Elena Whitmore's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

The stranger stood a few steps from the altar, waiting. Elena stepped back from Marcus and turned to face the newcomer. He had pointed ears and a lean, elegant build. His fitted clothes were travel-worn but clean. He watched her with sharp, alert eyes. He was the first stranger to come since she made her promise. Now she had to answer the question she still could not answer. "I've walked three days," the wanderer said. He rubbed his wrist as if it ached. "My village burned. Soldiers took everything. My sister is hurt and hiding in the hills. I need your power to heal her, but she can't travel. Come with me." Elena's chest tightened. A hurt girl, a burned village. This was need. Her old rule said yes at once. But Marcus's question pressed on her. A liar could say these same words. Someone could use her power to lure her away, to trap her, to steal. Marcus moved to her side. He studied the wanderer the way a soldier studies a stranger on a road. "Which village?" he asked. "I served near the hills. I know the burned ones." The wanderer named a place. Marcus's face went still. "That village didn't burn," he said quietly. "I passed through it last week. Its wells still run. Its people still trade." The wanderer's mouth opened, then closed. His hand dropped from his wrist. "You're mistaken," he said. But his voice had lost its weight. Elena felt the lie settle in the air between them. She looked past the man to the tall living homes rising above her grove, their yellow flowers bright against the leaves. She had built shelter for the honest. She would not be led off by a false tale. "There's no sister," she said. It was not a question. The wanderer's shoulders sank. For a moment he seemed to weigh running. Then the fight left him. "I heard a grove goddess heals anyone," he admitted. "I meant to bring you to men waiting on the road. They'd hold you. Make you heal whoever paid." He looked at the ground. "I didn't think you'd ask questions. You never had before." Elena's hand trembled, but not from fear. She had almost gone. She would have gone, before Marcus. "Leave my grove," she said. "Tell the men on the road it failed." The wanderer backed away. He turned and walked into the trees, and the grove was quiet again. Elena sat on the edge of the altar. The silver beam of light fell warm across her hands. "I nearly said yes," she whispered. "But you didn't," Marcus said. "You asked. That's the answer you were looking for." She nodded slowly. She had learned to doubt. Yet the wanderer's last words stayed with her. Men waited on a road nearby, and they knew where her grove was. Her yes had a cost now. So did her no.