Chapter 48: Arts and crafts

I swallowed, hard, and let my fingers brush against the ominously crimson threads of the weave. They flashed in response to my touch and I almost fell off the stool as I recoiled back, shielding my face with my arms. The threads didn’t explode like I feared. The flash was more like a warning than anything. A warning that they could blow me up if they wanted. But that would mean they were sentient. 

I shivered and put the thought out of mind; it was too unsettling to even entertain. If the threads were sentient, or belonged to someone sentient, that would mean I gave the memories of my mother’s name to someone else… At least I still remembered the other things. A name was pretty meaningless when you knew how the other person smelled, how they laughed, how they smiled. 

After confirming that the threads wouldn’t blow me up, I inched closer to the table and let the warmth of the threads brush against my hand again. 

Think, Cal. 

Accolades had effects, the effects were stored in embroidery’s, as far as I knew. So it would be logical to assume that using the threads for just that, embroidery, would be to shape the veil.

I nodded to myself. That had to be it. 

What a shame I didn’t know how to do any embroidery, or how the hell to force said embroidery onto accolades. I’m sure I could figure it out with time, but I always seemed to find myself in situations where time was the only resource I lacked. 

I cursed myself for not paying attention in arts and crafts and carefully plucked a red thread from the veil, clenching my jaw. 

It flashed menacingly, but still didn’t explode. With trembling hands, I eased it onto the work table, and exhaled loudly. Who knew unstable magic didn’t have to explode in your face every time you tried to use it? I certainly didn’t. 

Now what…?

I couldn’t use the red thread directly. There was no way that would work, and even if it did, the slightest aggravation of it would have it blow my wand up. Maybe it would even blow me up. I needed to stabilize it. 

I waved my hand through the weave, separating a cluster of blue from the violet hue. 

Thread of the seamstress

Description: A thread of magic created by a blessed weaver, and altered by the Seamstress.

The threads are ephemeral in nature and can take on both physical and non-physical form. 

The Seamstress used the thread to bind the very fabrics of magic to the world. 

If the Seamstress, whoever that was, could use the blue threads to bind magic to the world, then I sure as shit should be able to use it to make something. I compared the runes to those of the red thread.

Thread of the old weave

Description: A thread made out of primordial weave. The thread is primitive and volatile, created with unfiltered chaos. The weave of olde is the very cornerstone on which the veil was built. Though the primordial may be fickle, it is impressionable. Only those loved by the magick of olde may bend the threads to their liking without facing the consequences. 

The threads can store effects, if stable enough.

Embroidery: Rune crafting

Stored effects: None. 

It was basically all there. All I needed to know. Blue threads to shape the red. That must have been what Sera meant. I gulped, and coiled the blue thread around the red, all the while it flashed with a silent threat. Through the blue hue, the red shimmer turned violet, taking on the same colour as the veil. I was on the right path, I was sure of it now. But something was missing, otherwise the runes would have changed, telling me what I was working with was stable. Yet it hadn’t. 

I placed the violet coil onto the table and took a step back, watching it intently. 

What do I do with you… Do I just… Shove you into stuff? 

Thinking back on it, the red threads enveloped my bullet in a cocoon back in the hallway. It hadn’t looked anything like what I was doing now, and I didn’t think building a whole cocoon would be a very useful way to spend my limited time before the jailors returned. If they returned. My comrades might very well have pulled off a miracle, though I doubted it. 

“Ah fuck…” I complained to myself and paced back to the stool. There were lots of things I could try out. I could make the blue threads go incorporeal again, see if that made a difference. But that could very well make the red thread, which was basically a det cord, slap against the table and blow me up. Again. 

I could try to infuse magic into the red thread, instead of just ripping it apart. But it already seemed to be bursting at the seams with magic, and unstable magic at that. 

I could sacrifice another part of me to whatever it was that liked to collect the pieces. 

Or I could just… give up. 

I sat down with a sigh, and leaned my head back to stare at the ceiling. 

Not once since I got here did someone stop to explain what the fuck was going on. Always clawing your way forward in the dark was a tiring thing. Especially when a wrong step meant certain death. 

“Fuck you Sera,” I mumbled. I knew she heard me, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to send those messages before. 

How hard could it be to just sit down and explain how the hell I was supposed to use our blessing? I rubbed my face with a grumble. 

What has she said up to this point? What has the world said? There must be clues. 

First, in the workshop they used liquified magic of some kind. It wasn’t blood, that was for sure. I fidgeted in my pocket until I found a bullet, then placed it on the table, inspecting its viscous liquid. “Definitely not blood, and definitely not the veil.” I confirmed aloud with a nod. “So what the hell are you…?” 

