eleven.

marion's blade

MAEV INHALES SHARPLY upon impact, her lungs robbed of air. Thick flakes of snow and splintered earth drift down around her, magic pulsating in the air. She rolls onto her side, coughing and wheezing as she pushes herself up, stumbling to the side. Blood leaks out of her mouth and her bones feel brittle but nothing was broken and she could feel her body starting to heal, so she didn't spend long musing over her injuries.

A mask broken in two halves rests at her feet and Maev clenched her hands into fists, inhaling deeply as the wind witch scrambles to his feet across from her.

He was tall and willowy, his eyes an opaque blue and his shoulder-length hair a deep gray. His dark skin was etched with thin silver markings that created elaborate designs, crisscrossing across his arms and lingering around his neck.

The two stood there for a few seconds, muscles tensed and eyes unblinking. The wind witch breathed in and Maev dropped to the ground, a large gust of wind sweeping over her. She dug her fingers into the frozen earth, allowing her rage to shine through, the ground shuddering and recoiling at her command, splintering beneath his feet.

A few flicks of his fingers and he rose above the ground, avoiding falling deep into the earth and shoots towards Maev. The two collide into a flurry of punches and kicks aided by wind and earth, the air crackling and blood flowing freely.

They break apart, breathing heavily, and Maev reaches up, wiping the blood away from her mouth. She was already weakened by transporting Steve and Bucky, and the added stress of her transporting herself and the unwilling wind witch was starting to catch up to her. She licked her lips, the pungent taste of blood flooding her senses as she closed herself, allowing the most human parts of her to fade away.

Maev opened her black eyes, her mind clear and emotions locked tightly away as she withdrew her knife. The blade shimmered in the light, the unique steel having a blue sheen and the ornate handle melding perfectly to her grasp. She slid back into a fighting stance, watching with sharp eyes as the wind witch dashes forward.

While there were no blades in his hands she could hear the high pitched humming of wind whistling around them, knowing very well that if the wind came near her skin it would slice through it easily as paper.

Magic boils in her veins, begging to be released as the two exchange a flurry of blows. Her skin becomes littered with tiny cuts, cuts that heal over only to be reopened moments later. She knows that he's just wearing her down, that he has more reserves then she does at the moment, so she makes a split second decision.

Maev shoves her knife upwards, only for him to block it using his forearms, and leans forward, head butting him as hard as she can.

The wind witch reels backward and she lunges forward, knife aimed to pierce through his ribs. It's only as her blade reaches her mark does she realize her mistake, pain blossoming in her chest. Maev looks down at the tiny knife buried deep into her chest, a knife she'd failed to see tucked into a sheath hidden at his waist.

The two witches break apart.

Maev's knife had hit its mark but so had his, and the two witches fell to the ground, the snow stained red and the earth in ruins.

"The Tales of the Sister Three," the witchling read aloud, looking at the book her guardian had gifted her. It was rather large and bound in leather, the once bright gold lettering now faded and peeling. The pages were crinkled and the edges yellowed, the spine littered with several lines. Maev Barebone peered up at Olivia Silvertongue, confusion on the eleven-year-olds face. "Why are you giving me a book with bedtime stories?"

"Tales are every bit as important as fact, after all, there is some truth hidden in every story." Olivia smiled down at her, "Just give it a try for me, okay?"

Maev nodded a bit sullenly. She didn't care much for the book, after all, stories that were told about the original sisters had been warped by time, which made her doubt that there would be any truth left. 

In fact, Maev left the book on the stand by her bed and didn't touch it for nearly three years.

But in the aftermath of Olivia's death and her relocation deep in a rainforest, Maev found herself reaching for the book after another sleepless night. She read through the introduction, looking at the different stories inside, before stopping at the last one. The title had been circled in faded pen and Maev turned to the page listed, tracing her fingers over the old ink.

THE WITCH WHO COURTED DEATH

The tale went something like this: a witch by the name of Marion had been born with two sisters. The three sisters were unusual, one had the ability to summon creatures with shards of bone, one had such fire that it shone even in her veins, and Marion, well Marion had been born with so much magic laced in her blood that she became a living beacon for witches and humans like. Some wanted to revere her, some wanted to destroy her, some wanted to worship her, some wanted to pick her apart and understand why she was a container of magic rather than a conductor like the other witches.

Marion, like all witches in the Dark Ages, was raised on a diet of hunt or be hunted; be the hunter or be the fool they feast upon. She was carved from iron and blood and tiptoed the line of death one too many times. She was hunted and attacked and strung and nearly burned, and yet she still managed to live because of an item she'd courted Death for.

