Aster Alloway's Arc

Chapter 17 of 26

The frost thinned by midmorning, and the trail dropped into a wide meadow. Aster's rested legs moved fast. Then the wheels caught. The ground here was soft and wet, no longer frozen hard. The fridge cart sank an inch, then two. The pollen chimed inside, still glowing, but the cart dragged like an anchor. Aster leaned into it with all four arms. The wheels churned mud and did not roll. She stopped and looked ahead. Somewhere past the last rise, the singers waited. She could not hear them yet. If the cart stalled here, the pollen would fade before she reached them. Her legs were strong. The cart was not. Behind her, a voice called out. "You are stuck." Aster turned. Sable Fern crossed the meadow, her four arms holding a bundle of green cloth. The elder seamstress had sewn the pouch that saved Aster's proof, and the warm dress that let her sleep. Now she walked out into the cold on her own trail. Aster had not expected to see her again. "The wheels won't turn," Aster said. "The ground's too soft." Sable set the bundle down on a dry tuft. She shook it out. It was a dress, woven from green herbs, layered leaves running down in rows. "I finished it last night," she said. "You forgot the last thing I make." She held it up. "This one has no weight. The one who wears it weighs almost nothing." Aster stared. "A dress can't move a cart." "Not the cart," Sable said. "You." Aster understood. Her own weight pressed her boots into the mud. Each step sank. She was fighting the ground with every push. She changed behind the cart, fast, pulling the herb dress over her arms. At once her body went light. Her feet lifted from the wet earth. She barely dented the soft ground now. She took the cart handles again. She pushed. Her boots held on top of the mud instead of sinking. The wheels still bogged, but with her own weight gone from the drag, she could pull harder. She braced and heaved. The cart lurched free of the rut and rolled. "Go," Sable said. "Do not stop on the soft ground." Aster kept the cart moving. She stepped light and quick over the meadow, and the wheels stayed up on the surface. The chime rang steady behind her. She reached the last rise and pushed the cart over the top. Below, the meadow opened wide. Poppies covered it in red. A crowd stood among them, mouths open, and a low song rose from the ground and filled the air. The singers. Aster gripped the handles and started down toward them, light on her feet, the pollen still glowing at her back.