Peter & Max - Bill Willingham [96]
The pain began to recede farther and faster down Peter’s legs. His twisted bones strained to find their original shape again.
Danger pass me by! Go far away, Max! Run up the hill, through the tower gate, and never stop until you’re a thousand leagues away!
Somewhere far away, barely making itself known, through the dual distractions of the maniacal song he played, and his internal litany of commands that Frost make danger pass him by for the third and last time, Peter heard a distant moaning, that grew into screams of pain.
That’s Bo, Peter thought. She’s finally woken up to discover her broken arm. Nothing I can do about it. Not yet.
Peter continued to play, leading the song in every respect, turning it incrementally into something better — something less openly malignant. The pain had almost entirely left Peter’s legs and feet now. In a moment, he knew, they’d be whole and unscarred again, as if they’d never been harmed at all.
He heard more screaming from over the ledge, even more insistent, but still he played on.
Then, all of a sudden, a great and racking sob of profound anguish escaped Max’s lips. He abruptly stopped playing, dropped Fire from his lips, and nearly dropped it, from his frantically clutching hands, which opened and closed in violent, spastic twitches, obeying no thought or design. Without further utterances, save an almost inaudible whimper, tears streaming copiously from his eyes, Max turned and started running. He ran uphill, away from the seaside town, back up the road, towards the guard tower and the endless lands beyond.
WINNING THE DUEL WITH MAX had left Peter exhausted and nearly insensible. But the pull of his obligation towards Bo wouldn’t let him rest. Leaving the donkey and cart where it was, Peter ran down the road, taking the switchback at a mad dash that nearly spilled him off the edge. He wiped blood away from his face as he ran, not wanting to frighten Bo with his wounds that were dramatic, but only superficial. Later he’d count at least thirty new small cuts on his lips, on his tongue, and at the corners of his mouth.
Bo was still conscious when he reached her. But instead of favoring her broken arm, as he’d pictured, she was writhing and clutching at her legs, crying and screaming in a pain too intense to be accounted for by a mere twisted limb — or even a broken one. Bo’s too strong for that, he thought.
And then a horrifying realization came to him, just as he noticed the rotting-flesh smell. He cut away the dark brown hose covering her legs, using his last remaining knife. But even as he did so, he knew what he’d find underneath.
Bo’s legs were a burned and twisted ruin. In some places, bits of charred flesh were sloughing off, leaving open slashes of bloodied and withered muscle underneath.
“I did this!” Peter cried, though Bo was in no condition to understand him. “I did this to you! I wished the danger to pass me by, which is exactly what it did! It didn’t disappear, but it bypassed me only to go somewhere else!”
LATER, PETER WALKED BACK UP THE ROAD to retrieve the donkey and its cart. He led it down to Bo, where he emptied it of enough of its contents to allow Bo to lie in it. The pain she suffered as he lifted her into its bed made her pass out. He led the cart down the road, winding its way out of the high cliffs, which gradually became hills and then seaside lowlands. He’d take her into town, and use all of his remaining treasure to find the magicians and physicians she needed to save her. She woke only once during the journey, and then only for a moment.
“Where’s Max?” she asked, in a voice drained of most of its former power.
“He’s gone far away,” Peter said. And he knew that it was true. Some lingering effect of the spent magic let him know for a certainty that everything he’d demanded of the duel had come to pass. Max wouldn’t stop running, until he was at least a thousand leagues distant. If