Thistle Moonglow's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

The pouch burned hotter in Thistle's hands. Below, the heartbeat raced. A groan rolled up through the willow roots, and the ground buckled. Thistle knew he had the mist-flowers now. But he had no idea what the heart wanted him to do with them. If he fed it wrong, he would only make it angrier. "Luna," he said, "your book. Does it say anything about waking a heart?" Luna dropped to her knees and threw the grimoire open. Its pages glowed in the dark. She turned them fast, feathered ears trembling. "Here," she whispered. "Mist-flowers wake the Heart of MistVale. But too much magic at once—" She stopped. Her huge eyes filled with fear. "We already gave it too much. The flowers, the spell. It's drowning in it." The willow shook. Mushrooms popped from the trunk. Then a soft silver light spilled between the branches, and a girl stepped through, no taller than Thistle. Long silver hair floated around her. Her cloak glowed like moonlight on water, and her crystal shoes made no sound on the moss. She looked at the shaking ground, then at the pouch, calm as a still pond. "You knocked too loud," she said. Her voice was light and teasing, but her eyes were old. "A sleeping thing this old must be woken slow. You cannot pour a river into a cup." Thistle stared. "Who are you?" "A friend of the moon." She tilted her head at the trembling willow. "The heart isn't hungry. It's frightened. It doesn't know how to wake. Someone must teach it. Slowly. One breath at a time." She pointed at the pouch. "Not all at once. That gift is a scream in its ears." Thistle understood. He had been shouting at the door. He loosened the pouch and drew out a single mist-flower. Just one. He knelt and pressed his ear to the moss. The heartbeat thundered under him. He held the bloom low, near the roots, and breathed on it softly. Its light dimmed to a faint glow. "Easy," he murmured. "One at a time. I'll show you how." The root before him quivered. The heartbeat slowed, just a little. The willow's branches settled. For one moment, the ground grew calm, and the panic drained from the air. It was working. He could teach it. Then the moss split. A wide root cracked open like a door, hinged and dark, deep enough to swallow him whole. Warm breath rose from the gap below. The heart was letting him in. "It's inviting you down," the moon girl said softly. Her teasing was gone. "To teach a heart to wake, you must go to it. But once you enter, little one, you cannot pour the lesson from up here." She met his eyes. "You'll have to go inside." Thistle looked at the dark opening. The heartbeat pulsed up from below, waiting. He tightened his grip on his staff and stepped toward the door in the root.