Elora Wilde's Arc

Chapter 9 of 9

Elora woke to gray light on the carved beams above her. Rowan lay beside her, one arm across her waist, his breath slow. The forest outside had gone quiet. No jays, no squirrels, no wind in the leaves. She had heard silence like this only once, the winter a fire tore through the eastern pines. She sat up slowly. Peace had not come to these woods. Something was holding its breath. Rowan opened his eyes. He watched her a moment, then reached for her hand. Their fingers met and the spark ran up her arm again, warmer this time, steady. He drew her back down. She kissed him. The sun crested the ridge and poured through the round window, gold on the blanket. "The birds are gone," she said. "I know," he said. "I've been listening." She climbed out of bed and went to the door. Through the branches below she saw the spirit bear standing in the ferns, black fur traced with pale runes, waiting. Her guide-bird dropped down from a higher branch and lit on the rail, chirping in three short bursts, then three more. Elora had learned its speech when it chose her. The men in the north were gone. The bear had driven them past the ridge. But their tracks turned back before the river. They would come again, and soon. She pulled on her boots. Rowan was already dressed. They climbed down together. The bear did not move as they approached. It only watched her, then swung its great head toward the north and back, as if to say, that way, and not for long. Then it faded into the ferns until only the runes hung in the air, and then nothing. "They'll bring more men," Elora said. "Bows this time. Maybe dogs." Rowan nodded once. "Then we need better than fists." She thought of her book. She had read a page on binding growth into cut wood, and passed it by because she had no carver. She had one now. "Come to the workshop," she said. In the lantern-lit nook below the treehouse, Rowan set out his chisels. Elora opened the book on the bench and found the page. She read the shaping words aloud while he worked. He cut a spear shaft from a living ash limb he had cured through winter, and three arrow shafts from the same wood. He carved runes down each length, following her finger on the page. When he finished, she laid green vines across the wood and spoke the binding. The vines took hold. They wound around the shafts on their own, leaves opening, and locked tight. The runes glowed once and settled. Elora lifted the spear. It was light in her hand and warm. Outside, a single jay called from the pines, then another. The forest had begun to breathe again. She looked at Rowan. "Now we're ready for them."