Sterling Forge's Arc

Chapter 27 of 31

The sun climbed but did not warm anything past the edge of the grass. Sterling watched the frost line creep back toward them across the dirt. The pocket had shrunk in the night. He could see it now in daylight — a thin patch of green ringed by white, no bigger than a horse blanket. By afternoon the cold would have it. By dark it would have them. He tried to sit Linny up. Her head rolled against his good arm. Her lips had gone the color of ash. The chipmunk stayed clamped to her neck, its small body rising and falling with her breath. He put his hand on her cheek. Cold. Colder than the grass under her. "Linny." He shook her shoulder. "We can't stay. I need you to walk with me. A little." Her eyes opened halfway. She did not see him. "We won't make sunrise," he said. "Not this one. Not the next. Do you hear me?" Her mouth moved. He bent close. "Polona," she whispered. Then again. "Polona. Polona." He did not know the name. He knew her sister had spoken it once in his shop, low, like a debt. He waited. He did not know for what. The air behind him changed. Not warmer. Quieter. He turned. A cottage stood at the edge of the frostwood where no cottage had been. Snow sat thick on its roof. Runes and small bundles hung from its eaves. A round window glowed yellow. The door was already open. A woman stood in it. Silver hair, bright eyes. She looked eighteen and eighty at once. She did not step out into the snow. "Bring her," she said. Sterling got his good arm under Linny's knees and the bad one under her shoulders. His ribs tore. He walked anyway. The chipmunk rode her collar. At the threshold the woman moved aside. Warmth hit him like a wall. She closed the door behind them and pointed to a low bed by the hearth. He laid Linny down. His knees went with her. He caught himself on the bed frame. The woman knelt by Linny and put two fingers on her throat. She lifted the bandage. She did not flinch at what was under it. "She will live," she said. "If I work now." "Do it," Sterling said. The woman looked at him. Her eyes held longer than eyes should. "You know how I work." "I've heard." "A price. Named later. Not refused." He thought of the sword he had given up for a painting. He thought of Linny's breath under his hand in the grass. He thought of what a man like him had left to spend. "Take it," he said. She nodded once and reached for Linny's wound. “I should start charging more. Given how many time she’s been here.” Outside, the pocket of warm grass finished dying in the cold. Inside, Sterling sat down on the floor and understood he had just paid something he had not counted.