Elder Bright's Arc

Chapter 7 of 10

The fire had burned low when they moved to the back of the garden. A vine-covered stone wall stood between them, old and patient, its green leaves trembling in the night air. Elder Bright set his final page on a flat stone. Granny Mossroot set her red book beside it. The wall sat between them like a question neither wanted to answer first. "The techno-mancers," he said. "We go to them first. They keep records. They will hear a warning if it comes with proof." "No," she said. "The witches. They remember the last fire. They will listen because they are afraid." She placed a small box on the wall. Inside were old gadgets — cracked phones, a cassette, a faded handheld. "This is what their fear looks like. Dead tech. They have been collecting it for years." Elder Bright stared at the box. He had planned to bring a banquet — a long table of food and open hands, the oldest peace offering he knew. He had pictured it set before the techno-mancers at dawn. Now he saw the box, and he saw her sixty-three years of counting, and he understood his plan was built on his own habits, not on what would work. He pushed the page toward her side of the wall. "Your move first," he said. "The witches. I will carry the table behind you." Granny Mossroot did not smile. She closed the box and lifted it. "Then we leave at first light," she said. The wall stayed between them, but the page and the box had crossed it. It was not trust. It was alignment. It would have to be enough.