Matthew Ashford's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Dawn smoke still hung over the lane when Matthew led Syrian away from the broken cabin. He kept her under his coat. He walked her to a stone cellar door set into the hillside, half-buried in moss. He pulled the timber open and waved her down the steps. Syrian looked at the dark hole. "A grave with a door," she said. She climbed down anyway. Matthew set a cloth pouch in her hands, heavy with dried berries and nuts. "Eat slow," he said. "I'll be back by dusk." She tied the pouch shut. "Don't get caught lying," she said. "I'm not the one who hangs." He closed the door. He covered the latch with leaves. Then he walked the ridge toward his post and saw something he had not meant to find. A crack in the rocks. A low cave mouth, half-hidden behind brush. Pale blue dust drifted from the opening like smoke from a slow fire. Matthew crouched at the edge. The dust clung to his sleeve. He heard wings inside, deep and many. This was the nest. This was where the swarm had come from. He ran to the watch house. The captain was at the map table, gray and tired. "I found their hole," Matthew said. "North ridge. Blue dust at the mouth. We can burn it shut." The captain studied him a long moment. "Good work." Then, flatter: "The green one. The fairy. Seen her?" Matthew held his eyes. "No, sir. Not a sign." The captain nodded once and turned back to the map. Matthew stepped out into the cold morning with his hands steady and his stomach turning. He had given the captain something real. He had also told his first clean lie. Both would hold, for now. Both had a price he had not yet counted.