Rowan Birch's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Rowan stood at the ravine's edge and stared down. Half the Heart Stone lay somewhere below, in shadow and wet rock. He needed that half to chart the trails true. But the slope dropped sheer, loose, and slick. One wrong step and he would follow the stone down. He was still measuring the drop when a calm voice spoke behind him. "You'll die trying that with bare hands." Rowan turned. A druid stood among the ferns, a mushroom-crowned staff in one fist, vines trailing from his shoulders. Eirin Mossward. Rowan had heard of them from travelers. They fixed quarrels between villages and wild things, and never worked for free. "I need what's at the bottom," Rowan said. "A piece of gray stone." Eirin studied the ravine, then Rowan. "I can send roots down the wall. They'll hold your weight, if you hold your nerve. But roots cost me. You'll plant me a grove of oaks come spring. Promise it." "I promise," Rowan said. A small brown-and-white gremlin crept from behind the druid, ears wide, a satchel bouncing at his hip. Gizmo. He held out a granola bar with both paws. "Eat first," he chirped softly. "Falling is easier on a full belly." Rowan took it and chewed. His hands steadied. Eirin knelt and pressed the staff to the soil. Roots woke and crawled over the ravine's lip, weaving into a thick living ladder. "Down," the druid said. "Slow." Rowan climbed into the cut. The roots held. Mist soaked his shirt. Below him, wedged in a crack, he saw it—the sun-carved face, split clean. The lost half of the Heart Stone. Then a wild laugh echoed off the walls. A honey badger in a tattered monk's robe clung to a root three feet away, honey smeared on his snout, eyes bright with joy. Brother Ratel. "Ohhh, the sweet kiss of the drop!" Ratel cried. "Come, brother, taste the fall with me!" He shook the roots for pure delight. The living ladder swayed. Rowan's boot slipped. He caught the stone half instead of the root, and his weight tore it loose from the crack. He fell two feet, slammed the wall, and clung. The stone half was in his arms. Ratel cackled and scrambled off after some hidden hive. "Up!" Eirin called. The roots drew back, hauling Rowan and his prize toward the light. Gizmo reached down and gripped his collar. Together they dragged him over the edge. Rowan lay on the grass, gasping, the lost half against his chest. He turned it over. The two halves would match. He had them both now. But the break was old, and the faces did not meet clean. Whole lines of carved distance were rubbed to nothing along the crack. The marks he needed to measure the trails were gone. Rowan sat up slowly. He had the whole stone at last, and half its answers had worn away.