Brian Rathbone: Inherited Danger

Checking each cabin, she found them all empty, and when she reached the last door, she wondered where else to look, but the smell told her she had found him. Covering her nose and mouth, she entered the cabin and sobbed when she saw Chase, pale and shivering, an open wound on his right shoulder. Angry flesh, mottled red and purple, surrounded the wound, and Catrin could feel the heat radiating from it without touching him.

He did not stir, even when she blotted the sweat from his forehead. His breathing was shallow and labored, and Catrin feared he was already lost, too far into sickness to ever recover. She cursed fate for its cruelty. All this time the herbs Chase needed had been just out of reach. If only she had known her friends were aboard the Stealthy Shark, then Chase would be safe.

The rough and unpredictable motions of the ship caused the hammock to sway wildly at times. Chase's body was dead weight, and Catrin winced as it soundly struck the cabin wall.

Benjin charged into the cabin, carrying a small vial and a flask of water. The dreadroot Kenward had provided was not in its usual powder form; instead it was concentrated oil. Benjin used extreme care in applying a single drop to Chase's tongue, knowing a larger dose would almost certainly kill him.

Chase did not react at first, but then his face wrinkled and he looked as if he wanted to spit. He shook his head back and forth wildly, trying to swallow. Benjin poured water over his lips, but Chase swallowed very little and sprayed most of it across the cabin as he coughed. After a moment, though, he drifted off, settling back into unconsciousness. His breaths were short, and Catrin encouraged him on each one, fearing it would be his last.

She was distracted when she noticed Benjin having trouble closing the vial with one hand, his left arm hanging limply at his side. Catrin moved to him and reached for his shirt, but he pulled away.

"I'm fine," he said. "Right now I need to help Kenward and the others attend to the ship. Stay here with Chase, please. Shout if his condition worsens." He rushed from the small cabin, not waiting for a response.

Holding Chase's hand, Catrin watched his chest rise and fall. Physical contact gave her the distinct impression of heat and corruption, and she could sense his life forces slipping away.

Uncertain of what to do but unwilling to do nothing, she placed one hand on his forehead and the other on his chest. After synchronizing her breathing with his, she began to concentrate on his getting well. Love and friendship poured through the physical bond, and her hands grew warm. A tingling sensation thrummed in her palms.

Energy swirled from her hands and into Chase, and she focused on the foulness raging within him. The infection gave her the impression of immense hunger and single-minded reproduction. It would consume him. She could not tell if the dreadroot was having any effect, for the infection seemed to remain strong, overcoming his body's weakened defenses.

Soon, though, his breathing became more regular, and Catrin decided to try something different. Holding both hands over his wound, she concentrated on the inflamed flesh. It repulsed her, but she refused to pull away. Energy poured into the diseased flesh.

A small trail of blood seeped from the wound, and Catrin grew alarmed, but the blood seemed to cleanse the area, carrying away foul contaminants. She sensed Chase's body beginning to fight the infection forcefully.

Kenward entered with a cloth and a basin of diluted wine. "Can you hold him in place while I do this?"

"I can do it," Catrin replied.

Kenward nodded and began to cleanse the area around the wound first. Chase moaned and thrashed, but Catrin held him fast. Kenward wiped the wound directly then applied pressure around it, forcing the foulness out. Chase shouted incoherently, but Catrin held him, speaking soothing words in his ear, her tears mixing with his sweat.

"That's all I can do for now," Kenward said after bandaging the wound. "Get him to drink water if you can," he added as he left.

Catrin helped Chase drink whenever he woke, and several times, she woke him just to give him more water. The ship's motion became more stable, and the listing subsided. In the hours before dawn, she leaned her head against the cabin wall for a moment of rest, and her eyes closed. She was asleep before she drew another breath.

A terrified cry woke Catrin in the dawn hours, and she fell out of the chair she had been sleeping in. Pulling herself from the floor, she checked on Chase and drew a sharp breath. His body was covered in an angry rash. Every part of him was discolored and inflamed.

"I'm gonna die, Cat. I don't wanna die," he said through swollen lips as Kenward and Benjin arrived. Holding his breath, he endured while they inspected his wound, checked his temperature and pulse, and listened to his chest.

"I think you are going to make it," Kenward said with a smile. "The rash is not life threatening. It's one of the least deadly effects of dreadroot."

"Dreadroot? You gave me dreadroot? Are you mad? Were you trying to kill me?" Chase asked, incredulous. He tried to sit up quickly but immediately fell back to the hammock.

"You were near death, Chase. We had no choice," Catrin whispered, and he nodded slowly, asking with gestures for water. Once his thirst was quenched, he asked for food; the return of his appetite boded well for his recovery.

"Some great sorceress you are, Cat. We were behind you all that time, and you couldn't tell us from the enemy. What use are you anyway?" he said with a tired and forced smirk, which made her certain he would recover.

"Perhaps you should've thought of that before leaping on someone's sword," she said. He laughed a bit too hard and winced from the pain. "You relax." She kissed him on the forehead. "I'll get you something to eat."

"Are you having any trouble breathing?" she heard Benjin ask as she slipped out of the crowded cabin. She left the door open to freshen the air.

Approaching Farsy, one of the crewmen she recognized, she asked if they could get broth for Chase. Farsy winked and pulled a polished piece of metal from his pocket. He then began sending signals to the Slippery Eel. It took a moment before anyone responded, but when they did, the ensuing conversation of flashes was surprisingly short.

"The signal language is quite intricate," he said. "We can convey many things quickly, as long as both people are well trained. The skill has saved many lives."

Catrin watched as two men from the Slippery Eel scrambled into a boat and rowed toward the Stealthy Shark. When they arrived, Farsy threw down a line, and the men below secured a heavy basket. Once it was on deck, Farsy opened it and revealed a surprisingly large amount of food.

"You didn't think he was the only one hungry, did you?" he asked, seeing her look of surprise. "No sense making a trip for a mug of broth, I'd say. Besides, I knew Grubb would take care of us-he feeds us, and we keep him afloat. It's a fair bargain for all."

Catrin's stomach agreed with Farsy, and she thanked him. He nodded his reply, his mouth full of salted fish. Grabbing the covered mug of broth and some food for herself, she walked carefully back to Chase's cabin. The air in the cramped quarters was less foul when she returned, and a crewman had mopped the floor before throwing down some dried reeds.

Chase slept, but the rich aroma of the broth soon brought him from his stupor. He accepted it with shaking hands and sipped it, savoring the flavor. He thanked Catrin and she nodded, her mouth full of hard bread. Feeling much better after eating, she was thankful Farsy had thought to get enough for everyone.