Zephyr Beaumont's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

The lizard settled on his wrist as Zephyr stepped into the old quarter. The lane bent twice and opened onto a long stone wall. Faded glyphs ran across it in blue and green, worn smooth by rain and time. He felt the pull of the source somewhere past it. To go further, he had to read this wall. He set the lizard on a ledge and pulled an octagonal monocle from his coat. The blue frame was cold. The orange lens warmed the stone when he held it up. He moved along the wall, slow, careful. The glyphs sharpened, then slid out of focus. They refused him. He tried his father's old staff next, pressing the green stone to the carvings. The emerald flickered once and went dark. He stood back, jaw tight. The wall was a door, and he had no key. A small shape darted in from above. A blue seahorse-thing with four thin wings hovered near his shoulder, orange spines bright in the gloom. It chirped, circled the wall, and landed on a low stone. Footsteps followed. A lean figure with pale blue scales and a long spear stopped at the corner. "You're reading it wrong," Thessian Scaleheart said. He came closer and laid one clawed hand on the wall. "These marks aren't meant for eyes. They're meant for breath. My brother learned them before the seal went up. He taught me the first row." He looked at Zephyr without flinching. "I'll walk you through. I want what's behind this wall gone as much as you do." Zephyr lowered the monocle. He nodded once. Thessian set his palm flat and breathed across the stone, and the first glyphs warmed under his hand into shapes Zephyr could finally hold in his mind. The wall was no longer blind to him. He had a guide now, and a debt he had not asked for.