Asher Converse's Arc

Chapter 2 of 30

The clouds sat low over The Crossing, and Asher had a hole in his roof. He climbed a stack of crates to see the damage close. The rotten corner sagged. He pressed a beam and it crumbled under his thumb. He needed hands and lumber before the rain came, and he had neither. He climbed down and looked at his empty room. Forty souls could drink here. First he had to keep the sky out. Tucker Hoskins leaned in the doorway again, a coin walking across his knuckles. He had steered Asher to this building the day before, then warned him the roof would sink it. Now he watched Asher sweat like it was a show he had paid for. "You could stand there and watch it rain," Tucker said. "Or you could ask the man who knows where wood comes from." "You know where wood comes from," Asher said. "I know a lot of things." Tucker tucked the coin away. "There's a grove near here. The tree-folk grow good timber. Trouble is, they've got a sickness in the roots. They're not cutting wood for anybody these days." Asher wiped his hands on his jeans. "Then that's no help." "Didn't say it was." Tucker nodded at the square outside. "But there's a wizard buying rounds by the well. Blue robe, cracked staff. He's been trying to reach those tree-folk for a week. He needs something from them. You need something from them." He almost smiled. "Men going the same direction should share the road." Asher went to the well. The wizard stood there in a sparkling blue robe, open at the chest, a staff in his hand. A split ran up the wood. A small boy clung to the man's sleeve and would not let go. The wizard's eyes moved over Asher, quick and sharp, weighing him. "You're headed to the grove," Asher said. "I hear the tree-folk owe you a staff for your help, and you can't help until they trust you. I can carry a load and I can talk to anyone. Get me one wagon of timber and I'll walk every step with you." The wizard studied the gold chain at Asher's throat. "You bargain before you know the price." "I never take the first offer," Asher said. "But I know when a road runs both ways." The wizard looked at his cracked staff, then at the boy. He held out his hand. Asher shook it. By dusk they hauled a wagon of green timber through the mud to the grain house. Rough boards, but sound. Asher and Tucker hauled them onto the roof while the first drops fell. They nailed the last plank as the storm broke. Rain hammered the wood and ran off clean. Inside, the long room stayed dry. Asher stood in the middle of his tavern, wet to the elbow, and listened to how the rain did not reach him. He had his walls and now a roof. But the price of the wood was a walk into a sick grove, and he had promised to make it.