Wounds

Bastian didn't know what he had expected boarding a ship so violently to be like. He knew that this body remembered it, keenly, achingly, so that his blood was already full of rage when he grabbed a rope and swung himself over to the merchant vessel. He knew instinctively that he had to guard his vital parts in a certain way even while holding a rope in one hand and a sword in the other - his arm covered his chest and belly before he could consciously command it to do so. He felt the adrenaline rushing through him. His feelings were red and hot sensations, acutely relevant to the task at hand, raging like wildfire when he landed on the deck and slashed a sailor's throat with his blade. But his thoughts were no more, it was all action. Somewhere in the maelstrom of wounds, he found solace in that. He didn't have to read or write or even think. He had been liberated from his cerebral instincts.

Amanda was the first woman to achieve the blade-to-skin contact. She cut up a man twice her size, using his horror over fighting a girl and her agility to drain his blood like a vampire with a sword.

Rowena was faring better than the others, too. Bastian had not asked her too many questions, but she proved her talents to be numerous. Her curly hair was tied back with a scarf, which made her look more like a pirate, but this formed a vast contrast to her body, one of a woman, one of a lady who should have been feasting with nobles, not killing men on a filthy merchant ship.

Melinda was good with knives. Taking full advantage of her innocent looks, she stabbed the quartermaster and sent him staggering towards Bastian.

The man was twice as wide as the slender pirate captain. Luckily, Melinda had wounded him badly enough that it was only a matter of time or a few stabs more before he would collapse. Bastian dodged a few furious blows towards his head, but only barely. He had to concentrate on a physical level in order to stay alive. He didn't have anything going on inside his head instead of the angry, fluid flow of the battle.

He finally got an opportunity to go for the neck of the huge man. A spray of blood wet him all the way through his already soiled clothes. He dodged a shot with an intuitive motion and turned to face the next attacker.

"I don't want to kill a woman," the man said to him. "But you don't count as one. No matter how many breasts you rub against your chest, a man is a man is a man."

"Save me from your ontological -"

Bastian knew this trick from a novel he had read once. It was the best possible timing to end someone's life while either party was talking, in the middle of a sentence, out of the blue and against all rules of drama. His sword went through the throat of the sturdy sailor while the man was still trying to figure out what "ontological" really meant.

"We give up! We have no desire to wound another woman!" someone shouted.

Something about the sentence made all heads turn.

A sailor, teary-eyed, was holding Amanda on his lap. Bastian's wife was unconscious and her arm looked pretty bad. Some bone was exposed.

Bastian felt a cold, dark ball of dread falling into the pit of his stomach. He knew for a fact that on the high seas, it was awfully difficult to treat injuries like that. Often, the healer had to resort to having someone with a butcher's experience amputate the limb. And they didn't even have a healer.

Bastian ordered the women to carry Amanda over to the Maiden's Mercy. He looked at the cargo, which was, in a way, almost worth the trouble. Delicious, dried luxury fruit, and some coffee along with fine rum. He took one long swig from a bottle to ease his feelings of guilt and anxiety.

The well-rounded stuff had the taste of almonds and spices along with the instantly recognizable rum aroma. It lingered on his tongue for long enough that he was able to get himself back together.

They were not that far away from Port Flintstone. They had to get there, sell the cargo and instantly get a doctor or a healer to take a look at Amanda's arm.

Once he got everything necessary aboard his own ship, he immediately went to check up on Amanda.

"How are you feeling, wifey?" he asked her, placing his fingers gently on her cheek. He was not sure whether she could hear him or not, but it was worth a try. Perhaps his words would push through the veil of dreams and reach her.

"Did we show the bastards?" she muttered drowsily. Bastian realized that someone had given her rum to keep her calm. Maybe some medicine as well.

"We did," he said, not wanting to stress her out any further. "You are going to get the best treatment available on these seas. Just wait. Just stay with us for a moment longer."

"I love you," she said weakly. "Just let me sleep for now."

In Bastian's cabin, Sammy and Lia were waiting. They looked serious enough that Bastian caught the inherent anxiety and felt even worse for a split second.

But he was a captain. He could not break down, or cry in front of his women. He had to be strong for them, or they would all be doomed.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I know of someone in Port Flintstone who can help her," Lia explained. "I took up the position Amanda left vacant, but do not think for a second that I want this. It's been awful, Captain Black."

"Tell me more about this person," Bastian demanded, pulled out a chair and started to stare at Lia with such intensity that she had to avert her eyes. "Who is he or she? What kind of a healer? A doctor? A wisewoman?"

"Kind of, yes," Lia said, looking like a deer in the headlights of a truck. "Her services are expensive but she doesn't take gold for payment."