Harrowing Valor

Year 765 Manuk Soulstone

Connor’s surgeon works on the first floor below deck, taking up an office space worth of beds and a surgery table. Connor is confident that his surgeon didn’t stray far from his office, especially during battle when they need medical guidance as soon as possible.

Like right now. Connor opens the hatch and skips down the set of stairs. He follows the walkway some until he finds the door that is crudely marked with a caricature of a potion bottle.

Connor kicks that door open, compartmentalizing a task for Iggy to fix later. There is a man in the corner working to re-hydrate the barrel man that fainted earlier. He is glad that Jakobe the barrel man didn’t look as pale anymore.

Now there’s a new problem. “Sabol!? Help me get the poisoned bullet out of her!”

Sabol is a middle-aged man, roughly in his late thirties, with tan skin that is four times lighter than Rhea. Eyes deep brown, full of passion to help his patients. The surgeon’s long straight brown hair is tied up to a low ponytail then to keep stray strands away from his patients is a blue to purple jeweled head band covering his hairline. He worked with Master Roland, lost an earlobe when he tried to help save Master Roland from his untimely murder. It left a huge scar from the missing ear down to the slant of his cheek. Sabol tried his best to save Master Roland with the little skill he has in battle, earned Connor’s trust to keep him in this crew. The surgeon left the barrel man’s bedside to sift through the bag hanging on a hook in the wall. “Put the miss on the table.”

“Aye.” This is no time to be a captain; he needs to listen to Sabol if he wants Rhea to survive this. He lay her shaking form down after taking her quiver off and tossing it to the side. Now he notices the angry-looking black marks crawling further on her skin.

“Remove the blouse.” Sabol calmly request, finding some pliers and a knife. He is going to cut her open.

Fucking hell. Connor rips the blouse off, exposing the band that wraps around her two mounds. Even though she tightens it to better shoot her bow and arrow, he can see her breasts squish together, not leaving enough space between them to even fit a finger. A stray imagination concur that they are as soft as they look.

Anukrin’s choad!? Connor tries to forget that he is just staring at her breasts, almost glad that Sabol didn’t see his break from focus. Prying his eyes away to find the bullet hole in her left shoulder. The bullet is deep into the flesh and muscle beneath the shoulder bone. Any closer to the right and her heart would have been pierced, killing her in an instant. That is the only luck she had. The open flesh is bleeding profusely, and the black veins start from there.

Sabol came over to the table, offering him a small wooden plank while saying, “Captain. Put this in her mouth and hold her. It’s too late for sedatives.”

Of course, it is. Connor peers at Rhea, holding the plank in one hand. This woman will fight every way to stop the pain. He can already see it with the way she fights for everything else.

Connor had only one desperate choice. He moves her torso up in a seated position, he got on the table with her and flush her back against his chest. She is so small that it is easy for him to keep her pin to him by wrapping his arm over her chest and gripping her left naked bicep. He forces himself not to notice the soft texture of her skin beneath his palm or the way her plump rear fills the gap between his legs. The concern towards her fever keeps his mind from losing focus. Her head loll to the side; he kept his face away from her wild curls and pin his pointy glare on Sabol’s raising brow.

“Trust me. Compliance is not her nature.” Connor eases the wooden plank in her mouth.

“Aye.” Sabol retracts his risen brow, dabbing the wound clean with an antiseptic wipe.

That woke her up right away, her body tense through the shiver, and she kicks her legs. Connor brace for her thrashing, tightening his one arm around her. The other free arm-since she now bit down the piece of wood-keeps her from trying to hit him with the back end of her skull, which she tried multiple times over.

This woman is like a wild animal in this sicken stupor, groaning behind gritted teeth. Her eyelids are half cast, even as she struggles, the original fires in those silver orbs are nothing more than two murky reflections.

I still need to try to get through to her. “Rhea! Stop. The bullet has to be cut out.”

There is no hint that she understood anything he said, instead her fingers claw at his forearm and left nasty scratches. Connor can recognize the pain, but he isn’t going to give in to her damn tantrums. The resting arm that he used to block her head is now roping over her neck, keeping her closer to his chest. He presses his chin right on her head, giving her no room to wiggle or try anything towards the surgeon. His nose fill with the thick woodsy aroma of her hair, smelling just like a newly lit campfire with hints of blood.

“Keep her shoulder steady. Like that! I’m gonna get started with the cuts, captain.” Sabol prepares the knife over the angry-looking wound.

Is that steam coming from her? Connor blinks, seeing strange plumes of mist before him. She is getting a lot hotter compared to his body. This is like no fever he ever saw in his travels. “Rhea. Let us help you.”

Rhea sobs, kicking her legs again.

“Here goes!”

Connor didn’t see the cut, his concentration on Rhea’s writhing frame against him and the pathetic wails that erupt right out of her gut.

“By the gods! It’s almost like she healed over the bullet already. Means more cutting, capt!”

Shit...how-? “Rhea, listen to my voice. Everything will be okay once we get that bullet out of you.” Connor softens his tone, whispering to her even since yelling isn’t working. He is never fluent in the arts of consoling people, but something changes in this moment. Almost like he can’t bear hearing her cries of pain. That bullet belongs to Connor, not Rhea, the guilt is pushing down his pride for once.

