Sage winterwood's Arc

Chapter 6 of 29

Sage found Terros on the far ridge, kneeling in the dust. He was the earth god who had woken her first two patches of soil, stern and slow to help. But he did not rise to meet her. His broad hands rested on the flank of the silver buck that always walked beside him. The animal lay on bare stone, its legs folded wrong, its breath quick and shallow. The pale marks along its coat had gone dim. "Terros," Sage said. "I found deep water. A true source, under the crack in the ridge. Only you can break the rock. My garden—" "No." He did not look up. His hand moved along the buck's ribs. "He won't stand. He won't eat. I'll not split stone for your seeds while he suffers here." His voice was low and hard. "Find me later." Sage knelt across from him. The buck's blue eyes rolled toward her, wet and tired. She had walked this dry ridge for hours. There was no green here, no herb she could pull from the ground. But she carried her own supplies. She opened her pouch and lifted out her set of remedies. The vials clinked, each one glowing faint through the glass. She held them to the light and read the labels. Fever. Wasting. A cure for the slow sickness that took beasts far from grass. "It's his stomach," she said. "He's eaten dead soil trying to fill himself. There's nothing living out here to feed him." She uncorked a red vial. "This will settle him. But he needs a soft place, not this stone." Terros stared at her. For a moment his stern face broke. "Show me," he said. Together they carried the buck to a shallow cave nearby. Sage pulled hay from her pack and spread it thick across the floor. She set a bowl of water beside it and laid out a few crisp roots from her stores. Then she tipped the red vial between the buck's lips. The animal swallowed. Its breathing slowed. Sage stayed on her knees and opened her book of poems. She read soft and steady, the way she read to her dying sprouts. The buck's ears twitched. Its eyes closed. By the time the light shifted, it slept easy, its coat marks glowing again. Terros watched the whole time. When the buck stirred and lifted its head, he let out a breath he had held for hours. "You healed him," he said. He rose. His jaw was set now, but not against her. "I owe you the ridge." He walked to the wide crack and pressed both palms to the stone. The ground groaned. Rock cracked and folded back like torn cloth. Cold, clean air rushed up from the dark. Below, the deep pool shone blue. Sage stood at the edge. Her source was open at last. But the water lay far below, and she had no way yet to lift it up.