King of the Mountain (Witchfire 2)

Chapter 8 - Death's Doorstep

───── Ivy ─────

The silver-steel was cold.

It was all I could process as the knife entered my body. The blade was cold, achingly cold, as if it had been fashioned from winter itself. I shuddered once around it, letting out the smallest of cries.

Green was a cool colour, but it burned in Piper's eyes. Where did all that hatred come from? I wondered, at a loss to understand. Her emotions transcended the situation. Even the most heinous of my actions today wasn't deserving of... this. What did you suffer, Piper?

It was almost as if she heard the question and thought about it, for the longer we stared at each other the softer her fury became. It eventually dwindled into nonchalance, where there was no hate, but also no remorse, only indifference to the fact I was skewered on the end of her blade. I mean nothing to her, I thought with numb horror. She could spare me, maim me, kill me, and wouldn't feel a thing either way.

"Do you submit?" Her words were routine, empty of human emotion.

"Hell no," I spat. There was every chance I was going to die from this wound, and it still wasn't enough to satisfy her? She had to belittle me as well?

Wanting nothing more than to get away from her, I wrenched my whole body back and off the knife. The blade's serrated teeth claimed clumps of flesh as recompense for my retreat. Landing heavily on my ass, I looked down just in time to see blood spurting from my mauled stomach, spewing all over my clothes and onto the sand. The knife was acting as a plug, I thought, realising my mistake — and then all thinking ceased.

My return to consciousness was reluctant. Shock had initially spared me the pain, but I felt the full force of it now. I could also feel my transformative energy surging along with my adrenaline, frothing up and pressing against the underside of my skin, like a can of soft drink waiting in ambush. I had to actively repress the urge to morph, knowing I'd only lose blood faster as a wolf.

Her knives must have been tempered with just enough silver to prevent me from healing, but not enough to cauterise any wounds. I'd encountered nothing like it — like her.

Piper stood just out of reach, waiting patiently for me to lose my grip on life.

"You shouldn't have challenged me," was all she said. No merciful last words. No indication of remorse.

She was insane.

My vision narrowed into a tunnel of muted colours. There was a strange lapse in sound, as though I'd donned noise-cancelling headphones. Lethargy tugged persistently on my thoughts, trying to anchor them in sleep.

I wanted so badly to sleep. The darkness was so much more enticing than the real world; a proper painkiller. And I knew that if I went to sleep now, I'd never have to wake up again.

"No," I whispered, reaching feebly for something that would ground me. I didn't want to suffer, but I also didn't want to die. "Please..."

I found something. A wolf fashioned from pearlescent energy regarded me with baleful eyes. When I reached down to run my fingers through its ruff, the wolf dematerialised, leaving a trail of shimmering smoke in its wake.

It's just a resource, I realised, reaching out to my transformative energy. It needn't be bound to one form...

Like smoke, the magic was elusive, and refused all of my attempts to force it into a particular shape. It wasn't until I stopped demanding a course of action and started suggesting one instead that progress was made. Slowly but surely, I ushered the transformative energy into my stomach.

Before my eyes, the mangled flaps of my flesh fused together. The pain simply ebbed away.

"Enough."

Startled by the proximity of Piper's voice, I looked up to see her standing over me. Her knives were in their sheaths on her thighs — when had she put them there? — and she looked exasperated, of all things. Before I could protest, she kicked me in the head, delivering me to the darkness I had worked so hard to escape.