The exterior of children’s lorehall in Beckhaven was modeled as a smaller version of the main temple of the Order. Eighteen foot tall statues of the two Weavers flanked the thirty granite steps leading up to the front of the building. In this depiction, Eso took on the aspect of darkness, carved from the blackest obsidian, while his wife Esa maintained the eternal balance in silvery white marble.

  Raith used to count the steps each time he walked up them on the way to class. With a slight smile, he recalled the trouble he’d gotten into trying to climb to the top of that statue of Eso, cutting his hands terribly on the sharp rock. He would have made it all the way up if another boy hadn’t tattled.

  Upon reaching the top of the steps, huge marble columns framed ornate wooden doors twice the height of a man. The symbol of the Weavers was carved into each door. A crude wooden frame with ten vertical lines in the center, representing a loom.

  He felt very small standing in front of those doors. Somewhere inside that same little boy who first entered this building all those years ago. Overawed by the majesty of it all and terrified to let go of his mother’s hand.

  The initial fear had yielded to his love of learning, and for a time he truly enjoyed the thrice weekly lessons at this school. When his parents discovered his [Divine Skill], the love turned back into fear.

  Raith shook his head as though he might physically eject the memories out of his ears.

  I don’t have time for this.

  Pushing open the doors, he strode towards his destination. Class was in session, and the soft whisk of his leather boots echoing off empty marble was the only sound in the great hall. In contrast to the exterior doors, everything inside the building seemed so much smaller. As though he was a giant, intruding on the memories of his younger self.

  Raucous laughter erupted from one of the classrooms, startling Raith from his reverie. He peeked through the window in the door to see Loremaster Edwin acting out both sides of a historical duel with absurd exaggeration, exactly as the older man had done over a decade ago for his class.

  The halls were divided by age group, and he veered down the one where Althea was supposed to be teaching. While not in the Order herself, her father was a high ranking Loremaster and she worked as a substitute fairly regularly. Peering into classrooms earned him a couple of glares and a startled look before he found the right one.

  Letting himself into quietly into the back of the room, Raith was surprised at how few students were there today.

  Parents must have let them skip for the festival.

  His parents wouldn’t have allowed that in a million years.

  The shocked look on Althea’s freckled face as he came in was almost worth the trip by itself. Two horns curved gently backwards through her wild red hair. The dark green teacher’s robe covered most of her strong frame, but hooves and furry legs could be seen poking out the bottom as she paced at the front of the classroom.

  “I’ll be a yeti’s daughter. Will the wonders never cease? Look who’s graced us with his presence today, children. Say ‘Hello, Mr. Quirric.’”

  A dozen little heads swiveled his way, followed by a mostly synchronized greeting. It felt weird. One of the kids was about three seconds behind the others and trailed off halfway through while looking around uncertainly. Raith began to reconsider the wisdom of marching straight over here instead of just waiting for Althea to get off of work.

  “Uh, hello everyone. Hi, Thea. Sorry to interrupt. Is it ok if I wait in the back till you’re done? I need a quick word.”

  “Oh, don’t you dare leave without telling me what’s dragged you back into these halls. We’ll talk in a bit. Now class, where were we?”

  A boy with neatly cut black hair shot his hand in the air and answered without waiting to be called on.

  “The Weaver’s Gifts, Ms. Gannon.”

  “Thank you, Lannom. And who can tell me how we got the Weaver’s Gifts?”

  Lannom’s hand shot into the air again, but he was cut off as he began to answer.

  “Anyone besides Lannom.”

  A few shy hands went in the air, and Thea selected a blond girl who had outgrown her peers by several inches. She stood, clasping her hands tightly in front of her chest and scrunching her eyes closed as she recited the answer.

  “The Weavers bore the hundred gods, who ruled creation for an untold Age. Mortals suffered beneath their sway, and the gods were commanded to respect the soverty,”

  “Sovereignty,” Lannom corrected, and Raith thought there was something familiar about the boy.

  “Thank you, Lannom, but please don’t interrupt,” Althea said.

