Misstres May's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Mistress May pressed her palm against the barred window of the wooden shed and counted the slow breaths inside. Six bone-plated salamanders left. This morning there had been eight. She wanted the oracle's seat in the cathedral more than she wanted air, but she could not chase that dream while her livelihood rotted in a pen. She lifted the old glass jar from her belt. Cloudy amber fluid sloshed inside, a tincture she had mixed since she was twelve. She uncorked it and dabbed the liquid on each plated snout. The beasts hissed. One did not hiss at all. Outside, the slab field had grown again. Wooden crosses leaned over fresh concrete markers, wilted blooms pressed between them. She had buried two more before breakfast. The smell crept under the shed door. A flash of orange darted across the rafters. A bright little gecko with ember markings clung to the beam, watching her work. It had wandered in days ago and never sickened. May stared at it. Whatever the plague was, it skipped that small body clean. She caught the gecko in her jar and sealed the cork. She would scrape its skin, test its blood, learn what kept it whole. By dusk the last salamander stopped breathing. Her herd was gone. But the gecko pressed its pads to the glass, alive, and May's hands were finally free.