then, certainly someone had some grunt work or manual labor that needed to be done.

“How hard can it be to find work?” He asked himself out loud.