Amara Celestine's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Amara opened her eyes to wet stone and strange air. The shrine was gone. In its place stood a low wooden altar, half sunk in a pool of bright blue water. The brass ring was no longer on her finger. She searched the shallow water, the moss, the cracks between stones. Nothing. The way back had closed behind her. She sat down hard. Her hand found the folded paper in her pocket. It was a muddy map, edges curled, with a small hole punched clean through the center where the ring had once been threaded. She smoothed it on her knee. The hole stared back at her like an open mouth. Proof. She was here. She could not return. A bell rang. Not close. Amara stood and turned toward the sound. Past the trees rose a tall wooden tower, four levels high, brass bells hanging from every tier. Deep scratches cut the walls, fresh and pale against old wood. The bells rang again, one after another, top to bottom. Someone was counting. Someone was searching. She stepped back behind the altar and crouched low. The water rippled, though no wind moved it. A long shape slid through the pool, black scales and silver feathers along its spine. The swamp anaconda lifted its head and tasted the air near her hand. Its yellow eye held on the empty hole in her map. Then it slipped away toward the tower, fast and quiet. Amara understood. The ring had left a scent, a mark, a trail. Something in this world wanted it back, and the snake was the messenger. She folded the map small and pushed it deep into her pocket. Her old life was sealed shut. A new hunt had opened. She picked a direction away from the bells and started walking. No title. No schedule. Only her name, her muddy map, and the sound of brass ringing behind her.