Maya Serpentine's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

The east road ran flat and wet under Maya's boots. Fence posts leaned in the grass. The serpent lay loose along her forearm, cool and watching, no longer squeezing. Jolt's last word sat in her chest like a stone she could not set down. A year. She walked past noon without stopping. The map warmed in her pocket when the road bent north toward the sound of water. She pulled it out. The ink lines glowed faintly along the second bend of the cold river. The scorch marks at the edge had not spread. She followed the line off the road, down through wet ferns, until the trees opened on the riverbank. Something pale waited between two pines. Maya stepped closer. A stone snake's head rose from the moss, half-buried, mouth closed, eyes worn smooth. It faced back the way she had come. She knelt and brushed dirt from its jaw. The stone was carved with small scales, patient work, old. The serpent slid from her wrist and touched its nose to the stone. It held there. The map grew hot in her hand. When she looked down, a new line had darkened on the parchment, running from the stone head into the trees ahead, past a shape she had not noticed before: a low arch, drawn in careful ink, marked as a gate. Maya sat back on her heels. She had found the marker. The garden was not here, but the road to it was real, and she was on it. She wrapped the serpent back around her wrist. It settled, still loose, still watching. She stood, folded the map, and walked past the stone head into the trees.