What was a good skill to master? A skill that ensures that would ensure that you survived even in bad times. I thought it was learning to code, Mark thought, grimacing.
He pulled on the oars, cursing under his breath. Sarcasm was a bad sign. It was a symptom of stress.
The rowing helped. The physical movement distracted him from thinking too deeply about the situation he was in. Still, all of them were constantly looking backward, waiting for the Assanaten boats to appear around the closest bend.
The first light of dawn crept over the mountains.
Making progress had become harder. The mountain river had flowed into a fjord and, though there was still a current, it was quite weak. They had to rely on the endurance of their muscles now.
During the night, Iristos had pointed to a spot on the shore where the men from the valley kept boats. They hadn’t been able to see it in the darkness.
When the Drive reached this spot, the loggers switched from the rafts to these boats for the rest of the journey. It usually took them a couple of days to collect all the trunks together and guide them down the fjord to Riadnos.
“Do you want to switch soon, master?” Iristos asked, blinking in the early morning light.
After they had felt sure that they had gained some distance, Mark had taken over for a while. Even Atissa had insisted on taking shifts on the oars and the men had agreed. They needed to conserve their strength as best as possible for the last part of the journey.
“Ok,” Mark said, rising from his seat.
He had wanted to say no, but his arm felt heavy. The last couple of days hadn’t prepared him for last night’s workout.
Atissa was sleeping in the stern, so he moved to the prow where they had made Hermistos as comfortable as possible. To his surprise, he found the young man awake.
“We’re slower?” Hermistos asked. With his head resting below the level of the railing, he could only see the sky above them.
“Yes, we’re not on the river anymore,” Mark said.
“We’re on the first of the three lakes,” Iristos said without facing him. “Rehala’s city is built on the shore of the last one. The one connected to the sea.”
Hermistos grimaced.
“The volcano goddess?” Mark asked.
“It wasn’t always a volcano,” Hermistos said, rolling his eyes. “The queen of the gods has quite the temper, you understand.” He waved weakly. “At least she takes care not to burn those fools in Riadnos that sacrifice to her. Most of the time, that is.”
Mark felt tempted to ask about this temperamental goddess but there were more urgent questions. Hermistos looked to be well rested, at least for his standards, so Mark had to use the opportunity to learn what he could. “Please, tell me what you know about magi.”
Hermistos squinted at him, twisting his mouth as if finding distaste in the question. “Shouldn’t you know about these things, master?” He didn’t even try to sound genuine.
Mark turned to check on his other travel companions. Rowing, Iristos’ broad back was turned to him. Was there a risk in having him listen to their conversation?
Mark leaned to the side to stare past him. Atissa lay coiled up under a blanket in the stern of the boat. With the four of them and their provisions, there wasn’t much space. The young girl was lucky to be short and flexible.
Mark grimaced, being reminded of the tensions in his back and shoulders. He had never found sleeping in an airplane seat restful, but the cramped boat was far worse. The sleep he had been able to catch had left his body worse off.
“You could consider your cooperation payback,” Mark said.
“Payback?”
“We took you with us on…Dennia’s request. We share our meals with you. We care for you.” Mark shrugged. “I guess, you could say we upheld guest rights.”
Hermistos sneered. ”So you’re saying, I owe you?”
Mark kept his face expressionless. “Is there another way to see it?”
They glared at each other for a moment. Then, Hermistos smiled wolfishly. “No, there’s not. Ask your questions.”
Mark suddenly felt weary but couldn’t put his finger on why. The young man looked pathetic. The white, unhealthy color of his skin and his slow movements were stark signs of his weakened state. But something within him warned him not to take Hermistos lightly. Something primal.
“You explained where the gifted come from. How does it work for magi? Are they related to gods, too? And how do their powers work?”
“You’re a strange man, master Mark. You speak with the eloquence of a philosopher, but you ask questions like a warrior,” Hermistos waved his hand. “How many enemies? How are they armed?”
“I’m an engineer by training.”
Hermistos looked at him quizzically.
