Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 19 of 22

Draxin stopped at the end of the passage. The red glow came from a blade stuck point-down in the ice. It was crooked and jagged, cut from red stone, with a gold crossguard and a leather-wrapped grip. A single eye was set into the flat of the blade. The eye was open. It was looking at him. The tapping came again. Not from the walls. From inside his head. "Draxin." He took a step back. The voice was low and dry, like a throat that had not spoken in a long time. It said his name again. Only his name. He looked over his shoulder. The torches flickered around the bend. He could hear Spike laughing about something in the main chamber. They had not heard it. He crept closer. Zag pressed flat against his neck and would not look. The eye tracked him. The glow pulsed slow, matching the warmth in his chest. His hiyrel answered it. He felt the pull in his ribs like a hook. "Pick me up." His hand moved before he decided. He gripped the leather. The stone was warm. The moment his skin touched it, the eye blinked once and the voice went quiet, satisfied. The blade came free of the ice with a small clean crack. He held it out from his body. It was lighter than it looked. "Kid." Dante stood at the bend, one hand still pressed to his gut. His cigar was cold. He looked at the blade, then at Draxin's face, then back at the blade. Mimi appeared behind him. Her mask tilted. Spike stopped whistling. "Where'd you get that," Dante said. Not a question. "It was in the ice. It knew my name." Draxin's voice came out thin. "It said it out loud. You didn't hear?" Dante's eyes stayed on the eye in the blade. Smoke curled weakly off his shoulder and died. "No," he said. "None of us did." Spike stepped forward and stopped short, like he had hit glass. "That's Tuktoni stone. That's not tundra work. That shouldn't be up here." "It shouldn't be anywhere," Dante said. He looked at Draxin a long moment. "Wrap it. Cloth, not skin. We leave now." Draxin tried to set the blade down first. His fingers would not open. He pulled, and the grip stayed against his palm like it had been sewn there. The eye blinked at him again. Mimi saw. She pulled the oiled cloth from a relic bundle and wrapped the blade around his hand, hiding the eye. The pull in his chest dulled but did not stop. "It won't let go," Draxin said. Dante turned toward the cave mouth. "Then it comes with us. Move." They ran for the wagon. The warmth in Draxin's chest pulsed twice, in time with something under the cloth, and he understood he was not carrying it. It was carrying him.