Chapter 8 #2
Green eyes flashed jewel-bright in a smudged, round face, thin from too few meals.
He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder.
Then, quick as a bunny, he pulled himself up from between the barrels, swung his feet forwards, and landed lightly.
Before Bastion could blink, the boy darted around the edge of the blood-stained floor and thrust a hand through the bars.
“Take it! Quickly!” he whispered.
Automatically, Bastion lifted his hands.
As softly as a flower closing, he clasped his fingers over the boy's small palm. Unexpectedly, a rush of emotions spread through Bastion’s fingers and up his arm.
Fear settled in his heart, the kind that lingered for days and days with no end in sight.
But there was also resolve, like a moat, doggedly keeping it at bay.
The boy snatched his hand away, leaving a tiny, blue vial in Bastion’s grasp.
Bastion blinked the feelings away. “What is it?”
“An antidote. Da’ said you need to wake her before Buck comes.”
“Your da’?”
“The healer,” the boy said. He shoved his hands under his arms and scrunched his shoulders, glancing back nervously.
Bastion eyed the boy. He rolled the vial between his hands, daring to hope.
No shoes, dirty hair dulled to a colorless hue. Fewer bruises than Haddrick, but jumpy, like he expected to be struck any moment.
“What’s your name?” Bastion asked.
“R-Rowan, sir.”
“Are you a captive, Rowan?”
The boy startled, shrinking. He looked around again, as if someone were hovering over him, breathing down his neck. Then he nodded, eyes glassy.
“Your da’ has to do what they say, doesn’t he?” Bastion asked. “Or they’ll hurt you.”
Rowan nodded again. His face screwed up as he held back tears.
“This,” Bastion said, opening his hands to show the little blue vial, “this was very brave. Of you and your da’.”
“He says you need to escape, even if we can’t.” The tears came freely now, and hopelessness bled into his voice. “That the lord needs to know about the weapon.”
Bastion pressed his face to the bars, his heart throwing itself against his ribs.
“What weapon?”
Rowan came closer and crouched down to wrap his arms around his knees. His toes curled and uncurled against the filthy floor.
“It’s there. In the box.” He flapped an elbow towards the long crate Bastion had seen the crew idolizing. Then, as if it were his fault, Rowan whimpered, “We don’t know what it does.”
It took Bastion a moment to calm himself as the fear and the panic returned. He had to free Ulla and see the weapon for himself.
“Rowan,” Bastion said. The boy looked up at him, tears leaving a trail through the grime on his cheeks. “I know you’re afraid, but you’ve already been so brave. No one else could have done what you’ve done. Thank you. Now, I want you to hide.”
__________
Buck came shortly after Bastion administered the antidote to Ulla.
He appeared like a jackal around a campfire, alarmingly close and arrogantly bold, drooling with anticipation. His lips pulled into a pitiless grin. The movement emphasized the new scar that marred his tanned face. It stood out like a broken tooth, jagged and white.
Three men came with him, their eyes shining with glee. Haddrick trailed after, as timid as a mouse in the shadows.
Buck pointed and rolled his wrist. Without a word, the men descended on Bastion. A key scraped in the lock, and harsh, grubby hands pulled him out.
Bastion struggled, elbowing one man in the ribs and landing his heel against another’s knee.
The third seized his neck with one massive hand, walking Bastion backwards so quickly that he had to hurry to keep up or fall down.
His back slammed into a beam. The force expelled his breath, leaving him gasping as the man pinned him in a chokehold.
The others staggered over. One lifted Bastion’s hands high over his head while the other fumbled with the manacles hanging there. They closed over Bastion’s wrists with a foreboding snap!
As soon as the men stepped back, Buck gut-punched him.
Bastion sucked in a painful breath as his knees buckled. The manacles bit into his already raw and torn wrists, the salt crust making them burn.
Buck leaned in. “I’m going to break you,” he whispered, “so that when I get to your Yvri whore, you won’t be able to do anything but watch.”
Panicked, Bastion glanced at Ulla.
He thought he saw the barest pinprick of lamplight glimmering through her slitted eyes. Before he could be sure, Buck threw a rope around his neck and twisted.
Bastion choked and kicked out, unable to draw breath. The other men swept his feet out from under him, forcing him to scramble as Buck bore down. Heat and pressure built in his head, and he strained to suck in any amount of air.
Then, Buck released him and stepped back. Bastion coughed, his lungs screaming while he gathered his feet beneath him. Buck slapped the rope against his palm, closed his fingers around it, and pulled it through his hand.
Slap! Vrrrrr! Slap! Vrrrrr!
“You weren’t really escorting her, were you?” Buck asked.
Slap! Vrrrrr! Slap! Vrrrrr!
Bastion decided this was as good a time as any to gamble.
“You don’t–” he coughed “–really know who I am, or you wouldn’t have dared take us.”
Slap!
Bastion leaned against the beam. He tipped his head back and let his eyes fall to his sword at Buck’s waist. In his periphery, Bastion saw Haddrick’s eyes widen over twitchy fingers covering his mouth. The other men shifted.
A wicked smile spread over Buck’s face.
Vrrrrr!
“You’re nobody, Bastion. Just a Royal Guard on leave, following his dick.”
