Petal Brightwing's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

Petal reached the feather first by cutting through a gap in the nest's twigs. The silver feather stretched above her like a fallen mast. She pressed both hands against the shaft and pushed. It did not move. She was too small. The thing she had chased across the whole land was now a wall she could not lift. Cyrus landed beside her, breathing hard. "Still trying to carry it?" He eyed the feather, then the sleeping beast above them. "You can't. Neither can I. We shrank ourselves down to nothing to get here, and now we're ants under a log." "I didn't come this far to leave it." Petal drew her needle-sword. The blade threw colored light across the twigs. Cyrus held up a hand. "Don't be stupid. Cut the stem that pins it, fine. But the beast wakes if the feather drags across the nest. We make noise, we die." He studied her. "You want it out. I want it out. For once we want the same thing." Petal hated that he was right. She looked past the feather and saw it. Across the nest sat a cluster of woven twigs and bright flowers, a small nest within the big one. A faint light pulsed inside it, quick and silver. "That charm," Cyrus said slowly. "I've heard of it. It makes things fast. Fast enough to pull a load that shouldn't move." He grinned, cold and sharp. "The beast collects shiny things. It stole more than your feather." They crossed to the small nest together. Petal climbed the flowered rim and reached the glowing charm. It thrummed under her palms, light as a seed, humming with trapped speed. She dragged it back to the feather. Cyrus lashed it to the shaft with a thread pulled from the nest. "Both of us pull," he said. "On three." They braced against the silver shaft. The charm flared. Petal pulled, and the feather shot forward like a leaf in a flood. It skimmed over the twigs without a sound. She and Cyrus ran behind it, through the gap, out of the pit, up the sloping rock. Above them the beast stirred. One eye cracked open. But they were gone, dragging the feather across open stone in long, gliding bursts. They stopped behind a ridge. The feather lay still. Petal gasped and laughed. She had it. After everything, she had it. Then Cyrus set his hand on the shaft beside hers. His ice-blue eyes met hers. "We got it out," he said. "Now we settle who keeps it." Petal's laugh died. The feather was free. But they were both still the size of specks, miles from her grove, and only one charm sat lashed to the prize between them.