Obsidian Thornwing's Arc

Chapter 5 of 18

Obsidian left the tavern at dawn with the braid tied at his shoulder and Iron's warning still in his ears. Ridge duty would call within days. He wanted one clear morning before the orders came. He climbed the slope east of Mosswood to walk the ridgeline and think. He was near the crest when the blast hit. It came from below the treeline, a hard concussion that shoved the air sideways. Something scavenger-made, maybe a signal charge, maybe worse. The ground under his boots went loose. Obsidian tried to open his wings. His left wing caught a rock and folded wrong. He went down the hill on his back, then his shoulder, then his face. Roots tore his sleeve. A branch opened his temple. He stopped against a stump at the bottom, half in a stream, tasting blood. He could not get his wing to lift. He could not get his arm under him. He heard water and his own breath and nothing else. He thought, so this is how it ends. Not on the Ridge. In a ditch, a week too soon. A small green cat stepped out of the ferns and stared at him. Luminous spots dotted its flank. It sat down as if it had been waiting. Then it turned its head toward a mushroom-capped cabin he had not noticed, tucked between two trunks, a little red birdfeeder swinging from its eave. The cabin door opened. A fairy came out fast. Dark green braids. White wings that threw light where there should have been none. She was small, smaller than he expected anyone with that much force to be. She dropped to her knees beside him in the mud without a word and put both hands on his chest. Her eyes went wide. She looked at his face, then at his black wing, then at his face again. She had felt something. He felt it too, low and certain, like a bell struck once inside his ribs. "Don't move," she said. Then, softer, only to him, "You're mine." He tried to answer. Blood ran into his eye. She pressed her palm to the cut on his temple. Warmth moved under her hand and the pain thinned. She worked down his arm, his ribs, the wrenched wing. Each place she touched went quiet. "Who did this," she said. "Didn't see them." "Scavengers. East slope." Her jaw tightened. "They're moving." She sat back on her heels. The green cat pressed against her knee. She looked at Obsidian like she was solving a problem she had not agreed to take on. "Sylvara," she said. "Obsidian." "I know." She did not explain how. "You can't walk yet. And I can't leave you here." He reached for the braid at his shoulder. It was still there. Sylvara’s eyes flickered to the braid and then back to Obsidian’s face.