Sable Ashwick's Arc

Chapter 8 of 9

Sable set the falcon on the loft rail. It folded its red wings and watched her with one bright eye. She spread the decoded charts on the floorboards under the lantern. Sylvara Greenweave lay in a nest of folded cloth on the pillow, small as a doll, her white wings dim. Ire Taverness had sent up bread, water, and a spare blanket without being asked. Sable meant to use the quiet hours to read what she had. The charts covered half the loft. Sylvara's cipher work filled the margins in neat green ink. Sable traced the eastern route with her finger. Ridge. River bend. A mark she did not know. Past the river bend the notes broke into symbols Sylvara had not finished translating. A cluster of them ringed the second hull like a fence. Sable leaned closer. She tried the key Sylvara had shown her on the ridge. The first symbol matched nothing. The second matched nothing. She flipped the page and tried again. The ink swam. "Sylvara." She kept her voice low. "I need one word. Just this mark." The fairy's eyes cracked open. Green, but pale. Her braid had come loose against the pillow. "Show me," Sylvara said. Sable held the page down at pillow height. Sylvara lifted one finger, touched the symbol, and let her hand fall. "Warning," she said. "Not a place. A warning." "Warning for what." Sylvara's eyes closed. "Something that hunts. Father wrote it three times. Means he saw it three times." A pause. "The rest I can't do tonight. Sable. I can't." "I know." "Wake me at sunrise. Not before." Sable folded the blanket corner over her. The wings settled. The breathing evened. She sat back on her heels. The unread symbols stared up at her. She had wanted a map to the hull. She had gotten half a map and a warning she could not read past. She rolled the charts, tied them, and slid them under the pillow beside the fairy. Boots on the stair. Ire pushed the loft door with her shoulder. She carried a second lantern and a whetstone. Her amber tail curled once around the doorframe. "You're still up," Ire said. "Charts. There's a warning on them. Three times, past the river bend. My father drew it." Ire set the lantern down. She looked at the rolled charts, then at the sleeping fairy, then at Sable. "The goats," Ire said. "The boy. Same country." "You think it's the same thing." "I think your father saw what I've been tracking." She sat on the loft boards and drew a knife across the whetstone. One clean pass. "Sleep. We leave at first light. You ride behind me until the river bend. After that we walk quiet." Sable lay down beside the pillow. The falcon shifted on the rail. She had not read the last mile of the charts, but she had learned what waited on it. That would have to be enough until morning.