Mark thought for a second. “Like a builder. Somebody who uses knowledge to solve problems.”
Hermistos’ eyebrows rose. “Interesting. I’m looking forward to watching you solve problems in the future. Do you already know how to solve the Assanaten invasion?”
“My questions?” Mark wouldn’t let himself be sidetracked - Hermistos might try to stall with a fruitless conversation until he could claim tiredness.
Hermistos pouted slightly - but only for a moment. “Very well. If you need knowledge to do things, I guess we need to get you some. There are more than enough people running around for whom a spear and a direction is enough to stir up some chaos.” He sighed.
“The magi?” Mark emphasized his words.
“Yes. Magi are people. Mostly. People that got their hands on power.”
“How?”
“All kinds of ways. There are many different stories. I could tell you legends about the god Nemki and the Seven Sages.”
“Generalize. What are the most common ways?”
Hermistos twisted his mouth in distaste. “You don’t appreciate a good story, do you?”
“Neither do I enjoy music very much. How do most magi get their magic?” Mark was determined to keep Hermistos on track.
“They make a deal with a powerful being. A god or a demon. Some with several. Some change their alliances over time. Higher beings don’t like that very much, but magi are a conniving lot.”
“You’re not born with magic, then,” Mark said, more to himself. “How do you convince a god to give you magic? Or a demon?”
“I wouldn’t be very popular for saying this, but the difference between gods and demons is somewhat…well, I have seldom met a demon who didn’t call himself a god,” Hermistos said, smiling. “At least those that are capable of speech and reason.”
Mark had already considered interrogating Hermistos about his own identity but decided to leave it for now. It was more efficient to start with topics, the young man wasn’t too reluctant to talk about.
“How do magi and these powerful beings come together?”
Slowly, Hermistos’ smile disappeared. “All kinds of ways. Many are believers in service to their gods. Magi is an old name used since before the times of the Sages. Different peoples have different names for those that mess with powers that should be beyond them. Priests, seers, oracles.”
Mark rubbed the growing beard on his chin while thinking through Hermistos’ explanations. It itched. He really needed to shave as soon as possible. It was doubtful that he could find the products needed to adequately groom a beard in this world.
“Ok,” Mark said. “To summarize, if a human has supernatural powers, they are either gifted or magi. Gifted are descendants of gods. Magi make deals to get their powers. Am I getting this right, so far?”
Hermistos shook his head. “Mortals like to order and name things. Everything must be neat and tidy.” Seeing Mark’s look, he quickly continued. “It’s not wrong. But as always, the world is messier and more complicated, spilling over and around the jars, you try to sort it into.”
Mark was about to ask his next question when Iristos cursed. “They’re here!”
Leaning to the side Mark could see the two boats on the fjord. Judging by their position they must have left the river mouth a couple of minutes ago.
“I’m sorry, master,” Iristos said. “I was listening and didn’t pay attention.” There was fear and regret in his voice. Without command, the big man increased his pace.
Mark looked ahead. They were about to reach the end of a section of the fjord, what Iristos referred to as the first lake. Framed by mountains, the fjord made a curve to the right. He guessed that they were about a mile ahead of their pursuers. Not enough.
According to Iristos, the next section was three times longer with steep cliffs on both sides. More than long enough for the Assanaten to run them down.
Why are they so insistent, Mark thought, shaking his head? Once they caught and killed them, the Assanaten would have to make their way back to the valley. Did they know about the mountain pass or did they intend to row the boats up the river again? By his estimation, the latter wasn’t possible.
Atissa straightened herself, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Only then did she notice Iristos’ panicked pace and she whirled around.
When she turned back to them her face was grim. “They’re fast. We’re not going to outrun them.”
Mark didn’t answer, glancing towards the shore. Can I make it from here if I swim? He wasn’t sure if he could even make it up the cliff, or how Iristos and Atissa would react if he jumped overboard. Would they continue rowing and guild the enemy away from him?
