Bastien's Arc

Chapter 7 of 9

At dawn, Bastien left Fallon at the cottage with a list of tasks. The goats needed milking. The herb beds needed water. Fallon nodded, his face set hard. Bastien pressed a hand to his cheek, then turned to the road where Zain waited with the horses. They rode east for two days. The green hills fell away. Sand took their place. By the second dusk, they reached a shallow basin ringed by dark stone cliffs that held the day's heat like a clay oven. Zain dismounted and unrolled the canvas. Bastien drove the poles into the sand. They worked in silence, then built a fire from dry brush. The flames climbed high and threw long shadows on the cliffs. Bastien spread his rough bedroll near the fire and set his herb satchel beside his head. "You are quiet," Zain said. He sat across the flames, the firelight catching the gold thread of his robe. "You left him angry." "I left him alone," Bastien said. "That is worse." Zain looked at the leather band on his own wrist. He did not answer. The tent stood ready behind them, but neither man moved toward it. They slept by the fire instead, side by side under open sky, and the choice between the life Bastien had built and the road he now walked was already made.