I flicked the bullet with my finger, and watched as the liquid rippled back and forth. Small motes of shimmering light made it look like a liquified night sky. Honestly it was quite pretty. Pretty and dangerous. 

I sighed and picked up the violet coil, wrapping it around the bullet. It felt like the smarter choice to experiment on bullets, which I still had a few of, instead of the broken wand, which I only had one of. 

Nothing happened. I clicked my tongue and unwrapped the bullet, careful enough that the red thread barely even intensified in response to being bent. 

Embroidery as I knew it required a needle, something that I didn’t have. And I didn’t understand how the hell I would be able to pierce a bullet with a needle anyway. 

“Come on Sera, I’m drawing blanks here,” I whispered. 

Still no response. 

I stared at the coil in my hand. This was a part of the veil, there was no question about it. All that remained was to shape it. 

I closed my eyes and focused on the warmth of it. As I got used to the blue threads, they became easier to bend, easier to shape. Still, they were nothing more to me than threads as they were now. There was no way Sera would be held prisoner for an ability like that. There had to be more to it. I knew there was more to it. I knew they were the way in which I was supposed to shape the veil, I just didn’t know how. 

I recited what I needed in my mind like it was a mantra, Sharp, sharp, sharp. 

The currents of magic that usually burned like electricity against my skin surged, and rushed throughout the thread, making it squirm like it was alive. I felt a jolt of surprise, but kept my eyes shut, focusing on the feeling. Sharper, pointier, thinner. 

Even with my eyes closed I felt how the threads did my bidding, even the red follow suit, elongating and sharpening inside the coil of blue. My magic drained quickly, and at a steady rate, as if the threads were a vacuum thirstily drinking my reserves. I winced, but kept feeding it all it needed. The torrent stopped, yet I kept focusing for a few more seconds, anxiously shifting around on the stool, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle. I shook my head and opened my eyes. I had too much to do to grow tired here. 

The coil had grown sharper, its tip translucent, and thin like a needle’s. It thrummed with the power of magic, my magic. And it felt as natural to me as the threads I plucked. Like it was part of my power. I inspected it with wide eyes, then let my gaze drift between the bullet and the wand. 

I gulped.

I couldn’t do this again. My plan of experimenting on the bullet would leave me without of firing if I chose to proceed. I would have to take the risk of fucking up the wand, or I would have to escape with no magic reserve and a dagger as my only weapon. 

Sure I could recover if given enough time, but I didn’t know if I had any. Thus there was no time to spare for stupid gambles. 

I shoved the bullet into my pocket, and pulled the wand closer. Gently, I guided the sharp tip of the incorporeal needle to the barrel of my wand. It passed through without resistance, pulling the coiled threads behind it. 

To be honest, it looked really cool. I’d never been a fan of sewing, but I could get used to this. 

The bright colours of the thread shone in stark contrast to the matte grey of the barrel, then sank into it, becoming a part of the accolade. I stuck the needle through the other side, working my way around the barrel up to the broken parts that bent outward like petals. Every entry-point left shining motes of violet, blue, and red, making the wand look a whole lot more arcane than before. 

I swallowed, and shoved the needle through the first of many broken pieces. The metal strained against my pull, but after using a little force it bent to my will. The red centre of the coil flashed menacingly, making me anxious that it could blow whenever. Yet as I kept working, my anxiety faded to be replaced by sheer focus. With every entry of the needle, I sunk deeper into the task, losing track of time and space. There was only me, my needle, and the wand.

Petal after petal, I forced the blooming mouth of the wand shut until the only part that needed stitching was the one that broke off earlier. I pressed it into the open wound of the gun and tried my best to stitch it into place. The process left the lower lip of the barrel with a much larger cluster of shining colours than the rest of the barrel. But it looked like a rifle again. It looked like my wand. 

I slumped down on the chair, and felt the needle fade away, taking with it the remainder of the coiled string. 

The air grew thick, and stuffy, as magic rushed into the basement, circling the wand in a mad rush. The glowing motes served as entry points for the wild rush as magic forced its way inside. I shielded my eyes as they flickered like small stars about to burst. Then, it all went quiet. 

I peeked through the cracks between my fingers at the wand, my wand. It bore scars of my repair, but it was there, and it looked… functioning again. And it looked way more like something magical than it had before, with the bright motes of blue, red, and violet still shining bright. An indescribable sense of pride filled my every fibre as I looked at the wand. A large smile blossomed on my face, and I had to keep myself from bursting out laughing. 

I’d done it. I finally fucking used my blessing for what it was intended,

Runes danced around the accolade, trying their best to form the description of the cherished wand that I’d grown so used to.

Yet the comforting description of my most used accolade didn’t manifest. Instead, the runes swirled to showcase its new description. I swallowed, and muttered, “Jackpot.”