The Blade and The Bird

Chapter 11

Sidra pulled the cloth that she had haphazardly wrapped around her leg away from her skin. It was full of blood, and although she tugged delicately at the cloth it still hurt to remove it. The wound underneath was deep, the blood looked nearly black in the light, and she winced as she looked over at it. Running on it hadn't done any favors either.

"That looks disgusting," Baron said looking at her leg.

"Thank you for your observation." She rolled her eyes.

"I'm trying to empathize. Looks bad," he said.

"That is not how you empathize." The wound was bleeding again now that the cloth had been pulled away, and Sidra ripped another section of her shirt to press into it. She was glad they got lucky with the cart, if she'd had to run much further she would have lost far too much blood.

Sidra kept one hand placed firmly on the wound as she pulled her backpack closer to her and felt around inside for the worn leather of her grandmother's book. She felt the edge of it and pulled it out, the weight off-centering her for a moment as she pulled it into her lap.

"It's so dark I can barely make out the words," Sidra said to Baron.

"I'd help," he said, "but I can't let go of the horse."

"Useful," she answered back dryly as she squinted in the gloom to make out the words on the page she was looking for. It was the healing spell she had attempted earlier, it had worked on Baron, so she hoped it would work on her as well.

She said the incantation aloud. The words were still unfamiliar and foreign, she knew she was butchering the pronunciation, but when a soft glow filled her hand that was covering the wound she knew she'd had enough intent to make it work regardless. It was an uncomfortable feeling, she noticed, her skin grew hot and itchy, she could feel itself stitching back together beneath her hand. It didn't take long for the pain to subside and when she pulled the bloodied cloth away the wound was a soft pink scar rather than the gaping injury it had been moments before.

"I still can't believe that works," she said, more in wonder to herself than her companion.

"Pretty incredible, isn't it? I've always been envious of witches," Baron said.

"I'll never understand why people wanted to get rid of it," she said.

"It's different, and it's powerful," Baron said with a shrug, "people don't like things that are different. People especially don't like things that are more powerful than them."

"That's such a shame. Anyway, how far out do you think we are?"

"A day at best. Having a horse cut the time, but it's still quite a ways."

Sidra closed the book in her hands. It was too dark for her to look at any new Magick and put it back into her bag. She closed up her bag and set it next to her on the bench. Her bag had seen better days at this point, covered in leaves and mud, splatters of blood, probably hers, and the straps barely hanging together. She found herself thinking again about how much has happened.

"You should get some rest, you've lost quite a bit of blood. I can handle the horse," Baron said.

"Thank you," she said and meant it. She felt so tired she could easily fall asleep even with the racket of the cart on the uneven road. She climbed over the bench into the bails of hay behind them and felt herself drifting off into sleep.

**

Sidra realized she was dreaming when she floated down from the sky to stand in the middle of a forested clearing. She looked at the large oak tree in front of her, it looked familiar, and as she stared at it she saw wrinkled hands claw their way out of the dirt. It was her grandmother's hands. The hands were purple and rotted and Sidra tried to cry out in terror but no sound came out of her mouth.