Ash's Arc

Chapter 5 of 6

Ash stood by the glass carriage as its light faded. She knew the night the voice was lost. She did not know where the carriage had carried its passenger. Without that trail, she could not follow the lost voice. She wiped the door again and searched for more runes. The glass held nothing new. The last night was named, but not the road it led to. She walked the clearing and studied the ground. The carriage had wheels. Wheels left ruts. But the grass had grown back over the years, and she found no track. She knelt and pressed her palm to the earth by the wheel. Nothing answered her. A soft padding came from the trees. The silver fox returned, its coat glowing faint in the dark. It had led her here before. It watched her now with bright eyes, the same eyes that had marked her at the edge of every room. It looked at the carriage, then at her, then turned toward the tower. Ash understood. The fox wanted her to go back. She almost refused. She had searched the tower for a full night and found only cold stone. But the fox waited, and every time she had followed it, it had shown her something true. She rose and went after it. The fox led her to the tower and stopped at the door. It looked up at the runes carved around the base of the stone. Ash had passed those marks a hundred times without reading them. Now the fox sat beneath them and stayed still. She stepped close and wiped the vines aside. The runes glowed at her touch, the way the carriage's had. She read them aloud. "The rider went to the market at the wood's edge, where the stones are sorted." Ash's breath caught. She knew that place. She had stood there. She had passed the voiceless stranger sorting stones and never guessed the carriage had gone the same way. The fox stood and walked into the trees. This time Ash did not follow. She had the trail now. The passenger had ridden from the tower to the market at the wood's edge. The lost voice belonged to someone who ended their journey where she had already searched. She held the whole envelope in her hand. The stranger at the market had refused it and sent her back. But the stranger had sorted stones at the very place the carriage went. Ash had missed the connection then. She would not miss it again. She turned toward the path that led to the wood's edge and began to walk. The trail was cold, but it was a trail, and it pointed straight at a face she had already seen.