Luka skystorm's Arc

Chapter 7 of 9

Luka landed the falcon in the clearing at dawn. His gray wrist ached. The window still held the curse, and he now knew the truth. He could not grab the fog with his bare hand. He needed a container, something to trap the green mist the moment the glass broke. Jaxon floated beside him, tail flicking. "Break that window with nothing to catch it," the cat said, "and the curse floods the whole estate." The three-legged calf shivered at the memory of the fog. Luka pressed his hard gray fingers together. "Then I need a vessel." He thought of the sword he had dropped in the pond. The blade had drunk the same green poison and held it inside its metal. He remembered the mist coiling along the edge, trapped, not spreading. "The sword," he said. "The poison stayed in the sword. The curse could live in a blade too." Jaxon's eyes narrowed. "You threw yours into the water." Luka clicked his tongue. The falcon lifted them over the trees and back to the pond. Luka leaned from the saddle and stared into the still surface. Green light glowed under the water. He guided the falcon low. Then he plunged his gray hand into the cold pond and closed his fingers on the hilt. The sword came up dripping. Its silver edge shone with dark, twisting marks. A green drop glowed in the crossguard like a trapped eye. Poison ran along a bright yellow line down the center. Luka held it away from his body. The blade did not burn his gray skin. "It already carries the curse," he said. "It won't fight the mist. It will drink it." "Or the mist drinks you first," Jaxon said. But he drifted closer, studying the glowing crossguard. "The poison and the curse share a color. Maybe they share a hunger." The calf backed away from the dripping blade. Luka wrapped his cape around the hilt to steady his grip. His plan was simple now. He would drive the sword through the glass. The mist would rush toward the metal it recognized. The blade would swallow it, and he would carry the curse away sealed inside. Luka tested the weight. The purple-wrapped grip fit his hand. He swung once. The green gem flared. "This is the vessel," he said. "Now the curse has somewhere to go." His gray wrist throbbed against the leather. He no longer feared the window. He feared missing. Jaxon settled onto the saddle. "Then we go back. But that blade is poison and curse together. Hold it wrong and it takes the rest of your arm." Luka nodded. He tightened the cape around the hilt and clicked his tongue twice. The falcon rose toward the mansion. This time he carried a cage for the thing that stole his feet.