Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 14 of 22

Draxin woke to the smell of clean wood and old bandages. He knew the ceiling before he opened his eyes all the way. He had been here before. The village infirmary. The same knot in the beam above his head. The same square of light on the floor. He turned his head. Spike lay in the cot beside his. A bandage wrapped around Spike's temple. His mohawk was flattened on one side. He was awake, staring at the ceiling, chewing something. When he felt Draxin look, he grinned without turning. "Morning, banner boy." Draxin sat up. His arms were his arms again. Tan skin. No scales. Faint pink lines ran along his forearms where the ink had burned him. He flexed his fingers. Nothing clicked. The warmth in his chest was quiet. "Don't get cute," Spike said. "Boss says we're square. So we're square." He turned his head. One eye squinted. "For now." Draxin pulled his legs off the cot. His slippers sat by the wall, lined up. Zag was curled on top of them, green cap rising and falling. Draxin picked him up. The little mushroom yawned and settled on his shoulder like nothing had happened. He left without a word. Spike didn't stop him. Outside, the sun was low. The path to the forest was worn smooth by boots. Draxin walked it. He didn't rush. His legs still felt borrowed. He thought about the tree he had cracked with his fist. He thought about Dante's hand on his neck. He didn't know if he was walking toward punishment or a job. The hideout sat in the oasis clearing. Dante stood outside it with his arms crossed, cigar burning. Mimi crouched on a crate near the door, sharpening something on a stone. Her cat mask tilted when Draxin came out of the trees. She didn't wave. She didn't have to. Dante watched him cross the clearing. "You walked," Dante said. "Good." Draxin stopped in front of him. He waited. Dante took the cigar out of his mouth. "You're a hiyrel affiliate now. You survived it. Spike survived you. That means you're useful." He blew smoke sideways. "We're moving." "Moving where?" "North. Tundra. There's a haul out there that's been sitting a long time. Gold, relics, whatever crawled in and died on top of it." He looked down at Draxin. "Not hiyrel. Just money. The crew needs a run that pays." Behind him, Spike came up the path, one hand on his bandage, still chewing. He stopped beside Mimi and spat something into the dirt. "Kid's coming?" Spike said. "Kid's coming." Mimi stood. She slid whatever she'd been sharpening into her belt. Draxin looked at the three of them. The banner. The mask. The cigar. He was in it now. Whatever it was. "When do we leave?" he asked. Dante dropped the cigar and stepped on it. "Now."