The next hour passed mostly in tense silence. There was nothing to talk about. The oars breaking the water's surface was the only consistent noise around them. Mark and Iristos shifted places in ever shorter intervals as both exhausted their remaining strength.
As the sun rose higher, the Assanaten consistently gained on them. While their pursuers maintained a relentless pace, they had to admit that after the past night, Iristos and Mark hadn’t got much left.
Mark pulled the oars once more. Again and again. His arms felt heavy and cramped. The muscled burned with pain. He tried what he could to maintain pace, but he knew he was failing.
“It is my turn again, master,” Iristos said. Mark could hear the effort of will behind his words. He felt it himself. Every time he gave up the oars, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to pick them up again when his turn came once more.
He had found a new respect for Iristos during their shared struggle. It wasn’t for his skill or strength. He had observed those on several occasions during their journey. It was his stoic will to go on. At this point, his shifts were twice as long as Mark’s.
As much as Mark valued intellect and rationality, he respected pure stoic endurance more. It was what had kept him going more than once in his life. Just keep moving until the pain grows numb, he thought. In the end that was what life was.
Trying not to look back, he let his eyes wander to the shoreline. The lake was wide and beautiful. It was the nature of the shoreline that made it impossible to build settlements here. Rocky cliffs, cut by water at some point in the distant past, rose on both sides.
“They are almost in bow range,” Atissa said, calling his attention back to their hopeless reality.
“They didn’t shoot at us last time either,” Iristos said, through clenched teeth.
Atissa didn’t take her eyes off their pursuers. “I think they will this time. They’re impatient and angry.” Her fingers checked the position of her quiver for the millionth time.
“Can you sense that?” Mark asked. He was still trying to gauge Atissa’s abilities.
She turned her head far enough that they could see the side of her face and tipped at her nose. “I can smell them. The wind is caring the stench.”
Mark sniffed but couldn’t smell anything. “What did you smell?” he asked.
“That they have hardly stopped at all. Maybe never.”
Hermistos snickered while Iristos made a groaning sound. It took Mark a moment to come to the same horrible conclusion.
“How is that possible? Not even to eat, not even to…” He didn’t want to say it. Their boats were bigger, but they were filled with men, end to end.
“Smells like it,” Atissa said.
“That’s disgusting!” Mark felt physically repulsed by the visuals forming in his head. “And a hotbed for infections and diseases.”
“It sounds like you’re more worried about that than being stabbed by an Assanaten warrior, master Mark,” Hermistos said, smiling. “Death comes quickly in this world, you know.” Hermistos laughed.
Mark shrugged. “That just tells me that you haven’t seen your reflection in a while.”
Atissa laughed first, followed by Iristos. Hermistos stared at him dumbfounded. Then his beautiful pale lips formed a bright grin, displaying the best teeth Mark had seen thus far in this world.
The humor took some of the tension from them. It felt good.
An arrow hit the wooden deck between Atissa and Iristos. Atissa ducked immediately. Before Iristos could react in any way, a second arrow sank into his right shoulder. For a second, he just stared at it dumbfounded.
Then chaos broke out.
Iristos screamed, letting go of the oars. Panicked, he started to rise when a third arrow punched through his left arm. He fell backward, landing on Mark’s legs.
Mark saw Atissa grabbing her bag and holding it above her head. Smart girl, Mark thought, once again.
Intending to imitate her idea, he reached for the bags and bundles, Hermistos was resting against. The pale man misinterpreted his intentions and pushed the bundle over to Iristos.
I can’t take it away from him can I, Mark asked himself?
More arrows came down around him, making him look up.
The arrows were shot in high arcs. One or two at a time. Some of them even missed the boat entirely. The Assanaten had to be only just in range. But that would change quickly now that nobody was moving the oars anymore.
“Can you cover me on the oars?” he asked in Atissa’s direction.
“Don’t touch that!” she shouted, ignoring his question.
Following her panicked gaze Mark saw that Iristos had tried to pull the arrow from his shoulder. Blood was gushing from the wound.
The feeling of panic rose within Mark. What should he do? What could he do?