  “Sovereignty,” the girl spat the word with a glare at Lannom as she continued, “of all the creatures of this earth. The gods scorned the call, so the Weavers spun the godtowers, trapping their children within for eternity. The great cities of the gods were sunk beneath the earth, and the one-hundred constellations cast into the sky so we will always remember. To the mortals enslaved by the gods, the Weavers gave their Gifts.”

  “Excellent, Dialla. One flower for you.”

  Dialla excitedly thrust out her hand, and Althea walked over to place a small seed in the outstretched palm. All of the children leaned in to see. A moment after the seed hit her hand it sprouted into a little purple flower with soft petals. Murmurs of appreciation and jealousy swept through the room as Dialla sat back down with her prize.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Now, who can tell me what the Weaver’s Gifts are?”

  Lannom shot out of his seat and quickly rattled off in a lecturing tone.

  “The power to weave [Classes] and stitch [Skills], that our striving be rewarded, and spin [Quests] that we may chart our own destiny.”

  The boy held out his hand expectantly. Raith thought perhaps he knew this kid from the orphanage where he read the kids’ stories once a month. But no, Lannom was too clean and well dressed to be from the orphanage.

  “While that was correct, we do not speak without being called on. Please have a seat.”

  The boy sat down, chagrined by both the admonishment and the whispered jeers from his classmates.

  A neat row of little wooden figurines that had been made by the kids sat on a table in the back of the room. Raith picked one up and began absentmindedly fidgeting with it. Based on the tusks, he was pretty sure it was supposed to be an ogre. He jiggled one experimentally and it snapped off.

  “Shit!”

  As one, the children turned towards the back of the class with wide eyes.

  “What does shit mean?” A small dark haired girl asked with unfeigned innocence.

  “What are you thinking cursing in front of children, you daft fucker?” Althea said, staring daggers.

  As one, the class turned back towards their teacher.

  “What’s a fucker?” Asked another child, and the strange words were repeated throughout the classroom as they all tried them out on their tongues.

  “Now see what you’ve done.” Althea said,

  “Me? You’re the one who said fuck.”

  “Stop saying it, for fuck’s sake. You’re going to get me in trouble.”

  Raith’s imagination conjured the horrifying image of a dozen angry parents yelling and wagging fingers, but he had no idea how to fix this. He was screwed, and he knew it.

  For a few moments, it looked like Thea’s famous temper was going to flare up. But then her glare softened into a thoughtful smile that did nothing to alleviate the uneasy feeling in his stomach.

  “Alright class, attention up here.” They settled down and obediently turned towards their teacher. “You will recall that the primary way to earn weft is through [Quests]. Mr. Quirric has provided us with the perfect opportunity to learn about [Quests] firsthand today. Say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Quirric.’”

  The children thanked him, not sure where all of this was going. Raith’s uneasy feeling increased.

  “Nina, please stand and tell the class the three aspects of a [Quest].”

  The dark haired girl who had asked about shit stood up hesitantly.

  “The three aspects of a [Quest] are the Price, the Promise and the Payment.”

  “Well done, Nina!” The seed Nina received grew into a miniature sunflower, to her obvious delight.

  Althea supplied the next part in a measured, patient tone.

  “The Price is the personal weft that the issuer must offer, and the amount is always proportionate to the task. The Promise is the power added to the weft by the Weavers, so the reward shall be equal to the task. And the Payment is them both combined, rewarded to those who complete the [Quest].”

  She looked around the room for some indication they had heard and understood her. Apparently satisfied, she asked, “And if we spin a [Quest] in error, where do we go? Everyone together now.”

  “First our parents, then the Pattern Sage.” They got it more or less in unison.

  It was not unheard of for precocious children to spin silly or dangerous [Quests] to their friends after learning how to do it. The Order’s Pattern Sages could unwind the [Quests] and recover most of the child’s weft.

