Hidden Island Chapter 46, part 4 of 4

Hidden Island
Chapter 46, part 4 of 4

Instant thumping roused Kaduska from sleep. He groaned and scowled. He couldn't remember any early deliveries or pickups scheduled. His wife rolled over and pulled a pillow over her head.

The thumping came again. Kaduska sat up slowly and squinted out the window at dawn's early light.

Grumbling, he shoved his feet into his slippers, lurched out of bed, and pulled a colorful silk robe off a hook on the wall. By the time he reached the front door, he was covered. The door rattled on its hinges. He opened the small trap, cut into it, and peeked out.

What he saw stole the blood from his complexion. With shaky hands, he opened the locks and pulled the door wide.

The man on the other side of the door practically fell into his living room, but Kaduska caught him and eased him to the ground.

"Dear gods, Caine, what happened to you?" the prominent merchant muttered.

"Got in a fight," Caine smirked through split lips. "I'll live."

"Samara!" Kaduska bellowed.

Caine pushed something into Kaduska's hands. The big man blinked and held up a blood-smeared key ring.

"What?"

"Will's place," Caine said weakly. "We're leaving. Tonight."

"My friend, I do not think you are in any state to go anywhere," Kaduska said, shaking his head.

Kaduska's wife Samara came into the room like a small thundercloud, clearly ready to give her husband a piece of her mind, when the sight of Caine on the floor took the words from her mouth. She stared for a moment, shocked, then rushed out of the room again.

"Just need you to look after the place while we're gone," Caine said weakly. "It might be a while."

"Of- of course," Kaduska nodded.

Samara ran back into the room carrying a sizable trunk and practically skidded to a halt on her knees beside Caine. In moments, she had the trunk open and scissors in her hand.

Caine looked at her strangely, then tried to push her away as she started to cut his tunic off of his body. "You don't need to."

Samara roughly pushed his hand to the ground and put the scissors before his face. "Lie still."

Caine's brows rose at the sheer fierceness of the slight woman.

"I would do as she says," Kaduska said apologetically.

Quickly, Caine's shirt was stripped off him, and Samara's intense eyes scanned his torso.

Two young boys in long pajamas came groggily into the room, rubbing their eyes. Samara's head snapped to the side. She pointed at them with her scissors. "A bucket of water and your father's brandy. The big jug. Bring them now." The boys' eyes went wide, and they scrambled out of sight without a word.

She prodded him firmly along Caine's ribs and stomach. He winced a few times and gave her an angry look.

"Look, nothing's broken."

"Breathe deep," Samara snapped.

Caine took a deep breath, winced, coughed, and winced again. "Ow."

She poked him on his right side. His face twisted up in pain. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"All right, maybe something's broken," Caine admitted painfully.

"You seem to be talking fine, so it's unlikely your lung is punctured," Samara muttered.

"My friend, you look... smaller?" Kaduska said cautiously.

"Lost some weight," Caine admitted with a stiff shrug.

"Since this afternoon?" Kaduska asked.

The older boy came in with a bucket, sloshing some of it on the ground as he put it next to his mother.

"Every towel you can find," Samara said sharply. The boy disappeared again.

"This isn't necessary," Caine grumbled. "I just needed to drop off the keys."

"Fine," Samara said. "Leave."

Caine struggled to roll over and get to his knees. He managed to stand for almost three seconds before he collapsed again. "Fuck," he muttered as Kaduska caught him and helped him down again.

"You will watch your tongue under my roof," Samara growled. "Now lay down, and stop being stupid."

From the trunk, she pulled a stack of cloths, dunked them in the water, and began cleaning the blood and grime off Caine's body. Without a word, Kaduska started to help by wringing another cloth over the area his wife was cleaning.

As the blood was washed free, husband and wife exchanged horrified looks. Caine had new wounds stacked on top of old wounds. He was covered in mottled bruises and puckered cuts and punctures, all layered over a terrible collection of old scars. Even in Malahara, where enslaved people were whipped in the streets, and gladiators bore old wounds proudly, neither of them had ever seen such a tapestry of pain. With a wordless exchange of confusion, they continued cleaning the blood off him, uncovering more of the brutal past written on Caine's skin.

The boys came back with towels and a large jug. Samara sent them away for more water. Every time Caine thought to open his mouth, Samara glared at him, and he kept quiet. After a few minutes, his face and chest were as clean as they would get without a washtub.

Samara started looking over his wounds again. Her face went from judgmental anger to confusion. "Most of these wounds are... old. None are serious. Where did all this blood come from?"

