by Dawn Dagger
His heart was racing, thudding in his ears and shooting across his clenched fingers. He knew he should be terrified, from the adrenaline rushing through him he knew some part of him was, but he was invigorated and thrilled. Finally, a fight worth his time.
The beast lunged at him and he hopped sideways before turning on his heel and running out of the hut, knowing he would have the advantage on open ground. The wolf burst through the doorway of the hut in an explosion of stones and wood splinters. The front of the shack collapsed in on itself and the beast shook itself off, scattering hunks of rock and dirt as it paced forward.
Out of the corner of his eye, Guy saw Levanine running down toward the beach. The wolf barrelled toward him and he hefted his sword up, spinning on his heel at the last moment, cleanly slicing off the top of its massive ear. It yowled and slammed a pumpkin-sized paw into his side, sending him tumbling.
Guy went rolling, pain flaring through his body from his chest as something cracked loudly. When he finally stopped he groaned loudly, the world swirling. He coughed on something thick and sticky in his throat, weakly reaching for his sword, which lay on a few paces from his mangled form.
The beast roared triumphantly and leaped at him. A thousand memories and dreams flashed behind Guy’s eyes as the animal’s body shimmered like gold in the sunlight. Calling for him, in the very back of his mind, red lips smiled at him from under raven whisks of hair.
For a second, as his fingertips brushed the hilt of his sword and the massive figure of the beast blocked out the sun, he was peaceful.
His fist closed around the hilt of his sword and he swung it upwards, connecting with the wolf’s chest. The blade buried itself halfway into the monster, getting stuck. The animal roared. The Captain tried to turn the blade, ignoring the hot agony that threatened to render him unconscious. As the wolf landed on the ground, Guy sat up, attempting to turn the blade, only to have it snap in half with a force that sent it hurtling
Guy choked as the beast stared down and snarled at him, amber drops rolling out of the wound and splattering onto his face. The broken blade protruded out of its chest.
He cursed. That was his best damn blade.
Damn this island.
He rolled onto his side and tried to push himself up, despite coughing blood. The wolf circled around him, growling and snarling. Guy reached to his waist for his dagger, his swirling vision kept steady on the animal.
The beast stopped in front of him, then suddenly darted forward and swiped at him again, sending him rolling, his dagger flying from his hand.
He laid on his back, coughing up blood, unable to move. So, this was how he died? How pathetic. A strange beast on an abandoned island. No sword. No blazing glory. With no weapon, he would not be sent to Alleryia. He would not be sent to Elsomora.
He prayed to the Keepers of Ursona his soul would be spared.
“Stop!” floated into his ears, just loud enough to be heard over the drumbeats echoing in his skull. A band of brown, tan, white. It was a swirling whirlpool of colors, suddenly obscuring the golden beast. “Stop! He didn’t mean it! Stop!”
“Lev…” He coughed, blood splattering from his mouth. “Do…”
She held her hands up, her short hair and the tassels on her shirt and pants fluttering in the breeze. “Stop,” she whispered. Levanine’s hands fluttered to her dagger at her side, grabbing it and tossing it sideways with a clatter on the stones. She stared the beast in the eyes. Both she and the wolf were silhouettes, and its glowing eyes were the only thing that was clear.
Guy was sure he was dead. Death was painful.
Slowly, very slowly the beast lowered its head and gently nuzzled into Levanine’s stomach. She lifted a hand and stroked its muzzle. There was a perfect silence about the earth. Guy’s heartbeat overwhelmed his senses and pain threatened to strangle him into nothingness, but the world around the two seemed to slow to a still.
Legends told of a time when the world was never quiet, where the four leaders of Kethaltar warred for a thousand years. Earth and Water could not decide who held greater importance, and Fire and Wind had opposite ideas; one wanted control, and the other, peace.
