Oliver Finch's Arc

Chapter 6 of 9

The sun climbed higher over the spring. Oliver held the healed flower against his chest and turned in a slow circle. Fields ran in every direction. He saw no road, no rooftop, no hint of home. His shoes still dripped cold water. If he picked wrong now, he could walk all day and end nowhere by dark. The tiny centipede stirred on his wrist. Its ocean-blue eyes caught the light. Oliver stared at it. The little creature had found the tallest tree. It had found the spring in the dark. Both times, he had doubted it, and both times it was right. "You know the water," he said. "Do you know the way out?" He knelt and set the centipede in the grass. It froze, the way it always did. Then it turned away from the spring and hurried east, down the slope. Oliver followed. He kept his eyes on its brown segments as they slipped between stones. The creature led him over a low ridge and down into a valley. Oliver's legs ached. Twice he lost the centipede and dropped to his knees to find it again. Each time he cupped it in his palm, carried it past the mud, and set it down. He would not lose his guide now. Near midday the ground grew firmer. Grass gave way to a packed dirt path. The centipede stopped at its edge. Oliver looked up. Ahead, the path met a cobbled street. He knew that street. He knew the cracked stones and the leaning lamp. He walked faster. Then he saw it. At the end of the street stood a tall green house, ten stories of creaking wood, its trim painted deep blue, its window frames yellow. Warm light glowed behind the glass. His home. Six windows, six people he loved, all still waiting. Oliver ran. He clutched the flower so its petals would not bruise. The centipede clung to his wrist. He climbed the front steps two at a time and pounded on the door. It swung open. Faces filled the doorway, then arms. His mother pulled him close, careful of the flower between them. They had thought the flood took him. He was soaked and muddy and home. "I found it," Oliver said, breathless. He lifted the blue bloom into the light. "It's real. It's worth money. Enough for the bills." They stared at the flower, whole and bright in his dirty hand. But his mother's smile faded as she looked at it. She had heard the stories about blue flowers from the tallest tree. She knew what people did to get one. "Where did this come from?" she asked quietly. "Oliver, if the wrong person sees it, they'll take it. And they won't ask nicely." Oliver's chest tightened. He was home at last. But the flower in his hand was no longer just a prize. It was a danger he had carried straight through his own front door.