Will bush's Arc

Chapter 28 of 41

The first cold shape came at midday. A thin man walked out of the reeds and stopped at the edge of the daisy patch. His mouth moved but no sound came. Will kept his hands on the stems and read the bark under the stone. Twelve safe memories. He did not know which one the man would take. "Speak your name to the ground," Will said, the way Elspeth had told him. The man shook his head. He wanted a memory instead. He pointed at Will's chest. Will offered the first thing on the list. The pear his father cut for him at the kitchen table. He held it out in his mind and pushed it toward the man. The man's face did not change. He did not take it. He pointed again, harder. The daisies at Will's knees began to close. Will's hands went cold. A refused offer was a wasted one. He could feel the pear thin out inside him, already half gone from the try. He looked at the list. Teacher's name. Lost boot. A song on a bus. He did not know which shape fit this mouth. He called for help. "Fetch the medicine woman," he told the barefoot girl, who had come running at the sound of the daisies shutting. "Tell Elara I am spending memories blind." Elara came up the path with her satchel and a small jar of chamomile and nasturtium tied at her hip. She looked at the man, then at Will's hands. "You cannot guess," she said. "You must ask him what he wants." "He will not speak." Elara knelt at the edge of the patch and set the jar of blooms between Will and the man. "Spirits take what matches their own hollow," she said. "Put your hand on the flowers. Name what he lost. He will lean toward the true word." Will touched the petals. He said, "A brother." The man did not move. "A wife." Nothing. "A child." The man leaned forward an inch. The chamomile turned toward him. "Now," Elara said. "Trade the smallest thing on your list that touches a child. Not Kate. Something else." Will searched the safe list in his mind. A neighbor's boy on a bike. He offered it. The man's mouth opened and swallowed the memory like water. He stepped back into the reeds and was gone. Will counted. Eleven safe memories left. He had spent one, but he had spent the right one. The pear was still there, thin but whole. The daisies opened again under his palms. Elara stood and brushed dirt from her skirt. "You have a method now," she said. "Use the flowers. Ask before you spend." She left the jar of blooms beside the bark list and walked back down the path. Will pressed his hands into the stems and waited for the next cold shape.