Sage winterwood's Arc

Chapter 2 of 29

The dark seam of soil steamed in the morning sun. Sage knelt beside it and pressed her fingers into the loam. It was rich, but already the top was pale and dry. Terros had woken one patch and left. The rest of the plot stayed rock. She dug her seeds into the living dirt and watched a green shoot uncurl. Then the shoot drooped. The soil cracked at the edges. Without water, this small life would die before nightfall. She stood and searched the ground for a spring. She found only a squat well of cracked stone. Its charm hung broken from a rusted chain. She lowered her hand into the shaft. Dry. Not even a whisper of damp came up from the dark. Sage struck the well's rim with her fist. Her glow flared and faded. She could wake a seed, not water. She had never learned to pull rain from a dead sky. But she knew someone who could. She called across the water in the old way, palm flat to the broken stone. The answer came fast. A tall woman walked over the barren plot, and the dust turned damp under her sandals. Her blue-green dress moved like a current with no wind to push it. This was Aquaria Riverstone, goddess of water, and Sage's oldest friend. "You always dig where nothing wants to grow," Aquaria said. She smiled and knelt beside the wilting shoot. "Show me." "Terros woke one patch," Sage said. "The soil is dying. The well is dry. I have seeds enough for a hundred gardens and not one drop for them." Aquaria touched the well's cracked stone. She frowned at the broken charm. "This drank from a spring long ago. The spring is gone. I cannot bring back what the earth swallowed." Sage's chest tightened. "Then the patch is lost." "I did not say that." Aquaria drew a water can from the folds of her dress. It gleamed blue and silver, marked with pale runes. She held it over the wilting shoot and tipped it. Clear water fell, and it did not stop. The can poured more than it could hold. "This never runs empty," she said. "Its water carries my blessing. Whatever you grow with it will not thirst." Sage took the can. It was cool and heavy in her hands. She tipped it over the drooping shoot. The green leaves lifted. The cracked soil drank and darkened. The patch held. "It is yours," Aquaria said. She stood. "But the can waters one patch at a time. To grow the whole plot, you must wake the rest of this dead ground. Water cannot do that alone." Sage looked at the vast stretch of rock beyond her one living square. Terros's words came back to her. Earn the rest. She had water now. She still had no soil. She gripped the can and turned toward the barren stone.