Castle Kingside - Chapter 38

The absurdity and terror that accompanied a naval face-off with a giant heathen left Dimitry breathless. He stared, paralyzed.

Although the beast was a hundred meters away, its gray bulk and blue glow contrasted against the bleak night, broadcasting monstrous features to anyone who dared stay on the deck for an extended look. Besides a gargantuan body, a bumpy tail peeked out from the ocean’s surface. The creature resembled a bony whale, except that it had a stone constitution and two open flaps on its back, each revealing a pitch-black chasm.

“It’s releasing flying devils!” the bishop bellowed.

Reece planted his shield into the deck and leaned forward.

After the carrier heathen moaned an agonizing wail, a figure soared from its back and into the sky. It looked like a bird. Two long, trapezoidal wings abound in jagged spikes flanked its slim torso. Mazes of blue lines illuminated every rocky organ until it disappeared into dark green clouds. The monstrosity reemerged moments later, swooping down towards the boat.

“Dropia!” the bishop chanted.

The stone bird only accelerated.

Reece raised his shield, holding it parallel to the deck to cover both the bishop and Selene.

The flying devil whizzed over them, dropping projectiles as it passed. They plonked into wood, clanged against metal, and splashed into water.

Alarmed by the danger, Dimitry fled down the ladder to the cargo hold, but a child’s whimpering shriek gave him pause. The cries were Selene’s.

“Arnest!” Reece’s shout echoed throughout the night. “Are you still there?! We need a physician!”

Dimitry stopped halfway down the ladder. Should he risk all to help? He despised the Church. The way they blackmailed the sickly, enslaved the unrepentant, and brainwashed the hungry. Although Dimitry became a monster, killing wherever he went, he couldn’t abandon Selene. She might have been with the Church, but she was also just a little girl.

Fire burned within his chest.

This rush was why he became a surgeon.

Maybe he hadn’t regressed to scum.

“Coming!” Numbed by adrenaline, Dimitry clambered up to the deck and dashed towards the girl.

Selene lay curled into a ball. A spike surrounded in heathen’s blood protruded from her hand. The childish screams intensified, pitiful and urgent.

“Get her out of here!” Reece said. “I can’t protect her.”

The bishop stomped. “Shut up and focus!”

“Yes, madam!”

“It’ll be okay.” Dimitry crouched beside Selene to pick her up. “Can you be a good girl for me and take deep breaths?”

His words had no effect—Selene’s screams grew more agonizing.

Dimitry cradled her in his arms and ran toward the cargo hold.

A second wail cut through the clamoring of panicked crew members. The whistling loudened as the carrier devil approached, its course perpendicular to the ship. Like a vertical torpedo, another stone bird launched from its back.

“It’s returning,” Reece shouted. “Arnest, be careful!”

The first flying devil dove. Its wings outstretched, it prepared to shoot another salvo of stone spikes. This time, the targets were Dimitry and Selene.

“Dropia!” the bishop chanted.

The bird-like heathen shattered as it slammed into the ocean, stone organs plunging into dark green depths.

Relief coursed through Dimitry. He could breathe once more.

“Take that, you fuck!” Old Man Bryce said.

“Woohoo!” Reece shouted. “Gotcha this time!”

“Focus!”

“Yes, madam!”

Dimitry balanced a squirming Selene over his shoulder and slid down the ladder. “Everyone, clear some space.” After the crew formed a circle, he eased the girl against the floor of the cargo hold. Tears streamed down her cheeks and snot discharged from her nose.

Ignorant to heathen injuries, Dimitry wasn’t fit for the job. Only an irresponsible surgeon operated beyond their expertise when someone more capable was around. He pointed to the stone feather in the girl’s hand. “Can anyone treat this thing?”

The crew shared glances and shook their heads. The worst-case scenario. In silence, they threw all the responsibility onto him.

Shit. Dimitry had to wing it. “Ignacius, I need your help.”

The old man lowered his pipe and jogged closer. “What is it, my boy?”

