Chapter 48: If One Has To Die
The grey-haired man’s breathing became heavier, ragged. Sweat ran down his forehead despite freezing air, despite snow, dripping into eyes, freezing on eyebrows. Steam rose off his own body now, not just sword, whole body steaming like horse after run.
His flames flickered, not from wind but from exhaustion, from Echo running out, from old Core giving what it didn’t have. Arm shaking, elbow bending inward.
Danny noticed immediately. He had seen that shake before, in caravan, when men used too much Ecoflow gathering too fast and emptied themselves, when they stood after lifting something too heavy. That shake meant empty.
His Echo wasn’t strong enough. He had given everything to that one attack, everything old body had left, everything he had saved since wolves, and it wasn’t enough. Mountain was bigger than man. Mountain always is.
The Mirebeast slowly raised its head. It looked down at blackened patch on its chest, then back at man who had caused it, slow, insulted. Like man had thrown pebble at castle wall and expected castle to apologize. Like old man was insect that bit.
Click...
Click...
Then it moved.
It was faster than before, angered now, insulted, pride wounded more than bark. Six limbs pushing at once, body low, mouth slit opening wider, teeth spiraling inside, red eyes burning brighter.
The grey-haired man barely managed to bring his sword up to block incoming claw, both hands on hilt now, fire almost gone, just embers clinging to bent edge.
CLANG!
Sound of metal bending rang out across mountain, horrible, final, louder than first clash. Not ring, but scream of metal dying.
His sword bent under pressure. Crack along blade split wider, running full length, orange light dying inside crack, blue gone.
Force threw him backward like before, but further this time, three meters, four. He crashed into snow and rolled several times before slamming against rock that lined road, old statue base, half-buried in snow, spine hitting stone hard enough to crack statue more.
"Guh!"
Choked sound escaped him, wet, blood inside mouth now.
Danny instinctively stepped forward before he could stop himself, feet moving on their own, snow crunching.
"Old man!"
The grey-haired man pushed himself up with one arm, other arm holding bent sword that was now useless as weapon, more like bent hook. He wiped mouth with back of hand, and Danny saw it — blood trickling from corner of lips, bright red on snow, steaming, then freezing.
"I’m fine," he said, voice hoarse, lying like old men do when they don’t want children to worry, when they want to die standing.
He clearly wasn’t. His arm shaking so bad sword tip drew circles in snow, couldn’t hold point. His sword ruined, almost folded in half, bent at ninety degrees near middle, like cheap tin. His Echo light dimming fast, blue eyes flickering back to grey, to tired old man eyes.
The Mirebeast stepped closer. It knew fight was almost over. It could hear heart slowing, Echo fading, blood dripping. Each footstep shook ground, confident now, owner walking his road.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
The grey-haired man stared at it, still standing between monster and two boys, even on one knee, even with broken sword, bent sword up, still between. Still guarding when guarding was pointless.
Behind Danny, thin prisoner slowly stood up. His face pale white, thin body trembling from cold and fear and something else, something wet and human. Wet pants frozen to legs, dark patch spreading and freezing, shame added to fear.
He looked at Mirebeast, then at grey-haired man bleeding in snow, then at Danny, calculations fast behind eyes, like rat calculating holes.
His eyes suddenly changed.
Danny caught shift in his gaze, even without looking directly, felt it like cold wind on back of neck, like someone aimed at him. It wasn’t fear anymore. It was something colder, something desperate people get when they want to live at any cost, when they decide someone else should die so they don’t have to, when they make math of lives.
"What are you looking at?" Danny asked, voice low, hand going back to rock that was still in pocket, useless rock, small against claws.
The thin prisoner didn’t answer right away. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes darting between Danny and monster, between old man and arch that might be escape, between snow and road.
"The boy," he muttered, voice hoarse, then clearer, as if idea needed saying to become true.
The grey-haired man turned his head, confused, blood still on chin, sword still up.
"What about him?"
The thin prisoner pointed shaking finger at Danny, thin finger with dirty nail. His voice louder now, almost frantic, gaining speed as idea became plan, as fear became speech.
"Give him to it. It’s been watching him. Give him to it and we can run while it eats him! It’s been listening to his heart! Loudest heart! It wants loud heart! We give it boy, it stops! We run to arch, we live!"
Wind howled between them, carrying snow, carrying words, making words louder.
The grey-haired man stared at prisoner, expression turning hard, from tired to disgusted, from pain to something old and angry, grip tightening on broken hilt despite shake, knuckles white.
Danny froze. He could hear own heart pounding in ears again, betraying him, loudest drum, fast drum. He looked at thin prisoner, then at Mirebeast that was still coming, closer now, shadow over them, over three men on road, then at old man who was now forced to choose, who was bleeding because of them, who had stood in front when no one asked him to.
The prisoner took step back, as if already expecting monster to agree, to make deal, hands up, pleading with air, with old man, with mountain.
"The monster wants him! Look at it! Just throw him! We can survive! We can run to arch! One life for two! That’s logic! That’s logic you taught, old man!"
The grey-haired man didn’t move. He kept bent sword up, between Danny and everything else, between boy and beast and thin man’s idea.
Danny couldn’t speak. Throat tight, snow in mouth, nails digging into palms so hard blood came, same as old man’s, same red on snow.
For long second, no one said anything except wind and heavy footsteps of beast getting closer, BOOM, BOOM, like clock counting down.
Then thin prisoner looked directly at Danny, eyes filled with strange, desperate hate, hate you need to justify what you’re about to do, hate you make so you can live with yourself after.
"If one has to die, why should it be me? Why boy? Why not me? I have family! I have daughter! You have no one!"
Silence fell again, heavier than before, heavier than falling rocks, heavier than claw.
Danny’s eyes widened.