Rebecka Evertrue's Arc

Chapter 11 of 66

Rebecka went back outside with five arrows and one shield between her family and the dark. The dome above the house held clean and bright, fed by the last drop they had. She could hear her daughter counting under her breath through the open door. Ten years old. Holding a roof of light over four sleeping heads and two cats. Sunrise was three hours off, and the dome would fall with it. Lark landed beside her at the fence. His wings pulled tight against his back. "She'll drop it when the sun comes," he said. "The elixir carries her that far. No further." "I know." "Then we need her out of the house before it falls. Somewhere they can't track." Rebecka looked at the barn. Marcus had parked the armored crawler there two nights ago, its turquoise plating dulled with mud so it would not shine. Crystal lamps glowed soft under the fenders. It could carry them all. "The crawler," she said. "We move her at first light. Marcus drives. Mother and my sister in the back. Ninka sleeps." "They'll see it leave." She pulled the small square device from her belt pouch. The cloaking prism. Marcus had pressed it into her hand after the last attack and told her to keep it for the worst night. The runes on its face turned slow under her thumb. "They won't," she said. Marcus came out of the barn wiping grease from his hands. He looked at the prism and understood without her speaking. "One charge," he said. "Maybe an hour of cover. After that we're a bright turquoise box in open country." "An hour is the ridge," Rebecka said. "The ridge is caves. Caves buy us a day." He nodded once. That was all she needed. She went back inside. Ninka's arms were still up. Rebecka set a hand on her daughter's wrist. "Baby. When the sun touches the porch, you let it go. Don't fight it. Marcus will carry you to the crawler. You sleep. You've done enough." Ninka's eyes filled but did not spill. "The house." "The house is wood. You are my child." Lark hung a woven swing between two beams in the crawler's back cabin, tassels and cushions stitched with sleep-charms from his village. It would hold Ninka soft through the ride. Rebecka whistled once at the porch rail. Her crow dropped from the eaves, feathers catching the dome's light in blues and violets. She spoke Marcus's name to it, then Katia's, then the address of the cave she meant. The crow flew. Dawn came pink over the pines. The dome thinned, thinned, and went out like a blown candle. Ninka sagged. Marcus caught her. They rolled from the barn under the prism's shimmer, silent, invisible, the house left standing empty behind them. The quiver still had five arrows. The raiders would find only walls.