Chapter 9
A low, angry voice woke him.
“What would you have done if we hadn’t heard your call!?”
Bastion groaned as the ship rocked violently, making his stomach roil. Every nerve, every muscle cried out in agony.
“This is exactly the sort of thing your father wanted to avoid,” the voice continued. “You need us! You need me!”
The ship undulated again. Distantly, Bastion heard shouting.
The pull of sticky, drying blood between his face and the floor made him grimace as he rolled onto his back.
That was a mistake. Sharp pain lanced through his chest, and he coughed, making it worse.
He was certain someone had slid a knife between his ribs.
A calm, assured presence knelt beside him.
He flinched at the sting of metal jangling against his raw wrist and cried out as he rediscovered the torn muscles in his shoulders.
One manacle dropped to the floor. A moment later, the second followed.
Cool hands cupped his face and something in him sighed in recognition.
Then, the pain surged. Bastion tried to pull away, but he couldn’t.
Like a wave breaking, it dissipated, and a soft, blue-white glow lit up behind his eyelids.
“We have to go,” the voice said, more urgently this time. “Leave him! There’s a squall coming, and even unbroken, a human wouldn’t survive a sea this turbulent.”
The hands left his face. Bastion opened his eyes slowly, blinking until what he saw made sense.
Ulla knelt beside him, gesturing furiously at another Yvri standing over them–a male, dressed only in a waist wrap that dripped with water. Across his bare chest, he wore two large daggers, handles pointed down, their sheaths secured to a lightweight harness. He watched Ulla sign, shaking his head.
He looked vaguely familiar.
“You know I don’t understand you,” he hissed. “Just communicate here!”
The male tapped his temple angrily.
Ulla stood and crossed her forearms, slicing her flattened palms downward. She raised her hand and flicked it in dismissal.
The male caught her wrist before she could return to Bastion’s side.
“This roaming–this tantrum–has gone on long enough, Ulla,” he said through his teeth.
Bastion tried to rise. His core screamed, and he fell back. He would endure this pain, but he could not stand how this male talked to Ulla.
Sweating, Bastion lifted a hand to his chest, searching for the hilt of a knife, but found none. Ulla twisted out of the male's grasp. She pushed him and signed aggressively before she made a rude gesture and collapsed beside Bastion. Her fingertips ran over his body.
The male crossed his arms and scrutinized them contemptuously. Bastion’s eyes trained on Ulla as she searched out his worst injuries. He could feel the male’s blatant disapproval pouring over them like an unwelcome rain.
When she touched his broken fingers, Bastion tried to yank his hand away. Ulla’s grip tightened, and he cried out as the pain rejected her magic. Her power overwhelmed the injury and coaxed bone and tissue back to their natural state–to the form they most wanted to be in.
When she came to the place that felt impaled, she paused. Bastion groaned at her light touch. She swallowed.
Suddenly, the Yvri male knelt beside Ulla.
“The whale can’t distract these pirates forever,” he seethed. His hand went to one of the daggers strapped to his chest. “I put the entire pod at risk by coming here. If you won’t leave this undeserving cur, I’ll put him out of his misery.”
Fear hit Bastion as the male drew his dagger.
Ulla slapped the blade away. She bowled the male over as the ship suddenly rocked to one side.
His horns sank into the floorboards with a thunk!
The next moment, she was on top of him, the other dagger drawn.
She pressed it to his neck, fangs bared.
Unhinged mania sparked in her eyes as she threw all her weight into the blade.
He fought to keep it from breaking his skin.
The male’s face screwed up. He blinked rapidly, as if her gaze on him was too bright and intense. With his horns embedded in the floor, he couldn’t move his head.
“All right, all right!” he exclaimed. “Enough shouting!”
With a final glare, Ulla threw the dagger down and returned to Bastion’s side.
“Taro!” came a low, terrified whisper. Two Yvri, a male and a female, hurried into the swinging lamplight. “They’re coming!”
Taro gritted his teeth, wrenched his horns from the floor, and shot to his feet, taking his daggers with him.
Ulla turned her gaze on them, while Bastion became vaguely aware of the thumping of feet overhead. The ship rocked again. This time, it didn’t settle, shuddering as something massive hit the hull with a reverberating thump!
“Where are the others?” Taro asked darkly.
“Safe,” the male assured him.
“And the whale?”
“Enjoying himself,” the female said, “if the movement of the ship is any indicator.”
Taro turned luminous eyes on Ulla, determination in the downward curve of his mouth.
