Wind howled that night, coming into the room in a flurry and stirring about whatever it could. It cried out with a rage that only the weather was capable of. It warned of the coming ice-storms. She could feel chaos in the air, the energy prickled her skin like cold rain. A huge storm was brewing, collecting within itself immense amounts of chaos. If the world usually buzzed with primordial chaos now there was more. More than the natural way of things dictated. Way more than she could handle. It turned her stomach, brewing and collecting inside just like the storm. It was a bad sign.
It filled her with a red-hot heat that flushed through her body. The storms would be worse this time around, she could tell from how the early weather had already started to affect her.
The Pages of an open book she had been reading fluttered like wings of a bird. The linen curtains danced and so did the lanterns flame, throwing shadows into a frenzy. The wind sent the room into disarray before promptly disappearing for a moment of tranquility until another wave hit. Once more filling the room with chaos.
The room had already been in a state comparable to that of a battlefield. It raged with a silent and constant war between turmoil and cleanliness. And it was clear that one side was winning. Books were scattered on all surfaces, at times finding themselves under her step. The bed stood unmade, even though she would argue that it was at least half-made. Winter furs thrown over messily hiding the bedding beneath. Her shoes had found themselves in the same state as they had come off her feet. One falling against the other. The leather was worn and cracked. They were her only pair, and getting new ones would be a quest to the nearest town.
Once she had a whole wardrobe filled with whatever she had hoped for and a room much finer than now, with maidwomens and servants. Scanning the one room wooden hut she sighed, there was no use in remembering the past. This was her life now and she had been lucky enough to keep it. No- luck wasn’t what had helped her their sacrifices were. The least she could do was keep living.
A cape hung on a chair, half its body resting on the floor, which, if inspected, was blanketed with a layer of dust. The season of ice was coming, and although she had gotten used to living on her own and taking care of herself during these years, The life of aristocracy was so far in the past she could barely remember it. There had been no time to rest or much less clean. She had been busy setting up protection for the village. Even from here, she could feel waves of familiar weaving coming from the wardings around the woods. Would her warding work this year?
It had been her third year in this village. In previous years, with the help of the younger and stronger villagers, they had been able to avoid the loss of life. The wardings kept the Efrya from wandering into the village, and if one ever did, they usually could deal with it. To such a small village, each person’s importance was tenfold. Lose one person and harvest might suffer, lose a trained individual, and even more death would follow. Because the church did not bother with such insignificant places, they had to take protection into their own hands. Which also made her one of the most important assets here. The villagers were more than grateful. They did not ask questions. They did not care who she was or where she came from. As long as she kept doing her part. Maybe this time, she could find peace? Peace, the word seemed almost foreign, only associated with childhood memories, now so distant she could barely remember their faces. It was the worst punishment of all. Their blurred faces in her childhood memories. Fragments left behind. The memories of those important had long started to fade into whispers of what once was, like smeared paintings, blurred letters, and distant tales. So far gone, they could be false. Sometimes, she even wondered if those memories had even been hers.
The distance and irrelevance of this village was what bought her here it was far enough from the capital and the church that they would never bother. Far enough from the rumors, far enough that her family’s legacy did not follow her here, and neither did their deaths. Only in those moments of quiet when she could almost hear their voices haunting her. She was so far away that the air seemed unfamiliar to her. So far, yet still too close. Too close to others, too close to those she could hurt. This time, she tried to keep her distance from the others. Taking domain in the old hunter’s cabin on the outskirts of the woods. Far enough that few made their way to her unless a dire situation was at hand.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Long retired from reading her book she now stood near the open window, looking into the dark woods, the night felt off moreso than usual. It had not only been this night. The whole season leading up to the snows had been strange. Different. There had been more and more Efryas gathering. Ones she had not seen before, so taking to her books, she tried to find out more. Another oddity which the villagers did not question. Books were scarce and expensive, not something the average person could afford but to them she was a chaos weaver. A mysterious entity who could use nature’s energy to perform miracles. They had probably only heard stories of weavers. Maybe to them, weaving came with the books. A weaver had to be well taught. Well read, how else could they control chaos. A thing so dangerous that it brewed with huge magical storms. They were grateful but scared of her, she could tell by the way they seemed to shrink away from her, even the hunters tried to avoid her.
It wasn’t rare that fear of the storms attracted them, but this time was different, she was sure of it. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. Her inexperience was to blame. They would have known what to do, she thought.
The chaos continued to prick at her skin, distracting her, the wind seemingly breathing the room full of it. It brought life to everything around her. But it also brought with it a feeling of terror that made itself known under the euphoria of the brewing storm. It washed over her in waves of hot, nervous flashes and left her palms sticky with worry. There were too many sensations attacking her senses. Drunk and sick of all these feelings.
She sighed, her breath escaping as a white ghost into the night sky, and she wished she too could escape from all of this. Standing near the open window the cold had started to bite deeper, painting her cheeks an agitated red but something told her she could not move. She had to keep watching the shadows play against the swaying trees. Searching for something in the dark woods. The same feeling that made her want to run kept her glued to her spot. Conflicting powers coming into play.
Once more, she swept her gaze over the horizon. The dimness of the night was darker than usual. It almost swallowed the moonlight whole, blanketing the woods in a veil so dark the shadows melded with the trees. Seemingly extending the forest to her home. The warm candlelight fighting a losing battle. Shadows reached towards her, the wind hollowed and cried like a beast, the pit in her stomach grew. You need to go, an unfamiliar voice whispered from the depth of her mind so quietly she could have missed it. Go into the woods.
Why would she wander into the woods alone, she wondered. It was almost as if her thoughts were not her own. Something else played with her mind today. Something far more sinister than she could imagine. It filled the air with a primal terror. A terror so strong she had yet to see the shuffling of snow-rabbits, or the howling of timber wolves, the ice robins did not fly this night. The forest seemed to have been emptied, as if life had vanished from it. Only the wind remained to keep it moving. The longer she stared into the woods wondering what awaited her the more her heart pulled to go. Go where? A question she could not answer, she just needed to go. Her body and mind yelled for her to run out into the snow, into the darkness.
Familiar energy rippled, snapping her away from the darkness which had nearly swallowed her. The abyss had tried to lure her into its hold, and she had almost given in. Chaos washed over her and, in her mindseye she could see the direction it had come from. Like a drop of water in an ocean of darkness, it rippled towards her from somewhere further out. One of her wards had been set off. You have to go now, the same voice repeated. Again, all too strongly, she felt as if she needed to go. She needed to go to the ward. Her limbs moved as if not her own. Something called to her from the darkness of the woods. Come.
So, with a mutter of protest against whatever powers moved her, she put on her shoes and threw on the thick black winter cloak. The rusty hinges shrieked in wild protest to her departure they too understood the insanity of her actions. Don’t listen to the darkness they yelled. It was too late she slammed the door behind her.