The Start of a (Reluctant) Journey

His cheek was red.

“Now, to be clear – you will safely bring Isolde to Arenard and back in one piece. If she is returned with even a scratch, you surrender me your head! Is that understood, Flier?”

An Elder asked Madigan, her lips curled into a snarl. He learned two things about her – one, her name was “Olga,” and two, she was the most aggressive old woman he had ever met.

“Calm down, ma’am. She’ll be just fine.”

“Don’t you get snappy with me!” her face hardened as she fiddled with the knitted robe around herself. “Telling me to ‘calm down,’ in days like these… Bah!”

“We’re in Section 1. I highly doubt the fire will reach this point before the year is up—” he grunted in pain, “You hag…”

For the tenth time, Madigan slapped himself in the face – or, Olga did, having controlled the threads in his arm in order to do so. He rubbed his cheek, the stinging and redness unfading.

“I wasn’t talking about the recession,” she hissed. “I meant the incidents. All the people who’ve vanished. Never to be seen again, and all without a trace…”

“You also know?”

Olga huffed. “Yes, you dolt. Are you somehow unaware that Elders talk?”

He would have retorted, but he was not wanting to be humiliatingly smacked again. Instead, after quenching the agitation rising up in him, he asked her, “Then as an Elder, and a Weaver at that, have you noticed anything about the Nexus?”

Slap.

“What was that even for!?”

“For asking a stupid question. Why wouldn’t I have detected a difference in the Nexus? Any High Weaver would be capable of such!”

“Well, excuse me, but none of you have been saying anything. Just going along and acting as if all these sudden deaths haven’t harmed it in any way.”

The Nexus – powerful, sure, yet also incredibly fragile. All that it was connected to, human life, had to be balanced. Or else? Instability, whether too many were alive, or too few were dead. And recalling the numerous stories of missing people during his adventures, Madigan guessed the number of disappearances had to be in the thousands.

“Hmph, I certainly tried to warn ‘em. My senses told me something was awry. Not only that, but the threads looked weak… Then before that day, they lost their light.”

Madigan tilted his head. “How is that true? I still see it when I use my wings.”

“In the active state, yes. But even at rest, the threads should still have some shine.”

Olga sighed, and for once, her face wasn’t set into a scowl. It was hypocritical for Madigan to feel somewhat relieved over that. She seemed weary – mournful, as she folded her hands on her lap and stared at the wall.

“Not like it matters now, however. Perhaps I should’ve told Isolde about its significance, but that girl is so stressed already,” she said, but Madigan felt the last part was spoken to herself.

He opened his mouth to question her further…

But was quickly shut up by yet another slap. His eyes were aflame. How much trouble would he get in for trying to strangle an Elder?

“For doubting me, as if you, a non-Weaver, can see the Nexus! If I say the threads lost their light, then darn it, they lost their light!”

Olga banged a fist onto the armrest. His mind was made. If she hit him again, he was fighting back with no regrets – then again, how could he? She had the power to stop him effortlessly. No, it was useless.

“This house is full of nuts. What did I get myself into?”

It was that girl’s fault, whose name Isolde told him was Gwendolyn. If it weren’t for her frantic tears, he would never have agreed to the arrangement. But he was deceived – Gwendolyn was no innocent, helpless kid. She was right out in the hall giving him a death glare all while Olga harassed him.

“If something happens to my sister, you’re next.”

Those were the only things she said to him. And she was serious. Meanwhile, Isolde insisted everything was “normal,” when it was anything but. Abnormal behavior aside, there was a 20-year-old Weaver with the skills of a novice, while her little sister was advanced beyond her age.

And Olga?

Madigan observed her. Stringy gray hair, wrinkled skin, boney… She was an Elder who – well, looked like one. That made her the strangest. The others appeared middle-aged at best despite their long years, which due to some phenomenon that no one had an explanation for, was growing comparable to those of immortal High Guardians.

On that hand, maybe Olga wasn’t the “odd” one after all.

“She should be ready now,” Olga said after a deep breath. “Remember what we discussed, Flier. One piece, not even a scratch.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget,” he muttered.

Madigan stomped out of the room, past Gwendolyn who was still shooting him warnings, and out into the crisp air. With a thick coat, a heavy backpack, and a spirit of determination, Isolde waited eagerly outside the cabin. When she spotted Madigan, she almost tripped over her feet as she hurried to him.

“Thank you again, sincerely! I won’t be of any burden to you, I guarantee it.”

“Bit too late for that, brat,” he thought. If Olga and Gwendolyn weren’t at the doorway, he would have said it to her face.

Isolde headed to her sister and the Elder, then hugged them both. They exchanged some hushed words that Madigan couldn’t decipher – but judging by their sullenness and the way Gwendolyn held on to her, it was clear how they felt.

After she kissed their heads, Isolde walked back to Madigan and nodded. “Alright… Shall we go?”

“You will be telling me where Yohan is once this is all finished?”

“Of course! A deal is a deal. I even wrote it down for you,” she said, patting her backpack. “And Gwen, you return that book to the merchant while I’m gone. That’s not a request!”

Madigan didn’t care to question that. He just wanted to get this over with, and next was the part he dreaded. Begrudgingly, he turned around – and waited. Then waited some more. A good few minutes passed and he quickly became annoyed.

“Are you coming or what? We don’t have all day.”

“I’m sorry – this is just a little bit awkward…”

He rolled his eyes. “Boo-hoo, you asked for this. Hurry up and get on.”

Isolde cautiously climbed onto his back and nestled herself between his wings. Stiffly resting her hands on his shoulders, he could tell this was her first time on a Flier. Great. She’d probably scream the whole trip.

“Hold on tight. If you fall, I might not feel like catching you— a joke, Olga, a joke. Put your hand down.”

She obliged reluctantly.

Madigan flapped his giant wings, threads glowing. With each motion that mimicked the sound of rushing wind, the two steadily rose into the sky, the ground getting distant. “Oh gosh, oh gosh,” Isolde secured her arms around his neck in a choking grip. This was going to be terrible.

“Isolde!” Gwendolyn shouted, her voice shaking with emotion. “You have to come back to me! You can’t leave me behind!”

“I will, Gwen, no matter what! You have my word!”

“Not a scratch!” added Olga while waving her fist.

The two turned smaller the higher they went, along with the cabin and the wooden structures of the village farther out. Dots across a white backdrop is what they became. His wings flicked, and before Isolde could adjust, they slashed clouds – soaring faster than any fleeing bird. The cool current, a strong pressure, swept pass their faces and filled Madigan with a vigorous sensation of being alive.

As for Isolde…

“Hey! Could you slow down please!?”

“If you can’t handle this already, we might as well stop the trip now. You want that?”

“No! But if you keep going like this, I may—”

Madigan heard her gag.

“Don’t you dare! Keep it together, brat!”

“I’m trying, but— I feel so sick…”

“So help me, I’ll kill you!”

Yep.

This was going to be terrible.