Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 21 of 22

Gustavo took a step forward through the snow. His split glove flexed, and the claws under the leather clicked together. Draxin's hand would not open. He tried to shove the wrapped blade at Mimi. His fingers stayed locked on the leather grip like the bones had fused. The eye under the cloth pulsed against his palm. Warm. Awake. Watching Gustavo the way a dog watches a wolf. "Kid," Dante said again. He did not look back. Smoke leaked from his shoulder in thin ribbons. "Move." "I can't." Draxin's voice came out cracked. He pulled at his own wrist with his free hand. Nothing. The blade held him like a hook through the palm. "It won't let go." Gustavo laughed, low and pleased. "It knows me, boy. It won't leave until it's tasted me." He took another step. His shadow reached the mule. Mimi was there in one motion. She caught Draxin under the arm and hauled him off his feet. Her mask brushed his ear. She tapped his wrist twice, then folded his locked fist against his chest and pinned it there with her own hand. Carry it, the tap said. Don't fight it. Just carry it. "Spike," Dante said. "On it, boss." Spike spat black ink into his palm and slung it in a wide arc across the snow between them and Gustavo. The ink hissed. Steam rose in a hot wall. "That'll burn through his boots if he's dumb." Mimi threw Draxin into the wagon bed. He landed on sacks of coin with the blade crushed under his ribs. Zag scrambled up his shoulder and clung to his sideburn. Mimi vaulted in after him and grabbed the mule reins. Gustavo walked into the ink. His boots smoked. He did not slow. "Cute." Dante turned his head at last. "Go." Mimi cracked the reins. The mule bolted. The wagon lurched and the axles screamed. Spike caught the tail rail and swung up beside Draxin, grinning through his own steam. Dante ran three strides behind and stepped into his own smoke. He came out of a second cloud already at the driver's bench. Gustavo roared. The sound hit Draxin in the teeth. The mule stumbled, then found its legs and ran harder. Snow flew from its hooves. Behind them Gustavo was through the ink wall and running, coat flaring, claws out, mouth open too wide. He was gaining. Then the roar broke into a cough. He clutched his ribs where Dante's old blow had opened him. He fell to one knee in the snow. His shout chased them down the slope. "I smell it, boy. I'll follow it." The wagon crested the ridge. The northern village fell away behind them. Draxin lay on the coin sacks with his fist still locked on the grip. The eye under the cloth had gone quiet. His arm ached to the shoulder. He looked at his hand. He could not open it. He was going to carry this thing until it decided otherwise.