Blushfire's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

Blushfire slept four hours on the tattoo studio floor and woke to shouting in the lane. He pulled on his coat, checked the crimson scarf at his neck, and stepped out. A cart was already loaded at the corner. A woman was strapping a child into it. Two more families stood at their doors with bundles. The word had gotten out. Seven dead on the ridge. Something on the far side pulling people through in a line. Nobody wanted to be the eighth. He caught the arm of the man loading the cart. The man would not look at him. "You said you'd keep them safe," the man said. "You didn't." Blushfire let him go. Down the lane, more doors were opening. Choji pressed against his leg. He understood what he was watching. If the town scattered into the woods tonight, half of them would not reach the next settlement. The ridge was between here and every road out. He went to the archive under the chapel. The Keeper was already at the long desk, hood back, writing. They never slept. They looked up once and kept writing. "They're leaving," Blushfire said. "Tonight. Through the trees." The Keeper set the pen down. "Then give them a reason to stay inside a wall instead." He pulled the black book from his coat and laid it open on the desk. Seven names in silver. One blank page after. "I need every name in Ashen Hollow. Tonight. On paper. Where I can see them." The Keeper understood before he finished. They rose and lifted a ring of keys from the belt at their waist. They led him down a stair he had never taken, past a corridor of pale wooden masks, into a round chamber lined with glass bottles. Each bottle held a small light. Names, the Keeper said. Every soul who had ever entered Shadowgate. Blushfire had not known this room existed. He had guarded this town for six years and had not known. He took a lantern from the wall and carried it out into the square. He rang the chapel bell himself. People came because the bell had not rung in three years. He climbed the steps and did not raise his voice. He told them the truth. The ridge was watched. He was watched. If they ran into the woods tonight, the thing on the far side would count them one by one. If they stayed behind the wall, he could hold the line. He told them their names were already written down. No one here would be forgotten. No one here would walk alone. The man with the cart stood a long time. Then he lifted his child out and carried her back inside. Other doors closed after his. Not all of them. Three families still left before dawn. Blushfire watched them go and did not stop them. He opened the black book and wrote three names on the blank page in pencil, so he could erase them if they lived.