by Lux Miller
She blinks at me like I just told her the sky’s green and the sea’s made of fire, shaking her head quickly as she questions me, “What? Why?”
So she’s not as familiar with these Navian assholes as she wants me to believe she is. I let her in on a well-known secret about how ruthless the men pursuing her really are, and why she’s in as much danger as I am. After I’ve got her attention, she realizes the grave position that I’m in and what she’s potentially facing herself. I grab her hand and reach down with what strength is left in my arm and push my knife into it, pleading with her, “It’s poisoned, pretty one. So do me a favor… either cut out the damned arrowhead, or cut my throat if that’s your choice… but spare me the painful death of rotting from the inside out…”
She gasps like I gave her an impossible choice. I feel a pang of regret jolt through my body as I realize that she may not choose the option I’m hoping she chooses. Though truthfully, things are about to get really painful for me either way. She hesitates for a minute, and I close my eyes, my body tensing as the poison begins to attack the nerves in my shoulder. I open my mouth and cry out in pain, the horrible sound erupting from my throat in an uncontrolled bellow that echoes off the rocks just behind us.
She scrambles around on the deck behind me, and for a moment, I fear she’s going to leave me here to die a slow, painful death. Then, I feel her hand on my face as she lifts my head up off the planks and forces my mouth open. As she wrenches open my jaw, the bitter taste of saltwater and leather is jammed between my teeth, and it takes me a moment to realize what she’s done. But I’m thankful for it as she rolls me onto my stomach and straddles my lower back.
My shoulder throbs from the intense tightness that penetrates down to my very being. I’m vaguely aware of the cool wind that’s whipping across the deck as my tunic falls away from my back. And then I realize why she stuffed my mouth full of leather scraps as a searing pain shoots through my torso, centralized just above where her weight pins me to the deck. At my full strength, I could buck someone twice her size off of me with very little effort, but I’m half-frozen in pain, and to a degree, fear. I don’t know if I even can move at this point…
And then the white-hot feeling of steel slicing through skin enters my consciousness. I bite down into the bits of torn leather, my teeth gnashing through the scraps. My eyes snap shut, and I ball my hands into fists, growling as indescribable agony replaces every other thought. I’m struggling to keep myself in the present and aware of my surroundings. I try to focus on anything other than the pressure of the slight girl sitting on my back and the torment that radiates through every fiber of my being as she works to, hopefully, dig out the poisoned arrow.
Just as I start to feel myself fading into a dreamlike world, a new sensation floods my senses as I hear the faint sound of glass breaking and then fire rushing through my veins. I yell and buck my entire body with every ounce of strength I have left, slopping around the rough wooden deck like a fish fighting for its life as it struggles to breathe. The sunlight is caustically bright as I fling one arm over my face to shield my eyes, and it feels like everything is moving in slow-motion.
I can hear Nova saying something. It sounds like she’s speaking a foreign language of nonsense babbles as I fight to latch onto anything that sounds familiar. I’m shivering as beads of sweat trickle down my forehead. It’s everything I can do to lift my arms to claw at what remains of my clothing, begging and pleading in no uncertain terms to discard the garments that feel like they’re strangulating me. I can’t seem to suck in a breath and desperation is creeping in as a heavy weight sits on my chest. I open my mouth to try to say something to her, but my body succumbs to its fight, darkness enveloping me as I slip under.
Chapter Seven
Nova
The startled cry of surprise that tumbles out of my mouth when Drake goes limp beneath me sounds foreign and far away as my field of vision narrows. I focus on the three inch open wound on his back. My fingers are digging around gingerly in the angry flesh to attempt to carefully remove the fragments of the arrowhead. It's apparently shattered into a dozen pieces upon impact with the thick cords of muscle that criss-cross across his broad back. I don’t know if it’s my treasure hunt that’s caused him to pass out or the poison, but I wouldn’t be surprised either way.
If I didn’t have a strong stomach myself, I’d have hit the deck with him. The surrounding skin of his left shoulder and both of my hands are covered in the viscous crimson of blood. The exposed flesh inside the wound is turning an ugly, unnatural color that has me worried that what I’m doing may be an exercise in futility, anyway. I climb off of him and rush over to what looks to be some kind of water storage and wrench off the lid. I'm relieved to find that it isn’t completely empty. The Navians may be ruthless and generally considered to be insane naysayers about the end of the world, but at least they’re prepared for their prophesied ending…
I don’t know how much good water’s going to do at this point, but it’s better than letting him lay there on the deck of the ship while his wound festers and rots. I’m not proficient at anything medical. Everyone knows that a cleaned wound will fare better than a dirty one, so I snatch the half-filled bucket out of the top of the well. I'm careful not to contaminate what’s left of the water below with his blood and rush over, dumping it over him. The water runs red with his blood as it sloshes across the wooden deck, staining the boards a sickening color. He stirs slightly, so at least I know he’s not dead, but he doesn’t physically get up from where he’s facedown on the deck, and I need him to...