He looked to Atissa, hoping that her gift or her training would guild her to do the right things to save them. Whatever that was.
What he saw in her overwrote his sense of panic.
Atissa’s face showed desperation and fear as she stared at the flapping Iristos. She’s about to drop her cover to come over here, Mark thought. The picture of her getting hit in the back was somehow enough to let him break through his indecisiveness.
“Hey”, he screamed at her, “snap out of it!” He scrambled over to Iristos. “Take the bundle and cover us.”
He pushed the bundle off Iristos and examined the wound. He knew very little about first aid. The course he had taken for his driver’s license hadn’t covered arrow wounds funnily enough. Considering the amount of blood flowing from the man, an artery must have been cut. Or maybe a vein?
He took Iristos' hand and pressed it on the wound. “Hold that tight!” It sounded like a good instruction. He had heard it in a bunch of movies. “Atissa, give me your knife!”
She complied immediately, handing him her short copper knife.
The girl stood over them trying to cover them as Mark cut strips off Iristos’ tunic. But it was a futile task. Without somebody on the oars, their boat had started to drift. They were slowly turning, presenting the bowmen with their unprotected side.
The tip of an arrow pierced through Atissa’s improvised shield next to her hand.
We’re so fucked, Mark thought, glancing over the side. He kept going, addressing one problem at a time. Folding the strips of cloth he had cut from Iristos’ tunic, he knew this was the best pressure bandage he could hope for – it had to do until they reached a real doctor. Or whatever the equivalent was in this world.
Mark placed the package on the wound under Iristos’ hand while speaking to him. “Listen, Iristos, we need to keep your blood inside of you. You understand?” He pressed on the hand. “You need to hold this really tight!”
Iristos nodded, his eyes meeting Mark’s. Fear was plastered across his face.
Looking down at his hands, Mark saw the cloth was already soaking through. If the arrow had really cut an artery, Iristos was already dead. Mark had neither the tools nor the skill to do anything for him.
You did what you could, he thought. Now move on! He had to keep going. Always. What else could he do?
What was a good skill to master? A skill that ensures that would ensure that you survived even in bad times. I thought it was learning to code, Mark thought, grimacing.
He pulled on the oars, cursing under his breath. Sarcasm was a bad sign. It was a symptom of stress.
The rowing helped. The physical movement distracted him from thinking too deeply about the situation he was in. Still, all of them were constantly looking backward, waiting for the Assanaten boats to appear around the closest bend.
The first light of dawn crept over the mountains.
Making progress had become harder. The mountain river had flowed into a fjord and, though there was still a current, it was quite weak. They had to rely on the endurance of their muscles now.
During the night, Iristos had pointed to a spot on the shore where the men from the valley kept boats. They hadn’t been able to see it in the darkness.
When the Drive reached this spot, the loggers switched from the rafts to these boats for the rest of the journey. It usually took them a couple of days to collect all the trunks together and guide them down the fjord to Riadnos.
“Do you want to switch soon, master?” Iristos asked, blinking in the early morning light.
After they had felt sure that they had gained some distance, Mark had taken over for a while. Even Atissa had insisted on taking shifts on the oars and the men had agreed. They needed to conserve their strength as best as possible for the last part of the journey.
“Ok,” Mark said, rising from his seat.
He had wanted to say no, but his arm felt heavy. The last couple of days hadn’t prepared him for last night’s workout.
Atissa was sleeping in the stern, so he moved to the prow where they had made Hermistos as comfortable as possible. To his surprise, he found the young man awake.
“We’re slower?” Hermistos asked. With his head resting below the level of the railing, he could only see the sky above them.
“Yes, we’re not on the river anymore,” Mark said.
“We’re on the first of the three lakes,” Iristos said without facing him. “Rehala’s city is built on the shore of the last one. The one connected to the sea.”
Hermistos grimaced.
“The volcano goddess?” Mark asked.
“It wasn’t always a volcano,” Hermistos said, rolling his eyes. “The queen of the gods has quite the temper, you understand.” He waved weakly. “At least she takes care not to burn those fools in Riadnos that sacrifice to her. Most of the time, that is.”
