Rook Crale's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Rook Crale ran across the frozen slope with a cracked gemstone clutched to his chest. He had pried it from the glacier ice three days ago, and he still did not know what it was. The stone pulsed against his palms, slow and warm, like a heartbeat trapped in glass. He needed to know what slept inside it. But the pulsing had drawn something, and now that something hunted him. He heard the claws behind him. They cracked the ice crust with each stride. Rook risked a glance back. A dragon came down the slope, sleek and pale, its scales tipped with frost. Ice ridges lined its spine. Its yellow eyes locked on the glow in his hands. Every time the stone pulsed, the beast surged faster. Rook stumbled into a hollow between two boulders. A weathered cart sat there, half-buried in snow, its wooden body cracked and bundled with old pelts. He knew this cart. It belonged to the old hermit who traded furs across the ice, the same white-bearded man who had warned him days ago to throw the gem back. "Josh!" Rook shouted. "It found me!" The old man rose from behind the cart, short and broad, his beard stiff with frost. He did not look surprised. "I told you. The dead thing in that stone calls its old master." He grabbed a silver fern from a bundle on the cart. Its fronds shimmered with a cold sheen. "Wrap the stone. The frost-fern smothers the light. No light, no scent for the dragon." Rook's hands shook. The dragon crested the boulders above them. He looked at the gem, then at the fern. He wanted to hold the stone bare and keep watching it pulse. But the beast would kill him first. He pressed the fern's fronds around the gemstone and folded them tight. The warm pulse dimmed under his fingers. The glow went dark. The dragon halted on the rocks. Its head swung side to side. It could no longer smell the stone. It hissed, snapped at empty air, and turned back up the slope. Its claws faded into the wind. Rook slumped against the cart, gasping. "It worked." "For now." Josh crouched beside him and tapped the wrapped stone. "The fern rots in a day. When it dies, the light returns, and so does that thing. You cannot run forever." Rook stared at the bundle in his hands. The gem still pulsed faintly through the fronds. He could feel it against his skin, patient and alive. "Then tell me what's inside it," Rook said. "Before the fern dies." Josh met his eyes. "You won't like the answer. But you'll get it. Come inside, before your fingers freeze off." Rook clutched the wrapped stone and followed the old man behind the cart. He had bought himself a single day. Now he had to learn what he carried.