Marcus Vesper's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

Marcus left at first light. The clouds hung low and gray. He walked fast, hoping to outrun the storm, but the wind turned against him by noon. The first drops came thin. He pulled the hood down and kept moving. The mantle stayed dry, and dry meant hidden. He had one thought only: reach shelter before the rain soaked through. Ahead stood a weathered roadside stop. Its sign hung crooked, letters sun-faded. The porch roof sagged but held. Marcus broke into a run as the sky opened. Rain hammered the road. He reached the porch and pressed against the wall, breathing hard. The mantle had held. He was still dry. He was still hidden. Then a man came around the corner of the building, soaked to the skin. He carried a bundle of sticks and moved like the weather did not touch him. He saw Marcus and stopped. Rain dripped from his beard. He looked at the striped mantle a long moment. "That's a good cloak for weather," the man said. "Keeps a body dry." He set the sticks down and came closer. "But it won't help you soon. Roof's leaking bad inside." Marcus said nothing. He kept his back to the wall. The man reached past him for the door. As he did, his sleeve pushed the mantle aside. Cold rain struck Marcus's shoulder. He felt the plate rise at once, hard and fast, splitting the skin. His arm swelled inside the cloth. The mantle slid off his shoulder and clung wet. His shape showed through. A pincer pushed against the sleeve. The man stumbled back. He did not scream. He stared at the shifting arm, then at Marcus's face beneath the hood. Marcus waited for the man to run. Instead the man dug in his coat. He held out his open hand. In his palm sat a dried scorpion, rust-colored, tail curled, exactly like the one from the dead traveler. Marcus went cold. "You're one of them," the man said. His voice shook, but not with fear. "I've been looking. I carry this to know the others when I find them." Marcus backed toward the rain. The plate spread down his wrist. "There are more?" "A few." The man closed his fist over the scorpion. "Up the road. Same road you're walking. They gather where the dragonflies swarm the water." A cloud of dragonflies lifted from a puddle behind the man, wings flashing green. Marcus watched them scatter into the rain. The mantle was ruined now, soaked and useless against the weather. His secret was out to a stranger. But the stranger had not run. He had been searching for men like Marcus. Marcus pulled the wet cloth off his changed shoulder. He no longer needed to hide it from this man. "Show me," Marcus said.