Moonwhisper's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Moonwhisper climbed down from the roof with the sapling cradled against her ribs. Its pale roots dangled over her forearm. The talisman at her chest pulsed in time with the small tree, thread thin. Lysander watched from the grass, arms still folded. He had kept the sapling's secret for six winters, and she had not yet decided what to do with that. Right now she had a smaller problem, and it could kill everything. "The link won't hold a hard road," she said. "One stumble and the stone loses it." Lysander uncrossed his arms. "Then don't stumble." "That isn't a plan." She lifted the talisman. The lunar stone flickered when she tilted it, the sapling's pulse skittering like a moth. A day's walk to the dead grove. Roots, stones, streams to cross. Any jolt could scatter the link, and she would have nothing left to plant. The four fairy folk swept in from the eaves, pink and blue and gold and lavender. They circled the sapling, then darted toward the small glass building behind the cottage. Moonwhisper had passed it a thousand times without opening the door. She followed. Lysander came after her, quiet. Inside, on a low bench, sat a domed case the size of a lantern. Its frame was gold, its panels clear. Green and rose runes ran along the base. A hinged door stood at the front, small enough for a child's hand. The fairy folk pressed their palms to the glass and looked back at her. "My mother's," Moonwhisper said. She had forgotten it was here. Lysander stepped closer. "It cradles what's inside. Nothing gets through the frame. Not weather, not a fall." She set the sapling on the bench and opened the little door. Her hands shook. She lowered the roots into the soil cup and pressed them down. The pale trunk fit under the dome with a finger's room to spare. She closed the door. The runes along the base warmed and settled to a steady glow. She pressed the talisman against the glass. The stone's flicker smoothed. The sapling's pulse ran clean now, held between the dome and the rune. She lifted the case by its handle and shook it, once, hard. The light did not stutter. Her shoulders dropped. "It holds." "It holds," Lysander agreed. He did not sound relieved. She looked at him. "Say it." "You can carry the sapling now. That was the easy part." He nodded at the door. "Whatever moved into the grove has had six winters to settle. It will feel the link the moment you cross the tree line. It will come for it." Moonwhisper tightened her grip on the handle. The sapling glowed steady inside its glass. She had a living thing to plant, and something waiting to take it from her.