Draxin Alistair (16)'s Arc

Chapter 5 of 22

Draxin could not breathe. The orb burned in his chest like a swallowed ember. He clawed at the moss on the rock and tried to cough, but nothing came up. Heat pushed behind his eyes. His mouth fell open and orange light spilled out. Zag scrambled off his shoulder and stood in the dirt, both stubby hands raised. "Draxin. Draxin, look at me." The little mushroom creature slapped his knee. "Spit it out. Spit it out!" Draxin tried. His throat locked. Light poured from his eyes now too, wet and hot. The forest around him blurred into orange smears. His arms shook. He felt his own heartbeat in his teeth. The pain was bigger than anything the bull had done to him. Bigger than the day in the alley. He thought, so this is it. His knees gave out. The rock scraped his cheek on the way down. The orange light guttered. The forest went black. He woke to the smell of wood smoke and old blankets. A plank ceiling. A lantern hung from a nail. He was on a narrow bed of rough boards padded with a folded cloth. His mother's scarf was still knotted at his wrist. Someone had wiped the blood from his mouth. His chest ached but the burning was gone. A dull warmth sat behind his ribs now, quiet, like a coal buried in ash. Something small and heavy rested on his stomach. Zag. The mushroom creature was curled up asleep on top of him, green cap rising and falling. Draxin let out a breath and touched Zag's cap with one finger. Alive. Both of them. "Zag," he whispered. "Where are we?" Zag blinked awake. His eyes went wide. "You're awake. You're awake. You died. I thought you died." "I didn't." "You glowed. Your whole face. Then a man carried you." "What man?" The door of the shed banged open. The man who filled the doorway had to duck under the frame. He was tall and built like a stack of bricks, bare chest under a torn vest, a long gray scarf hanging off one shoulder. A purple mark curled across his ribs. A cigar sat in the corner of his mouth, unlit now, chewed. Gray smoke still leaked from his knuckles as if he had just closed a fist around a fire. His eyes found Draxin and narrowed. "You," the man said around the cigar, "swallowed something that wasn't yours." Draxin pushed himself up on his elbows. Zag froze on his stomach. The man stepped inside. The smoke off his hand thinned and drifted toward the lantern. He did not smile. "Kid. You've got about one minute to explain how a boy who isn't dead is walking around with a hiyrel inside him."