Valerian Ashcroft's Arc

Chapter 9 of 11

Valerian returned to the cartographer's table as dawn broke, the wolf fang still warm from the hot spring's heat and Morrigan's face still clear in his memory. He spread his notes across the polished wood—blood at Thornwood, copper hair sightings, the crooked-beaked raven's words—and traced the pattern north with his finger. Everything pointed toward the Northern Clans, toward her people, toward answers he'd been too scattered to see before. He pulled out the unopened letter and set it on the table's edge, letting it anchor his search instead of dragging him down. The Rock of Unwavering Loyalty had shown him that three years of searching wasn't madness—it was loyalty. The enchanted broom had cleared the water so he could see her smile again. Now he had direction, ritual, and proof that boundaries could open if he refused to quit. Valerian gathered his organized notes, tucked the letter back inside his coat, and turned north with steady hands. He was finally ready to cross whatever comes next. He needed supplies—food, water, equipment—and a way to carry it all. The journey north would take weeks, maybe months if the boundaries fought him again. He found the leather messenger bag hanging from a low branch near the camp's edge, its rich brown surface worn smooth by years of use and decorated with careful stitching along the seams. Someone had left it behind or the forest had provided it. Either way, it was exactly what he needed. He packed dried meat from the camp stores, filled two water skins at the hot spring, added rope and flint and the enchanted broom wrapped in cloth. The notes went in last, organized by location and date, with the unopened letter tucked in a side pocket where he could feel its weight against his ribs. The wolf fang hung warm around his neck. The bag settled across his chest like it had always belonged there. The camp gathered as he prepared to leave, their faces showing the same determination he felt burning in his chest. The woman who'd shown him the Rock of Unwavering Loyalty pressed her palm to the stone one more time, then nodded at him. Three years of scattered searching had brought him here—to people who understood loyalty, to rituals that cleared his mind, to patterns that finally made sense. Morrigan had forty-seven freckles he'd counted in firelight, nine scars he'd traced with his fingers, and eyes that changed shade when she lied. She'd saved his life in an alley and taught him barbarian lullabies he still sang every night. The boundaries had closed once, but he'd crossed them before and survived the claw marks to prove it. Valerian touched the messenger bag, felt the weight of three years of notes and one sealed letter, and walked north into the trees with the wolf fang burning warm and his purpose finally clear. He was ready now—really ready—to find her. But others needed to know. He'd hired search teams months ago, scattered them across the forest looking for signs while he'd stumbled through dead nightshade and lying tree markings. They were still out there, still searching in wrong directions while he finally held the right one. Valerian stopped at the forest's edge and pulled the arrow from his belt—the one with raven motifs carved along its shaft, the one that caught light like it held something alive inside the wood. He'd found it weeks ago and carried it ever since, feeling its strange weight. He nocked it to his bow, aimed straight up through the canopy, and let it fly. The arrow shot through branches and disappeared into the sky. A heartbeat later, light burst overhead—bright blue fire spreading across the clouds in patterns that matched the Rock of Unwavering Loyalty. The signal would reach every team, call them back, bring them together for the real journey north. Valerian watched the light fade and felt the messenger bag's weight against his chest. His teams would return within days. His supplies were packed. His path was clear. For the first time since Morrigan vanished, he wasn't just searching—he was hunting. And he had everything he needed to bring her home. He walked back to camp one last time and found the stone near the fire pit—smooth and flat, its surface catching light like glass. The stone showed his reflection, then shifted to show Morrigan's face just as the hot spring had done. But this time he understood what it could do. Valerian carried it to the camp's edge and propped it against a tree where travelers would see it. Her copper hair shone in the stone's surface, her green eyes bright, the nine scars visible on her hands as she carved wooden animals. Anyone passing through would see her. Someone might know something, might have crossed paths with a barbarian princess heading north or south or anywhere between. The stone would keep asking the question he'd been asking for three years. He stepped back and studied her face one more time. His teams would arrive in days. His bag held everything he needed. The enchanted arrow had called them home. And now this stone would keep searching even when he moved on. Valerian touched the wolf fang, felt its steady warmth, and turned toward the forest with his hands ready and his loyalty proven. The boundaries would open. Morrigan was waiting. And he was finally prepared to cross whatever stood between them.