Tikker's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

Tikker slid clear of the collapsing rock and ran low across the sand. Red columns crashed behind. Inside its shell, two spices rolled together: the gray-blue frost-pepper and the ghost pepper ash from the Salted Flats. Both were loose now, both precious. But the frost-pepper gave off a chill that was already fading. Warm air leaked in through Tikker's shell seam. The cold spice was melting toward ruin. Tikker needed a cool, sealed place, fast. Tikker crossed a stretch of hard ground and smelled smoke. A white tent stood among cacti, its flaps tied back. Inside glowed a goldsmith's forge, bright and hot. Metal tools lined the shelves. Hot air pushed out the open front. Tikker almost turned away. A forge was the worst place for a melting spice. But beside the glowing coals sat something else. A crystal bowl rested on a wooden stand. Pale light rippled across its surface. The bowl hummed, low and steady, and the air above it shivered. Tikker crept closer and felt a thread of cool drifting off the glass. The sound itself seemed to chill the air around the rim. Tikker pressed a shell edge to the bowl's base. Cold. Far colder than the forge-warmed tent should allow. Tikker had no bottle, no jar, no cold cellar. But the bowl's inner slope was smooth and deep, ringed with painted cacti and flowers. Tikker tipped open its shell and let the frost-pepper spill into the bowl's shadowed bottom. The gray-blue dust settled in the chill. Its sharp smell held steady now. The melting stopped. Then Tikker faced the next problem. The ghost pepper ash still rode inside its shell, warm and safe but crowding the frost-pepper's old spot. Tikker could not store both in one body and keep both fresh. The frost-pepper needed the cold bowl. So the ash had to stay with Tikker, sealed tight against the heat it did not mind. Tikker shut over the ash and settled beside the bowl. The humming washed over its shell. The frost-pepper sat below, cold and still, out of the sun. One spice safe here, one spice carried. The problem was solved for now. But Tikker could not stay. The owner of the forge would return. And a bowl in a stranger's tent was no home. Tikker looked past the tent flaps toward the horizon. Far off, a gray stone building rose from the rocks, blocky and strong, with heavy walls that held the cool inside. A door stood open under its roof. That was the kind of place that could keep a spice cold for good, if Tikker could reach it, and if whoever lived behind those walls would let a small clam in. Tikker nudged the bowl. It slid on its stand, light enough to drag. The chill traveled with it. Tikker gripped the base, pointed toward the stone building, and began to pull.