I could probably fake my way through enough sailing jargon to convince somebody that I knew what I was talking about. But there’s no way I can actually sail this thing on my own. I’ve only been on a boat a handful of times, and never alone. Since the only other person aboard is currently in a catatonic state, I’m essentially alone right now. To say that I’m absolutely freaked out is an understatement.
What’s worse, I don’t even know what our heading is. I highly doubt that the Navians are going to just let us get away Scot-free with their ship. If everything I’ve heard about them is true, by sundown, things are going to get ugly. We now have two things of theirs… what we haven’t destroyed yet of this boat and the parcel. Which I’ve yet to figure out where Drake’s hidden the parcel, so even if I planned to give it back, which I don’t, I couldn’t. I don’t know where the blasted thing is… or what it is for that matter…
Groaning as my bare feet splash in the bloody water, I nudge his side with my toes. It seems like time stands still as I hover over him, watching his chest expand and contract with his breaths. The gaping wound on his back where I dug out the arrowhead pieces seems to breathe every time his back rises as he inhales. It’s disgusting and fascinating all the same, and I find I can’t tear my eyes away from the damaged skin.
I pick up the knife I used to cut open Drake’s skin and pull my shirt over my head. I use the blade to start a spiralized cut near the bottom, ripping it until it’s basically one long piece of fabric. He might die anyway if what he told me about the poison is true, but he’s definitely going to bleed out if I don’t get the blood flow stopped from the ugly cut. I wrap the fabric quickly around his shoulder, making a quick pass around his neck and one around his chest for support. It’s nothing fancy and it sure isn’t pretty, but when I tie the ends of the fabric together over his shoulder, it at least seems secure.
Despite all of the poking and prodding I did trying to get him wrapped, aside from the just-barely-there confirmation that he’s breathing, Drake isn’t moving. Neither am I. I stand there frozen in shock, repeating an old Nomadic prayer for help in my head over and over, pleading for anyone who’s listening to offer aid to keep this man from dying.
I’m still standing there, silently staring at him, as I hear a howling sound kick up around me. When I snap out of my stupor, I’m horrified to realize that the sky overhead has turned dark with storm clouds. A stinging rain
has begun to fall from the heavens. Panicking, I glance around nervously and can’t determine anything about our situation. I’ve got no clue what time it is, where we are, or what to do.
All I know is that the once-smooth sea around us is beginning to bubble with waves that lift the ship above the horizon like it weighs nothing. The sea drops us back down into the surf suddenly enough that I lose my balance and skitter across the wooden deck, grabbing hold of the railing with a sharp yelp.
Drake rolls across the deck as the ship lurches to one side, and I dive out of the way just as his body collides roughly with the side of the vessel. His form crumples into a heap below the railing. I leap over to where he’s groggily moaning something incoherent, pressing my back against the space between the gunports where cannons should be. Of course, the Navians aren’t keen on using such ancient instruments of warfare. Cannons are bulky and require too much gunpowder to operate efficiently. That means that the vessel we’ve commandeered is essentially unarmed since the Navians arm their men and not their ships. Not that it’s gonna matter much if we don’t survive this battle against Mother Nature…
My stomach drops as the ship swings around in the opposite direction, and I feel like any moment, I might lose my lunch. Until I remember that I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday. Thank goodness for small favors, I remind myself. I slide my arms underneath Drake’s armpits and haul his dead weight into my lap. There’s a chance we might survive this if this squall breaks apart before the ship does, but I’m not holding my breath. The only thing I can do right now is pray for a miracle and hope that somebody hears me over the cacophony of the howling wind.
The sound of splintering wood jerks my gaze upward. My eyes widen as I see the main mast leaning precariously to one side. The Navian sail is flapping wildly in the wind where the ropes that once secured it to said mast have come loose. I scramble out from underneath Drake and push him up against the sidewall of the boat as best I can. I try to fold his limbs into some sort of protected position so that he won’t be crushed by the flying debris that is skittering across the deck.
I jump up and duck out of the way of two ropes that swing amok in the storm, gashing wood and fabric alike as they lash out in anger. I manage to grab hold of one, tugging back on it enough to get it secured into place, but at this point, it doesn’t matter anymore. The main mast is damaged beyond any repairs I can manage. I shield my eyes against the driving rain. Even from here, I can see the deep rifts in the surface of the thick wooden pole that supports the rigging and sails. Too much of the support system has come loose to hold it upright in this condition. All it’s going to take is one more…
Wham!
I hit the deck as a gust of wind bellows through, snapping the mainsail to full attention. Even with a fully intact mast, that kind of pressure on the aging wood could potentially cause damage. With it already cracked in more than one place, the gale-force wind pushing against the sail disintegrates what’s left of the mast. The hundred foot long pole topples over, slinging ropes, sails, and shards of wood in all directions as I duck my head under my hands in hopes of protecting myself from anything sharp.
