Lunara Silvercoat's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

The cold in Lunara's chest woke her before dawn. She sat up in the shrine and pressed her hand to a healing wound on her arm. The moment her gift warmed the skin, the cold surged, sharp and quick, up toward her heart. She jerked her hand away. Fennric stood in the doorway, watching. "That thing feeds on your healing," he said. "Every blessing you give, it moves closer. You cannot tend the grove like this. You cannot even tend yourself." She had come to save the grove. Now she could not touch it without killing herself. She knew one place left to try. When the wolfkin still lived in the old caves, they spoke of her aunt, a blind oracle who saw what eyes could not. Lunara had not spoken to Lyra Moonseer in years. They had parted badly. But the caves held healing older than any tablet, and only Lyra knew it. She wrapped a woven sash around her cold arm and walked into the frost until stone swallowed the sky. Lyra waited at the mouth of a deep chamber, as if she had known the hour. Her white eyes fixed on nothing and saw everything. "You bring rot into my house," the old wolfkin said. "And you bring it because you gave your blood to save dirt and trees." Lunara's throat tightened. "I need help, Aunt." Lyra tilted her head. "You needed help when you left. You did not ask then." Lunara knelt on the cold stone. "The corruption grows when I heal. My gift is turned against me. Fennric says it will reach my heart by the next full moon." Lyra was silent a long moment. Then she stepped aside. Behind her, water glowed with soft lunar light. A round stone basin held a still, shining pool. "The old way does not use your gift," Lyra said. "It uses the moon's. Water remembers a cleaner light than the one you were taught." Lyra pressed a pale crystal into Lunara's palm. It was cool and bright, and the cold in her arm did not stir against it. "Hold this. Enter the water. Do not heal. Do not pull. Only let go." Lunara lowered herself into the spring. The chill of the corruption fought the glow. She wanted to force it out with her gift, but Lyra's voice stopped her. "Let go." She stopped pushing. The pale light in the crystal spread through the water and into her. The cold in her chest loosened, thinned, and drew back down her arm. Lunara rose from the basin, breathing hard. The cold no longer sat against her heart. It had retreated to a thin line below her elbow. "It is not gone," Lyra said. "The moon can only push it back so far. To draw it out fully, you must return the corruption to where it was born." Lunara looked at her arm. She had bought time. But now she knew the blade was not finished with her.