Aster Alloway's Arc

Chapter 6 of 26

The compass burned hotter as Aster pushed past the starred chest. The trees thinned. She stepped into a clearing and stopped. The chest told her the woman before her got this far. But something had turned her back, or ended her. Aster did not know what. She could not fight a danger she could not see. She stood still and studied every shadow. Then a boy dropped from a low branch. He wore a bright orange vest and a cracked helmet crusted with stickers. He was young, no older than the teen who minded her shop. His arms were empty. No pack, no gear. Aster's four hands rose on instinct. "Don't touch the shrub," he said. He pointed past her. She turned. A twisted black shrub grew at the clearing's edge. Glowing lumps swelled along its branches. Set among them were eyes. Real eyes, wet and rolling, each one weeping frozen red drops. She had almost walked straight into it. "What is it?" she asked. "Trap." He crouched and lifted a stick. He tossed it at the shrub. The eyes snapped toward the stick. The branches lashed out and pulled it in. A hiss rose. The stick came back charred. "It hunts warm things. Feels your breath. The last woman found out too late." Aster's throat tightened. "You saw her?" "Bones near the roots. Old pack strap. Same weave as yours." He said it flat, then looked away. "I don't go near." So this was the thing that stopped Bella's sister. Not the stream. Not hunger. This shrub, hidden and hungry, waiting for warmth. Aster's fear turned solid. Now she could plan. "How do I get past?" she asked. The boy shrugged. "You don't beat it. You cool down." He nodded at the sky. A wide island floated overhead, woven from lavender bushes and bright blocks. Cold air drifted down from it in a slow curtain. "Stand in the shade under the drift. It steals your heat. The shrub goes blind." Aster looked at him. "Why help me?" "Everybody wants me to fix things." He climbed back toward his branch. "You looked like the next one to die. Now you're not my problem." She waited for the floating island to slide over the clearing. Its shadow crossed the shrub. The cold poured down. Aster stepped into it. Her breath stopped fogging. The eyes swung, searching, and found nothing. She walked the edge of the clearing, slow, chilled to the bone. The branches did not move. A plump beetle with soft pastel wings drifted past her face, safe in the same cold. She reached the far side and breathed again. She knelt and looked back once. Among the shrub's roots lay a pale curve of bone and a scrap of familiar cloth. Proof. Aster tucked the scrap into her pack. She had what Bella asked for. And she knew now the groves killed with cold traps, not just distance. She rose and followed the compass on.