Celestia Threadwhisper's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

By afternoon, Lyra had spun a full foot of bridge thread. She had it coiled in her lap, her fingers still working the twist. Celestia sat against the stone with her wrapped hands in her lap and watched the far cliff. The child had stopped sitting. He was standing at the edge now, and the edge was closer to him than it had been at dawn. A thin crack ran across the ledge behind his heels. "The ledge is going," Celestia said. Lysander followed her look. He did not answer for a moment. "Two days. Maybe less." "We don't have two days of spinning left in her hands either." Celestia lifted her chin toward Lyra. "And the thread has nothing to tie to on the far side. Even if she finishes a span, we can't throw it across. It's too heavy. It'll drop." Lyra kept spinning. "I thought of that. I don't have an answer." Aurelia knelt by her bag, sorting salve tins. She spoke without looking up. "You need something to carry the first line. Something light. Something that flies." Celestia turned her head. "A bird won't hold a line in the updraft." "Not a bird." Aurelia closed the tin. "A moth." Lysander stood. "The silver ones nest under my grotto eaves. Small. Strong wings. They fly to light." "How many?" "Four or five. I can bring one." "Bring two," Celestia said. He was gone before she finished. Lyra kept spinning. Celestia looked at her wrapped hands and made herself think through the next step instead of the pain. "A single strand," Celestia said. "Thinnest you can pull. Not bridge weight. A guide line. The moth carries it across. We tie it to the anchor stone on the far side, then use it to pull the bridge thread over." Lyra's fingers slowed. "The anchor stone. On the far side. Who ties it?" The child on the far cliff was watching them now. "He does," Celestia said. Lysander came back through the ferns with the moth cupped in both hands. Its wings were the color of wet stone and moved without sound. He opened his palms and the moth sat there, waiting. Celestia guided Lyra through the guide strand with her bandaged fingertips. Lyra pulled it thin as a hair. They knotted one end to the moth's back leg with a slipknot Celestia's mother had taught her for lures. Then Lysander lifted the moth toward the far cliff and let go. The moth flew straight. It landed on the child's shoulder. He did not move. He listened to Celestia call across the gap, slow and clear, and he untied the knot with small careful fingers and pressed the strand into a split in the anchor stone and wedged it with a pebble. The guide line held. Lyra lifted the spindle and started the bridge thread again. This time it had somewhere to go.