Those last words soured any triumph Bastion felt at wheedling a tidbit of information out of Buck. Bastion’s nose wrinkled in a sneer and the captain said, “Who else did you tell about Windwick?”
When Bastion didn’t react, Buck glanced at his men and jerked his head.
In an instant, they were on him, their fists slamming into his jaw, his ribs, his gut.
Nausea rocked through Bastion as they pummeled his abdomen and diaphragm until he began to vomit.
They stepped back, and Bastion twisted away, emptying what little he had in his stomach.
The manacles dug deeper into his wrists.
He cried out as someone pinned him against the beam, beating his kidneys.
When they finished, Buck stepped forward, bracketing his arms around Bastion’s head.
“Where were you really going?” His tone was as caustic as his breath, and vicious light filled his eyes. Bastion turned his face, clenching his teeth.
Buck stepped back, and a flash of gold caught Bastion’s eye. He looked up, only to be backhanded. The harsh sting of metal made his eyes water. Blood oozed down his face, the heat a disorienting contrast to the chill of the ship's belly.
Bastion spat a wad of blood onto the floor and pulled in a deep, stuttering breath. He’d always imagined himself dying in battle, with a sword in his hand, fighting. Not pinned to a beam with the blood of countless others beneath his feet.
They didn’t give him a moment, raining down a barrage of blows against Bastion’s ribs. He screamed as they cracked, feeling the pain reverberate up his spine and into his skull.
What if this was the end, and he never got to see Endre become king, or Nesrin earn her knighthood? He wondered what would become of Finn, running wild across the bluffs. Even if he couldn’t escape, he had to make sure Ulla did. He couldn’t bear to think of what Buck would do to her.
“brING ME THE TUB!” Buck bellowed.
His men scattered, and Haddrick rushed to Bastion’s side. Buck boxed his ears.
“NO!” he screamed. “You’re only here to make sure he doesn’t die before I’m done with them both.”
Haddrick clutched his head between his forearms and hunched over before slinking towards the cells. Buck turned to watch the men drag in a large tub. Water sloshed within it.
Bastion’s head lolled in Ulla’s direction. He wanted to look upon her one more time.
Instead, he saw Haddrick slide a dagger across the floor. Bastion’s heart skipped a beat as Ulla’s hand snaked out, swallowing it into the folds of his cloak. Then she lay perfectly still.
Water splashed across the floor, soaking Bastion’s boots as the men dropped the tub before him. They freed the chain between his manacles from the wall and used it to pull his arms back.
Someone kicked the back of his knees, and they hit the floor with a crack! One of the men shoved his head into the tub. The saltwater stung his split lip. When they pulled him up, Bastion almost sighed in relief, water racing down his chest and back.
Buck leaned in. “There’s more where that came from.”
Bastion met his eyes and grinned. “Do your worst.”
Buck grinned back, his breath putrid as he said, “With pleasure.”
They forced his head underwater again and again. Despite the hard metal cutting into his belly, Bastion didn’t fight them. Let them think they were doing something when it was actually a relief. Eventually, he couldn’t hold it in anymore.
He came up laughing. They paused.
Bastion didn’t lift his head. Instead, he looked at the pirates through the fringe of his dripping hair.
Maybe they’d fractured something inside him. Maybe he’d always been fractured and never dared look too closely, but he knew, inexplicably, that his life had some greater purpose. He still didn’t know what it was, but here, looking into the abyss, he knew he had more to do.
When he spoke, an eerie undertone accompanied his words.
“My death awaits me in another time and place. You… are a coward who doesn’t fight his own battles.”
Buck’s cronies glanced at each other, their faces ghostly white.
Bastion swallowed painfully, as if some long-forgotten part of himself that wanted to be remembered had forced its way out. He pinched his eyes shut and saw a flash of a strange, dark ruin surrounded by desert.
“Buck,” one of the men whispered. “We better not.”
Another made a sign with his hands, one that Bastion recognized, but his clouded mind couldn’t recall what it meant.
“He’s god-tou–”
“Shut your mouth,” Buck hissed. “You’re all superstitious idiots. He is nothing. Continue.”
Sheepish anxiety spread through them. Bastion gave a bitter, derisive grin. If he were truly god-touched, he never would have been caught off guard.
One of the men looked at him and made that same sign with his hands, a look of terror on his face, before he fled.
Buck yelled an infuriated command at the other two and took over.
One hand yanked the chain, straining Bastion’s shoulders, while the fingers of his other hand wound into the hair at the back of Bastion’s head so tightly he thought it would tear out.
Buck shoved his head into the tub, pinning his face to the bottom. Bastion didn’t struggle.
When he came up, Buck threw him to the ground. The metallic tang of old blood filled his nose. More men surrounded him, and his ears filled with the shuffle of feet as they kicked him mercilessly.
With his hands shackled, Bastion couldn’t bring his arms up to cover his head. He arched backwards as a heel connected with his spine, leaving his throat and abdomen exposed. Another foot crashed against his windpipe. He gasped and caught a toe to the teeth.
Blood filled his mouth. Fingers broke as they met the force of a swinging boot. Bastion cried out, his stomach lurching, but he had nothing left to vomit.
He dry heaved, barely able to draw breath.
Then, they stepped back. Bastion barely had time to look up before Buck’s foot connected with his face, and everything went black.