Marcus Stone's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Marcus Stone had the wood, the rope, and the plan pinned inside his skull, and still the first beam lay dead on the platform. He wanted a fortress up in the canopy, high in the branches of the old tree with the glowing fruit, a home where everyone he loved could sleep safe under his watch. But a beam that size took four hands to raise. Marcus had two. He'd sworn off partners years ago. Now his own rule had stalled him before he began. He crouched and gripped the beam. He heaved. It rose a foot, wobbled, and slammed back down. The platform shook. A splinter bit his palm. He cursed and sucked the blood. "You'll break your back before you break that habit," a woman said. Marcus turned. A slender woman stood at the rope bridge in a silk gown that didn't belong within a mile of splinters and sawdust. A blade sat strapped to her bare forearm, plain as a bracelet. Orla Ashveil. She hosted the grand parties over at the Rooftop Canopy Hall. Marcus knew her reputation. She smiled at guests and knew which ones wouldn't make it home. He didn't want her anywhere near his build. "I work alone," he said. "You don't work at all today." She stepped onto his platform without asking. "One man can't lift a fortress. You already know this. That's why you're bleeding." A puppy scrambled up the bridge behind her, gold markings ringing its eyes, coat soft as canopy moss. It bounded to Marcus and pressed against his boot. His jaw loosened for half a second. He set a hand on its head. Orla watched the crack in his shell and said nothing. "I don't need charity," Marcus said. "And I don't trust you." "Smart. Don't." She crouched, gown pooling in the sawdust, and gripped the far end of the beam. "But trust the beam. It won't rise on principle. Count." Marcus stared at her. The puppy barked once. He hated that she was right. He wrapped his hands around his end. "Three," he said. "Two. One." They pulled together. The beam lifted, swung upright, and dropped into its notch with a crack that rang through the branches. It held. The first post of his fortress stood. Marcus breathed hard. He'd raised nothing alone, and that stung. Orla brushed her palms and stood. "I'll send my people at dawn," she said. "Strong backs. They owe me." "Why," Marcus said. Not a question so much as a warning. "Because a man building a fortress will need doors that lock," she said, already walking. "And I like to know who holds the keys." She crossed the bridge and was gone. The puppy leaned on his leg. Marcus looked at the standing post, then at the empty bridge. His fortress had its first beam. It also had Orla Ashveil inside the gate, and he didn't know yet what that would cost him.