Sierra Ashwood's Arc

Chapter 1 of 8

Sierra Ashwood crouched behind a boulder and watched four black wolves pace the ridge she needed to cross. That ridge was the last blank space on her map of Gourdhollow. Cross it, and she could finish the region's first complete explorer's atlas. Fail, and the wolves would run her down before she reached the far slope. She counted them again. Four, maybe five. Their coats caught the gray light. Their eyes never left her boulder. She pulled her hatchet from its worn sheath and knew it would not be enough against a pack. "You'll die swinging that thing." The voice came from below her. A man climbed up through the rocks, slow and sure. A pale scar cut across his cheek. He wore a battered hat and carried a torch, its head black and wrapped in smoke. Sierra had heard of him in the last village down the valley. The only person who had crossed this ridge and lived. Marcus Thorn. "You're the mapmaker," he said. It wasn't a question. "They warned me some fool would try the ridge." "I need what's on the other side," Sierra said. She kept her hatchet up. "I'm not turning back." Marcus studied the wolves, then her. "They hate fire more than they hate people." He held out the smoking torch. "Take it. Walk straight at them. Don't run. Running makes you prey." Sierra's mouth went dry. "And if it doesn't work?" "Then you were dead the moment you climbed up here." He pushed the torch into her hand. "I'll flank left. Keep the flame between you and their teeth." She stepped out from the boulder. The lead wolf lowered its head and growled. Sierra swung the torch in a wide arc. Sparks flew. The smoke rolled toward the pack. The lead wolf snapped its jaws but backed a step. "Keep coming," Marcus called from the rocks. Sierra pushed forward, one boot at a time. The heat licked her wrist. She waved the flame low, then high. Two wolves broke and slipped down the far slope. The lead wolf held its ground, teeth bared, close enough that she smelled its breath. She drove the torch straight at its face. The wolf yelped and bolted after the others. The ridge cleared. Sierra stood on the open crest, chest heaving. Below her spread a valley no map had ever named. She pulled out her journal and began to sketch the river, the ridgeline, the dark line of trees. Marcus climbed up beside her. He wasn't smiling. "They didn't run far," he said. He pointed down the slope she still had to descend. The pack had regrouped there, between her and the valley floor. "They're smart. Now they know your trick. That torch is nearly burned out." Sierra looked at the shrinking flame in her hand. The wolves waited below, closer to their den, and this time they would not scatter.