Adrian Luxe's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Adrian Luxe stood at the edge of the field and read the notice nailed to the fence post. The land had a new owner. He was not it. He had spent three years saving coin for this plot, meaning to build a place where people like him could live unafraid. His purple hair marked him. His sky-blue eyes marked him worse. He had watched such people turned from villages, spat on, chased into the woods. He wanted to give them a gate that opened. The field belonged to a merchant now. Adrian folded the notice and put it in his coat. His savings were gone into a promise the seller broke. A raven landed on the fence post beside him. Its feathers shone like wet coal. Its yellow eye fixed on his face, sharp and patient. Adrian had raised the bird from a fallen nest. It went where he went and judged what he did. "No land," he told it. "No walls. No one to shelter." The raven pushed off and flew. It did not go toward the road home. It flew low across the hills, then circled back, then flew out again. It wanted him to follow. Adrian followed. The bird led him past the field, over a dry stream, up a slope thick with brush. At the top it settled on a chimney. Below the chimney stood a house he had never seen. The manor was old. Ivy wrapped the stone walls and climbed to the roof. Vines gripped the window frames. Some panes were cracked. The heavy door hung shut. Weeds grew across the front steps. No smoke rose. No dog barked. No one had lived here in a long time. Adrian walked to the door and pushed. It scraped open. Dust hung in the light. The floor was sound. The walls were thick. He counted rooms as he walked, and he counted many. This place could hold twenty people. Fifty. It could hold everyone he wanted to bring inside. He found a strongbox in a back room. Papers inside named the family who once owned the manor. They had no living heirs. The land tax had gone unpaid for years. The manor belonged to no one. Adrian carried the papers to the tax office in the nearest town. The clerk did not look up until Adrian slid coin across the counter. Then he looked. He saw the hair, the eyes. His mouth tightened. "Abandoned property," Adrian said. "Back taxes. I'll pay them now." The clerk wanted to refuse. Adrian could see it. But the law was the law, and the coin was real. The clerk stamped the deed and pushed it back without a word. Adrian walked out with the manor in his hand. He had his land at last. The raven waited on the roof when he returned. Then he saw the smoke on the far ridge. Riders. The merchant's men, coming toward the only wall he owned.