Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 9 of 22

Draxin slept on the porch with Zag curled against his neck. He woke to boots on the wood and the smell of cigar smoke. Dante stood over him, cigar burning, arms crossed. Gray light sat behind the trees. Morning had come faster than Draxin wanted. "Up," Dante said. "You wanted to earn your keep. Today you get the chance." Draxin sat up. Zag rubbed his tiny eyes with a stubby hand. Before Draxin could ask, another crew member ran up the porch steps with a small bronze bell in his palm. The bell was still ringing on its own, thin and steady, like a wire pulled tight in the air. Draxin had never seen a bell ring without a hand on it. "Village ring," the crew member said. He was breathing hard. "Grants Lake side. Attack in progress." Dante took the bell and closed his fist around it. The ringing stopped. Smoke leaked between his fingers and curled up to the porch beam. "Follow me," he said to Draxin. He walked Draxin off the porch and out under the banner with the purple flame. In the yard he stopped and pointed at the ground with two fingers, like he was drawing a map on dirt Draxin couldn't see. "Every region in Avator has a crew," Dante said. "One crew, one region. The village rings, the crew answers. That's the deal. Our region runs from the desert edge past Grants Lake to the tree line where I found you. Those people ring, we run. No exceptions." "Why are you telling me?" "Because you eat our food and sleep on our porch." Dante's cigar shifted between his teeth. "You're coming. You wanted to prove the stone answers you. Prove it on someone attacking my villagers." A man in a straw hat was standing at the yard gate, out of breath, hands on his knees. Dirt streaked his shirt. He had run the whole way from the village. He looked up at Dante and his mouth worked before words came. "Men in long coats," the villager said. "Bandages on their faces. They came into the market. They're taking people." Draxin's chest went cold, then hot. The dull warmth of the stone pushed up under his ribs. Long coats. Bandaged faces. The same shape as the men who had killed his mother and father. The same shape he had spent ten years chasing. He stood up straight. Zag's stubby hands tightened on his collar. "I'm going," Draxin said. "I already said you were." Dante turned toward the trees. Smoke trailed off his shoulders. "Keep up. And if you freeze when you see them, I leave you where you drop." Draxin followed him out of the yard. For the first time since the fire in his village, he was moving toward the men in the coats, not away.