Iris Caldwell's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Iris left the store with her rope and dried meat. She walked north through the afternoon. By dusk the wind changed. It came sharp and cold off the high ground. She pulled her thin coat tight, but it did nothing. Her breath turned to fog. The trail ahead climbed bare and open toward the ridge. Nothing up there would break the wind. She knew then that her coat would not carry her over. She would freeze before she cleared the top. She could not go back to the crowds. She could not go forward and die. So she turned to the one place that might hold what she needed. The store sat behind her, its rough wooden siding gray in the failing light. She reached the porch as the first sleet stung her face. The old man was still at his counter. He held a compass in his right hand and traced a line on a worn map. His left hand lay flat and shaking on the wood. He did not stop for her. "You came back," Megdore said. "Twice in one day." "The cold caught me," Iris said. "I need warmer gear. A coat. Anything thick." He set down the compass. He looked at her thin sleeves and grunted. "You'd have died on that path by morning." He rose slow and went to a chest behind the counter. He lifted out a heavy coat of oiled wool and a pair of fur-lined gloves. "Trapper left these. Never came for them." Iris reached for her coin purse. It was nearly empty. She counted what she had and set it on the counter. It was not enough. She knew it was not enough. Megdore looked at the coins. He looked at the map under his shaking hand. "Keep it," he said. He pushed her coins back. "I have chased a place for forty years. Nobody helped me. You take the coat." Iris stared at him. She was not used to kindness with no price. "Why?" "Because you'll go whether I sell it or not," he said. "I'd rather you go warm." He returned to his map. "The center is always guarded. Mine too. You'll learn that soon." She pulled the wool coat over her shoulders. It was thick and smelled of tar and smoke. The weight of it steadied her. She drew on the gloves and flexed her fingers. For the first time in hours she was not shaking. "Thank you," she said. Megdore did not look up. "Go before the storm sets in." Iris stepped back into the sleet. The wind still bit, but it could not reach her now. She turned north again and started to climb. The ridge waited above her, gray and steep. Beyond it lay the valley and its keepers. She had the coat now. The cold would not stop her. Only the lizardfolk stood between her and the quiet she wanted.