Appo had never felt such pain before. It was deep and throbbing, sending shockwaves through his entire body. Without his hand, his arm slumped out of the pillory to his side. Appo instinctively retracted his mangled wrist into his shirt, feeling the warmth of his blood as it soaked into his tunic. His wail had diminished into a croak as the pillory propped up his limp body by the neck.
"Just finish the fucking job," Appo thought, shouting in his mind. "Put me out of my misery."
The second slice didn't come, though. Juddken seemed distracted. If Appo had been in considerably less pain, he would have been able to hear the clashing of metal and screaming in the distance. It had certainly caught Juddken’s attention.
“Huh,” Juddken mumbled, oblivious to the suffering of his prisoner.
The sound of a distant whistle reverberated through the air. It grew louder and louder, like the cry of a great bird. The whistle was followed closely by a squish. In an instant, Juddken fell to the floor. Appo was barely able to look down, but he saw a large wooden rod sticking out of Juddken’s throat. Juddken reflexively reached for his neck, spitting out blood as he writhed on the ground.
Appo still couldn’t turn his head, but he heard the light footsteps of someone coming from the distance. As the figure entered his point of view, Appo vaguely recognized his gray scraggly beard and blue eye. Appo thought he was hallucinating because it looked like Isbibarra.
Isbibarra hopped onto the platform, standing over Juddken. In one hand he held an intricately crafted bow, sleek and about as long as he was tall. Juddken’s hands grasped around the rod lodged in his neck, gurgling as he attempted to breathe through the blood and arrow. Isbibarra stared somewhere between Juddken and Appo, not quite making eye contact with either. Then, as quickly as he arrived, Isbibarra jumped off the platform.
Appo blinked his eyes again, darting around the plaza for any sign of the old beggar. He was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it was imagined.
But he wasn’t imagining what had just happened to Juddken. He was still on the ground, his movements becoming slower. His blood loss was beginning to match Appo’s. Blood trickled onto the ground below as it seeped through the boards of the platform. As far as Appo could tell, he was now alone. And he was still trapped in the pillory.
At least, his head and one arm were still trapped.
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Appo’s left arm was numb from the pain, and it hurt to move it from his curled position. He didn’t want to imagine what his stump looked like, but regardless he had one arm free. As far as he knew Juddken hadn’t locked him in with anything more than the metal hinge. If he could stick his arm out as far as he could, perhaps he would be able to push the hinge off with his newfound stub of a hand.
Thankfully, the pillory wasn’t very wide, and Appo’s outstretched arm could reach the corner of it. The air felt strange against his open wound, but Appo tried to ignore the pain. He was losing blood fast. He wasn’t sure how much he could stand to lose, but he had already lost plenty.
“Isbibarra…” Appo grunted at himself. “If that was you… would it have been… too much… to let me out… Old bastard.”
It took a little bit of fumbling with his stump, but Appo was able to feel the metal hinge against the skin of his wrist. His hand was completely cut off at the joint, right past the bones of his forearm. It was a clean slice. Before Appo could appreciate Juddken’s skill with the blade any further, the metal of the hinge scraped against his open wound, sending waves of pain through his body. Appo bit his tongue, suppressing his agony. But he could feel the hinge beginning to move. Pushing back every instinct to press the stump back into his gut, Appo stretched even farther and angled the hinge off the metal bar. The pressure that had been on his neck for the moment had lessened. Getting back to his feet, Appo pressed against the side of the pillory with his left forearm and pushed upwards against the hatch with his right. It wasn’t pretty, but the top of the pillory moved just enough to make room for his head. Before the pain became too unbearable, he slipped his head and forearm out of the pillory, falling on his back.
Appo couldn’t help but look. Blood oozed from his open wound, no longer shooting out like it was immediately after his amputation. The cut wasn’t perfectly straight, for it went as a slight angle up what was left of his hand. His fingers and thumb were all gone, but he still had some bone from the side of his palm near his smallest finger. It was difficult to tell though, as blood and dark flesh obscured what could be made out. His forearm was entirely covered in a maroon scale, and a deep crimson stain dripped down his tunic. It looked as if he had been stabbed in the gut.
Underneath the pillory was a massive puddle of blood, though it was impossible to tell how much was his and how much was Juddken’s. The guard was still writhing, but his movements and breathing had all but stopped. Appo rose to his feet. The pain was still unbearable, but it was colicky. Taking his good hand, he pressed it into this gaping wound, trying to stop the bleeding. It did little good as it continued to ooze through his fingers.
Appo pressed his stump back into his shirt but it was no use. The wound was too large and the cloth wasn’t stopping the bleeding. Besides, he didn’t have time to wait around to bandage it. He needed to get out of the plaza. It wouldn’t be long before the guards came looking for them. Appo knew he had a surgery kit back with his elephant, but that was all the way across town. He needed to get there eventually, but he needed to stop the bleeding now.
He needed something hot. Really hot.