“Can you put her to sleep or numb her or something? I can’t do anything with her rolling around like this.”

Ignacius reached into his cloak and, without a word, Selene fell unconscious.

“Move out of the way!” Dimitry pushed through two men blocking the path to his leather bag, which rested against the cargo hold’s wall. He tossed it over his shoulder and returned to Selene’s side. Taking the girl’s injured hand in his, he tried to make sense of the damage.

Both human blood and bright blue heathen’s blood flowed out from the base of a stone feather lodged into the back of her hand. The wound smelled of burnt iron as the two liquids mixed, fizzling and coagulating on her skin. Luckily, the projectile entered sideways, missing any major tendons or muscles.

“Dropia!” the bishop’s voice bellowed from the deck.

Dimitry took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He wanted to act immediately, but collecting information came first. The biggest unknown was the heathen’s blood. Although he saw it wilt shrubbery into brown husks, its effect on vertebrates remained a mystery.

“Ignacius, my village had no heathens, so I need some information. Just answer yes or no.”

“Speak fast, boy.”

“Is heathen’s blood safe to remove with water?”

“Yes.”

“Does this stone feather have any magic on it I need to know about before removing it?”

“No.”

“How does heathen’s blood affect flesh?”

“I’m no field cleric, my boy. But from what I’ve seen, it turns it into mush.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Aside from something to do with astrology charts, I’m not sure.”

Damn. That wasn’t much information at all!

Dimitry opened his leather bag and grabbed a pair of tweezers. There was no time to disinfect them—the flesh around the wound ulcerated. First, he had to stem the damage by flushing away excess heathen’s blood. He gripped the stone feather with tweezers and yanked it out.

A slurry of thick, violet goo coagulated at its base—likely a mixture of platelets, red blood cells, and that strange blue liquid. However, now wasn’t the time to analyze samples. The skin continued to ulcerate and darken.

“Ugh, I can never get used to that,” one of the ship’s crew said.

“I don’t think Selene will make it.”

“Come on, Arnest! Save the little priestess!”

Dimitry reached for a jar and popped the wooden cork. There wasn’t much boiled water left, but it would probably be enough. He poured it generously on the skin around the wound, flushing away excess heathen’s blood from its surface. Now came the tricky part.

Cleaning inside the wound.

An injury he knew absolutely nothing about.

Dimitry pulled back the blistered skin surrounding the site of the stone feather’s impact. Thick, purple liquid sloshed inside the shallow wound. Exposed flesh seemed to melt into goo, widening the injury—the most horrific case of liquefactive necrosis he ever saw. Like an internal chemical burn.

The carrier heathen’s loud whistle pierced through the agitated atmosphere. It got closer.

“You giant, fucking prick!” Old Man Bryce’s tense voice came from the deck.

The boat made a sudden turn.

“Hold on!” a crewman shouted.

Dimitry ignored the impending doom as he poured water into the puncture wound, which mixed with the soup of slushing tissue inside. The slurry thinned and overflowed, erupting onto the surrounding skin. Dimitry used a rag to wipe away as much as possible. He irrigated the wound until it became bright pink and oozed only human blood. Hopefully, heathen’s blood didn’t have caustic components that diffused into lymph, cardiovascular, or circuit vessels. From internal burns to venom-like paralysis, who knew what could happen?

The boat stopped turning. Everyone stood silent, their breaths stifled as if awaiting news regarding a gravely injured family member admitted to a trauma center.

A faerie’s frantic giggle could be heard but went unnoticed.

“That’s right. Get out of here, you bastard!” Old Man Bryce shouted from the deck. “Dirty Matilda survives yet another voyage!”

The six crewmen surrounding Dimitry erupted in cheers. At the sound of descending metal boots, they charged toward the ladder to thank their saviors: a boisterous man with a large shield and a robed, older woman.

Dimitry ignored the commotion. Although Selene’s condition appeared to stabilize, his job wasn’t done yet. Her injury was prone to infection. No, it was almost guaranteed to become infected. Children had weak immune systems. Sepsis would eventually take hold, killing the little girl. Could he disinfect exposed flesh and keep it clean?

