Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 10 of 22

They reached the edge of Grants Lake at a hard run. Dante stopped Draxin behind a stack of wooden crates near the first row of houses. Smoke rose over the thatched roofs, thin and black. A woman was screaming somewhere past the market square. Dante pulled a folded cloth from his belt and shoved it at Draxin's chest. "Put it on." It was a torn purple scarf with a yellow flame stitched on it. The banner of his crew. Draxin threw it over his shoulders and tied the ends at his throat. Zag patted the cloth with a stubby green hand and gave a small, worried squeak from under his spotted cap. "Now the villagers know you're with us," Dante said. "And my crew knows not to cut you down by accident. Stay behind me until the stone answers. If it answers." They moved into the square. Four bandaged men in long coats stood over a huddle of villagers on their knees. One held a rope tied to a farmer's wrists. Another turned at the sound of boots. Draxin saw the wrapped face, the dark eyes above the bandage, and his legs stopped. It was the same face. The same coat. The face from the alley where his mother had died. He pressed a hand to his chest. The stone sat there, warm and dull, like a coal under wet ash. He pushed at it. He begged it. Come out. Do something. Burn them. The warmth stayed a warmth. Nothing more. "Move, kid," Dante said, and stepped past him. Dante did not draw a weapon. He took the cigar from his teeth and blew out a long gray line of smoke. The smoke did not drift. It thickened and shot forward like a whip. It wrapped the first bandit's throat and yanked him off his feet. Dante was already gone from where he'd stood. He came out of the smoke behind the second man and drove an elbow into his skull. The bandit dropped without a sound. The third turned to run. A rope of smoke caught his ankle and slammed him flat. The fourth raised a curved knife. Dante flash-stepped through his own exhale and put a fist through the man's ribs. All four were down in the time it took Draxin to breathe twice. Draxin had not moved. The banner hung loose at his neck. His hand was still pressed to a chest that would not answer him. A villager in a straw hat looked up from the dirt, saw the purple flame on Draxin's shoulders, and mouthed a thank you at him. Draxin looked away. Dante walked back through his own smoke, cigar between his teeth again. He looked at Draxin for a long moment. He did not say I told you. He did not have to. "The stone didn't answer," Dante said. "Useless.”