Each Lord and Lady of the four had a child. The Earth and Water both had beautiful maiden daughters, and Fire and Wind had strong boys. Wind’s son led his skies with a firm hand, Earth’s child was loved for her spirit and loyalty, and Fire was known for his temper and sense of justice, but the Water maiden was driven from her kingdom for her gentle heart and kind soul.
Fire took Water’s quivering form under his blazing wings and attempted to lay waste to Earth. However, she rendered him to a mangled surrender easily, destroying his wings and cutting into him. Just as the daughter of Earth poised to strike and destroy the son of Fire, Water’s banished maiden rose to protect him and waited for the blow in his place.
For the first time in a thousand years, Kethaltar went silent, all eyes waiting and all breaths reserved. The Water Maiden reached out her hand and held the Earth’s Daughter’s. They looked into one another and promised peace- peace driven by friendship and not by anger veiled behind politics.
Guy was unsure of why this meaningless story was so clear to him, but how Levanine stood, holding the wolf close, she looked like a goddess of water and moonlight, holding the daughter of Earth in a suspension of mutual trust and understanding, dissolving violence.
He must be dead. He ghoul understanding the strangest, most intimate parts of Kethaltar.
Disgusting. He would be a thoughtful ghoul.
“I am sorry.” Levanine’s voice was a soft whisper on the wind, the waves dragging small grains of sand back into its expanse. Darkness swam at the edges of Guy’s vision. The wolf sat down and nodded its head toward Guy. Around the broken metal protruding from its chest amber welled up and ran down like golden blood.
Levanine turned and the floating gracefulness that had held her on breezy fingers faded into a tense fear. “Captain!” The darkness was like demons clawing at the edges of his sight, devouring him.
He tried to whisper anything, but all that fell from his throat was a gurgle. He felt his eyes slide closed as the demons won, and he succumbed to darkness.
Chapter 26
“Quinn! Quinn!” Levanine screamed, struggling to hook her arms under the Captain’s body and lift him up. “QUINN, HELP ME!” He was dying. She could see it. His breath was nearly nothing, blood trickling down his chin, which was now stark white beneath the shadow of dark facial hair. His body was limp. His chest looked misshapen.
Tears came hot and fast to Levanine’s eyes, blurring her vision and burning her eyes. She did not cry, though. She did not sob. Her lungs burned as she held her breath and drug Guy towards Quinn. He barreled up the hill and in a swift movement hoisted Guy up and began carrying him back down the hill.
Levanine followed, stumbling over her own feet. He couldn’t die. That’s what her brain kept repeating, ingraining it into itself. He couldn’t die. The Captain no longer looked like a man. He looked like a young boy in Quinn’s arms, and his state pained Levanine. Her hands were shaking and trembling, restless, desperate for some way to help,
“He’s alright, I’m sure… He’ll be just fine...” Quinn whispered, kneeling to lie Guy down on the hot sand of the beach. “He...” Quinn’s thick fingers moved with little skill, mostly instinct. “I think he may have broken his rib… His lung…”
Levanine’s mind suddenly centered around the image of a cup of tea. It meant nothing to her for a long moment, then she suddenly realized why the tin of steaming liquid was so important. She nudged Quinn aside with and prodded the Captain’s side herself, drawing a sharp gasp from him. “What is it?” Quinn asked.
“Healer.” Was her grunted explanation. Her mind was working too fast to be of any use at all, but she knew that she needed to gather a few things. “His lung is punctured…” She whispered hoarsely. She was suddenly aware of time, of every sand grain slippin
g into the bottom of an hourglass, every second one closer to the moment that the Captain died.
“How do we fix a punctured lung?” Quinn’s voice pitched oddly and he flushed nearly as white as the Captain was.
Levanine’s mind was spinning, whirling, twisting. Heal, heal, heal, heal… It chanted. She reached a hand up to brush her long hair out of her face, but her fingers clipped neatly out of the end and she paused in surprise.
“The flowers!”
Levanine leaped to her feet and ran as quickly as her trembling legs would allow her to, up the hill and towards the crumbling remains of what was once her hut. Her boots skid in the dirt as she stopped herself, then she fell forward, onto her knees, and began scrambling through the debris wildly.
