Wellspring of Chaos

LI

A reddish dark haze swam around Kharl, and much as he attempted to grope his way through it, it merely thickened. When he tried to rest, it seemed to constrict around him, like an iron band across his chest and ribs, with an agonizing pain so sharp that he felt he could hardly breathe. He wanted to move, but neither his arms nor his legs would budge, and his head was a mass of flame.

In time-how long it had been, he had no idea-the haze thinned, and an image swam into his view, except that it was a pair of images. Kharl squinted, and the two images resolved into one, that of a single face, one he thought he should recognize, but did not.

“You’ll be all right, cooper. You’re acting like you’re still fighting. You don’t have to keep fighting. Try to loosen those muscles.”

“Pirates…?” Kharl mumbled, his mouth so dry that the single word was a croak.

“You need to drink. Open your mouth.”

Kharl did. The coolness was welcome. His tongue was swollen, and swallowing was difficult.

“Pirates?” he asked again.

“Most of ’em are dead. We brought in their ships. Not bad prizes. Worrak isn’t prime, but the captain figures that, even after replacing the engine, be a goodly prize share for everyone. That’s for you, too.”

Kharl didn’t care about that. He just knew his leg hurt, especially his foot-and his chest.

“Hurts…a bit…”

“Your ribs are cracked…bruised, and there’s that right foot. It’s going to hurt for a while, but you’ll walk fine. Your boots won’t be so cramped on that side. That last pirate blade took the two smallest toes, but…wound came up clean. Healing good. Worried about you. Been a couple of days now.”

“Hit my head.”

“Big lump, but nothing’s broken and no soft spots there. Local healer says you’ll be fine. He’s looked at all of you.”

Kharl finally grasped that Rhylla, the third mate, was talking. He hoped his memory would improve. “Thank you.”

“You need to drink some more.”

So Kharl did, then drifted back into sleep, back into the reddish haze, except at times there were periods of black coolness.

He woke in dim light, either dawn or twilight, he thought, before realizing that all light was dim in sick bay or anywhere belowdecks. He only saw two other bunks, besides the one above him, and the two-those across from him-were occupied. He lay back on the narrow bunk, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the dull aching in the toes he no longer had, and wondering what would happen next. He could hear voices from the two men in the opposite bunks, whispering as they were.

“…thought he woke…”

“…back asleep…”

“…you’d be sleeping, too…what hit him. Tough old guy…”

Kharl didn’t think of himself as old, but he must have seemed so to young seamen.

“…never saw anything like it…cleared off everyone on the one…looked like…”

“…Reisl said he used that staff and batted down arrows…”

Kharl wanted to snort, but it would have taken too much effort. No one could do that.

“…saw him take out three pirates with that big staff…one hit it with a blade, and the blade shattered…”

“…blackstaffer…”

“…he’s not…used to be a cooper in Brysta…what the third said…did something to piss off the Lord…”

There was a laugh. “Got to like that…anyone with enough guts to piss off a lord…good man…”

Kharl drifted back into sleep.

When he woke for the third time, the space was brighter, and the aching in his skull was only the faintest throbbing, although his foot didn’t feel that much better. He was alone in sick bay, and the other bunks had been stripped.

Still, he thought he ought to try to sit up, and he gingerly eased into a sitting position on the edge of the bunk. Knives jabbed through his ribs, and he could barely hold himself erect. Still…he wasn’t going to get better lying flat.

He slowly levered himself into a standing position, although he was as much leaning against the bulkhead as standing. He coughed, two or three times, and the sharp knives that went through his chest made him wonder if he would collapse right there. He just stood, hanging on until the coughing passed and he could breathe easier. Then he took one step, and another. He finally made it to the hatch, and looked out onto the main deck. It was midafternoon, and the ship was tied to a pier.

He stepped slowly out onto the deck, barefoot he realized, but he had no idea where his boots were, or if he could even bend over to put them on, or if they would fit. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he eased sideways until he reached the ladder to the forecastle deck, where he sat down.

“Cooper?”

Kharl looked up to see Furwyl standing there. “Yes, ser?”

“Third and the healer said it’d be a few more days…”

“…if I got up at all?”

Furwyl laughed. “They didn’t say that.”

“Not exactly. Figured…I’d better walk some. Rest some. Not worth spit…right now.”

“You know how you feel,” the first mate said carefully. “We’re leaving Worrak tomorrow.”

“Won’t be doing much carpentering…for a while,” Kharl replied.

“If you want to stay, you’ve got a berth, long as you want it.”

“I’d…like that.” Kharl forced a smile, one that he meant, even if he still hurt so much that he didn’t feel like smiling.

“Good. That’s settled.” Furwyl smiled. “Maybe you’d better lie down for a while…get up in a bit for supper.”

“Supper…sounds good.” Kharl realized he had no idea if he’d eaten, or what, or how often. He didn’t like the idea that he had no idea what had happened to him. He did appreciate the loyalty of the captain and the first. Slowly, he rose, and putting one foot in front of the other, gingerly, headed back to sick bay.