Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 143 of 150

The winged creature landed at dusk in a stand of dead pines. Ben cut the waxed cord and lifted the single box down. It stayed silent. The fox and the sold piece rode together inside, quiet at last. But quiet was not enough. He had eleven pieces now, joined and safe. The buyer who bought the twelfth still held it two ridges east, and until Ben reached her, his set could never close. He shouldered the box and started walking. A weary gray creature slid from the brush and fell into step beside him. Its head hung low, its eyes half shut, but it kept pace without a sound. Ben let it come. Behind it clattered a small box-shaped creature on stubby legs, blinking up at him. Both had traveled with him before. Both dampened the hum by pressing close. He would need them if the sold piece stirred. He found the buyer's camp at the bottom of a gully. She sat by a low fire, a woman with a courier's satchel and a horn on her belt. Ben had seen her kind—one of the herbalist's runners. Beside her lay a carved box he knew on sight. The twelfth piece. His piece. "You took what was mine," Ben said. She reached for the horn. Ben moved first. He set his box in the dirt and opened it. The fox sprang free, humming loud, and the sound rolled through the gully like a struck bell. The runner's own carved box answered, humming back, until both notes screamed together. A small ember-bright creature bolted upright from the far grass, drawn by the noise, its flame-edged coat lighting the trees. The runner spun toward it, horn forgotten. That was Ben's moment. He grabbed her carved box from the dirt. The weary gray creature dropped its weight over the fox to smother the hum. The box-shaped creature pressed flat beside it. Ben sealed the fox back inside his own container, then tucked the runner's box under his arm. Twelve pieces. All twelve, in his hands. The runner turned back and lunged. Ben ran. He crashed up the gully wall with both boxes clutched to his chest. A blast of the horn split the dark behind him. From the ridge above came an answering shriek—something huge and clawed, a battered scaled beast picking its way down through the rocks, drawn by the fading hum. It cut between Ben and the runner. She backed away from it. Ben did not stop to watch. He reached the pines with the fire creature loping at his heels and the box-shaped one thumping behind. Both boxes held silent now. The set was complete. Twelve pieces, whole for the first time since he began. But the horn had marked his spot, and the runner would tell the herbalist he carried a finished set worth killing for. He had what he wanted. Now every hunter in Butter would want it too.