“No, no, no, no, no…” She mumbled to herself, overturning cobblestones and tossing aside hunks of splintered wood. There must be some remnant of the small flowers left! They couldn’t have all been destroyed!
Levanine felt herself heaving, her shaking hands raking through the dirt. She had given up her only beauty for these flowers, and now they were gone! She could not even save the Captain.
She pressed her back against a large section of wall and pushed it over, then began to examine the pebble filled dirt. Levanine gasped softly, stooping down to look at the few trampled flowers. They were the most pitiful, beautiful things she had ever seen.
Levanine picked up the flowers with a forefinger and thumb, carefully, being gentle with each little petal. She couldn’t afford to lose a single bud. She carefully carried the petals in her palm and cupped her other hand to protect them from blowing away in the sea breezes.
She had to boil the flowers into a tea. She knew that was the only way to save the Captain, but they had no tins, nor freshwater, nor fire… The only kitchens were at the tavern…
Levanine could feel the sands of the hourglass trickling down her spine like the life seeping out in every faint breath the Captain released. She had no time to be afraid.
He was going to die.
Levanine walked quickly to the tavern, not running save she might make the mistake of letting the wind catch the petals, and marched into the rotten place. It was mostly empty in the early afternoon, with just a few men smoking opium in the sunlit dining area. She supposed the rest of the men were upstairs with maids and headaches.
Levanine moved her hand to encompass the flowers in one palm, then let her hand rest by her side, trying not to reveal what she was carrying, in case the snake knew what they were. “Bartender!” Her call came out as an angry bark as she stomped up to the counter, glaring at him on the other side. She had hoped he would not be in the tavern, but instead sleeping somewhere else.
He paid no attention to her, gulping from an oversized mug, yellow liquid rolling down his fatty chin. It did not mean he was not listening. Fear was boiling in her belly, turning into a sort of anger. She felt like the healer she had often worked with, needing something done, and not being stopped by trivial men and their games.
“I need to use your kitchens, right now.”
“You’ll have to pay more,” he said to no one, as his gaze did not meet hers.
“We’re not paying you any more.” She growled. Now she felt quite like Rakifi. She admired Rakifi. He could get things done. She could be like him. Her spine shivered as more grains of sand fell down against it, reminding her of the Captain’s swift death.
Her hand trembled at her side and she hated it with every part of her being.
“I want more payment.” He tottered over and leaned against the bar, his eyes roaming all across her in ways she couldn’t understand with her head buzzing with fury and pain.
“I need to use your bar or you do not get any payment at all. The Captain is injured.” That was a mistake to say, she knew. How many breaths, grains of sand, did he have left? Her lungs squeezed and she realized she was beginning to panic, the molten in her stomach turning suddenly cold.
She made an effort to not crush the flowers in her fist.
“I do not need the Captain to get paid what you all owe me. I know how pirate ships work, you whore. Quinn will become the Captain and I still get what I am owed. Now, bite your tongue and either pay me or get the Ursona out. Just because you survived the hag doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”
He did know. He was smarter than she thought.
“Q-Quinn did not make the deal with you, the Captain did,” she faltered.
He shrugged and turned away, beginning to hobble away. He pulled a knife from his belt and began to make a show of cleaning it. Trivial men and their games.
So many precious grains of sand slipping through her fingers, wasted, wasted arguing and urging and just standing there. Being Rakifi would not work.
As he turned the corner to the other corner of the dining hall, calling to a wench she assumed, she moved without thought, hopping over the counter and landing quietly on the other side. She crept through an empty door, into a small, well lit room.
A fire crackled in the place built into the cobblestone wall, a kettle of something boiling above it. Crates and barrels were strewn and stacked haphazardly about, and a wooden table stood against the wall, a small window she could fit through not too far above. The table was piled high with tin cups and wooden bowls, all half washed and stained.
