On Death's Honor

Chapter 4: Snippy Spirits

"She wouldn't have to," he continued, his breath brushing against my neck. Flinching, I swatted at him with my good arm. Little good that did me, however. It simply passed harmlessly through him.

"Adtros' bells, Bogdan," I swore. "Always acting the creep, aren't you?"

"You can't keep running from her," he pressed, ignoring my outburst. "She's catching up."

Normally, this would be where most people came up with some sort of witty reply. Unfortunately, I wasn't at all as quick with my words as I was in physical confrontations - unless in situations where I really shouldn't be. In this case, I could do nothing but clench my jaw, instead choosing to focus on the pain sprawling up my right arm.

I did not have time for this.

"Is this why you're here, Bogdan?"

"I'm always here, Wrenva," Bogdan deadpanned. He paused, and when he next spoke, his words were so full of bitter venom that combined with the usage of my own name, I nearly halted in my steps. "Every second of each horrible decision you make, I never leave."

Because I can't, was what he left out but didn't need to say. He was sent to watch over me, but he was every bit a prisoner as I was. That didn't mean we had to like each other, though.

"Then maybe you should just let me die already. Get yourself another piss-poor contestant to play the gods' games." Despite the meaning behind those words, this was familiar ground for us, and it helped ease the heart pounding within my chest. This was a conversation we've had over and over throughout the past two decades; said so many times that I could no longer think of a different way to say it anymore. It was a good way to distract ourselves.

"You don't think I've tried? You always pull the same type of shit like you did out there."

"So you somehow had the grayvers sent after me?"

"No. Rhoe did."

Impulsiveness was generally not something someone in my line of work could afford. If we didn't learn to snap ourselves out of it quickly, we usually died. But I was tired, cranky, and dealing with a massive headache that made me lose balance faster than a bottle of hard alcohol - not to mention, blood was still dripping down my arm, and in all my preparedness, I had nothing to wrap it with aside from my cloak and tunic. The effects of the spell I'd used were going to creep in on me again at any given moment, too, the moment I found a place with light.

Point being, hitting a wayguard with an enchanted sword was a good recipe for disaster. At that moment in time, I didn't care.

Neither of us saw it coming; I barely recounted how my good hand went from stemming the blood flow to unsheathing my trusty weapon, much less swinging it hard enough around me to lop someone's head clean off their shoulders. How did I know Bogdan wasn't prepared? Simple. If he was, he wouldn't have let the sword hit him.

A flash of blinding, golden light erupted between my blade and his shadowy body, blinding me instantly and bathing the cavern we were stuck in with a substance just shy of being brighter than the sun. Thankfully, the light was gone as soon as it came, so I could pretend that I wasn't seeing dots because I was already back to being in complete darkness.

Although, since I really seemed to hate myself, my sword had been right in line with his ribs - which meant I felt it in my ribcage, too.

Both of us were on the ground in moments, with Bogdan gathering just enough strength to toss my weapon slightly out of reach when it toppled from my weakened grip. Gasping for breath, I pressed my head against the wall.

"Idiot!" Bogdan hissed.

"Right," I retorted. "I should have gone for the head. Knock both our asses out." And deal with all this when we wake up.

"You'd bleed out."

"Good riddance."

Eventually, I could feel Bogdan rising to his feet. Me, on the other hand, decided to stay on the ground, pulling one of my smaller knives to cut a chunk of cloth from my tunic to act as a temporary bandage for my arm. My breaths came in short, gasping weezes - my ribs were going to be bruised tomorrow, no doubt. Any damage either I or Bogdan tried to inflict on the other was generally reflected - to a degree. Otherwise, we'd have killed each other within the first couple of weeks of being bonded together.

Which wasn't fair, as Bogdan was just a spirit and only felt pain for a matter of minutes, and that was only if the damage was severe enough. I, on the other hand, got to deal with it for as long as it took the human body to heal.

Using my teeth to awkwardly tighten my makeshift bandage, I fell back, exhausted - only to feel a pair of cold, firm hands grab me from beneath the armpits.

"Come on, Songbird," Bogdan grunted, as if I was just a chore he had to get done and over with. "You still have some tunes to sing, yet."

It was right then that I realized how truly and utterly spent my body was. Being handled by a spirit that was momentarily solidified was one of the creepiest, foreign feelings I had ever encountered, like having another entity halfway to entering my body completely. Yet, when Bogdan's hands lifted me back on my feet, I didn't have the energy to care.

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," I mumbled.

"Better than the name you have everyone else call you."

"It's more fitting."

"You hate yourself too much."

"I don't hate myself enough."

Or do you?

Shut-up.

You'd have killed yourself long ago if you cared.

"Bug off," I muttered out loud. Wisely, Bogdan didn't remark.

She's coming for you, that stupid little voice continued. I closed my eyes.

All the more reason to break free from my servitude.

~ 1603 Words ~