"I tried to tell you," Caine said.

"We saw you earlier today! You were fine!" Samara said, unable to reconcile what she was seeing. "Now you look like you survived a stoning a week ago."

"Yeah, that's about how it feels," Caine admitted.

"How?" Samara demanded, still scanning each new wound she came across. Before he could answer, she cut him off again. She quickly grabbed his fingers and turned his hand over. "This one. This is fresh."

"Huh?" Caine muttered, sitting up enough to lift his arm.

His wrist was severely burned. He scowled in confusion, then shock. It was where Anton had grabbed him just before he went over the balcony. He could see where the bigger man's palm had covered the back of his hand, where Anton's thumb and index fingers had clamped tight around his wrist.

On the other side, he could see every claw-like fingerprint on the inside of his wrist and the bottom of his palm.

The whole handprint was charred black and swollen red.

Caine winced in sympathy for himself. "That looks painful."

Kaduska looked at him oddly. "I would assume you would know."

Caine tried to close his hand. It didn't cooperate. Blood welled in the cracked flesh. "Yeah. Painful."

Samara pulled a leather strap from the trunk and pushed it towards Caine's face. "Bite this."

Caine slowly took the strap in his teeth. Samara grabbed his wrist above the burn and abruptly dumped brandy all over it. Caine held in a strangled cry.

Kaduska looked mournful. "That is expensive."

Next, she poured more water over the burn, more brandy, and finally, some white powder from her medicine trunk. It caked to the burn like plaster.

Finally, she wrapped his whole hand in bandages. "Do not get this wet. Do not itch at it. Please do not remove it for two weeks. After two weeks, soak it in water for an hour before unwrapping the bandages. Clean it gently.

Dry it, and wrap it again. Find yourself a real doctor. If this gets infected, you will likely die."

Caine spat out the leather strap. "I've been burned before. I know the drill."

"Good. Sit up. Let me see your back," Samara ordered him.

With Kaduska's help, he got into a sitting position with his legs splayed wide. "Hold your hand high," Samara instructed. Then, she and Kaduska began their cleaning routine again.

"Is this a bullet wound?" Samara said, shocked. "You were shot in the back?"

"And the front," Caine said. "I think that one's the worst, however. Feels like the shot is stuck in my ribs back there."

"It has already started healing over!" Samara said, shocked.

"I heal fast," Caine said.

Kaduska raised an eyebrow at him. "That is quite a blessing."

Caine nodded. "That's the gist of it, yeah."

"What do you mean?" Kaduska asked.

"The church. They blessed me," Caine shrugged.

Kaduska looked impressed. "But you are not of their order? I have heard they sometimes sell blessings, but the cost..."

"Too damn high," Caine said with a slow nod.

"This blessing of yours may kill you," Samamra said tersely. "If I cannot open the wound and retrieve the bullet,
it will form a cyst inside you."

"Not enough time," Caine said. "I'll make sure to get it out later."

"Do not wait," Samara insisted. "Also, these cuts on your shoulder are healing poorly," Samara said. "Too deep.

They should have been stitched.

They will need to be cut open again and treated correctly."

Caine sighed in resignation. "I'll add it to the list. Right now, I have to go."

Samara muttered something unkind in her native tongue. "You wouldn't get three streets away. Some of these wounds are still bleeding. If you move too much, you will tear them open. From the state of you, I would say that you have already lost so much blood that you can barely keep your eyes open."

"It's been a long night," Caine chuckled. He pointed to the big jug of brandy. "You mind?"

"For the pain?" Kaduska shrugged and made an inviting gesture to him. "By all means."

With considerable effort, Caine picked up the jug with both hands and brought it to his lips. He chugged down the fine liquor like water in big swallows. Kaduska sputtered and waved both his hands in shock and warning.

Samara reached for the jug, but Caine caught her wrist surprisingly firmly and kept drinking. The large jug was over half empty when he finally exhaled a long fume.

"Are you trying to die?" Samara demanded, wrenching her hand back. Caine held up one finger to halt her tirade. Slowly, he rolled his shoulders and took a few easy breaths.

"I needed that," Caine said with a weak grin.

"We need to induce vomiting right now," Samara growled. "Kaduska, hold-" her words died in her mouth. As she stared, she could see Caine's wounds healing. Bleeding stopped. Scabs bunched and flaked, leaving behind fresh pink skin and white scars. Bruises transitioned through a rainbow of colors. Pallid skin took on a healthier blush. A deformed metal ball slowly pushed out of his back and fell to the floor.

