Cole's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

The postern shut behind them with a dull clap of iron. Cole and Veronica walked north with the sun already tipping west. The road ran empty between low hills of dry grass. The fox kit rode in Cole's coat, its moss-green fur warm against his ribs. For an hour they made good time. Then the kit went stiff and turned its small head to look back down the road. Cole stopped. He watched the grass on the last rise they had crossed. Nothing moved there. But a strip of dust hung in the air where no wind blew. "Something's on the road," he said. Veronica did not turn her head. She tilted it, listening. "Two hundred paces. Maybe less. Keeping our pace." "How long?" "Since the last bend." Cole checked the sun. Two hours of light, at most. The hills ahead offered no trees, no rocks, no ditch deep enough to hide in. He turned in a slow circle and made himself look past the panic. A thin track branched east off the road, half swallowed by grass. At its end, maybe a mile out, a stone chimney showed above a fold in the land. "Cabin," he said. "East track." "It'll see us leave the road." "It already sees us." They went. Veronica set the pace, faster than comfortable, slower than a run. The fox kit dropped a single pale flower into the grass behind them. Cole crushed it under his boot as he passed. He did not want a trail. The cabin was a squat log house with a stone chimney and a covered porch. The door stood shut. Cole tried the handle. Locked. He put his shoulder against it. The panels held. "Move." The voice came from the side of the porch. Cole turned with his staff up. A figure stepped out of the cabin's shadow. He was made of gray stone veined with dull orange light, thick through the chest and shoulders, taller than Cole by a head. A dark hole gaped in the center of his chest where something had been cut away. "Move," the stone man said again. He set one flat hand on the door and pushed. The bar inside snapped. The door swung in. Veronica did not lower her staff. "Who are you." "Boulder. Stoneheart." He looked past them, down the track. "You are followed." "We know," Cole said. "Then go in." Cole went. Veronica came after. Boulder stepped inside last and pulled the broken door shut behind him. He set his back against it and braced his feet on the boards. Cole heard the wood groan under the weight. Outside, the light on the porch dimmed as something crossed the yard. It did not knock. It stopped at the step and stood there, and the boards under Boulder's feet began, very slowly, to bow inward.