Joe dirt's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

The golden watch burned Joe's palm again, and he had six days left to live. He knew the count because the veins on his wrist had turned black. They climbed higher each dawn. The curse came with the watch, and the watch was not his. He had lifted it from a rich man's coat weeks ago and left a white feather behind. Now the theft was killing him. To break the curse, he had to return the watch to its rightful owner. But he did not know who that was. Joe had tried three names already. Each guess wasted a day and darkened his veins. He was out of guesses. So he crossed the broken bridge to find the old tree the peddlers spoke of. Half the bridge was gone. He stepped over gaps where the stone had crumbled into the gorge below. One arch held. He crossed it and did not look down. The tree waited on the far bank. Its bark twisted like iron rope, gray and hard. A red vine coiled up the trunk, its thorns glowing like coals. Heat rolled off the leaves. Joe remembered what the peddlers said. Press the stolen thing against the ember vine. The vine feeds on lies. It will show you the truth. He drew the watch. The chain swung. He pressed the gold face into the thorns. The vine hissed. A thorn bit his thumb. Blood welled, and the fire in the vine flared white. The watch grew hot, then cold. Its lid snapped open on its own. Inside, where a portrait should sit, an image formed in the metal. Joe leaned close. He saw a woman's face. Gray hair. A scar across one brow. She stood in a doorway lit by a single candle in an iron sconce. Behind her, a child cried. Then letters etched themselves under the face. A name. Not the rich man's name. A servant's name. The watch had never belonged to the man Joe robbed. It had been stolen once before, by the very man Joe stole it from. Joe pulled the watch free. The image faded. His thumb still bled where the thorn had cut him. But now he knew the face. He knew the candlelit door. He closed the lid and felt the black veins pulse. Six days. He had a name and a face, and no idea where she lived. The rich man had taken this watch from her long ago. Whatever he had done to get it, she had reason to hate the man who carried it now. Joe wrapped the watch in cloth and turned back toward the ruined bridge. Finding her would be the easy part. Getting close enough to hand it over, before the curse or her grief finished him, was the next problem. He started walking.