Chapter 26 Hands That Still the Tide
Salt and sea, she calls to me.
I’ll tell her no, I’ll make her go.
The sea is fear, the sea is death
And I’ll not yield my final breath.
— the 'Sea Song' from Aurorae
It’s almost ritualistic, heading down to Mattias’ surgery, seeking to mend my various hurts.
His round door creaks when I open it, stepping into the room.
It’s brighter here than usual, as the shining sun outside has penetrated down into the sea to cast a greenish yellow hue that coats everything in its reach.
When Mattias spots me, he quickly rises from his work and moves to shut the curtains. The movement is so quick and decisive that I flush, realizing Rhyland must have told him, as well as Sabre, how afraid I am of the water. That even the sight of it makes me panic. That I can't swim.
“Avalon, what a pleasant surprise. Did you need laudanum? Rhyland mentioned your wounds are extensive.”
Though the bitter pain draught sounds wonderful, I don’t think it’s wise to keep using it. I’ve seen what the stuff does to those who have no ability to refuse it. Similar to opium, the skin sallows. The eyes grow dead and fixed. They lose themselves.
“No,” I croak, then wince. I should probably stop speaking so much. “I think I’m meant to stay down here until we reach Staygia.”
Mattias gives me a kind smile and adjusts his spectacles that keep slipping down his long nose.
“Very well, I’m happy for the company, but let me brew you something soothing for that throat.
The captain hasn’t had time to fully restock his laeknir all with the plants from Mòr’s isle yet. Too busy...urm, well….” He trails off.
Saving my life after I disobey him over and over? I want to offer, but bite my tongue.
He gives a wavering smile. “Let me get you something.”
I nod because I don’t think I can dissuade him, and in truth I don’t want to. Sometimes it’s nice feeling cared for. He sets to work preparing a mixture and I drift lazily about the room, running my fingers over shelves of medical texts, studying the various tools and instruments he has laid about.
“Try this.” His thin voice startles me out of my daydreaming.
I turn to him and he offers out a small bowl with steaming liquid. It’s a soft golden color, like bone broth, dotted with flecks of dried herbs.
Tentatively, I accept the offer and bring it to my lips, sniffing. The smell isn’t awful, but it’s sharp.
“It’s sage, honey, and slippery elm; not a bad combination, though the texture leaves something to be desired. Best drink it down quickly.”
I sip off the edge and try not to gag. The slimy consistency is worse than the laeknir Rhyland gave me at Red Water Cove, while the peppery taste of the sage is near overwhelming. Coughing twice, I try again to drink down as much as I can before thrusting the bowl back into his hands.
“Thank you.” The back of my hand drags over my mouth, wiping away any remnants.
He stares at the remaining liquid before taking it. A frown paints his aged face. “I’m sorry it wasn’t to your liking; perhaps I can brew up something else—”
“No,” I say quickly. “That helped. Now you should let me help you for once. What needs done around here?”
Mattias gives me a look, half flustered, half taken aback. “Well, I—I suppose anything you want, really. What interests you?”
“Let’s start with these cobwebs and we’ll go from there.” I gesture to the corners of the infirmary.
Despite the pain in my chest from being tempest tossed, I throw myself into the menial work, sweeping, dusting, arranging supplies.
I clean until the infirmary shines. And once there’s not a trace of dirt or sand left, Mattias beckons me to help him sort through dried herbs, label tinctures, and organize his careful notes.
We make a good team. An efficient team. I’m so lost in the work that I don’t register the door opening or the sound of boots creaking over the floor until I feel body heat near my shoulder.
“Avalon,” Reave says quietly. “It’s late.”
I jerk to attention only to find I’m shaking and the pain of last night has steadily risen, thrumming in my chest.
“Oh dear, he's right.” Mattias, at his desk, makes a show of pulling out and inspecting a tarnished gold pocket watch. “We've missed dinner. Though Finchy usually brings me a tray, I imagine he's quite unwell now that Jonas….” He swallows. “Well, we’d best get something.”
I nod, but when I move to stand a shock of pain goes through me, radiating from my chest so sharply my knees almost buckle.
Mattias reaches for me, swift for an old man, and keeps me from falling. “Steady on. Dear girl, you’re trembling. I believe you’ve overdone it.”
I shake my head stubbornly. “I’m fine.”
