There is a dagger at my throat.
The blade is cold, dense, and hums with thick swirls of runic magic.
There is a dagger at my throat, but it is only lying there. Just as I am only lying on a slab of worn granite. It feels familiar. The granite holds me horizontal. The dagger holds me still from its magic. I can’t move.
Which is a secondary concern considering I can’t breathe.
I try to move my Sight to a different perspective, but it is caught fast in my body. A covering on my face prevents me from using extra-ordinary senses. It fits like a mask.
I recognize it now. My deathmask. But I’m not in the Boneyard…
“It is no longer needed there. You used it as a template to create your own… [regalia]. So ownership has reverted back to me. And yes, you are thinking loudly. Still. I had hoped you had learned how to keep your thoughts in your own head by now.”
The Svartalf. It has been a long time since I’ve seen him. Cold hands open my eyelids. I can see, but my vision is fixed. He needs no light to see, but the bindrunes and magic symbols engraved along the top of the walls glow with enough soft light that I can see him.
I don’t recognize his appearance. But I know it is him. He is solid of form and dense of muscle. He looks like a black marble statue come to life. Bernini would weep to see him. His eyes are the only part of him that has not altered over the years. Deep set mica that sparks with dangerous light as he leans over me, allowing me to see his face fully.
“You don’t need the visual reassurances anymore. You have dropped the fallacy that dark things are bad and cute things are safe. I don’t need to pretend to be a dwerg to approach you.”
If I was able to speak, I’d ask him if appearances was the only mask he wore towards me. I don’t know if he heard my thought or not. He stood back up and maneuvered something out of my sight.
My body rocked slightly. But I felt no pain or touch.
He stopped and watched my eyes for a response. I had none to give. I didn’t know what he was doing. The near death state the mask covered me with kept me in complacent apathy. He smirked, then turned his attention to my abdomen and chest.
More jerking. A loud series of cracks. I see the tips of my ribs raised as he opens my chest cavity. “I heard a rumor about a bone burner. One that walks in shadows. And those shadows hide a flame that can never be extinguished. That the heart of those shadows was a bright… devouring…”
He cuts my heart free and lifts it above my body. On contact with air, it bursts into flame but is not consumed.
“Flame.” He looks over the inflamed organ with a hint of dissatisfaction. “It’s true.” He looks at my immobile face. “Your heart was replaced. The Corpse Eaters have you now.” The heat from the burning heart was intense. His stone fingers were starting to turn red from holding it. “You have always had an affinity for fire. This was not necessary to waken it.” The longer he held the heart, the brighter and hotter the flame. I could see waves of radiant heat flowing through the chamber. His fingers were glowing a dull orange. How much heat could the Svartalf hold?
“This explains what happened to your doll, then.” Wait. The doll the Little Folk gave me? I try to focus on that thought, but I start to feel the effects of my heart’s absence. My sight starts to degrade and a deep chill comes up from my depths.
The Svartalf glances at my eyes and notices the change. Grimly and wordlessly he places the inflamed organ back in my chest. He closes my chest cavity, sealing away the light and the heat. Though my sight is degraded, I am able to notice the walls and even his body is radiating heat back into the chamber. I have no idea if my body was affected by the flames.
He makes motions I can not feel and utters sounds that grate my ear. The vivisection complete, he runs his hands over my chest wiping away all evidence of the physical intrusion. He picks up the rune dagger, but makes sure to keep the tip pressed against my neck. He moves the rune dagger down my chest and the magics pull my awareness into a drowning depth.
…
I wrinkle my face. My nose itches. I try to move my arm but it is restrained. I am able to move my head. The deathmask is gone. I can feel the weight of the rune dagger on my chest still. It binds most of my voluntary physical movement. My nose is itching because a red ribbon is barely touching it. I keep trying to move my right hand to reach it.
“If you don’t stop moving, I’ll kill you again.” An annoyed Svartalf is very annoyed.
I turn my head towards the direction of the sound. He is a few feet away, sitting at a smaller table, facing me. On the table is my scarred right arm. My entire right arm.
I look at my right shoulder and see a red ribbon had been tied around it. Everything that should be beyond the ribbon was laying bloodlessly on the other table. The skin had been cut open and pinned apart. The Svartalf was dissecting my arm.
“Why were your arm bones replaced?” He taps the pink structures. Out of curiosity I try to move my right hand. It flexes and he glares at me with impatience.
“Ravenwoman. She tried to…” I weighed how much to tell him. “She didn’t like my answers to her questions. She damaged them severely in retaliation. When my heart was replaced, the Ravens also replaced the damaged bones.”
He said nothing at first but resumed his study of the bones. “What else was replaced?”
“Collarbone, sternum, and a few ribs.”
He thinks on the function of the replaced bones. “She was trying to ground you. To take away your ability to fly. Or to weaken you to the point where a sharp stress would render you vulnerable in a confrontation.” He begins to close the dissected flesh. “[Bitch].”, he muttered. As he continues neatly sealing cut flesh, he speaks to me. “The bones are more than just a symbol, you understand. Your bones were replaced, and they were not replaced. Just like your heart is pure fire, and it is pure flesh. I doubt anyone explained the importance of this to you. How it has bound you to the Carrion-eaters. Your life belongs to them now.”
He smooths the seams on the skin of my scarred arm. He tries to smooth away the scarring itself, but it remains. “I had… other plans… for you.” Mica eyes glint coldly at me. “Your doll is still intact. I may yet be able to awaken other things.” He brings the bloodless arm to my side.
I start to ask him what he meant by “other things”, but as I took the breath to speak, he forced the ball of the humerus into the scapular joint. The process of rejoining my arm to my body was a painful one and instead of speaking I yelped loudly. I looked to watch my muscles and tendons reknit themselves together as my body restored itself from the bones outward. It was very painful, but fascinating as arteries and veins reconnected and blood began to flow. Finally the skin itself cleaved together and the red ribbon fell away.
“The Scavengers have you. But they don’t have all of you. And I shall make sure they never will.” He placed his hand on my face and pushed me into sudden quiet compliance. “You are more than you remember. Do not allow them to define you.”
A sudden scent of ozone was my only warning. I knew what he meant to do, but I was unable to stop him. The arcing pierced my skull and I jerked into the depths of unknowing.
When I opened my eyes next, I was still not awake, but that story is for another post.