The first witchblade was born from the bargain Marion struck with Death, a thing of immense and terrible power. It had one purpose, a purpose that was engraved on the rippling metal.

VITA EST VITA

A life for a life.

For each life a witch took with the blade was store into its obsidian core, where it would patiently wait for a chance to live again. And only a Blood Witch could bind the blade to herself, the one insurance Marion left for her predecessors to use.

For as long as a Blood Witch held the blade, she couldn't die so long as there was another life already stored into witchblade.

But, like the other artifacts of the original Sister Three, the witchblade was lost in the sands of time.

The young witch stared at the sketch of what the lost blade was thought to look like, a sinking feeling filling her. She'd seen that blade, she was sure of it. And so Maev had scrambled to her feet, running down three flights of stairs, descending deep into the hollow of the tree the house was built in.

Maev paused, lingering in the shadows as she stared at the several boxes littering the basement. There was one box she'd yet to touch, terror seizing her every time her fingers brushed against the lid. But she had to know. She had to know if the same blade she'd wrestled free from Olivia's heart three years ago, the same blade she'd discarded as she tried to stop the blood pouring from her mentor's still body, was the witchblade depicted in the storybook.

The lid was cast aside and gentle fingers lifted the blade out of its resting place.

A witchblade could take the form of anything from a needle-thin dagger to a long broadsword. This particular witchblade, just like the original witch blade, was a knife. The handle was ornate, carved with beautiful symbols that spread to the blade, which rippled blue underneath the faint life, the edge sharp and curved at the bottom.

Maev slowly turned it on its side, light catching on the words engraved on the blade, each letter delicately carved.

She sunk to her knees, still holding the witchblade, the sharp edges cutting in her palms. The witchling ignored the pain, her eyes wide as the realization hit her. Olivia had given her the book, circling the tale she wished Maev to read. Olivia, who was stronger than any witch Maev had ever met, somehow not sensing the witch that plunged the witchblade into her heart.

Olivia who had smiled at her even as she died. Olivia who was always pushing her to be better, to be stronger, to be faster. Olivia who'd implied she'd gladly give her life for Maev since her whole job was protecting her, and all the better if she managed to continue to help her beyond the grave. Olivia who'd gotten killed by the very blade the original Blood Witch had used, a blade that had been missing for two centuries.

The name of the blade seared itself into Maev's mind as she sat in the dark, curled around a blade that had taken a life so dear to her, a life that was now hers to use in the event she died.

Kinslayer.

Maev was freezing. She peeled open her eyes, squinting at the bright light that refracted off the snow around her. She groaned, pushing herself up on her elbows, freshly fallen snow cascading off her body. Snow still fell from the sky in thick flakes that moved towards the earth at a luxurious pace.

She looked down at her chest where the wind witch's blade still protruded from and sighed as she sat all the way up, pain lancing down her spine. She gripped the handle with numb fingers, taking a deep breath and then yanking it out, tossing it to the side and pressing her hand to the open wound. Once it stopped bleeding, she drug her hand through the snow, leaving behind a trail of red.

Maev staggered to her feet, shuffling through the snow and bending down to grab Kinslayer from the ground. The wind witch's body had since returned to its true state, faint magic scattered on wind, leaving no trace behind.

That meant at least three hours had past since their fight for while a witch's body decomposed according to their elemental alignment (one day Maev herself would crumble into dust and shadows, when all of the lives she'd taken where used and she found herself fading away either on a battlefield or from perhaps old age) it still took a few hours for it to do so.

Her stomach rumbled as she sheathed her knife and Maev took a deep breath, closing her eyes as a wave of dizziness passed over her.

Her magic was barely tangible, all of her reserves used up, and she was stranded in the middle of one of the coldest places on Earth. Luckily, she was not as susceptible to the cold as humans were, but the fact that several inches of snow had been covering her for a few hours did little to comfort her.

Maev slowly climbed her way out of the crater, fingers clawing at rock and snow as she heaved herself up. She rolled over the lip of the crater, laying on her back and catching her breath. Her whole body ached and the need for sleep lingered at the edge of her consciousness.

Maev began to count the snowflakes falling from the sky as she tried to regain some strength, pinching her thigh occasionally to jolt herself awake. Finally, she pushed herself up to her feet and reached for the tether between her and James. She tugged on it, trying to tell him where she was, but silence greeted her instead.

She swallowed her worry, he could be busy or even just exhausted, after all, silence isn't uncommon. The tether itself was proof in itself of James's heart still beating, and it was this knowledge that comforted her. He was alive and that's all she cared about. So, Maev steeled herself, looking at the frozen tundra splayed before her, miles upon miles of white that spanned in every direction. And then she started walking.

Walking towards her ranju.

Walking towards James.

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