48 - Dark Tales on Dark Waves
Joe swept the crowd, looking for those with the worst wounds. He figured [Healing Touch] would be more efficient on the larger injuries than [Heartfire] would be. He moved to a girl with a badly sprained ankle, and once he received permission, he used his gift to ease her pain and repair the damage. He healed three more refugees with serious injuries, then flopped down on the deck for a minute, wincing against the headache building behind his eyes.
“You should let the fire go out for a few minutes, Healer,” the woman's feathery voice suggested. “You will do no good by over-reaching your abilities.”
“I think it’s balancing out now. Your charm is a huge help.”
“Then take a slug o’ this, Boyo,” Wakely interjected. Joe still had his eyes closed, but he felt the sailor clap a flask down onto his chest. “Fix ya right up.”
Joe doubted it, but he couldn’t imagine it would hurt. He unscrewed the cap and tipped a large mouthful past his lips. The whiskey was so coarse it lit a fire down straight his throat and slammed into his gut like a boot. Joe snapped up into a sit, hacking uncontrollably.
Wakely gave him a few pats on the back. “Told ya. Ya got yer color back.”
“Holy … cough. Did you brew that abomination yourself?” Joe barked, still choking.
“I wish. Nah. I know a guy in Weaver’s Ridge, Dole Goakum. He makes it. I usually grab a keg when I sails into the Reef, but they didn’t have none this time. Dole musta had a problem with his still.” The sailor looked at his flask and gave it a measuring slosh.
“Excuse me,” one of the women in the passengers interjected. “Did you say Weaver’s Ridge?”
“Yessa, I did, ma'am. Ye know of it.”
“I am so sorry, sir,” she replied with a husky voice. “Weaver’s Ridge is gone. The Red Army burned it to the ground two weeks ago.”
Joe felt a tremble undulate through the passengers. Suddenly, the air around him was filled with pain and anger. It radiated from the throng of outcasts like a heat. Whoever this Red Army was, it clearly was the cause behind the plight of these refugees.
Rising back to his feet, Joe looked for the next most wounded. While he did so, he kept waiting for the explanation he could sense was coming.
While Parla helped Joe with another deep cut, she spoke of the hardship her people were facing. She had great instincts for the work they were doing together. The aresa, which is what her ram-like race was called, pushed the skin closed on a long cut that ran from a human’s forehead down to his ear. The wound sealed, leaving less of a scar than if Joe had just used his [Healing Touch] alone. Wiping away the last of the blood with his endless supply of bandages, Joe listened to the story behind the refugees’ plight.
“We are from the Karabast Mountains, the range that separates the Kingdom of Duskurg from the Horned Plains. We watched the Red Army spread across the Plains, thinking that once they had conquered the lowlands they would be satisfied,” Parla stated in a voice deepened by sadness. “We were wrong. In less than a year, troops under the Blood King’s banner began to assault the villages on the mountainsides, climbing ever closer to our homes in the highlands.”
“This was new to us,” remarked an older human sitting with his family. “The Horned Plains have been conquered before. It never lasts. Sooner or later, their peace dies, and plainsmen go back to fighting among themselves or against the dead ones from Blackfell.”
Calzahs, Joe’s snow-tigeresque patient added. “Never had they climbed into the Peaks before. We are too high and too tough. We thought their assault was bravado and folly.”
“Our villages were strong,” Yago said, taking up the tale. “The monsters in the mountains are very dangerous. Only the boldest live in the Karabast Highlands. Our people are of many races. The jotun and fomori giant-kin. My clan the aresa. Hardy humans and peak-gnomes. The sky soaring roca.”
“And, we pardus,” Calzahs included.
“All of these mighty warriors,” Yago continued. “We held the red soldiers back until their champions came. We then had to face the greatest heroes of the Plains as they came at us under the red banner. We then were undone.”
“Wait,” Joe interjected. “Are you saying the most powerful Plains heroes switched sides? They joined the Blood King’s army? Why?”
“That is the power of the King in Red. He steals the hearts of men and women and makes them his. He fights the champions, and no matter how the duel ends, the Blood King wins. If he is killed, he rises again. If he wins, the champion becomes another of his generals.”
“How long has this been going on?” Joe had paused his healing, enthralled by this tale.
“We heard of the Shieldmark’s fall about three years ago,” the Calzahs replied, clenching his taloned hands into fists. “That was the beginning of the tales of the Blood King and his endless army.”
“Is Shieldmark on the plains?” Joe asked, trying to get some sense of where these events were taking place. “Sorry, I haven’t learned the geography yet.”
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“The city is on the coast on the edge of plains,” Hah’roo explained from above them while her fingers danced through a series of strings. The white-skinned woman was balancing effortlessly on a rope line that ran over the heads of the group. “It was an independent city. The people of the Plains were not a unified kingdom at that time. The Horned Plains were a wild land of tribes and townships that existed between the Magocracy to the North and the undead legions to the south.”
“In the end, the remaining free tribes tried to band together, but the Red Army was too strong at that point,” Parla sighed, helping Joe gather his healing kit to move to the next patient. “Duskrug should fare better as it has an established standing army to fight back with.”
“Then, why are you all leaving the kingdom?” Joe asked the ragged refugees huddled on deck around him.
