Ethan Greywater's Arc

Chapter 19 of 19

The compass pulled Ethan deeper into the mist. Margaret walked beside him, their hands joined. For a while she matched his pace. Then she fell half a step behind. Ethan turned and saw the fog pass through her shoulder. Her blue glow dimmed where it touched her. Each step seemed to cost her more than the last. "Keep up," Ethan said. He slowed for her. But slowing did not help. Her fingers felt thinner in his hand. He could see the gray mist straight through her arm now. "Margaret. Look at me." She lifted her head. Her eyes still burned bright. "I'm here," she said. But her voice came softer, like it traveled from farther off. Ethan could not tell if she was tired or disappearing. The thought froze him. He had fought for years to reach her. Now the mist was eating her in front of him, and he did not know how to stop it. A lantern light swung behind them. The robed keeper shuffled out of the fog, the same old man who had met them at the door. He breathed hard, like he had hurried. "You moved fast," he said. "Too fast for her, maybe." "She's fading," Ethan said. "Tell me how to stop it." "I light the first steps. I don't carry cures." The keeper studied Margaret, then sighed. He reached under his robe. He drew out a tall ornament of dark glass, cut into many faces. Inside it, small lights drifted and glowed. "But I can let you see what's true. Hold it up to her. It shows a soul's strength, plain as day." Ethan took the heavy thing. He raised it toward Margaret. One face lit green and steady. Her light. It glowed strong and whole, not dim, not thinning. The green held firm while he watched. "She's not fading," the keeper said. "She's bound to you. She follows where the compass pulls you, not where it pulls her. Her soul drags against a path meant for yours alone." Ethan lowered the prism. The fog still showed through Margaret's arm. But the green light had not flickered. She was whole. She was only being pulled the wrong way. "Then we stop following my compass," he said. "You can't throw it down," the keeper said. "It's the only light this side gives." Ethan looked at Margaret. He pressed the compass into her open hand instead of his own. The needle swung at once. It turned a new direction, away from the path it had held. Her glow steadied. The mist no longer passed through her arm. Color filled her shape again. "It points for whoever holds it," Ethan said. "We follow yours now." Margaret closed her fingers on the compass. The needle pointed off into fresh mist, somewhere he had never meant to go. "Then I lead," she said. And she stepped first.