Lyra Brightwhisper's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

One elder had said yes. Three could still say no. Lyra needed the second clan next, but she did not know its elder. She did not know what he valued or feared. Walk in with the wrong words, and she could turn a wary clan into a hostile one. She needed someone who knew the man. So she climbed to a hillside greenhouse of iron and glass, where an old witch grew her rare plants under a pale glow. FannieMay Valor bent over a low bed of silver leaves. She was small, in a tall pointed hat, and she pinched a wilted stem without looking up. "You want the Sacred Grove clan," she said. "I heard your feet before you spoke. You walk like a girl carrying a whole forest on her back." Lyra sat on a stone bench. "Their elder. I don't know how to reach him. If I bring the wrong offer, I lose him for good." The witch straightened slowly. "He does not trust promises. He trusts the old ways. His people keep a grove of standing stones, older than any clan. Bring him a gift that honors that. Not gold. Not flattery." She reached to a shelf and took down a small flask with a pearly, glowing sheen. "Honeydew nectar. His grove blesses each season with it. He will know you learned something true before you came." Lyra took the flask. "And his temper?" "Cold, not cruel. Speak plainly. He will test you." FannieMay pressed a hand to Lyra's arm. "Go now. He walks the stones at dusk." Lyra found the Sacred Grove at the edge of the wildwood. Old trees ringed a circle of moss-covered stones. Carved wooden faces watched from the trunks. The elder stood among the standing stones, tall and still, a young dark-haired guard at his side. The guard stepped forward, hand on his knife. "Aaron," the elder said. "Let her speak." Aaron Greyjoy did not move his hand. He watched Lyra the way a hawk watches a field. She kept her voice steady and held out the flask. "Your grove blesses the seasons with this," she said. "I did not come to trade words. I came to honor your ground before I ask you to leave it." The elder took the flask. He turned it in the fading light. A small silver-and-gold creature, shaped like a cat with fine dragonfly wings, drifted down and settled on a stone beside him. He watched it, then Lyra. "You learned our ways," he said. "That is rare. The River elder truly agreed?" "He did. He waits on you and the other two." The elder was quiet a long moment. "Then I will come to your world-tree," he said. "But hear me. Aaron speaks for me at your summit. Cross him, and I leave." Lyra bowed. Two elders now. But she had bound herself to a guard who did not trust her at all.