Aelar Brightwhisper's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

The elk waited on the crest and watched Aelar with dark, patient eyes. He held out his open hands to show he carried no weapon. The elk lowered its antlers and stamped one hoof. It did not trust him. It would bolt soon and take the way to the spring with it. Aelar needed something to prove he was a seeker, and he had nothing. Then he remembered the temple. Sylvana had spoken once of a place carved from ice and stone, where the mountain's old knowledge slept. He had passed its windows on his climb. If anywhere held a token for a spirit-seeker, it was there. He looked at the elk. "Wait," he said. "Please." He backed down the slope and ran. The frost-carved doors opened at his touch. Inside stood tall shelves packed with books and rolled scrolls, layered so high the top rows vanished into shadow. Behind a wide desk stood a centaur, her black tail flicking, feathered boots on her hooves. She pushed her round glasses up her nose and studied him over a cart of returned books. "Children don't climb this far," she said. "So you're not a child. You're a seeker." Her voice was dry but not unkind. "Thessaly Bookwright. Keeper of what the ice remembers. What do you need, and how fast?" "The white elk," Aelar said, breathing hard. "It won't lead me unless I prove I'm not a hunter. I have nothing to show it." Thessaly clopped along the shelves, running one finger over the spines. She stopped, reached high, and drew down a folded weight of white fur. She shook it open. It was a mantle, soft and thick, the color of fresh snow. "Hunters take fur," she said. "Seekers are given it. The old spirit-walkers wore this. The elk knows the difference." She held it out. "But listen. Wear it honestly. If you lie to that animal, the ice will feel it, and the ice does not forget a liar." Aelar took the mantle and pulled it over his shoulders. It settled warm against his cold neck. "I only want to wake the spirit," he said. "Nothing more." "Then go," Thessaly said. "Before the elk decides you're gone for good." He ran back up the slope, the fur streaming behind him. The elk had turned to leave. Aelar stopped at the crest and stood still, letting the wind lift the white mantle so the animal could see it plainly. The elk faced him. Its ears rose. Slowly, it stepped closer and lowered its great head until its crystal antlers nearly brushed his chest. It breathed against the fur and knew it. Then it turned toward the far side of the ridge and walked, glancing back once to be sure he followed. Aelar followed. He had proven himself. The elk was leading him to the spring at last.