Barnabas's injury

Mayra gripped the side of the ship. The cry echoed in her ears. The hull had been breached! They were sinking! 

She had no clue how well the pumps worked, how long they would stay afloat, or whether the animals around them would eat them as soon as they lowered a life boat. 

The only hope she could think of was to get the net on board as soon as possible and hope the sea creatures dispersed, ceasing their relentless attacks on the vessel and each other. 

She wished she had an idea of how much net had been cut loose. Half? More? Was it roughly the same size as what had been stored in the shed when she went to test the oil for herbs? 

They had at least half that much on board already, tangled though it was with guts and fish bones and gore. She bit back vomit again. Why was the smell of dead fish so much worse than the smell of a recent battlefield? 

She thought as a nurse she had seen enough and helped enough to endure whatever came, but the rotting sea creatures were a different level of stench. One wholly incompatible with her digestion. 

They were free from being stuck on the whale's corpse, which had given her a surge of hope, but now she wondered if it was for naught. 

Instead of retrieving the net from the sea, they might only be adding their ship, and more death, to the macabre mix. 

The pulley strained against the weight of the net, and the ship leaned further. Peter had joined the sailors to pull with all their strength. Some by the gunwale tried to lighten the nets by removing what dead fish they could and tossing them back into the sea. Surely at a time like this every little bit counted. 

One man screamed, pulling suddenly back from a thrashing creature still alive, but tangled in the net's grip. It was a huge fish, with smooth skin and large, gnashing teeth. It had gotten the man's arm in its grip, nearly tearing his limb off. 

One of the sharks that Caspian had described when convincing her not to try oyster diving. She was suddenly very glad she hadn't found the time to try. 

Quick work by his fellow sailors got the injured man free of the creature, which was killed and dumped into the sea, but his whimpering and bleeding continued. 

Mayra rushed over, thankful that she had her medical supplies in her bag. 

Guiding him out of the way, she leaned him against the railing and began to work. The man was going into shock. She tried to keep him talking as she cleaned the wound and packed it with herbs. The blood loss was mounting, and she put as much pressure as she could manage onto it as the ship rocked and bumped. 

Her focus on her patient helped numb the mounting panic around her. The struggle of the sailors against the net, the pumps against the leaks, and the men against the attacking sea creatures faded behind her own personal struggle to save this man's life. 

"What's your name?" She asked him firmly. 

"Barnabas." He whispered. 

"Tell me about your family." Mayra demanded. "Are you married?" 

The longer she could keep him conscious, the better she would feel about his chances. 

"Are you proposing?" The man's question was unfocused and groggy. It worried her. 

"You didn't answer my question. Who do you have that needs you to live?" The question had a desperate edge. 

"No one," He slurred. 

"I'll get you someone to live for. A bride. I'm the matchmaker for the Rhone brides. I'll find you a beautiful, sweet girl. Live. Breathe. Stay with me. Please, Barnabas." She urged. 

A keening cry shook the air and moved the water. 

"Leviathan!!" The Barrowman called. 

Mayra was kneeling over her patient, too low to peek over the railing and see, though she was madly curious. Had the creature come to kill them? 

The battering of the ship stopped, though the work continued. The cries of the great animal made Mayra want to cover her ears, but she didn't dare move them away from the still-bleeding wounds of the man. 

She thought she had slowed the bleeding somewhat, but the man was now unconscious. 

"Gwen, please help him live. Surely his life being spared now would not mess up anything… especially if he dies a few minutes from now with the rest of us when the boat sinks." Her voice faded as she spoke. Her work may very well prove futile in a matter of seconds if they went underwater to drown or be eaten. 

She had practiced her swimming, but the shore was not even visible at the moment. She'd also gotten turned around enough that she couldn't be absolutely certain which direction to swim. 

There was no hope of making the journey on her own. 

She lifted her face towards the men near her. The bleeding had slowed enough that she could keep her muscles tensed and pressure applied without looking directly at her hands. 

They were soaked in blood, and the sight was not a pleasant one. 

Then again, there weren't really any pleasant sights right now. The carnage being hauled aboard in the net, the panic of the men around her as they worked… 

She caught sight of Peter, still working on the winch that helped the men pull at the heavy nets. His face was stern and controlled. There was no trace of panic in his expression, only earnest and steadfast devotion to a goal. 

It was… steadying. Comforting. Pressing with all her strength on the wounds to staunch the blood flow, her gaze flickered between her patient and Peter. There was no giving up, no hint that he thought they wouldn't make it, only surety that hard work was the way through the circumstances. 

In her mind's eye, she could see the way he looked after the battle at the wall of Klain. He had been… torn, battered, clawed. He had faced an entire pack of ravenous wolves almost single handedly and lived through it. 

Perhaps a few whales were nothing special to him. At least they didn't have claws, only teeth. 

Her patient's breathing was shallow. 

"Barnabas, stay with me," She urged, not sure whether he could hear her. "Please. Please, live." 

The bleeding had finally stopped from what she could tell, but the man was incredibly pale, and weak, and she was losing hope that he would pull through. 

________

Peter struggled, and pulled, and strained every muscle he had. If they could just get the net out of the water, everything else could be dealt with later. Stop the source of the problem, and then fix the ramifications. 

To do the opposite would be counterproductive. He'd quickly worked out how the winch worked, and the fact that the weight of this net was obviously far more than it was made to handle; that must be why the Cetoan sailors pulled by hand in addition to working the contraption. 

He worked alongside them, encouraging where he was able. Teamwork was hugely important on the battlefield, and so it appeared to be in fishing as well. He didn't always understand the sea captain's shouted orders, so he observed and aided by following the example of others. It would slow the work for him to ask questions, and every second was crucial. 

Right now he pulled and strained. How much more net could there possibly be? This wasn't even a whole one! Suddenly, and yet gradually, the work began to grow easier. The ship wasn't being battered anymore. 

In his peripheral vision there was some sort of disturbance out in the sea. Some larger creature was out there now.

The barrowman had yelled something a short time ago, but Peter's heart was pounding too loudly in his ears to hear the man properly. 

Were they still sinking? Were the pumps working? He pushed those thoughts away in pursuit of the singular goal he had assigned himself to until it was complete. The retrieval of the net. As skeptical as he had been of Mayra's plan, now that it was potentially within reach to complete it, he would see it through. 

"PULL, MEN! WE'VE ALMOST GOT IT!" A man near the railing called. Peter threw his weight into the final effort. 

Heaving with all their collective might, the final part of the net finally left the water and moved slowly aboard the ship. The men gave a halfhearted cheer, knowing that their fate was still in the balance depending on how the pumping was going. 

If the ship sank, pulling in the net would be rendered futile. 

An enormous motion in his peripheral vision captured his attention. An–animal? Something larger than he'd ever seen was wreaking devastation amongst the whales that had been attacking the ship. 

It was startling. 

"Mayra look at–" He began, realizing mid-sentence that he'd left her behind when he'd gone to aid in pushing off from the carcass, then in pulling in the nets. Anxiously, he cast his gaze across the deck, and his eyes found her. 

She was sitting against the railing with an empty expression on her face. That alone caused his heart to stop beating, but terror didn't fully grip him until he realized that she was soaked in blood.