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Swallowing Darkness :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 70 из 242I simply called it into the palm of my left hand, or maybe opened some invisible door inmy hand, though my hand was solid to the eye and touch, but it was the doorway for the hand of blood for me.
I called my magic and prayed to the Goddess that what I was doing to save us wouldn't kill two of us. It was as if the blood in my veins turned to molten metal, so hot, so much pain, as if my blood would boil until it melted my skin and poured out of me. But I'd learned what to do with the pain.
I screamed, and faced the palm of my left hand toward the now-running Onilwyn. He was sidhe, he would feel the magic, or maybe he just ran to make sure I died before the hunt arrived.
I thrust that burning, boiling pain into him. He staggered for a moment, then kept coming. I shrieked, "Bleed!"
The wound that I had made in his thigh burst open. His skin split, and blood fountained. The original wound had missed the femoral artery — it was too far under the skin that low in the thigh — but my power could take a small wound and make it bigger. Nick someone even close to a major artery, and I had a chance to open it.
Onilwyn hesitated, putting a hand to his wound, his sword pointing downward. He looked past me, at the sky, and I knew what he saw. I fought not to look, because where I looked sometimes the hand of blood bled. I wanted Onilwyn to bleed, and no one else.
He raised his hand, shining dark in the moonlight with his own blood. He looked at me with deep hatred, then he raised his sword two-handed and ran at me, screaming a war cry.
I screamed my own cry of, "Bleed for me!"
The hunt was coming, but the man with the sword was too close. The only question was whether I could bleed him to death faster than he could cross that piece of ground.
Chapter Ten
I pointed my left hand at him, and screamed for blood. I pushed my power into the wound, and tore it wider. Onilwyn stumbled, but kept coming at a limping run. He was almost to me. I prayed to the Goddess and the Consort. I prayed for strength. Strength to save myself and my babies.
Onilwyn fell to his knees on the dark winter ground. He tried to stand, but his wounded leg betrayed him, and he ended on all fours, blood gushing out onto the frosted grass. The white of the frost vanished in the warm rush of his blood.
He started crawling toward me, dragging his injured leg behind him like a broken tail. He kept his sword in one fist, the point raised a little above the ground so it didn't catch on anything. The look on his face was implacable. His eyes held only certainty and hatred.
I called my magic and prayed to the Goddess that what I was doing to save us wouldn't kill two of us. It was as if the blood in my veins turned to molten metal, so hot, so much pain, as if my blood would boil until it melted my skin and poured out of me. But I'd learned what to do with the pain.
I screamed, and faced the palm of my left hand toward the now-running Onilwyn. He was sidhe, he would feel the magic, or maybe he just ran to make sure I died before the hunt arrived.
I thrust that burning, boiling pain into him. He staggered for a moment, then kept coming. I shrieked, "Bleed!"
The wound that I had made in his thigh burst open. His skin split, and blood fountained. The original wound had missed the femoral artery — it was too far under the skin that low in the thigh — but my power could take a small wound and make it bigger. Nick someone even close to a major artery, and I had a chance to open it.
Onilwyn hesitated, putting a hand to his wound, his sword pointing downward. He looked past me, at the sky, and I knew what he saw. I fought not to look, because where I looked sometimes the hand of blood bled. I wanted Onilwyn to bleed, and no one else.
He raised his hand, shining dark in the moonlight with his own blood. He looked at me with deep hatred, then he raised his sword two-handed and ran at me, screaming a war cry.
I screamed my own cry of, "Bleed for me!"
The hunt was coming, but the man with the sword was too close. The only question was whether I could bleed him to death faster than he could cross that piece of ground.
Chapter Ten
I pointed my left hand at him, and screamed for blood. I pushed my power into the wound, and tore it wider. Onilwyn stumbled, but kept coming at a limping run. He was almost to me. I prayed to the Goddess and the Consort. I prayed for strength. Strength to save myself and my babies.
Onilwyn fell to his knees on the dark winter ground. He tried to stand, but his wounded leg betrayed him, and he ended on all fours, blood gushing out onto the frosted grass. The white of the frost vanished in the warm rush of his blood.
He started crawling toward me, dragging his injured leg behind him like a broken tail. He kept his sword in one fist, the point raised a little above the ground so it didn't catch on anything. The look on his face was implacable. His eyes held only certainty and hatred.