Hell, were pathogens even the largest worry? Dimitry knew nothing about heathen’s blood. The damage resembled liquefactive necrosis like that from contact with strongly alkaline substances, perhaps similarly resulting in solubilized protein, saponified fats, and dehydrated cells. Was heathen’s blood simply a powerful base? If not, were there other hazards?

Until he could decide on proper treatment, he wrapped a sterilized rag around Selene’s hand to stem the bleeding of scattered ulcers and an open wound under sloughing skin. Someone else would provide proper treatment once they reached Coldust. Hoping the little girl would survive that long, Dimitry took a deep breath and leaned back against a crate.

“Well done, boy.” Ignacius patted Dimitry’s shoulder. Upon seeing the knight, the wizard shoved his pipe back into his mouth and sat by a wall. Was he avoiding the Church, too?

Reece barged through the jubilant crowd. “How’s Selene? Did the injury take her hand?” He knelt on the other side of the girl and lifted the rag that hid a layer of inflamed epidermis and drying blood. His dark green eyes rose to meet Dimitry’s. “Thank you.”

“It was the least I could do while you were risking your life on deck,” Dimitry said, “but I’m not sure if I did it right.”

“Let me see that.” The bishop strutted closer with self-assured steps. After poking at the wound with dirty hands, a cardinal sin, she coiled the rag back around it and looked up. “Arnest, I want to talk to you about something.” Her voice was grim. “In private.”

An icy shiver shot down Dimitry’s spine. Did he do something wrong? “Is it about the wound? I tried my best to—”

“Come with me.” She climbed up to the deck.

Although the bishop’s request was ominous, Dimitry had no choice but to abide. The crew worshiped the Church. More so now that a knight and bishop had saved their lives from a maritime heathen attack. If he declined or fought back, they might throw him overboard.

As he walked towards the ladder, he shot a glance at Saphiria, who sat in an isolated corner, reaching for the sheath strapped to her leg. He shook his head. She gave a slight nod and put away her dagger. The right choice.

Dimitry reached the ship’s deck to find the bishop waiting for him on the other side.

She beckoned him forward while opening the cabin’s door with an outstretched hand. “Get in.”

“Before I do, what is the topic of our conversation?”

A frown took form on her face. “Get in. I don’t want anyone else to hear, and neither do you.”

That was enough to convince him. Dimitry entered the room containing a dozen straw bunk beds and sat on the one closest to a red-glowing incendia statuette. The warmth returned sensation to his outstretched hands.

The bishop slammed the door shut and sat across from him. It was a while before she spoke. “Reece is an idiot.”

Dimitry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You may have convinced him, the crew, and Bryce that you’re not the convict Estoria’s looking for, but I’m not that foolish. Pale green eyes never existed before you.”

He urged his voice to remain steady. “That’s because I’m not him. The Crimson Knights confirmed that when they searched the cargo hold with me in it.”

Emphasized by the light of an illumina lamp attached to the cabin’s ceiling, the wrinkles on her forehead deepened. She tugged on his hand. “Is that why you bled blue bile when they left? Your overload says it all. I don’t know if you cast miragia or whatnot, and frankly, I don’t care. That’s not why I called you here.”

Did she assume he used ordinary magic to escape? Thankfully, she didn’t know him as the ‘disappearing man’, but merely as a wanted fugitive.

“So, why did you call me here?”

“Originally, I intended to report you to the authorities when we reached Coldust, but after you risked your life to save Selene, I had a change of heart. You’re Amalthea’s enemy, not ours. That’s why I want to strike a deal with you.”

So it was true. She didn’t receive word that Dimitry assaulted Church members in Ravenfall. Another bullet dodged. “I’m listening.”

“If you can keep the girl alive until we reach Coldust, I’ll pretend I don’t know who you are. Got it?”

“That’s fine. Keeping her alive has been my intention from the start.”