Shifting

Thirty-Nine

My dead hand did not hurt-it had no feeling at all-but it had fused itself to my wrist and the blood had stopped flowing out of me. Inside the hand, I could sense liquid pumping. It was my blood, I supposed, but it felt odd to have it go away into the dead hand and then return into my body. Somehow, the blood that returned felt cooler as it ran up my arm. The hand moved a bit mechanically, but with a glove fitted over it, looked normal enough. At least I had five fingers again.

The preacher used the tip of his axe to prod and scrape the colorful shards into his leather sack. We determined to take the pieces and bury them somewhere far from our ruined town, hopefully somewhere they could do no more harm.

After we had left the wrecked lobby to tend to the dead and search for something to eat, I and had abandoned the spot where the lantern had been destroyed, I noticed something moving around there. I headed back outside and saw the furtive figure of Malkin, sprinting away with the shard of brilliant blue. He must have dug it up from under the dust and bricks, where it had lain unnoticed by the rest of us. He paused and gazed back at me when he had reached our sagging fence.

I could not catch him, and I did not hate him, so I figured ignoring was the best I could do. He waved at me, but I did not wave back. I could not so quickly forget his cave full of severed heads.

He bounded over the fence in a single effortless leap and was gone from sight, carrying off his glowing prize.

I never did see what he did with it.