Marcus Steve's Arc

Chapter 6 of 8

Marcus woke before dawn with the split of pine on the table beside him. He rinsed his torn hands in the basin and looked at them. Raw palms. Sap under the nails. He had the gift. He had the story about cutting it last season. He did not have the words to hand it over. He tried a line aloud in the empty kitchen. It sounded like a man selling a horse. He tried another. Worse. He sat on the edge of the bed and understood he could ruin the whole thing at her door with one clumsy sentence. He walked out to the porch of his homestead and called for the fairies. No wings answered. Only wind in the dead tree behind the shed. He was about to try again when footsteps came up the path. An elf woman stopped at the bottom step. Silver hair to her waist. A pink blouse and a long lilac skirt. She carried no basket, no staff, nothing but her hands folded in front of her. She smiled like she already knew the trouble. "The sisters sent me," she said. "He handles the men who lie. I handle the men who freeze." Marcus felt his shoulders drop. "I don't know what to say to her." "Good. Men who know what to say say too much." Lunara Heartwhisper climbed the steps and took the split of pine off the rail. She weighed it in her palm. "Wrap it." He brought a square of clean cloth from inside. She folded it around the wood in three quick moves and tied it with the loose corner. "Now listen," she said. "You will not make a speech. You hand her the wood with both hands. You say, 'For your hearth.' Four words. Then you close your mouth and wait." "That's all?" "That's all. If she asks where it came from, you say last season's cut, cured on your porch. If she asks anything else, you answer short and true. Do not fill her silences. Widows use silence to measure a man." He repeated the line. For your hearth. She made him say it three times until it stopped sounding like a performance. "One more," she said. "When she takes it, step back. Do not lean in. Do not look at the door behind her. Look at her hands." "Her hands." "Her hands will tell you if she wants you to come again." Lunara stepped off the porch. "Midday. Go." At noon Marcus stood at the widow's door with the wrapped split in both hands. She opened it. He offered the bundle. "For your hearth." She took it. Her fingers closed around the cloth and stayed there. She did not step back. She looked at his raw palms, then at his face, and told him to come inside.