Footsteps on the ladder.
More than one set. Three, at least.
Arkenn darted under the bunk, pushing assorted whatevers out of the way. Petran had dug under here before leaving. If the people approaching saw a mess, they might assume Petran made it. Where was that door in the back?
The door to Petran’s room flew open. “Put him in here, lads.” The captain! Arkenn never met the man, but he must be the captain with an accent like Petran’s and barking orders. The owner of the commanding voice stood only a few feet away. “Once we’re clear, I’ll get Smutje to tend him.” Two men shuffled forward, eased something on the bunk above Arkenn’s head, and pounded back up the ladder.
Which left…
“Do what you can for my son,” the captain murmured, hurrying after his men.
The captain knew of Arkenn? How?
Arkenn slithered from under the bed. Light. He needed light. Usually, Petran lit a candle for brief periods, but a lamp sat high on one wall. Please let Arkenn not burn down the ship. Closing his eyes, he called to the place inside he’d avoided thinking of since leaving the village. There, deep within. Images came to mind of his mother, flame dancing on her palm.
He could do this. Hemustdo this!
Fire sprang from his hand, lighting the wick. The lantern smoked slightly, but he couldn’t worry about extra soot now.
He stared down at the man lying on the bed, skin ghostly pale.
Petran.
As large around as Arkenn’s wrist, splintered wood protruded from Petran’s shoulder. Blood. Lots of blood. On the floor, on the bunk. On Petran.
Arkenn needed to work fast. He’d observed his father healing villagers before. First, Da clouded their minds to ease the pain, calm them, and conceal his actions. Next, Mum boiled water and brought cleaning cloths. Then, Mum and Da chanted and hummed, running hands over the patient’s injuries.
Though he’d thought them erased by the intervening seasons, Arkenn remembered one tune in particular. Using a drying cloth as a makeshift bandage, he squeezed the material to Petran’s shoulder with one hand while grasping the spike with the other.
Words spilling fast from his tongue, he took a deep breath. If he did this wrong…
He wrenched the offending splinter away. Blood gushed. Arkenn applied pressure with the cloth. The tune changed, his mind conjuring more sounds. If they were words, he didn’t know them, yet they tasted familiar on his tongue.
Lifting the bandage for short intervals, he probed the wound, removing any small wood slivers remaining.
If the battle still raged overhead, he neither knew nor cared. Petran kept his full attention. The blood slowed to a trickle, then started to clot. Three times Arkenn transferred power to the lamp. At last, he settled on the bunk, Petran’s head in his lap. He continued his chanting, stroking a hand over Petran’s brow. His heart spoke words in another tongue—a ward against fever.
Please let Petran be okay. Please, please, please.Little by little, both Arkenn’s strength and the oil dwindled. The lantern sputtered out.
Arkenn’s energy followed shortly thereafter.
He awoke with a start to footsteps on the ladder again and squirmed back under the bunk.
Light filled the room.
“There he is,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Put the lantern down over there.”
Judging from the light pattern, the new arrival set the lantern on the box Petran kept beside the bed. Two men, judging by footsteps.
“Let’s take a look at that shoulder, my boy,” the man muttered.
“Look at this!” the second man exclaimed.
“He must have come to long enough to remove the spike,” the first said. “Surprised he didn’t bleed out.” Material ripped in the area that must be Petran’s chest. “Well, would you look at that?” The man let out a low whistle. “A spike that size could’ve killed him. I’ve seen men brought down by less. But this wound? It appears days old. He either heals fast or…” The man let the sentence hang. Finally, he said, “We’ll get him cleaned up, then let the captain know his son will recover.”
After a few moments of water splashing, grunts, and the rustle of fabric above Arkenn, both men left the room, taking the lamp.
Petran moaned. Arkenn reached out with his mind, willing Petran to rest instead of waking to terrible pain.
