Sable Shadowmark's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Oryn frowned at his own sketch. "The name-glyph breaks off here," he said. He tapped a curled mark that stopped mid-stroke. "I drew the arm too fast. Without the rest of the lines, I can't tell if this names you or the one who marked you." Sable pushed his sleeve up again. The silver lines glowed. "Then draw it again." "I can't," Oryn said. "The outer marks shifted while I worked. They only settle when magic is near, and steady. My hand can't catch a moving thing." He closed the sketchbook. "You need to hold still somewhere the marks hold still too." Sable knew one way to be still. Sleep. When he slept, his hands could not hide his arms. He reached into his coat and drew out a small bottle. Silver liquid glimmered inside, flecked like stars. He had bought it days ago and not used it. He hated the idea of sleeping while another watched. The last time he trusted a friend and slept, he woke changed, alone, marked. "A sleep draught," Sable said. "If I drink it, I won't twitch. You draw the whole glyph." His fingers tightened on the glass. "But I can't guard myself while I dream." Oryn studied him. "You'd let me watch you sleep." "No." Sable turned toward the broken window. A raven sat on the sill. Its feathers shone black with a hint of purple. Its eyes were silver, bright as coins. It had followed him three days now, sharp and watchful. "That bird wakes at every sound. It screamed when a fox came last night, before I heard it." He looked at Oryn. "It watches you while I sleep. If your hand strays, it cries out." Oryn nodded slowly. "Fair." Sable uncorked the bottle. The sweet smell rose, close to honey. His stomach turned. He drank anyway. The cold spread fast. He lay back on the stone and let his arms fall open, marks bare to the gray light. The raven dropped to his chest and folded its wings. Its silver eyes fixed on Oryn's hands. Sable watched the bird until his own eyes shut. He woke to a hand on his shoulder. The raven still sat on him, calm. It had not cried out. Oryn had kept his distance. Nothing had changed on Sable's body while he slept. "It held still," Oryn said. He turned the sketchbook. The name-glyph sat complete now, every line joined. "I read it three times to be sure." Sable sat up. "Whose name." Oryn's pale eyes met his. "Not yours." He set his finger on the mark. "This is the name of the one who marked you. It's written into your skin. Whoever did this signed their work." Sable stared at the shape. He did not know the letters. But someone did. He rolled his sleeve down slowly, and this time his hand did not fight him. "Then teach me to say it," he said.