The loud crack of the mast crashing into the railing near Drake makes my heart jump into my throat. The moment the immediate danger of getting smacked in the head by flying debris has passed, I scurry back across the boat and fling my body over his, resting my ear against his chest. I hold my breath as I listen to his chest, relieved to hear that, though it’s soft and labored, he’s breathing. I lean myself over him more, tucking my face into his neck. The smell of his blood overwhelms my senses, and my own blood ricocheting through my body makes me begin to feel light-headed.
I try to fight off the feeling of slipping under, knowing that if I succumb to the darkness too, we’re likely goners, but it’s useless. I yawn softly, my mouth stretching wide as I try to gulp down more air. Instead, all I inhale is the overwhelmingly intoxicating scent of man and blood. The metallic tang on the air makes my stomach clench as I hold onto him tighter. My eyelids grow heavy, and I mumble an old prayer to an ancient goddess. Just before everything goes dark, I feel Drake’s heavy arm wrap around me protectively, pulling me closer to him as the wind howls around us. In that brief moment between wakefulness and the darkness of the dream world, I hear Drake’s voice mumble, “Freya,” followed by what sounds like the answering caw of a Raven...
Chapter Eight
Drake
My entire body feels like it’s on fire and pinned under a pile of rocks as I slowly blink my eyes open. Every bit of me hurts. I can’t seem to move, no matter how much panic settles into me at the urgency of the situation when the last thing I remember flickers back into my mind. The Navians are chasing me out to sea after I stole their flagship…
So why the fuck am I laying on the deck of the ship?!? Did I take a nap in the middle of trying to outrun them? I look down, narrowing my eyes when I see the cropped, dark hair of a half-naked girl draped across me. Straining my memory, I try to remember where she came from. And where the hell are our clothes? I mean, I won’t lie, she’s cute and all… I’ve never been a man to turn down a little loving on the high seas, but I’d never put my life at risk over something as stupid as sex. I can get physical pleasure from any brothel anywhere on my travels, so there’s no way I’d risk a ship for it. And certainly not something as fine as a Navian flagship!
I try to push myself up onto my elbow and realize my mistake quickly as pain shoots through every nerve in my body. The amount of pain is indescribable as my muscles contract in agony. Even my balls shrivel up and run for cover inside my body because this level of suffering is damn-near unbearable. The source of the torture hits me about the same time as a wave of nausea… the arrows! Shit, the Navians were shooting at us! Despite the ache of my own body, recognition crashes over me like a waterfall, and my concern instantly turns to the girl. I know why I passed out, but what caused her to? Was she hit?
Fear courses through my veins and gives me the boost I need to force myself into a sitting position with a heathen growl. I pull her into my lap and cradle her against my chest. Even though every inch of my body smarts at the movement, pure adrenaline has me running on overdrive. I carefully check her over, running my hands gently over her ivory skin. She’s pale as fuck, and the ebony of her hair stands in stark contrast to her washed out pallor.
From what I’m able to ascertain, she wasn’t hit with any arrows. What makes my breath catch in my throat is when my eyes roam over her dainty back and find familiarity etched there. Despite the fact we’re strangers, my calloused fingers are drawn to her skin, tracing along the outline of the Nomad protection circle that adorns her back. This fragile Sprite of a woman is a Nomad?!? My head’s throbbing with possibilities as the stupor begins to wear off. The pieces of the puzzle come back to me one by one, but the tattoo is definitely new information. And it certainly sheds a little light as to why she was so mesmerized by my own…
But my brief feeling of elation is obliterated when two long shadows fall over me. Cradling Nova against my chest with my stronger arm, I struggle to get my left arm to work well enough to reach for my knife. With Nova’s weight settled on my lap, I can’t reach around her to grab the handle that rests against my calf. Instead, my hand pats against my thigh, where I feel the parcel Nova stole from the Navian bounty hunter. I close my fingers around it slightly and grimace. It’s strapped around my thigh and hidden well, but depending upon who’s found us, it may not be well enough.
I inhale sharply, squinting against the midday sun overhead as I ignore the two figures standing just outside of my field of vision. Wait… midday? Shit! How long was I out? Is Nova really okay if she’s been passed out just as long? Dragging my hand up to her cheek, I roll her face out of the crook of my neck and frown. Her face doesn’t appear to be devoid of color... well, not in the death’s doorstep manner at least. It matches the rest of her in tone, and the contrast is sharp where our bare skin collides chest to che
st. A fact that stirs a flicker of impropriety in my mind and my pants when I realize that the softness pressed against my chest isn’t some kind of fine, delicate material but rather her naked breasts.
“Who’re you?”
The voice that interrupts my thoughts has a deep timbre that startles me as I tug Nova tighter against myself to protect her modesty. I shield her nakedness with my own body as best I can, despite the throbbing pain that shoots through my arms. The owner of the voice is the oddest looking fellow I’ve ever seen, and I’ve run across some ugly motherfuckers in my lifetime.
