Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 10 of 150

The split rock sat where the arrow said it would. Ben crouched at its base while Justin held the barking animal tight and Anita watched the slope behind them. A hollow ran under the rock. Ben reached in and pulled out a bundle wrapped in oiled cloth. It hummed the moment his fingers closed on it. "Fast," Anita said. "Before it carries." Ben had one carved box left in his coat. He took it out. He set the bundle on his knee and unwrapped it. A small wooden comb, teeth broken along one side, lay in the cloth. The hum climbed. Justin winced and pressed the animal's snout into his sleeve. Ben lifted the lid, dropped the comb inside, and shut the box. The hum stopped. He stayed crouched with the box against his chest. One box. Two relics still to find after this. He had known the count on the ridge. He knew it now with the wood cold under his hands. "We need another," Anita said. "Before the next mark." "Justin's grandmother carved four," Ben said. "We've used them all." "Then we find someone else who carves them." Justin lifted his head. "There's a girl who trades near here. Sits outside a stone house with the sad face over the door. My grandmother knew her mother." They went down through the pines and found the house at the edge of a gully. It was small and cracked along the foundation. A carved face hung above the door, mouth pulled down, eyes heavy. A girl sat on the porch step with a row of glass jars beside her. Black hair over one eye. Grey hoodie. She was pouring something clear from a small vial into a jar and did not look up when they stopped at the rail. "Barb Dwyer," Justin said. "I know who I am." She capped the jar. Her one visible eye moved to Ben, then to the shape under his coat. "That thing's loud even when it's quiet." "You can hear it?" "I can feel it. Sit down or leave." Ben sat on the step. "We need a box. Carved like the one over your door. Smaller. We can trade." Barb looked at the jars. "I trade for tears. Real ones. Not the kind people squeeze out for a deal." "I don't have any." "Then you don't have a box." "My sister used to carve them," she said. "She stopped." "Why?" "Closed subject." She stood. "Come back with a jar that counts. One box, one jar. That's the price." She went inside and shut the door. The carved face above it stared down at Ben with its heavy mouth. Anita spoke low. "Two relics left. One box in your coat. And now a price we can't pay walking." Ben stood. He looked at the empty porch, then at the map in Anita's hand. The tooth mark was next. He put the full box back under his coat and stepped off the porch.