Levanine did not like the open space of the doorway, burning into her back, but she ignored it, grabbing the cleanest bowl and tin she could find. A half-full barrel of clear water sat beside the fire and she filled the tin with the water, then nestled it between two warm rocks, the water droplets on the outside hissing as they touched the stones, causing her to flinch.
The Bartender did not appear.
Levanine began to painstakingly, gently, pulling the petals from the center of each flower, depositing them gently in the bottom of a wooden bowl. She crushed the center of the flower between her fingers, placing a little bit under her tongue, and removing the miniscule, inconsequential grey pebbles housed in the very middle.
She burned the pebbles, then used the bottom of her shirt to grab the steaming tin. She poured it over the flower petals and pollen, then set the tin aside. Something like victory suddenly flew in her stomach, causing her to gasp softly. She was going to do it. The healer could save the Captain.
Levanine lifted the bowl carefully and realized she could not push it out of the window without spilling some of it, so she would have to carry it out the way she had come. She had not heard Bartender’s obnoxious cackle, nor his heavy footsteps, so she believed she must be safe.
A sweet smell filled the air and began to calm her and she turned and crept out the door. She could do it, she could. She set the steaming bowl on the dirty counter and placed her palms on the counter to lift herself over it when a hand suddenly grabbed her.
Levanine screamed and whirled around, knocking the hand away. If it had been one of the stories she had been banned from reading, it would have been Rakifi or Silva, ready to help her, offering to make sure the tea did not spill or to distract the Bartender. But it was not one of those carefully penned tales, it was her unfortunate life.
The Bartender stood towering over her, forcing her back against the counter, the bowl at her elbow. “You used my kitchens; I suppose it's time to pay me.” His eyes were dangerous, his voice dripping with a sultry sound that fell against her ears like a poison. His knife hung at his side, almost as large as her forearm. Part of her begged that he would stick her like a soe and leave her for death, instead of whatever his sick mind had planned.
Her own hip suddenly felt cold and empty. Why had she left her dagger lying in the course grass instead of picking it up when the fight with the wolf was over?
Whispers fell against her ears and images clawed behind her eyes. The part of her skin he had touched burned like a firebrand. A soft squeak passed through her open lips as she stared at him, her mind whirling to find a way out.
“Don’t worry. It�
�ll be fast, if you do well.” He grabbed a fistful of her short hair and she yowled as he jerked her forward. She clawed at his wrist as she fell hard on her knees. “Eager, are we?”
“LET ME GO!” She screamed, writhing in his hold and he stepped forward again, forcing her tight against the wooden counter. Tears burned her eyes. She jerked her knee upwards, connecting with his center and he cried out, letting her go for just a second.
She tried to leap past him, but he grabbed her around the waist and slammed her hard against the bar. He grabbed a fistful of hair and knocked her head against the countertop, causing her to cry out and pain to explode through her temples. Blood trickled down her forehead and into her eyes as he moved to unbuckle his pants.
She was too dizzy to move, she could not control her body as the world swirled and blood stung her eyes and obscured her vision. Blood was pouring into her mouth too. Everything tasted like iron. She wished he would kill her. Her lips moved to beg for anything but this, but all that came out was a gurgle.
Maybe if she smashed her head against the counter one more time she would pass out. All that would exist would be the smell of the fading flower tea and darkness. She wouldn’t have to worry about men or the sand in the hourglass.
“Oh, Bartender!” A sickly sweet voice suddenly gasped. “I am insulted!”
Bartender turned and let go of her, letting her crumple onto the floor. The maid, the wench, the one who had tormented her was standing by the corner, her face painted with mock offense.
“Am I not good enough for you anymore?” Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re so desperate that you’re turning to an ugly, useless, inexperienced slug and not me?”
“No, Red, that’s not--” He gasped, his face suddenly turning a mottled pale. Levanine wretched against the floorboards and tried to wipe the blood from her burning eyes. Their words were distorted and far away, as if filtering long ways through tunnels of water.