Luka skystorm's Arc

Chapter 8 of 9

The falcon carried Luka back to the window. He gripped the sword through his wrapped cape and braced for the strike. Then he felt his gray wrist. The stiffness had spread. His fingers would not close all the way. He tried to squeeze the hilt and pain shot up his arm. The blade wobbled in his weak grip. He could not drive it through the glass. He needed both hands to punch the sword deep, and one hand was turning to stone. "My wrist," Luka said. "I can't hold it hard enough." Jaxon pressed close on the saddle. "Then we lose the window and the curse spreads." The green mist behind the glass pulsed, as if it sensed his weakness. A voice called from the mansion grounds below. "Elf. You'll drop that blade if you swing it like that." A small boy stood in the grass, watching. Autumn leaves grew from his hair like a crown. He wore a plain robe tied with rope, and he did not seem afraid of the falcon or the sword. Luka had never seen him before. "Who are you?" Luka called down. "Awstom Treedrop." The boy climbed a low wall toward them, quick and sure. "I came for something Greg took from me. A map." He looked at Luka's shaking hand, then at the sword. "Your grip is dying. But the blade doesn't need your strength. It needs weight." Luka did not have time to argue. "Then help me." Awstom studied the window. "Tie the sword to your saddle. Point it at the glass. Then dive." It was simple and it was smart. Let the falcon's speed do the work his wrist could not. Luka wrapped his cape tight around the hilt and lashed it to the saddle horn. He turned the blade so the tip aimed straight ahead. Jaxon dug his claws in. The calf, waiting below, backed away from the wall. Awstom stepped clear. "Now," he said. Luka clicked his tongue twice. The falcon folded its wings and dove. The window rushed up. Luka did not need to grip. He only had to aim. The tip struck the glass and punched through. The sword drove deep into the green mist behind it. Glass shattered. The mist screamed and rushed toward the metal it knew. It poured into the blade, pulled down the yellow line, and vanished. The green gem in the crossguard flared bright, then dimmed. The window frame went dark and empty. The curse was inside the sword now, sealed. Luka pulled the falcon up and looked at his hand. His gray wrist had frozen stiff. The fingers would not open. But the curse was caught. Awstom watched from the grass, arms crossed. "You have my window," he said. "Now I need what's under this house. And you'll want to know how a curse turns to stone." Luka held the sealed blade against his dead hand and knew he could not walk away yet.