Mark felt tempted to ask about this temperamental goddess but there were more urgent questions. Hermistos looked to be well rested, at least for his standards, so Mark had to use the opportunity to learn what he could. “Please, tell me what you know about magi.”
Hermistos squinted at him, twisting his mouth as if finding distaste in the question. “Shouldn’t you know about these things, master?” He didn’t even try to sound genuine.
Mark turned to check on his other travel companions. Rowing, Iristos’ broad back was turned to him. Was there a risk in having him listen to their conversation?
Mark leaned to the side to stare past him. Atissa lay coiled up under a blanket in the stern of the boat. With the four of them and their provisions, there wasn’t much space. The young girl was lucky to be short and flexible.
Mark grimaced, being reminded of the tensions in his back and shoulders. He had never found sleeping in an airplane seat restful, but the cramped boat was far worse. The sleep he had been able to catch had left his body worse off.
“You could consider your cooperation payback,” Mark said.
“Payback?”
“We took you with us on…Dennia’s request. We share our meals with you. We care for you.” Mark shrugged. “I guess, you could say we upheld guest rights.”
Hermistos sneered. ”So you’re saying, I owe you?”
Mark kept his face expressionless. “Is there another way to see it?”
They glared at each other for a moment. Then, Hermistos smiled wolfishly. “No, there’s not. Ask your questions.”
Mark suddenly felt weary but couldn’t put his finger on why. The young man looked pathetic. The white, unhealthy color of his skin and his slow movements were stark signs of his weakened state. But something within him warned him not to take Hermistos lightly. Something primal.
“You explained where the gifted come from. How does it work for magi? Are they related to gods, too? And how do their powers work?”
“You’re a strange man, master Mark. You speak with the eloquence of a philosopher, but you ask questions like a warrior,” Hermistos waved his hand. “How many enemies? How are they armed?”
“I’m an engineer by training.”
Hermistos looked at him quizzically.
Mark thought for a second. “Like a builder. Somebody who uses knowledge to solve problems.”
Hermistos’ eyebrows rose. “Interesting. I’m looking forward to watching you solve problems in the future. Do you already know how to solve the Assanaten invasion?”
“My questions?” Mark wouldn’t let himself be sidetracked - Hermistos might try to stall with a fruitless conversation until he could claim tiredness.
Hermistos pouted slightly - but only for a moment. “Very well. If you need knowledge to do things, I guess we need to get you some. There are more than enough people running around for whom a spear and a direction is enough to stir up some chaos.” He sighed.
“The magi?” Mark emphasized his words.
“Yes. Magi are people. Mostly. People that got their hands on power.”
“How?”
“All kinds of ways. There are many different stories. I could tell you legends about the god Nemki and the Seven Sages.”
“Generalize. What are the most common ways?”
Hermistos twisted his mouth in distaste. “You don’t appreciate a good story, do you?”
“Neither do I enjoy music very much. How do most magi get their magic?” Mark was determined to keep Hermistos on track.
“They make a deal with a powerful being. A god or a demon. Some with several. Some change their alliances over time. Higher beings don’t like that very much, but magi are a conniving lot.”
“You’re not born with magic, then,” Mark said, more to himself. “How do you convince a god to give you magic? Or a demon?”
“I wouldn’t be very popular for saying this, but the difference between gods and demons is somewhat…well, I have seldom met a demon who didn’t call himself a god,” Hermistos said, smiling. “At least those that are capable of speech and reason.”
Mark had already considered interrogating Hermistos about his own identity but decided to leave it for now. It was more efficient to start with topics, the young man wasn’t too reluctant to talk about.
“How do magi and these powerful beings come together?”
Slowly, Hermistos’ smile disappeared. “All kinds of ways. Many are believers in service to their gods. Magi is an old name used since before the times of the Sages. Different peoples have different names for those that mess with powers that should be beyond them. Priests, seers, oracles.”