“Duskrug is not a welcome land for many of the mountain folk,” Yago replied. “Old animosities remain from the days when the Eagle Throne failed to do what the Red Army is doing now. Duskrug has not forgiven us for driving them out of our mountain homes.”
Joe scowled as he stood up and cracked his neck. Here was something about this world that he didn’t like at all. Prejudice, aggression, and war were just as big problems here as they were on Earth. Joe was not naive enough to expect this world to be all sunshine and rainbows, but finding bigotry this quickly left a sour taste in his mouth.
His headache was almost completely gone now that those close to the [Heartfire] were no longer cold and wounded. The string charm he had gotten from the huntress overhead had died out, but his mana use was manageable if he was careful.
He knew it would get bad when he moved the [Heartfire] to the next area that needed warmth “Ok. Everyone scrunch together for a bit to share body heat. I’m going to move the fire so those up front can warm up. I’ll bring it back in half an hour or so.”
“Before you go, let’s get this on you,” Hah’roo interrupted. The blue-haired woman slipped off the rope and dropped lightly to the deck beside him. She removed the lesser cord and tied on the newly finished one. The knotwork on this band was far more elaborate than her first one. He could see chains of densely packed knots that looked like spiraling streams. There was a sense of motion to the charm that made Joe think of flowing water.
[Charm of Renewal] (Item: Wrist- Uncommon): Increases the target's natural mana recovery rate by 45%. Single Use. {Potency}
“Nice!” he exclaimed after reading the charm’s description. “Thank you, ma’am. How long will it last?”
“Hah’roo is fine, and that depends on how much mana you use. Being a simple construct, it will bleed mana over time, but the more you draw on it, the faster it will disenchant. You should be able to get an hour or two out of that one, given what I have seen of your healing.”
“Thanks again, Hah’roo,” Joe remarked as he grabbed his staff and backpack. He looked over the group once more to see if he missed anyone but there was no one in too bad shape.
Joe lurched his way toward the front of the ship on very unsteady legs. Wakely walked beside him, moving as one with the rolling deck and smirking. “Ye’ll get it boyo. Just takes a bit o’ practice. I know yer plans are to get off at the Hahber …”
“Hahber? Harbor? Peregrine Harbor?”
“That’s what I said, boyo. Don’t get all lubbery on me.”
“Sorry. What about the Harbor?”
“A good healer ain’t no small thing aboard a ship. Ye got the making to be a right good ship’s doc. If ye might consider staying on, I could put in a good word with Kyllean who’d bring it to the Cap’n.”
Joe stopped and spun to face the sailor. The quick change of direction caused him to almost overcompensate. Wakley reached out to steady him, but Joe’s own skill got there first.
Your skill [Steadfast] has increased to rank 3.
Joe's feet felt like they locked onto the deck, and he straightened up without needing the sailors' steadying hand. He had gotten the second rank in [Steadfast] when the ship pitched a few minutes ago, which had saved him from a nasty fall. Joe was not at all unhappy with his choice of skill, especially given this offer.
“Let me think about it, Wakely. Sailing the seas. That sounds amazing.”
Joe looked up at the endless star-filled sky. His moment of reverie taxed his skill but [Steadfast] held him steady. Joe could easily see himself here on water visiting ports. He’d get a chance to learn more about this world in the safety of a tight-knit community of crewmates.
“Well, not the seas so much. We course back an forth through the Glandrion Straight. We never be more than a few days from either shore, which be good. But the weather this time o’ year whips down on them highlands. It’ll freeze yer toes together if ya don’t keep movin.”
“I noticed,” Joe breathed. “It was spring in Duskrug. This feels like we slipped back into winter.”
Joe's steps were not as perfectly in sync with the undulating boards as Wakely’s were. Even so, he moved confidently enough thanks to [Steadfast]. Stepping around the forward mast, he saw the other half of the homeless highlanders.
The people here were huddled together in a large mass, all except one figure. Sitting alone by the rails, the armored dwarf stared daggers at him as he approached. Azbekt was glowering at Joe, arms crossed, the perfect picture of hostile disapproval. Joe’s steps ground to a halt under the weight of that unforgiving gaze.
A sneeze from one of the shivering passengers snapped Joe from his paralysis. He must have been standing there looking at the glowering inquisitor like a deer frozen in a car’s headlights.
He shook off the willies tickling his spine from the inquisitor's scorn and moved to the second barrel Kyllean had set up for him. The first mate agreed that while the spell was harmless, planting an open blaze on the deck would be distracting for the crew.
As soon as he filled the barrel with [Heartfire], Joe felt his mana start to drain again. These people had been cold for quite a while. Thankfully, none were seriously wounded anymore. Those with urgent injuries had already been brought to him when he was healing at the aft end of the deck. That is not to say that there were not plenty of non-life-threatening injuries here that needed attention.
The knotted charm made a huge difference. Just watching his mana for a few moments, he could see it draining and filling rapidly. At the moment, he was losing a bit more than he was gaining, but once people warmed up, he was pretty sure the charm would keep him filled with mana. Within a minute, the mass of passengers began to spread out a little, allowing Joe to use his aura sight to look for injuries.
Before he reached his first patient, Joe watched a taloned hand, twice the size of his own, reach up and grasp the ship's railing beside him. Something large, green, and scaly was climbing up out of the sea.
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