Caine's face was pinched with pain as his body healed. He took deep, slow breaths as Kaduska and his family watched, speechless. After more than a minute, he exhaled in relief. "All right. I think that's good enough."

Kaduska picked up the bloody bullet from the floor, his mouth open in shock.

Caine hafted the jug. "Good brandy."

Kaduska was silent for a moment, then broke out in laughter.

Caine laughed with him and winced. "Alright, laughing still hurts." Slowly, he got to his feet.

Kaduska picked up the keys, stood, and helped his wife. Samara took a breath as if she were about to lay into Caine again, but Kaduska laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. She glanced at him, then huffed out an aggravated breath.

"Though," Kaduska said jovially. "This holy blessing of yours is fueled by alcohol?"

Caine shrugged. "It's a sacramental thing. Doesn't make sense to me either."

"Wonders rarely do," Kaduska said gently. "Is there anything else you need?"

Caine shook his head. "I only meant to drop off the keys."

"Instead, you make a mess of my house, drink all my alcohol, then leave," Kaduska joked. "You imperials have no manners at all."

"Nope," Caine agreed, looking down at the soaked floor covered in blood and water. "I owe you a new rug."

"And a story," Kaduska said. "Whatever happened tonight, I would like to hear."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll hear all about it in the next few days," Caine sighed. "I'll fill in the blanks when I get back."

"Tell your young charges we wish them well," Kaduska said. "Tell William my rates for storing his possessions will be quite reasonable."

Caine laughed again, then put a hand to his side. He looked to Samara. "Thank you."

The small woman stared at him intently for a moment, then her features softened, and she gave him a slight nod. "Safe travels, mister Caine."

Caine lifted the jug. "You mind?"

Kaduska waved his hand dismissively. "Take it. You need it more than I do."

Husband and wife held hands in the doorway. The friend they thought they knew limped down the street, a jug swinging from his finger like the drunk he pretended to be.

"I believe we have witnessed a miracle this morning," Kaduska said quietly.

"I am going back to bed," Samara said flatly. "You can clean up the mess this miracle made of our house."

Hector heard the commotion before he saw it. Men shout warnings and cry out in pain. The pirates he'd been keeping at bay had never really been able to gather in force. Each time they tried, a shot or two from his Lance was enough to disperse them. They were still in the shadows and alleys, far enough apart that another golden salvo couldn't catch them.

They'd been waiting for reinforcements or someone to lead them, but they had yet to come. A short while ago, there had been some commotion.

Many of them had left quickly, but there were still enough holdouts in the dark that Hector wouldn't let himself relax. He'd been at the window in the old lighthouse for hours, waiting like a hunter in a blind. He would never admit it, but the night had taken its toll. He was getting tired.

As the commotion down the street grew, he began seeing green light flashes in the long shadow of dawn. They would disappear for a while, then emerge again amidst more cries of pain. A pair of terrified men ran down the street, crossing through a patch of light where the sun-streaked between buildings. Hector aimed but held his fire. The men ran right past the lighthouse and disappeared further up the hill.

A short while later, a shirtless man walked into the light, drinking from a large jug. Another man rushed up behind him with a hatchet held high, but with a faint flash of green, the attacker dropped with a shriek. The drunk didn't even look behind him.

Hector finally made out the man's features as he neared, coming in and out of the light. Relief and spite battled across the Centurion's face. He bit off a curse before it left his lips and finally left his watch post.

"Caine returns!" came the bellow from upstairs. Tonya started running before she realized what she was doing.

She blew past Hector as he reached the bottom of the stairs and rushed to the door. "Too many fucking locks!" she snapped as she opened them one by one. As usual, the last one stuck. She threw her shoulder into the door and tried again. It protested, but Tonya managed to wrench it open and swing the door wide.

Caine was right there raising his fist to knock when six stones of enthusiasm and relief slammed into him like a cannonball. His face twisted up in pain, but he managed not to topple over.

She had her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck, squeezing like she was trying to curl herself into a ball and disappear inside him. He wrapped one arm around her gently. "Missed you too."

Her head popped up, and she stared angrily right into his eyes. "Never. Do that. Again."

"Not a chance," Caine agreed. Without putting her down, he walked inside and shut the door behind him.
In Will's library, a Centurion, two Witch Hunters, and an apprehensive-looking Acolyte all watched him intently.

"It's done," Caine said. "Let's get out of here."



To be continued