She whines beneath her clenching teeth. Just on cue, her legs went limp, and her clawing eases. Her shallow breathes in-between breaks are slower. She heard him.

“Making the cut now.” Sabol warns. This time she only moans, clenching his forearm with the blunt end of her fingertips. Even the heat in her body seems to subside.

Wait…when do fevers-? Connor stuff away another unexplained question, saving them all for when they aren’t going through surgery.

“I see it! Prying it out is going to hurt! Keep her calm!”

“Rhea. There is no way to sugar coat this. You will be even more pain if you fight it.” Connor felt her shiver underneath his embrace; it appears there is enough understanding in her. However, the poison must be messing with her consciousness to still not be able to answer back. The black trails are up to her earlobe. Yet she isn’t fighting as hard, sinking into him perhaps is a sign that she accepts the faith.

“Going in.” Sabol dives the pliers into the open wound. Rhea scream through her wooden bite guard. It is quick. The bullet pops out with no resistance. This woman slumps into Connor. Connor now hopes that the worst is over because she had to endure stitches.

“Hold her still while I get her wound sutured and wrapped. She will need an antidote for that poison.” Sabol is a surgeon, with minor knowledge of alchemy, giving him capabilities to make topical antiseptics. He can not create the medicines, that is something Connor can do.

But what kind of poison is this? He had never seen such a severe reaction and so quickly, her body shiver with no sweat and burns with a severe fever.

Sabol also tense his jawline with the captain, working the stitching into her skin. This only cause her to twitch in his hold. “It looks like the late stages of Whicker plant poison. But that takes time to show side effects, meant to just paralyze at low doses…”

High doses wouldn’t bring her to heel this quickly. Connor thought this, having to pretend that their proximity didn’t suggest anything more than a rather professional affair. Having this conversation with a placid tone, “Then the elixir will do…”

Hopefully.

“Aye.” Sabol is great at keeping things pleasantly cordial, even if the captain’s actions are rather questionable lately. This surgeon finishes his stitching, moving back to the drawer to grab a phial with yellow liquid inside and a bandage wrap. The urgency had long pass since they stop the bleeding and close the wound. Connor inspects the stitches; they form a bloodied and reddened ‘X’ on her shoulder. Another thought intrudes his mind; this will be her new scar.

Sabol waves the bottle to Connor,” Get her to drink this, captain.”

Connor took the bottle from Sabol. He imagines this task will be just as difficult as holding her down through the surgery.

Captain Connor return to his cabin after an hour of sitting through the surgery with Sabol and Rhea. She did fight to drink the elixir but eventually cave in. She is sleeping through her recovery in a hammock. Sabol promise to watch over both Rhea and the barrel man: Jakobe. Connor demands to be notified if their health went south. Sabol only smiles and nods to him. Sabol is just like the more senior of the crew who sailed with Master Roland before his death, who all accept Connor’s reign as captain afterwards. They had experiences beyond Connor’s existence on Erathea. Due to that, Connor’s commands seem to slide off their backs because they had Master Roland as their captain who had ruled a fleet before his end.

Connor must still appear like a child compared to Master Roland and Connor also had a tough time seeing past that childish image within himself. The mantle of Master Roland’s is an enormous one. Captain Connor had yet to complete half of his master’s accomplishments and chances are Connor might perish before he does. Connor’s brief thoughts about his master are forcibly interrupted. It is Gash that came in to relay the outcome of their skirmish. Although the attack is unexpected, nobody is killed among the crew. They manage to restrain the Armor Brothers. When Gash asks what to do with the crew, Connor simply answers to let them sink with the ship. At least they will just become fodder for Chemuk’s pets.

They find an assortment of resources. Some of those resources included more mortar rounds, rations, food goods and clothes. Gash hints that some of the clothes might fit Rhea. Some of those are dresses. Connor kept himself stoic, though imagining a feisty woman like Rhea wearing some dress is unbelievable at best. Despite her physical beauty, there is no existence out there that she will easily agree to wear something so impractical without kicking and screaming. At least, those aren’t the only clothes the crew finds.

All these things will be utilized at some point in their travels, whether to sell them or not. Connor asks his Quartermaster to keep the Armor Brothers in a cell, to which the quarter master replies with a shaky voice. “Aye, capt’n”

Gash is very aware of what the captain plans. This is not the first time they force a ship boarding with Connor sailing it. Captain Connor isn’t going to hide his intentions around him, asking the quartermaster to have Trevor ’ prep ’ them. Gash nods with a cordial grin, taking his leave then.

Torture . It hangs in the air of their conversation, but just like anyone that is aware of his practices, it is taboo to utter them out loud. They are reminders of the darkness that crept up to the surface of his poise aura. Hearing someone say it sets him off, especially when his mood had been compromised due to witnessing his own crew getting shot before his very own eyes.

Witnessing Rhea getting shot even after his own mental proclamation to keep her safe just cracks the side of his rationale that can reason him out of these practices. It is too late.

He craves to enact the pain inflicted on her, memorizing the breathes that she screamed out during the surgery. Based on his calculations, the twins will lose more than just their skins tonight. Connor waits till the silvery moons peek out of the line of the horizon to make his move, spending his time between those hours plotting the next plans. The plans to find the Blue Dust. And he had a good feeling he will learn something from the Armor Brothers tonight.