Celeste's Arc

Chapter 7 of 23

Celeste stopped at the edge of the clearing. Her compass needle spun in circles. It swung left, then right, then all the way around. She turned it flat, then upright, then shook it. The needle would not settle. Without a fixed north, her whole plan broke apart. She could not read her trail back if she could not read the compass at all. "It won't hold still," she said. "It pointed true all morning." Slate sat and licked one paw. "Then stop trusting the tin box. Trust your eyes." Her father's words came to her. Watch the sky, the water, the birds. She had climbed masts before her brothers could. She found the tallest tree nearby, a thin palm with a narrow trunk. She wrapped her arms around it and pulled herself up, foot over foot, past the rough bark. Near the top she stopped and looked out over the green. There. Not far off, a splash of color broke the canopy. Bright pink and red flowers spilled in a thick cascade over the trees. She fixed the spot in her mind. She counted the trees between her and the blooms. Then she climbed down, bark scraping her palms. "I saw flowers," she told Slate. "Right by the clearing. I don't need the compass. I need the flowers." She started walking. Then she saw it. A golden beetle crawled across a leaf, its shell gleaming like a coin. The same beetle that had led her to the shrine before. It moved in the same direction she meant to go, toward the flowers. "Follow the beetle," she whispered. Slate flicked his tail. "You are following a bug now. Wonderful." But she trusted the hunch. The beetle scurried ahead, drawn by the sweet scent on the air. She kept it in sight, ducking under branches, stepping over roots. The smell of the flowers grew stronger. Soon the bright cascade hung right above her, thousands of blooms tangled in green vines. The beetle dropped to the ground. It scurried under a pale stone half-buried at the base of the flowers. Celeste knelt and pushed the vines aside. The stone was old limestone, marked with two prints pressed deep into its face. One was a child's handprint. The other was larger, clawed, shaped like no hand she knew. A dragon's. Her breath caught. She looked past the stone. There, behind a wall of vines, sat the dragon face. Its one ruby eye glowed red. The other socket was a dark hollow. She had found the shrine. Celeste pressed her small hand into the child's print. It fit. The stone was warm. Deep in the vines, something groaned. A hidden door began to move. It pushed against the tangled growth, then stuck fast, held shut by years of vines. She stood and stared at the trembling door. "It wants to open," she said. "Something behind it wants to open."