Ricky Turner's Arc

Chapter 4 of 7

Ricky stepped under the mushroom canopy. The caps dripped overhead. The blue glow at the road's end pulled him on, but a worse thought slowed his feet. He was walking toward that tower on a rabbit's word alone. He had no proof it held a way home. He had followed Fletch through the dark forest because Guater trusted him. That wasn't the same as knowing. "Fletch," Ricky said. He kept his voice loose, like the question didn't matter. "So this tower. What's inside it, exactly?" Fletch's ears twitched. He glanced back and grinned. "You don't know." Ricky's face went hot. "I know plenty." "You don't," Fletch said. He stopped in the middle of the road. "That's fine. Only a fool pretends he does. The tower's a door. People come through it wrong. Some go back the same way. That's why the old woman sent you here." Ricky's chest loosened. A door. A way back. He hadn't asked outright, and Fletch had told him anyway, plain and fast. But then the rabbit's ears dropped flat. "Quiet," Fletch said. "Both of you. Off the road." Guater's hackles rose. He faced the trees and did not bark. "Something waits ahead," the dog said. "Something big. It waits." Ricky froze. Down the road, past the next arch of caps, the packed dirt was churned and torn. Deep grooves cut the ground. Something heavy had dragged through here. Fletch crept to the edge and parted the vines with one paw. Half-buried in the growth sat a wooden chest. Vines wrapped its sides. Small mushrooms dotted the lid. The lid hung open, and inside lay a long sword, its blade catching the blue glow. "Take it," Fletch said. No setup. No warning. "The road ahead isn't empty. You'll want it in your hand." Ricky knelt. He lifted the sword. It was heavier than his old plank, and cold. His seven years of dice and cards had not prepared him for the weight of it. "I don't fight," he said. "I play board games." "You fight now," Fletch said. "Or you don't reach the door." Guater pressed against Ricky's leg. "I smell it," the dog said. "I smell it coming." Ricky stood. The sword shook a little in his grip, then steadied. He looked down the long tunnel of caps toward the glow he now knew was a door home. The road no longer felt like a trap without a reason. It felt like a road with something guarding the end of it. "All right," Ricky said. He gripped the sword with both hands. "Show me where it comes from." Fletch swung up onto the road and pointed ahead. Whatever had torn those grooves was still close. And now Ricky walked toward it, armed, no longer blind to what waited.