Chanterelle Sporewhisper's Arc

Chapter 2 of 7

Chanterelle burst out of the textile hall with the winged puppy still perched on her cap. The lake road stretched empty in both directions. The traveler was gone. She had sent him off at dawn with three wrong answers, and now she carried the true one on her tongue with nowhere to spill it. She ran to the nearest doorway and knocked. No one had seen a man with a bow. She tried the next. A shepherd pointed vaguely toward the pines. The next shrugged. Chanterelle's stem wobbled. Prophecy needed a listener. If she did not reach him before the glade's edge, the vision would spoil in her cap like fruit left in sun. She cut across the reeds toward Moon Lake. Red hair flashed near the water. Roswyn Brightwillow knelt at the mural wall, mixing paint, a notebook open on a flat stone beside her. "Have you seen a traveler?" Chanterelle called. "Dark cloak. Bow. A wolf at his heel." Roswyn did not look up. "An hour ago. He drank at the lake. Asked me the north road." "Which north road?" "The one past the mossy cottage." Roswyn dipped her brush. "He was fast. Long legs." Chanterelle's cap tilted. "Thank you." "Take the shortcut behind the kiln," Roswyn said, still painting. "Cuts a mile." Chanterelle ran. The puppy clung tight, tiny wings beating for balance. Ferns slapped her face. She fell twice and got up twice. The vision behind her eyes stayed sharp — lake water, three nights, blooming — but she could feel its edges beginning to soften, the way a mushroom softens after picking. She crested a rise and saw the round mossy roof of a small cottage below. A man stood in its yard, refilling a waterskin at the outdoor basin. A gray wolf lapped from a puddle at his feet. His bow leaned against the swing. "Wait!" Chanterelle shouted. Aldric Thornwood turned. His hand went to the bow before he saw her size. Then his face changed — recognition, then a guarded stillness. He had gotten no answer from her at dawn. He did not expect one now. Chanterelle stumbled to a stop in the grass. She was too small to be heard well from the ground, so she climbed onto the stone lip of the fire pit. The puppy hopped down beside her. She caught her breath. "Your sister will bloom," she said. "Not drown. Bring her lake water. Sit with her three nights. Do not leave the room." Aldric set the waterskin down. His throat worked. "You're sure." "I am sure now." He knelt in the grass so their eyes were level. "Three nights." He repeated it twice more, fixing it. Then he asked the thing she had not prepared for. "Whose lake water? There are four between here and my sister. Which one heals her?" Chanterelle opened her mouth. The vision had not said. She did not know.