Mark rubbed the growing beard on his chin while thinking through Hermistos’ explanations. It itched. He really needed to shave as soon as possible. It was doubtful that he could find the products needed to adequately groom a beard in this world.
“Ok,” Mark said. “To summarize, if a human has supernatural powers, they are either gifted or magi. Gifted are descendants of gods. Magi make deals to get their powers. Am I getting this right, so far?”
Hermistos shook his head. “Mortals like to order and name things. Everything must be neat and tidy.” Seeing Mark’s look, he quickly continued. “It’s not wrong. But as always, the world is messier and more complicated, spilling over and around the jars, you try to sort it into.”
Mark was about to ask his next question when Iristos cursed. “They’re here!”
Leaning to the side Mark could see the two boats on the fjord. Judging by their position they must have left the river mouth a couple of minutes ago.
“I’m sorry, master,” Iristos said. “I was listening and didn’t pay attention.” There was fear and regret in his voice. Without command, the big man increased his pace.
Mark looked ahead. They were about to reach the end of a section of the fjord, what Iristos referred to as the first lake. Framed by mountains, the fjord made a curve to the right. He guessed that they were about a mile ahead of their pursuers. Not enough.
According to Iristos, the next section was three times longer with steep cliffs on both sides. More than long enough for the Assanaten to run them down.
Why are they so insistent, Mark thought, shaking his head? Once they caught and killed them, the Assanaten would have to make their way back to the valley. Did they know about the mountain pass or did they intend to row the boats up the river again? By his estimation, the latter wasn’t possible.
Atissa straightened herself, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Only then did she notice Iristos’ panicked pace and she whirled around.
When she turned back to them her face was grim. “They’re fast. We’re not going to outrun them.”
Mark didn’t answer, glancing towards the shore. Can I make it from here if I swim? He wasn’t sure if he could even make it up the cliff, or how Iristos and Atissa would react if he jumped overboard. Would they continue rowing and guild the enemy away from him?
The next hour passed mostly in tense silence. There was nothing to talk about. The oars breaking the water's surface was the only consistent noise around them. Mark and Iristos shifted places in ever shorter intervals as both exhausted their remaining strength.
As the sun rose higher, the Assanaten consistently gained on them. While their pursuers maintained a relentless pace, they had to admit that after the past night, Iristos and Mark hadn’t got much left.
Mark pulled the oars once more. Again and again. His arms felt heavy and cramped. The muscled burned with pain. He tried what he could to maintain pace, but he knew he was failing.
“It is my turn again, master,” Iristos said. Mark could hear the effort of will behind his words. He felt it himself. Every time he gave up the oars, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to pick them up again when his turn came once more.
He had found a new respect for Iristos during their shared struggle. It wasn’t for his skill or strength. He had observed those on several occasions during their journey. It was his stoic will to go on. At this point, his shifts were twice as long as Mark’s.
As much as Mark valued intellect and rationality, he respected pure stoic endurance more. It was what had kept him going more than once in his life. Just keep moving until the pain grows numb, he thought. In the end that was what life was.
Trying not to look back, he let his eyes wander to the shoreline. The lake was wide and beautiful. It was the nature of the shoreline that made it impossible to build settlements here. Rocky cliffs, cut by water at some point in the distant past, rose on both sides.
“They are almost in bow range,” Atissa said, calling his attention back to their hopeless reality.
“They didn’t shoot at us last time either,” Iristos said, through clenched teeth.
Atissa didn’t take her eyes off their pursuers. “I think they will this time. They’re impatient and angry.” Her fingers checked the position of her quiver for the millionth time.
“Can you sense that?” Mark asked. He was still trying to gauge Atissa’s abilities.
She turned her head far enough that they could see the side of her face and tipped at her nose. “I can smell them. The wind is caring the stench.”
Mark sniffed but couldn’t smell anything. “What did you smell?” he asked.
“That they have hardly stopped at all. Maybe never.”
Hermistos snickered while Iristos made a groaning sound. It took Mark a moment to come to the same horrible conclusion.
