Elowen, the Bloomkeeper's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

By the end of the first week, the seed had done its work. A cottage stood behind the waterfall, and beside it a glass house rose in curved panes that caught the morning light. Elowen had settled the baby Floradrake inside on a bed of moss. She was mixing salve at the worktable when a heavy thud struck the outer door. She opened it and found a full-grown Floradrake on the stone path, its emerald flanks torn, black thorny vines wrapped tight around its neck and legs. The vines were moving. Bramble dropped from the eaves. "It came from the north edge of the wood," he said. "Where it walked, the ferns turned black. If the vines root here, the whole forest goes with it." Elowen crouched by the drake's head. Its amber eye rolled toward her. Sap the color of tar bubbled where the thorns bit deepest. She pressed her palm against its cheek and felt the heat of the blight under the fur. "Inside," she said. She and Bramble half-dragged, half-guided the drake through the glass house doors and onto the wide stone floor beneath the dome. Elowen lit her lantern and set it on the ground beside the creature's chest. The bloom-shaped crystal warmed and threw a steady gold light along the drake's ribs. Where the light touched, the black sap slowed. She drew the moonvine dagger from the shelf. The blade glowed pale violet. Bramble hopped onto the drake's shoulder and pointed with one wing at the thickest vine, the one wound around the throat. "Start there. Cut with the grain of the thorn. If you pull, it will bite back into the flesh." Elowen worked slowly. She slid the blade under each vine and sliced it away in one clean stroke. The vines hissed and blackened as they fell. She cut for an hour, then another. Sweat ran into her eyes. The drake breathed easier with every strand removed. When the last vine hit the floor, Elowen pulled healing blossoms from her basket and packed them into the wounds. The lantern's light brightened. Gold threads of it sank into the drake's chest and chased the black sap out through the cuts. The creature shuddered once, then let its head rest on the stone. Its breathing evened. A soft flower opened along its spine, then another. Elowen sat back on her heels and let out a breath she had been holding for hours. She was gathering the dead vines to burn when Bramble made a low sound. He was staring at the pile. In the center, a single black blossom had opened. Its petals were smooth and wet, and it was turning, slowly, toward the open door of the glass house. Elowen picked up the dagger again. "It followed the drake," she said. "Something sent it." Bramble did not answer. Outside, at the edge of the ferns, the moss had begun to darken.