“Hogwash, take this.” He paws through the clutter for the milky white tincture, uncorking it with those steady surgeons hands before offering it out to me.
Refusal hovers just behind my lips, but the pain is severe. My ribs thrum with it and a pounding has started at the base of my skull. The laudenum is so tempting, a way to push back the pain, and the feelings, and anything else that might try and break through.
A small sound of defeat escapes me. I take the vial and drink it down, and then wipe the corner of my mouth with my sleeve and hand it back to him. “There, happy?” I can’t quite take on the derisive tone I want with him. Mattias is so kind. So caring. But I manage to glare at our shadowy intruder.
Reave’s sunglow eyes are haunting in the gloom. “Now that the repairs are well in hand, the crew is having a bit of a gathering on deck. Rum and whiskey, and Dorian brought his strings out. You should come up and join. Your friend has already gotten Sabre drunker than she’s been in months.”
A bitter laugh thrums from somewhere deep inside of me.
Perhaps it would be a nice time if the first mate is too drunk to throw biting insults my way.
But the idea of facing the sea again gives me pause.
My muscles ache from cleaning. I’m tired and weary, and would sooner hide away in the captain’s quarters, curl up and let the laudenum lull me into the solace of sleep.
“I think I’ll head to bed.” I feign a yawn for emphasis, realizing now after not speaking for hours that my throat feels considerably better. Mattias’ broth must’ve helped.
Reave shifts from toe to toe, almost uncomfortably.
I stare at him, his deeply tanned skin and striking features, wondering who his godly parent might be.
Why Rhyland feels comfortable enough to keep a demigod around who is one of the only creatures in this realm that can bring him harm.
He hardens under my scrutiny, draws the shadows closer around himself like a protective shroud.
“Rhyland insists you join to eat and celebrate the lives of those lost to the storm.”
Of course he does. And a pirate god always gets what he wants, it seems.
My thoughts travel back to last night. To the feel of rough fingers that stroked and filled all of the right places. My cheeks are aflame. I have to look away from Reave before nodding.
“So be it.”
The three of us make our way above deck.
I wince at the pain in my chest that pulls as the muscles work to climb the ladder rungs.
When we break free to the deck, it’s the cursed salty air that greets me mixed with the smell of distant rain.
I want to despise it, but find that it could be growing on me, that smell.
Music curls through the air: not quite like the sultry strain that played in the brothel the night before we made for the ship, but something in it tells me it comes from the same source—practiced fingers to master the strings of an instrument strummed with passion.
The mysterious Dorian. It’s a beautiful, lively song, something one could lose themselves in if they had a mind to, and perhaps I do.
Perhaps I’ll get so drunk on piss rum and so lost in the music they’ll never find me again.
I scan the ship deck to find the sun’s dipped below the horizon, casting the world in hues of marigold and rich purple.
The ocean itself, once a frothing beast, is now a calm, dark mirror that reflects the dying light.
It’s a subtle reminder of the storm we survived that would have ripped a normal ship to splinters; a tempest that claimed three of the crew, yet the mood on deck doesn’t feel like one of mourning.
It’s as lively as the music—celebratory. A merry farewell.
I watch as some of the pirates before me dance, their movement wild and languid as the sea current.
Lantern light flickers, casting caper shadows across their faces as they twirl and jump in harmony with the tune.
Rhyland stands apart from the revelry, a harsh silhouette against the deepening eventide.
His eyes, when they find mine, hold a storm of their own, a tempest that speaks of longing and something darker, primal.
The look makes my heart thump, my skin prickle.
I’m imagining things again. His fingers are ghosts upon me and I can’t breathe.
Have to turn away, clinging to the rail to center myself.
The rhythmic stomp of boots on weathered planks fills the air.
It’s a steady drumbeat against the backdrop of Dorian’s music.
Bold laughter and whooping shouts carry on the wind in stark contrast to the undercurrent of loss that lurks just beneath the surface.
Strangely, I find solace in it, and in the familiar rhythm of the ship’s rocking, the creak of wood against wood, the gentle sway of the deck.
Could I be growing accustomed to their strange world?
This harsh mistress that demands respect but offers little in return.
“Vale!” Rowan screeches over the music and the stomping. She rushes for me with Sabre in tow who looks as drunk as Reave described. Probably more so in the time it’s taken to come upstairs. Rowan’s laughter is as bright as the lantern’s glow when she clutches my hands. “You finally joined us!”