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shady-tavern · 4 months

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Preview for "Woven Magic" the Patreon January Short Story

(warnings ahead for implied child abuse, please take care of yourselves!)

*.*.*

"Don't bother with weaving magic, my dear," Gwen's trusted, beloved teacher said, apologetic and soothing all at once. "It is weak magic and barely sought after, you'll do better focusing your efforts on brewing, like your grandmother, or enchanting items if you'd like to make things magical."

Her teacher's hands reached out, overlapping the clumsy attempt at weaving a friendship bracelet, gently taking it away. Her teacher cooed when Gwen started to tear up, giving her back a soothing pat. Gwen's best friend had gotten sick and Gwen just wanted to give her something that turned all misfortune away and that kept her healthy and happy.

"You'll thank me one day," her teacher said, pressing a quill into her hands instead. "Focus on your studies and you'll do well."

Gwen sniffled and wiped her tears away and put on a brave face, but deep down she felt like big hands had crumpled her soul together and now tried to smooth it back out to how it had been. There were bends and crinkles where none had been before, a child's hope crushed by soft and certain words.

The moment school was out, she hurried home, breaking out into tears once she saw her mother's kind face.

"Oh, my sweet child," her mother whispered, hugging her close. "You'll be a great witch one day, never doubt that. Come on, we'll make this bracelet for your friend and then we'll brew her a health tonic, alright? That will take care of the problem."

Gwen needed some coaxing to make a second attempt at a bracelet and she hesitantly weaved magic into it, hoping it would do as much good as possible.

Gwen's friend recovered well with the tonic and she loved the bracelet and they played together like always. Gwen smiled and laughed and while her friend had soon forgotten the time she had been so very sick, Gwen kept remembering her teacher's words.

And all throughout her time growing up, from the lessons she got from her mother and father and grandmother, all the way to the schools she visited for witch classes, one thing remained the same.

Everyone told her that she should not bother with weaving magic. That it created weak magical effects and no one wanted that. People wanted spells and potions and enchantments.

Magic could do a great many things. If one knew the right runes, one could pin spells in place for a time, creating enchanted items to keep people warm or their clothes clean. Magic brought people back from the brink of death, helped communities rebuild after a great tragedy and it allowed many a young sorcerer to cheat at dice.

Gwen never told anyone but her mother that magic felt different to her. That sometimes she just wanted to pick up a needle and use a strand of magic instead of actual thread so she could weave it into the shirt she was mending. She didn't want to make a spell and stick it to a surface, especially since she wasn't good at spellcraft in the first place.

Her mother did her best to support her, but she could not drown out the voices of everyone else. Gwen learned to keep quiet about her love for weaving magic and she tried to soothe her crinkled soul by taking crafting lessons after school instead.

She learned how to sew and knit and crochet and whittle and carve and mold clay. Those lessons were more fun than her actual magic lessons, because Gwen was, quite honestly, a terrible witch.

While her classmates made coin by selling cloaks lined with weak fire spells for warmth, others performing in taverns by making sparkling illusions and some talented students already got apprenticeships with powerful mages, she was struggling.

In all honesty, it was a minor miracle that, once graduation was upon her, she managed to pass at all. Barely, mind you, but she did pass. With grades so shoddy she knew no one would want to hire her.

"You'll figure it out," her teachers had told her, giving her awkward smiles as they sent her off. "Some people find their talents later in life."

"Maybe you should help your grandmother for a while," her father suggested when Gwen came home, exhausted and feeling kind of hopeless. "She's been talking about retiring for a while now, you know?"

Potions were about the only thing Gwen was somewhat decent at and even that only because she had grown up being taught by one of the greatest potion makers of their coast.

So she packed her bags since her grandmother more than happy to welcome her and she left. Her grandma really was intending to retire and she showed Gwen the ropes, spending months teaching her the fine details of potion brewing and little tips and tricks her teachers hadn't.

"You're good enough now," Grandma proclaimed one day two years later. "I'll leave the shop in your hands, I'm sure you'll do fine. And if you ever need one of the really dangerous and complicated potions, call for me and I'll swing right by."

Gwen made sure to smile at her grandmother and bite back the soul-deep doubt that she'd be good at this. She just hoped she'd be reliable enough that she'd keep the shop up and running.

Her grandmother swiftly left to travel and visit friends and bicker with an old rival of hers that Gwen was willing to bet would end up being her lover once both of them got their heads out of their asses. Seriously, the tension between them was ridiculous.

Gwen, meanwhile, tended to the shop by herself, days passing by until they all ran together. She kept making things outside of potions, knitting cute little hats she ended up selling in the shop as well, along with mittens and wooden pendants that she had carved into various animal shapes with great care.

It was a quiet life. Not necessarily a happy life, but Gwen was alright with that. She was willing to settle for the fact that she was content enough most days and that her crinkled soul didn't bother her too much.

