Winter Flint's Arc

Chapter 5 of 18

The bark-reader's dwelling sat at the edge of a small clearing, built low against an old oak. Winter could see smoke rising from the roof vent, which meant she was awake. He stopped at the tree line and counted the footsteps behind him. Six sprites. Three gnomes. The elf with the staff. Not a council, but more than he'd ever convinced to move together before. He stepped into the clearing and called her name. The door opened slowly. The bark-reader stood in the doorway, smaller than Winter remembered, her face lined with exhaustion. She looked past him at the gathered fae, then back at the crater they'd left behind. "You finally went to look," she said. Winter held his ground. "You knew it was there. You knew the rot was heading toward it. Why didn't you tell anyone?" She stepped out into the clearing and set a leather pouch on a flat stone table she'd dragged outside weeks ago. Glass containers sat on top, each one holding samples of diseased bark and twisted roots. "Because telling you would have meant admitting what I found inside," she said. "Two seasons ago, I went down into that temple. There's a chamber at the bottom with carvings that match the ones on your stolen relics. The rot isn't destroying the QuillWood. It's trying to reach what's buried there." Winter felt the weight of her words settle over the clearing. The fae behind him shifted, murmuring. "What's buried there?" he asked. The bark-reader looked at him with something close to pity. "I don't know. But whatever it is, the rot wants it more than it wants us." Winter stared at the samples on the stone table, then back at the bark-reader. She'd been protecting them by staying silent, or she'd been protecting herself from being blamed for what she couldn't fix. Either way, she'd just told him the one thing that changed everything. The rot had a goal. It wasn't random. It wasn't even trying to kill them. They were just in the way. He turned to face the gathered clans. "The council meets now," he said. "Not at dawn. Right here. Because we just learned that the thing killing the QuillWood isn't interested in us at all, and that means we've been fighting the wrong battle." The sprites and gnomes looked at each other. The elf stepped forward and planted Madrigal's staff in the ground between them. "Then we need to know what it wants," the elf said. "Before it gets there." Winter nodded. The bark-reader picked up one of the glass containers and held it up to the light. "I can show you the carvings," she said. "But someone has to go down into the temple to read them. I couldn't do it alone." Winter looked at the gathered fae. This was the moment. Not a council built on pride or tradition, but one built on necessity and fear and the hard truth that they were out of time. "Then we go together," Winter said. The bark-reader met his eyes and nodded. For the first time in two seasons, she looked like she believed someone might actually listen.