“How is that possible? Not even to eat, not even to…” He didn’t want to say it. Their boats were bigger, but they were filled with men, end to end.
“Smells like it,” Atissa said.
“That’s disgusting!” Mark felt physically repulsed by the visuals forming in his head. “And a hotbed for infections and diseases.”
“It sounds like you’re more worried about that than being stabbed by an Assanaten warrior, master Mark,” Hermistos said, smiling. “Death comes quickly in this world, you know.” Hermistos laughed.
Mark shrugged. “That just tells me that you haven’t seen your reflection in a while.”
Atissa laughed first, followed by Iristos. Hermistos stared at him dumbfounded. Then his beautiful pale lips formed a bright grin, displaying the best teeth Mark had seen thus far in this world.
The humor took some of the tension from them. It felt good.
An arrow hit the wooden deck between Atissa and Iristos. Atissa ducked immediately. Before Iristos could react in any way, a second arrow sank into his right shoulder. For a second, he just stared at it dumbfounded.
Then chaos broke out.
Iristos screamed, letting go of the oars. Panicked, he started to rise when a third arrow punched through his left arm. He fell backward, landing on Mark’s legs.
Mark saw Atissa grabbing her bag and holding it above her head. Smart girl, Mark thought, once again.
Intending to imitate her idea, he reached for the bags and bundles, Hermistos was resting against. The pale man misinterpreted his intentions and pushed the bundle over to Iristos.
I can’t take it away from him can I, Mark asked himself?
More arrows came down around him, making him look up.
The arrows were shot in high arcs. One or two at a time. Some of them even missed the boat entirely. The Assanaten had to be only just in range. But that would change quickly now that nobody was moving the oars anymore.
“Can you cover me on the oars?” he asked in Atissa’s direction.
“Don’t touch that!” she shouted, ignoring his question.
Following her panicked gaze Mark saw that Iristos had tried to pull the arrow from his shoulder. Blood was gushing from the wound.
The feeling of panic rose within Mark. What should he do? What could he do?
He looked to Atissa, hoping that her gift or her training would guild her to do the right things to save them. Whatever that was.
What he saw in her overwrote his sense of panic.
Atissa’s face showed desperation and fear as she stared at the flapping Iristos. She’s about to drop her cover to come over here, Mark thought. The picture of her getting hit in the back was somehow enough to let him break through his indecisiveness.
“Hey”, he screamed at her, “snap out of it!” He scrambled over to Iristos. “Take the bundle and cover us.”
He pushed the bundle off Iristos and examined the wound. He knew very little about first aid. The course he had taken for his driver’s license hadn’t covered arrow wounds funnily enough. Considering the amount of blood flowing from the man, an artery must have been cut. Or maybe a vein?
He took Iristos' hand and pressed it on the wound. “Hold that tight!” It sounded like a good instruction. He had heard it in a bunch of movies. “Atissa, give me your knife!”
She complied immediately, handing him her short copper knife.
The girl stood over them trying to cover them as Mark cut strips off Iristos’ tunic. But it was a futile task. Without somebody on the oars, their boat had started to drift. They were slowly turning, presenting the bowmen with their unprotected side.
The tip of an arrow pierced through Atissa’s improvised shield next to her hand.
We’re so fucked, Mark thought, glancing over the side. He kept going, addressing one problem at a time. Folding the strips of cloth he had cut from Iristos’ tunic, he knew this was the best pressure bandage he could hope for – it had to do until they reached a real doctor. Or whatever the equivalent was in this world.
Mark placed the package on the wound under Iristos’ hand while speaking to him. “Listen, Iristos, we need to keep your blood inside of you. You understand?” He pressed on the hand. “You need to hold this really tight!”
Iristos nodded, his eyes meeting Mark’s. Fear was plastered across his face.
Looking down at his hands, Mark saw the cloth was already soaking through. If the arrow had really cut an artery, Iristos was already dead. Mark had neither the tools nor the skill to do anything for him.
You did what you could, he thought. Now move on! He had to keep going. Always. What else could he do?
