Aster Alloway's Arc

Chapter 14 of 26

The cold stretch met them past the glowing vine. Frost coated the trail. Aster's fly runners had carried her all day, wings shivering, weight lifted off her raw feet. But the crystal wings caught the ice now and slid. Ahead, Milo buzzed steady on her three wings, unbothered by the cold. Cleo pushed the moss cart, humming, the fridge chiming beside her. Aster took one step and her runner skated sideways. She caught the cart with two hands. Her other two flailed. "They won't grip," she said. The wings had gone stiff. The ice under them turned each step into a slide. She looked at Milo's back, already pulling ahead. One bad slip and she'd fall behind for good. The meadow would close. The pollen in the fridge would die. Cleo stopped the cart. She turned, six fingers already digging in her basket. Cleo had traded these woods for years and knew every trick of them. "Fly runners are built for speed, not frost," she said. "They lift your heel. On ice that's the worst thing." She pulled out two heart-shaped warmers on a strap. Steam curled off them. "But cold's the real enemy. Stiff wings, stiff feet." Aster's mind moved fast. "The wings slide because they're rigid. If I ground the shoe, I stop the slide." She knelt on the frost. She unfolded the cushioned sole pads from her pack, the ones Milo had given her, plush and cloudlike. She pressed them flat under the runners' bottoms. The soft surface bit into the ice where the crystal had skated. Cleo crouched and strapped the warmers across the runners' toes. Heat spread through the wings. They loosened, folded down, no longer catching the frost like blades. "Now try," Cleo said. Aster stood. She set one foot down. The padded sole held. The warmed wings lay quiet against the shoe. She took a step, then another. No slide. Her feet stayed under her. She laughed, the old ten-minute laugh threatening to start. "Move," Milo called from ahead, not looking back. But her pace had slowed a fraction, waiting. Aster walked. Then she matched Milo's speed across the ice, the padded runners gripping, the warmers steaming at her toes. The fridge chimed at her side. She held level with the cart as the frost thinned and a rounded shape rose from the trees ahead. A café shaped like a mushroom, warm light in its windows, smoke curling from a chimney. Cleo pointed. "That's the last shelter before the meadow. We sleep there tonight. One more day to the singers." She studied the sky above the café and her humming stopped. "But look. Lights in every window. We're not the only ones running for that bloom." Aster stared at the crowded windows. She had crossed the ice. But someone else had reached the shelter first.