Meanwhile, back in my prison, my luck had started to change for the better. Not that I had gotten free, or anything as serendipitous as that. That was too much to hope for. It also appeared to be too much to hope for that Koschei would ever think to feed me. And even though I started hearing voices (from down below my prison, somehow-maybe I was on the upper floor of wherever I was), I was unable to call out to them due to the spell on my voice, or in any way make noise that would attract their attention. And even if I could, who was to say that they weren’t minions of Mr. the Deathless, or something like that?
However, I had at least gotten started on getting free from this chair.
When I’d been captured, my pack and all the contents therein, along with a few odds and ends hidden on my person, had been confiscated. However, Mr. the Deathless had not checked my insides for anything, a fact I was now using to my advantage. And yes, I am aware of how weird that sounds. But it makes sense if you understand that before I left, Baba Yaga brewed a special potion that I then drank, and therefore it was now inside of me. And it was my secret weapon.
See, something people mostly already know about gargoyle blood is that it’s really, really hot. It makes it difficult for non-gargoyles to treat us when we’re injured. What many people don’t know, and which is mostly a deeply-kept secret,* is that when we’re under extreme physical and/or mental stress, it sort of boils. That is to say, it gets hotter. It doesn’t hurt us, but it goes from burning to scorching for almost anyone or anything else. And Baba Yaga had given me a potion that would amplify that in such a way that I could use it to my advantage now.
Most doctors would probably advise against purposely making yourself bleed, especially when your blood sugar is low because you haven’t eaten or drank anything for what is probably more than twenty-four hours. But this was an emergency, so I dug one of the claws of my right hand into my palm (because I am ambidextrous, it didn’t matter which one I used). Soon enough I felt the sting of pain as I pierced my own skin, and after pressing a little harder, I felt the blood start to leak out. The pain caused a bit of an adrenaline rush, and I augmented it by thinking about all the consequences of failure: losing Calla forever, dying here, leaving Xen and Phil alone, never getting to see my family again-well, maybe not that one. Except my mother. And my little brother Elijah. And Morty, who was more or less family. I encouraged all my anger and fear and worry to rise to a fever pitch, and could actually feel my blood temperature rising. I heard more voices somewhere outside my prison now, but ignored them. Getting out was far more important.
The chair I was sitting in was solid steel, magically reinforced. However, my bleeding palm began to burn through it like the third eye of Shiva through Ganesha’s head. Eagerly, I wiggled it back and forth, feeling the metal dissolving under my hand. It took longer to eat through than I would have liked, but I doggedly continued on. Even when I started to see black spots before my eyes, and my ears started ringing, and I started having that light-headed feeling like I’d been out in the sun for far too long.
Wonder how much I’ve lost? I’ll die if I lose more than six pints. Let’s see, if one drop can dissolve up to two centimeters of metal, and the arm of this chair is about three inches thick, and if it takes .38 seconds to dissolve the steel-
I was distracted from my inane calculations by the fact that that part of the chair was starting to wobble and bend a bit. Deciding I didn’t want to waste anymore time waiting, I pushed down as hard as I could. If I’d been at full strength, I could have done it with much less trouble. As it was, I had to shove and strain and push several times, before finally, with a satisfying snap! the part of the chair broke, giving me a chance to slide my arm free, albeit with the spell attached. And as I’d feared, it then shrank to fit snugly around my wrist, like the world’s worst bracelet. But when I dripped a bit of my blood on it, it actually dissolved the part it touched, allowing me to peel it off and toss it away. Baba Yaga’s magic is pretty potent stuff.
I dissolved my other bonds, and then pressed my now-numb claw to my chest, in an effort to stop the bleeding. It ate right through my shirt, so I had to press it against my bare fur and flesh (which, luckily, it didn’t appear to be hurting). I was still trapped in this hellish place of light. I still had no voice. I was also starving, thirsty, and possibly suffering from self-inflicted anemia. But at least now I was partially free. I just needed to take a rest, just close my eyes for a moment, and then I could find a method of getting out of here…
*So be grateful that I trust you enough to tell you about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment