Marcus Blaze's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

Marcus tore his shirt into strips and pressed them to the captain's side. The blood soaked through fast. He pushed harder. It did no good. The wound was deep, and his hands could not close it. Every breath the old man took came slower than the last. Marcus looked up at the beach house on its stilts. It was the only shelter in sight. He lifted the captain and ran. The door hung loose. Inside, dust covered a broken table and a cold hearth. Marcus laid the captain down and searched the shelves. He found empty jars, rope, and a pair of strange gloves that hummed with faint light. None of it would stop bleeding. He slammed a cabinet shut. "Come on," he said. "There has to be something." "Move your hands off him or he's gone." Marcus spun. A woman stood in the doorway. Her hair was the color of live coals, and a small flame glowed in the pendant at her throat. She carried a satchel and smelled of woodsmoke, as if she had stepped straight out of a fire. She did not wait for permission. She crossed the room and knelt by the captain. "I saw the light on the beach," she said. "Nobody comes through that ring alive. You did." She pulled the soaked rags away and studied the wound. Her hands were steady. "I keep a tavern. I've patched worse than this." "Then patch it," Marcus said. "He's past patching." She reached into her satchel and drew out a small glass bottle. Inside, a clear liquid swirled and gave off a soft glow. A metal tag hung from its neck. "This is the last one I own. I traded three winters of ale for it." She looked up at Marcus. "You'll owe me." "Anything," Marcus said. "Do it." Evelyn pulled the cork with her teeth. She tipped the captain's head back and poured the glowing liquid past his gray lips. For a moment nothing changed. Marcus held his breath. Then the light spread under the captain's skin, tracing the wound like a thread pulling shut. The bleeding slowed. It stopped. The old man's chest rose, deeper now, and his color crept back. Marcus sat back on his heels. His hands shook. "He'll live?" "He'll live," Evelyn said. She corked the empty bottle and tucked it away. "But not here. That fever will burn hot by morning, and I've no more medicine to give him." She stood and looked toward the door, out at the dark water. "He needs a real bed and clean water. My tavern's a day's walk inland, through country you don't know." She met his eyes. "And the things that hunt these roads at night are worse than any fire." Marcus looked down at the captain, breathing at last. Then he looked at the long dark beyond the door. The bleeding was stopped. The journey had only begun.