“Let’s go,” he commanded. “Now.”
Ulla hunched over Bastion. She returned Taro’s stare with a stubbornness as enduring as the tide. An exasperated sigh escaped him and he glanced at the others.
“Hold her.”
They lunged.
Ulla’s nostrils flared. She slapped her hands against Bastion’s chest, and healing magic flooded his body.
A violent scream exploded out of him.
Bone reconnected, and tissue knitted back together. Suffocating pressure crushed his chest, like a boulder that grew heavier and heavier with each attempt to draw breath. Every nerve sang with lightning. He thought his fingers and toes were disintegrating while someone tore out his spine.
Then, it was gone, and Bastion was left exhausted, but virtually painless.
He sucked in a ragged, desperate breath. The two Yvri dragged Ulla away thrashing. She let out a guttural scream, a sound so foreign it shook his soul.
Taro knelt in the space she’d occupied and lifted his dagger.
The ship lurched. Taro flew off balance, and Bastion punched him in the groin.
Taro doubled over, and Bastion caught the wrist holding the dagger.
The next moment, Bastion sprang to his feet and spun Taro to face the others.
His hand over Taro’s pressed his own blade to his throat while his free hand seized the male’s horn.
He forced Taro to turn his head, further exposing his throat.
“Release her,” Bastion fumed. Anger coursed through him, fueled by adrenaline and newly healed nerves, raw and hot, like iron in a fire.
The Yvri looked to Taro. Bastion shook him, and the blade broke his skin.
“Now!” Bastion barked. Shouts overhead sent a growing sense of danger dancing down his spine.
The Yvri stepped back, and Ulla jerked her arms out of their grasp. The moment she stepped behind him, Bastion shoved Taro forwards.
The other dragon-kin caught him as he stumbled to his feet. He swiped his fingertips across the thin, red line at his neck and sneered at the blood on his hand.
“You may have saved him,” Taro hissed, “but you probably destroyed his insides in the process. Let’s go.”
Taro held out a hand to Ulla. She bared her fangs like a viper, and that was all Bastion needed to know.
He took a step forwards and growled, “Fuck off.”
Taro looked between Bastion and Ulla. A sudden clarity lit his eyes and his gaze raked over them from head to toe. Then, disgust wrinkled his nose.
“Ulla, you can’t be serious,” he said, aghast. “Him?”
A yell cut off any response. They all turned as pirates barreled down the stairs with weapons drawn.
Bastion put himself between them and Ulla as the first man came around the wall of cargo.
Bastion dodged his sword and grabbed him by the wrist. He hurled the pirate headfirst into a beam.
The second swung too soon. Bastion sidestepped the weapon and elbowed its wielder in the face.
He spun, leg lifted, and crashed his heel against the back of his head.
The pirate went down, his cutlass clattering across the floor to land at Ulla’s feet.
She grabbed it and thrust it into Bastion’s hands. His fingers closed around the hilt, that simple motion grounding him.
More men funneled towards them. Bastion gave in to the strange knowing in his bones, letting it guide his movement.
He anticipated their strikes, feinting from side to side.
The clang of steel reverberated up his arms. He didn’t think about how fast his heart was racing or the lingering pain in his shoulders.
They had numbers on their side, but Bastion had days, months, years of intentional practice behind him.
And Ulla.
He remembered his vow–he would not waste this opportunity.
Screams echoed around him as he parried and sliced. Flesh opened beneath the blade, adding fresh blood to the killing floor. In a matter of heartbeats, steel shone vermillion in the smoky lamplight.
The ship pitched to one side. The pirates fought to keep their footing as the bottleneck of errant cargo, tight quarters, and the newly dead slowed them.
Ulla crouched behind the barricade and ambushed them, smashing faces with the forgotten manacles.
Bastion let the motion of the ship carry him forwards to finish what Ulla started.
His strikes hit with so much force the pirates dropped their blades, giving him the opening to deliver a killing thrust.
Their deaths gave him no satisfaction.
When the last man fell, Bastion allowed himself a second to assess the situation.
He frowned. The other Yvri were gone.
Anger boiled over the adrenaline still pumping through his veins and reinforced it like armor. The conditional nature of their help went against everything he valued.
Bastion glanced at Ulla. Her face was drawn with fatigue, and she breathed heavily. In her hands, she grasped not only Taro’s dagger, but a smaller blade. The dagger Haddrick had given her.
Haddrick. Rowan.
“We have to find the healer!” Bastion exclaimed.
Ulla furrowed her brow.