To Break A Curse

Chapter 22

I watch as the bright metal comes barreling down, then at Dirkin's face twisting in rage above me. It all seems to move in slow motion. I can't do anything. I can only watch as the sword descends, closer and closer. Then all at once, time catches up with the adrenaline coursing through my body, and I know have to do something. I have to move. Painfully, I roll to the side, but it's too late. A hot searing pain stings near the inside of my shoulder, I think. It's hard to tell because my whole body burns.

Someone is screaming. I think it might be me. Squeezing my eyes shut and then open again, the only thing I can focus on is the blade protruding from the space directly under my collarbone. Black spots dance in my sight as Dirkin pulls it out from my shoulder. The air chokes me as I inhale with a gasp.

I can't scream any longer, so I wait.
I wait for the pain to finally wash me under, so I don't have to feel it ever again.

But it doesn't.

Seconds after seconds pass by, but I still lay there, desperation growing with each breath.
Why have I not turned to dust yet? What is taking so long?

Dirkin must think the same thing because he kneels over me and raises the sword again, malice splayed across his expression. I think he's saying something, but the blood roaring in my ears makes it impossible to hear.

Please, just let this end.
Please
Please
Please

Just as he begins to lower the blade for the second time, something crashes into him from the side, sending his weight off me. I vaguely see a dark figure holding him down, the sword laying next to them, forgotten. They wrestle for a minute, but the figure remains on top of him, pinning him down.

"Fale," I groan out, barely a whisper.

The figure's head twists and Fale's wide eyes meet mine. He doesn't see Dirkin's hand searching for the blade, or when his fingers wrap around the hilt. I must warn him.

"Watch. Out." My mouth forms the words, but my throat won't allow my voice to pass through.
An agonizing scream erupts then, but it's not Fale. I blink a few times to clear my vision. I really wish I hadn't. The skin covering Dirkin's arm slowly crumbles off into thick chunks, then disintegrates into a cloud of dust around him. His fingers, or what's left of them, grip the bare hilt of the sword, the cloth nowhere to be seen. Now Fale's shouting, yelling at him to let go while stumbling to get off him. I want to look away, to not see the torment clawing at Dirkin's face, but I can't. Fale stares too, there's nothing that can be done. In less than a minute Dirkin's gone, leaving the sword in a pile of soot.

What just happened?

Slowly, I sit up so my arms rest on my knees. Taking a deep breath, I gently tug the collar of my dress with shaky hands to check the wound. Dark red blood saturates the fabric and runs down my side, but there's no sign of dust.

"Are you injured? Was it the sword?" Fale hurries over, his voice etched with worry.

I nod my head in disbelief, looking over to where Dirkin was, just mere moments ago. "I- I don't understand. How am I... here?"

"Are you certain the sword struck you? Are you sure it struck your skin?"

"Yes, I'm sure! Do you not see this?" I practically shout, gesturing to the growing stain seeping through the material of my dress. Pressing my hand over the wound to slow the bleeding, I grit my teeth as another wave of dizziness washes over me.

"Ok, ok." He runs a hand over his face, pushing the stray hairs away from his forehead. Abruptly, he crosses the distance between us and leans down, taking my hand away to inspect the wound. "It's not fatal, at least for a normal stab wound it wouldn't be. But that's the thing— it's not a normal injury. You should be dead."