Xavier's Arc

Chapter 10 of 21

The current had bought Xavier one night. He waded out of the open water at last, the tiger dripping beside him, the fox cub shivering against his chest. He reached for the pouch at his belt where he kept his crushed root sap. His fingers found only wet cloth. The pouch hung open, torn. The water had swallowed every last bit of the sap. He stopped in the mud. His stomach dropped. "It's gone," he said. "The sap washed out." Without it, the tiger's scent would rise free at dawn. The pack would smell that red fur from far off. He had no way to hide it now. Berry pushed through the reeds behind him. The black bear moved slow on his heavy legs, but his dark eyes were sharp. He sniffed the air and looked at Xavier's empty hands. "You lost your masking," he said. It was not a question. He had taught Xavier every use of the blue flower. He knew what an empty pouch meant. Xavier's throat went tight. "Then I need more root. Now, before light." He scanned the bank. He saw only black water and dead reeds. No blue petals. No gold edges. The flowers grew where the water ran shallow, and here it ran deep. "You crush the root fresh," Berry said. "But fresh root is not the only way." He waded to a low bank and dug his broad paw into the mud. He pulled up a fistful of dark leaves, wet and bruised. "Rot," he said. "The old flowers fall and rot in the mud. The scent stays in the leaves. Smell." Xavier took the leaves. They stank of sharp green, the same bite as the sap. Hope pushed up in him. He drew his bone knife and cut the leaves fine on a flat root. He worked fast. The sky above the reeds had begun to gray. He smeared the paste across the tiger's shoulders. He rubbed it into the fox cub's fur. He coated his own arms and his tall boots. The green bite covered them. He held his breath and waited. Dawn broke pale over the swamp. No blood scent rose. The rotted leaves held. Xavier let out his breath and gripped Berry's thick arm. "You saved us again." But Berry did not smile. He held up one crushed leaf. "Rot is weak," he said. "Fresh root lasts a night. This lasts an hour, maybe two. And there is little of it here." He looked deeper into the swamp, where the water ran shallow and the blue flowers grew thick. "You cannot keep scraping mud. You must reach the flower fields before this fades. Or the pack finds you in full daylight." Xavier looked at the tiger, its red coat bright in the gray light. The masking would not last. He mounted, gripped the rope, and turned toward the deep swamp. He had an hour to ride to the flowers.