  As Raith had learned the hard way, the Order also did this for too-clever children who impulsively wove classes like [Rat Hunter] or [Spit Archer] instead of waiting for parental guidance like they were supposed to. He regretted that you also lost all the [Skills] with the class, because spitting long distances with great accuracy would still come in handy on occasion.

  “Today we’ve learned some grownup words that mustn’t be repeated when you leave this room. Does everyone understand?”

  There were several confused looks amongst the nodding heads. Raith could see the battle play out on Althea’s face as she considered how to explain without repeating the words. Luckily, she had a big helper in the room today.

  “We can’t say shit or fucker because those are grownup words.” Lannom clarified for the class.

  “Exactly. To help us remember, Mr. Quirric will give everyone a [Quest]. What do you think about that?”

  The speed at which the orderly class descended into chaos filled Raith with both awe and horror. The news of a [Quest] of their very own excited the class more than Althea had anticipated. The kids cheered and proclaimed how they would be just like their favorite hero. Many sword thrusts were pantomimed, while Dialla stood on her seat and began singing like the bard she hoped to emulate some day.

  Raith cursed the ancestors of his dearest friend while activating [Life in Staccato]. He needed time to think of the best way to structure this [Quest]. It was actually a really good idea if he could get it right. The problem was always motivating completion while sacrificing the least personal weft possible.

  Offering up his weft without asking was a low blow. Thea knew he had a fairly large pool that was going to disappear when he braided up anyway, but he had been planning on using that to barter for adventuring supplies.

  He racked his brain for the proper wording. This was effectively a contract spun from the fabric of his being. Many a tale warned of poorly worded [Quests] that ruined the unwise issuer. There were twelve of these little buggers, and he’d need to motivate the entire lot while still keeping it a task they can complete. When he thought he had it figured out, he dropped the skill.

  Gathering his weft, Raith focused his will on forming the [Quest]. While often written down, they could be spun solely with words and intent.

  “I entreat all in this room to make no mention of the grownup words we learned today, nor repeat the words themselves, for ten whole days. All who complete this quest shall receive the Payment, growing stronger in the Weaver’s Gifts.”

  Raith thought that was rather clever. Right up until he felt the Weaver’s extract their Price and almost swore aloud again in surprise.

  You could usually estimate the Price based on the task. But if the issuer failed to consider important variables, well, the Weavers still took their due. He had sorely underestimated the toll of keeping this many kids quiet for that length of time. It cost him nearly half of his reserved pool.

  I suppose I’m lucky it didn’t set me back any levels.

  The Weavers Promise was added, and the children’s eyes widened in awe as they felt the thin strands of power connecting them all. Raith realized he’d accidentally included Thea in this, but there was zero chance she’d make it ten days without using grownup words.

  Thea’s face grew theatrically serious as she addressed the class.

  “You’ve been given the honor of your first [Quest]. A chance to take those first small steps down the path towards power and glory.”

  She paused and swept the room with her gaze before dropping her voice to a whisper. The kids leaned in closer.

  “Will you fail at this task, and know the cruel anguish of defeat?” The kids shook their heads in horror and whispers of ‘no’ escaped their lips. Her voice rose. “Or will you rise to the occasion as heroes?”

  “Heroes!”

  “What was that? I can’t hear you!”

  “Heroes! Heroes!! HEROES!!”

  The kids were going berserk now and Raith was afraid she’d gotten them too worked up.

  Sure enough, a moment later, the door opened and Loremaster Pommel poked her head in with a pinched expression.

  “Ms. Gannon, would you please keep the noise down in here? Yours is not the only class in this building.”

  “My apologies Ms. Pommel. We were just wrapping things up for the day.”

  Pommel shot a look at Raith as though she’d taken a sip of curdled milk, then ducked her head back out of the classroom.

  “Alright everyone, that concludes today’s lessons. Please gather your things and line up by the door. We will walk single file to the auditorium where you can wait with the other classes for you parents.”

  Before leading her platoon of midget heroes out of the room, Thea turned to Raith with narrowed eyes and leveled a finger.

  “And you. You’d best still be here when I get back.”

  “Yes, Ms. Gannon.”