Chapter 61: Hypnotized Man
After few minutes, grey-haired man settled into corner to rest, after telling Danny free to go, after laugh that had echoed and died, after silence that followed that was heavier than laugh, heavy like snow on roof. He did not lie down, never lay down on mountain, not since wolves. He sat with back against stone, broken sword still in hand, not sheathed, head tilted back against rock, eyes half closed, slits of white showing. Breathing shallow, chest barely moving, like he was trying to take less air so cave would have more, or like breathing hurt chest where he had been pressing.
Danny had finally composed himself after laughing, after realization he had nowhere to go, after free to go landed like stone in gut. He sat quietly, mind racing as he tried to figure out what to do next, next morning, next trail, next north. Fire had gone smaller, eating last of dry root, root turning to ash that looked like snow. He did not add wood, no wood left to add, only stone around. Just watched it shrink, circle getting smaller, dark pushing in from back of cave, drip coming back, drip drip, counting down oil and wood and freedom.
His Echo was dormant.
He could feel it there, like limb that had gone numb from sitting too long, asleep, pins and needles but no movement when you try to move it, like it belongs to someone else for minute. He tried to reach for it, way he had been taught by old man, breathing in and listening for second heartbeat under own, second pulse that wasn’t heart, blue pulse. Nothing answered. No heat in chest. No ringing in ears that usually came before. No blue flicker at edge of sight. Just own breath, ragged, just cold, just shoulder throbbing.
He couldn’t understand why, and uncertainty beginning to get to him, fear building different from Mirebeast fear, internal fear, fear that something inside broke, not outside. He ran hand through hair, snow melt and dirt and ash in it, struggling to think of solution, but nothing came to mind. It had been like this since ridge, since Mirebeast looked at him with three red eyes, since sacrifice, since man said free to go. Maybe fear had shut it down. Maybe exhaustion, maybe mountain air too thin for Echo to breathe, maybe watching man be swallowed whole had closed it.
"Damn it." He whispered it so man would not hear, so mountain would not hear, so cave would not hear and remember word and use it later.
He needed some fresh air. Cave felt too tight suddenly, too small, back too dark and fire too small and other man’s breathing too loud, too shallow, too much like man was already dying sitting up. He needed wind on face, needed snow, needed sky even if hidden.
Danny got up and stepped outside cave, ducking slab, leaving fire and shallow breathing behind. Cold immediately struck him, like slap, sending shiver down spine, through bleeding shoulder? No that was before, old blood, but new cold made old wound ache again, memory ache. He wrapped arms around himself, wishing he had something warm to wear, not prisoner rag, not torn cloak that was really just dead man’s shirt tied. Snow still falling slow, ash mixing with it, grey on white, white on grey. Moon hidden behind clouds, no light, no stars, just black sky pressing. Path he had been so scared to walk was invisible now, which somehow made it less scary, because you can’t be scared of what you can’t see, only of what you can imagine, and he had too much imagination.
He stood there few seconds, just breathing, side hurt where leaning on rock in cave, hands still dirty from climb, blood under nails from prisoner? Or his own? Or mountain’s? Couldn’t tell, black under nails.
Then he heard noise behind him. Scrape. Not wind. Not ash. Boot on stone, inside cave, moving fast, not shallow breathing walk, fast, purpose.
Before he could turn around completely, sword came flying toward his head. Fast. Too fast for man who had been sitting down second ago, shallow breathing, half asleep, hand on chest. Fast like Echo still worked, fast like old days, fast like when he cut wolves mid air.
Danny jumped to side, instinct from wolves, narrowly avoiding fatal blow, blade whistling past ear, wind of it cutting cheek with cold. However blade still caught shoulder, opening wound, same shoulder as before but deeper now, clean cut this time, not bruise, hot pain shot down arm, down to fingers, fresh blood, warm in cold air, steaming, smelling iron immediately, stronger than ash.
"Hey! What are you doing?" he shouted, clutching bleeding shoulder, voice cracking high, child voice, betrayed voice, not soldier voice, not Guilty number voice. "Are you crazy?"
Grey-haired man stood before him, staggering unsteadily, but sword steady, raised in guard that was too perfect for stagger, feet wrong but arm right. His eyes had turned completely white, no iris, no pupil, no blue glow, no grey, just flat, milky white that caught firelight from inside cave behind him, reflecting orange in white, but white, like snow blindness, like cave had filled eyes with milk.
Danny’s expression changed, anger vanishing, going cold, recognition cold, colder than wind, colder than stone he sat on.
"Damn it. He’s under a hypnosis spell! Parasite!"
It was not just eyes. Face slack, mouth open little, drool coming down chin, not like old man, old man never drooled, never left mouth open. Breathing through mouth like forgotten how else to do it, like puppet with strings cut half, like body trying to remember how to be man and failing, only remembering how to hold sword.
His gaze shifted to man’s injuries, wounds no longer healing normally, old cuts from wolves, burn from his own fire, cut on chest from earlier mountain. Flesh around them began to rot, not bleed, rot, turning grey-green even in dim ash light, even in cold that should preserve, and strange parasites wriggled beneath skin, thin white things, like threads of rice that moved on own, pushing under skin and making it bulge, travel up arm, toward neck, toward white eyes, like worms going home.
Danny felt stomach twist, vomit rising, bile acidic. He had seen rot before, in dead animals on mountain road, wolves eating old carcass days dead, maggots. Never seen it move while man still standing, still holding sword, still breathing, rot happening live.
"What the hell is happening to you?" He took step back, boot hitting loose rock outside cave mouth, almost slipping on ash-snow mix, hand still clutching shoulder, blood between fingers. "Hey! Can you hear me? Old man! It’s me! Danny! It’s Dannies! Wake up!"
Man didn’t respond, simply raised sword and charged, steps uneven, staggering like drunk, like legs not receiving same orders as arm, but arm steady, sword point steady, aimed at chest, aimed at heart, same place he had told Danny to aim when killing Awakened man with rock, same lesson turned around. Worst part, spell knew how to use sword better than stumble suggested, muscle memory without mind, body remembering what mind forgot, killing remembered when being man forgotten.