Mason Crafton's Arc

Chapter 2 of 15

Mason climbed until the trees thinned and the ground turned to loose rock. The scale sat heavy in their coat. Behind them, a blue flash cut through the branches — one of the princess's diamond birds, already tracking. Mason knew what that meant. The prince would know soon. The princess would know sooner. Mason had hours at most before the whole forest turned against them. A branch cracked to the left. Mason froze. A boar stepped out of the brush, tusks low, breath steaming. It was bigger than any pig Mason had ever seen, and its eyes were not afraid. Mason drew the scale from their coat and held it up like a coin. The boar looked at the scale. The boar looked at Mason. Then it lowered its head and charged. Mason threw themself sideways. A tusk caught their sleeve and tore it open to the elbow. Mason rolled behind a rock and crouched, breath ragged, blood running warm down their arm. The scale had done nothing. The boar knew the dragon. It did not know Mason. A stolen piece of proof was not the same as a bond. The boar circled the rock. Mason heard its hooves on the stone. Above, more diamond birds gathered, quiet, watching. Mason understood then. The birds were not attacking. They were witnesses. They would carry the story back to the tower, and from the tower it would travel to the prince, and by nightfall every creature in the woods would have Mason's scent and face. Mason had one move left. They pulled the scale from the dirt where they had dropped it and hurled it downhill, hard, into the trees. The boar's head snapped toward the sound. It crashed after the scale. Mason ran the other way, uphill, hands and knees on the rock, until the sound of hooves faded. When Mason finally stopped, the coat was torn, the arm was bleeding, and the scale was gone. Somewhere below, the boar was sniffing at a piece of black bone that meant nothing without the prince beside it. Mason sat on the stone and looked down at the forest. The tower rose above the trees near the edge. Even from here Mason could see a small figure on its platform, watching the sky. The princess. The birds answered to her. The dragon answered to the prince. Mason had tried to steal one link in the chain and learned the chain did not break that way. The scale was not the gift. The hair and the ruby were. A piece of the giver. Mason pressed a hand against the torn sleeve to slow the blood. They had climbed the mountain with a stolen thing and lost it to a pig. They would go down now with nothing but a plan. If the dragon only answered to a piece of its keeper, then Mason would have to bring the dragon a piece of the keeper itself.