Adrick's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Adrick knelt by the old man's worn chair near the cold forge. The blacksmith's cottage smelled like ash and sickness. The old man coughed, thin and dry. Adrick had spent years filling a leather journal with sketches and rumors about his blue hair and yellow eyes, and still he had nothing. Time was running out. A village healer came at dusk. She said only one thing could help — a pale herb that grew deep in the caves past the ridge. The caves were dangerous. Most who went in did not come back. Adrick closed the journal and stood. He took down the slim white harp-staff from the wall, the only thing the old man said had been wrapped beside him as a child. He ran his thumb along its carved strings. If he survived the caves, he might meet travelers on the road who knew its make. Two answers from one trip. He kissed the old man's forehead and stepped out the door. The village shrank behind him. For the first time in his life, Adrick was leaving it.