Page 57 of Katya and the Young God

Too fast, too fast to track, the Magician charges at Katya, his knife drawn, before shoving her aside.

Off balance, Katya slams into the wall, the wind knocked out of her, face scraping against the stone and bone. She twists, back towards the Magician, sweeping out her leg and catching him by the ankles right before he slashes out at the little girl.

He goes down, hard, and the little girl scrambles away, halfway up the pile of jagged crystals.

Barely missing a beat he pushes himself up, the knife still gripped in his hand, and Katya slams into him with her shoulder, knocking him away and grabbing the copper stiletto in her hair.

His feet skid in the dust, before he faces her in a half-crouch, knife up and defensive, eyes on Katya with laser focus, before he straightens, clicking the knife away, his face twisted in scorn.

She doesn’t lower the stiletto.

“Fine,” he says, voice even, the only evidence of their brief tussle the smear of bone dust on his shirt. “Not this time.” He pockets the knife, deliberate, and strides back to where the remaining caver sits, watching with wide eyes.

He speaks to them in a low voice, then him, the caver, and Feketer start moving forward, leaving Katya alone with the girl in the long hallway.

Katya waits for him to be many steps away before she retwists her hair back in a smooth practiced movement.

“You okay?” She asks the child, who’s crouching on the rock pile and watching with wide eyes. “Did he scratch you?”

She shakes her head, before jumping off in the way that only a child would be able to, but she stays close to Katya, shying away from approaching anyone else, and frankly, Katya can’t blame her.

“So, where’s Pieter? Can we get to him yet?” She asks, and her heart’s still pounding, and she can’t take her eyes off the other group, can’t turn her back. “Is that why you needed me here?”

“Yeah,” the little girl says, her voice small.

“Okay,” Katya nods, trying to get her heart rate under control. “Still need me?” Her shoulder aches, gives her a sharp stab of pain, the type that trails down her arm and sends pins and needles down each fingertip.

“No.” She scuffs her feet, close to Katya. “That was it.”

There’s a cough, then a rumble of small pebbles and stones, as a pile of debris Katya had just thought was full of crystals gets shaken, and Pieter pushes himself up out of it, his curls full of the white dust.

He searches frantically, until his eyes fall on the little girl, before he sits all the way up. He’s covered in cuts and scrapes, a nasty one across his cheek, and he coughs again.

“Did they really just leave us?” Pieter says, ripping off his headlamp and retightening the bulb before it shines back on.

“They’re only three hundred paces ahead,” the little girl pipes up, even though the steep slope has fully obstructed them from view. She folds herself into sitting next to Pieter, who struggles to sit upright, straightening each of his legs with care, rolling his ankles and checking his knees.

If he can’t self-heal, then any injury must feel almost entirely traumatic.

“The moment I turned my back, the Magician tried to stab her,” Katya says, keeping her voice down, even though there is no preventing the little girl from hearing. “So we’ll have to keep an eye out for that.”

Pieter gives her a critical glance over. “And he’s still alive?”

“He de-escalated first.”

“She used the knife in her hair,” the little girl says, serious. “And made him fall over with her feet.”

Pieter gives Katya a sharp smile, and for once, it doesn’t terrify her. “Good.” Carefully, ever so carefully, he pulls himself up to his feet, like he’s expecting any moment to be dumped back on the floor with pain, before he squares up his shoulders, breathing out of his nose.

“You good?” Katya asks.

“I think I lost about a minute there,” he says, hands going up to his hair and shaking out the thin white dust from his curls. “Probably need a doctor, can’t get one here, that’s great.”

“Well, let me know if your eyes stop focusing or you need to puke,” Katya says, bone-weary, her entire arm throbbing. “Not that I can do much, but —"

He nods, his eyes falling to her shoulder, as if he can tell it hurts her, but, thankfully, doesn’t say anything.

“Your face is bleeding,” the little girl says, still serious.

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