Sometimes though she did get annoyed at that feeling within her chest, frustrated that something a trusted and beloved teacher had said to her when she had been but seven years old still haunted her so vividly to this day.

It was, quite frankly, stupid to still be upset about the fact that the world had no need for woven magic. The thing she was actually good at was the one thing no one wanted. She told herself that being sad didn't make things better and she'd do her best to try and find joy where she could.

Gwen's life was so mediocre and predictable in its steadiness that the day the sky exploded into violently flung spells, she nearly fell of the stool behind the counter. Hurrying outside, she stared up at the sky with wide eyes as two mages battled it out with such intensity that the air itself grew thick with power.

One mage was dressed in the colors of the Bone Cult, an organization that had devoted itself into cutting people open and making them into mindless servants. Puppets they used to build them an empire.

She had no idea who the other mage was, but the lad had bright red hair and was easily one of the most powerful mages Gwen had ever come across. The battle was fierce and halfway through, Gwen was forced to toss up some wobbly shielding spells to keep the shop safe.

A couple of scared residents hurriedly sought shelter within the potion shop, while Gwen stayed outside, watching nervously.

At long last, after a heaving, powerful wave of magic as large as a mountain rolled through the air, briefly making Gwen fell as though she had suddenly gotten crushed to the bottom of the ocean, the evil mage was defeated.

People cheered and crowded around the lad when he floated down, only for him to collapse the second his feet touched the ground. Gwen hurriedly got some potions when some called for her and the lad was ushered away to rest up. She watched as the proper authorities came to claim the unconscious but not killed evil mage.

To her surprise, the guy was the very leader of the Bone Cult, one of the greatest monsters to ever live and he had been undefeated for nearly seventy years.

Frowning, Gwen hesitantly returned to her shop and for days the magic of the fight lingered in the air, slowly dissipating. A couple of sorcerers and witches passed through to ensure the lingering energy would do no harm and life returned to it's steady, old rhythm.

At some point she put up a few flyers around town, letting people know she was looking for some help in the shop. Money was coming in reliably, but Gwen held no love or passion for potion making and she would love to have an extra set of hands around to make things easier.

To her surprise, when she emerged from the back of the shop a few days later, the young, powerful mage stood in her shop. He looked exhausted, she thought, dark shadows under his eyes and his red hair was limp and without shine and had grown long enough that he was trying to hide behind it.

There was a grim downturn to his mouth and as she looked at him, she was startled to realize that he was far younger than she had thought at first. Tall and lanky, his eyes more troubled than most adults, the boy was no older than fifteen at most.

"Are you still hiring?" he asked and his voice was quiet and a little rough. He sounded like he was expecting to be told no, a tense wariness to his shoulders.

"I am," Gwen answered, coming to a stop at her usual spot behind the counter. "I could use someone to dust the shelves and help with gathering herbs and otherwise lending a hand with the upkeep and care of this place. Does that sound like something you want to do?"

If he proved himself adept, she was even willing to let him take care of the simpler potions and salves and tonics.

The boy blinked in surprise and now he looked so hesitantly, achingly hopeful that Gwen got the sudden urge to stomp outside and find someone to punch in the face. His parents maybe or his teachers. A kid that young, hell no person ever, should look like this when offered the barest courtesy.

Gwen wasn't even being particularly kind, he was just the first person who had shown up who seemed to be genuinely interested in the position.

"It does," he said quietly and she noticed the way he had pulled the hems of his sleeves over his fingers, worrying at the fabric with his nails. A nervous habit, quiet and hidden.

When she told him what she'd pay him, he didn't even argue or haggle or anything, just nodded hurriedly as though he feared she'd change her mind.

And just like that, in the span of two minutes, Gwen had gained an aid for the shop. The boy's name was Herald and he struggled with looking her in the eye even as they shook on it. Gwen didn't mind that he kept his sleeve pulled over his hand when he reached out, especially not once she noticed the still healing pink scars on his fingers when he pulled back.

Over the next couple of weeks, as Herald came by to help, Gwen realized a couple of things. Herald never spoke loudly and it took him a while to relax enough that his shoulders weren't constantly knotted with tension. He was very thorough with his tasks and did everything exactly as asked.

He never smiled and flinched whenever someone came up behind him without him noticing them beforehand, so Gwen made sure to walk with a bit of a stomp whenever he seemed preoccupied or distracted.

And most of all, he never wanted to go home.

Gwen had no idea how it happened – only no, she knew exactly how. All it had taken was one look at that grim, exhausted face, shadows still under his eyes and his great reluctance to leave when she locked the shop up early due to a heavy, continuous downpour, for her to fold like wet paper.

*.*.*

Would you like to read the full story? You can find it on Patreon on the first of January! There are already other stories available you can check out in the meantime!

#my writing #patreon #magic #found family #witches #what it means to build a happy life #healing from the past #no romance in this one #just found family feels galore

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