Lilith Thornveil's Arc

Chapter 11 of 11

The seeds were planted, but they would take weeks. The last red fruit sat in the basket, already soft. Lilith turned it over and pressed a thumb into the skin. It gave too easily. By tomorrow it would be brown. She had food for maybe two days, and no way to keep it past that. She had bought a future harvest and traded away the present. Raven found her in the second chamber, staring at the basket. "It's rotting," the cat-eared girl said. She set down her mother's lock-picking book and knelt beside the fruit. "Cut it. Dry it. My mother did that. Kept me fed on old apples for a winter once." She said it flat, the way she said everything. Lilith had learned not to push her. Raven gave help when she chose, and never explained why. "Dry it how?" Lilith asked. "Cold air. Slow heat. Salt if you have it." Raven shrugged. "We don't." Lyra spread her map on the stone and traced past the spring where they had planted. "There's more back here." Her ink-stained finger stopped on a wide hollow. "Cold. Dry. I felt the air move when I mapped it." She looked up. "Fruit keeps in the cold." Lilith led them through the passage. The hollow opened wide. The floor caught the light and threw it back in purple sparks. Faceted crystal covered the stone, sharp lavender points rising between deep violet clusters. Cold air pooled low around their boots. Selene followed and pressed her palm flat to a crystal. "It's freezing," she said. "Colder than the pool chamber." Raven crouched and set the soft fruit in a gap between two crystal points. She watched it a moment. "This holds cold. Store it here." They worked through the afternoon. Lilith sliced the last fruit thin with her blade. Lyra laid each piece flat on the cold stone to dry. Selene carved shallow pockets between the crystals and lined them with clean cloth. Raven packed the slices in tight, then folded the cloth over. Two of Lilith's small bats crept in and settled on a high ledge, watching with bright eyes, guarding without being asked. By dusk the pockets were full. The cold air kept the slices firm. Lilith pressed one and felt no give. It would last. Not two days now. Weeks, maybe, until the crops came in. She stood in the glittering hollow and counted what she had. Enough to bridge the gap. Enough to hold the four of them until the orchard grew. She looked at the empty pockets still waiting between the crystals. They could hold far more than four people's share. "When the crops come," she said, "this fills up. We store a surplus." She turned to Raven. "Then I put the beacon back in the market. And I keep it there." Raven picked up her book. "You're building a bigger door," she said, and walked out.