Matthew Sharpclaw's Arc

Chapter 5 of 12

They climbed for an hour before the trees thinned. The path opened onto a high ridge where a great rounded stone rose against the sky. A cherry tree clung to its crown, pink blossoms shivering in the cold wind. Rarespot stopped walking. Her ears flattened. Matthew followed her eyes up. A nest crowned the rock. It was huge, woven of branches as thick as Matthew's arm. Bones lay scattered at the base of the stone, picked clean and bleached. Matthew's breath caught. Redtail pulled him back a step. The shadow came first. Then the wind. The roc dropped from the gray sky and landed on the ledge above them, blossoms scattering like snow. Its wings folded slow. Its orange eye fixed on Rarespot. It made a low sound, almost a question. "It knows her," Redtail whispered. Rarespot did not answer. She walked forward, past the bones, and stopped at a low cherrywood table set near the rock's foot — left there long ago, weathered smooth. She placed her hand flat on it. Matthew understood then. This had been her perch once. Her meeting place. The man had kept it waiting. The roc lowered its head. It wanted her back. One word, one climb, and she would be its rider again. Matthew saw the choice land on her shoulders like a weight. She had sworn never. She turned and looked at him. Matthew took the feather from his coat and pressed it into her palm. "Not for him," he said. "For us. Just to get there." Rarespot closed her fingers around it. She climbed. The roc lifted her, then circled back and took Redtail, then Matthew. The wind tore at his coat. Below, the table sat empty. They were flying to the man now, on the wings she had buried.