AN ok so friends it may get a bit graphic near the end... so if you dislike blood please be careful as you read. It's nothing much... I just describe a small procedure in a bit of detail, haha. Apologies if you get grossed out...
Date: I don't have an original date for this chapter? (Anywho edited 25 Apr 2020)
Chapter 18: The Great Escape
They emerged out of an inconspicuous side door of some unknown building; the Conservatory lay behind them, and the outdoor Palace gates stood at a mere fifty feet ahead of them. As the sky began to brighten with the sunrise, the trio observed the Palace fortifications around them and deliberated on the best method of leaving. To their dismay the brick walls stood more than ten feet tall and were covered by rigid-looking shrubs, forcing them to leave through the official gates.
Cautiously they took several steps toward the exit, hoping to slip out undetected. No more than ten seconds had passed by when guards suddenly flooded in before their eyes, shattering their prospects of escape. Instinctively they whirled around to run but more streamed in from behind as well, until they were entirely encircled. Asbel immediately snatched Nausicaa's hand to keep her close and roughly shoved her behind him; he and Lewis had snatched a sword from the guards but she had nothing. Tension electrified the trio as they slowly spun around warily, surveying the barrier of guards and unsure of which direction to face, should they decide to attack.
"I'm actually very impressed you made it this far." A suave voice enunciated. Two guards stepped aside to reveal Sarkil, ominously walking towards them.
"Tell me, are you immune to the jungle toxins as well?" He continued in a sarcastic tone while his piercing green eyes narrowed at Nausicaa. "I inform you now: if I actually manage to kill you, I'll most certainly have my medical scientists pull apart every atom in your body as well. Your blood might be magical for all we know." He ended with a sinister smile.
"Over my dead body!" The Pejite snarled fiercely, stepping in front of her.
"Oh it will be; don't worry." He replied haphazardly, eyeing Asbel with a casual, bemused glint.
"There are people who need this cure. Let us go!" She demanded, extremely frustrated. The king stared at her coldly, face inscrutable.
"I thought about it; I wondered if perhaps I had hoarded mulsa long enough." He mused. "But then I realized, if you have the plant then you must have the notebook as well. That absolutely cannot leave these gates." He sent her a stony, unyielding glare for several more seconds before diverting his attention to the last member of the trio.
"Ah, Findel..." He began, a hard edge creeping into his voice. "I should have killed you years ago." Lewis returned his blunt words with an enraged scowl. "Seeing that my brother hasn't returned in the last forty years, perhaps I have no reason to keep you alive anymore." He looked at the peculiar trio, and a nefarious glint surfaced in his eyes.
"Time to find out exactly how many spare lives you have Nausicaa." He growled in a low, menacing voice, before barking the final order to kill.
Madness commenced; the guards charged into the center with brandished swords. Everyone was fighting in a rage, while weapons clashed in the increasingly bright sunlight, making it impossible to see even the faces behind them. Nausicaa defended herself originally with her dagger but when a soldier collapsed dead before her she seized the sword and was quickly attacking at full strength, being a prolific swordsman herself. Presently the girl caught glimpses of a dark-cloaked intruder with a large bushel of a mustache and smiled to herself.
Always perfect timing, Lord Yupa. She thought approvingly in her mind.
Asbel was similarly hacking away, absorbed in combat. He tried his best to keep Nausicaa within sight, but eventually lost her in the massive number of guards that crowded around him. He was frantically striking down the soldiers in his vicinity when he noticed someone fighting alongside him.
"Tersa!" He exclaimed in surprise. Where did she come from?
The short haired girl sent him a modest smile for half a second, before getting back to business.
"On your left!" She cried just as she dodged a swipe from her own opponent.
A slight flicker of hope reignited in their hearts the moment they banded together, aware of each other's presence and collectively fighting against the sentries. Even young Kitson was making himself useful, stealing weapons and unhinging protective armor wherever possible. Eventually a guard noticed the boy and furiously began attacking the twelve-year-old; Asbel and Tersa quickly came to his aid before he was stabbed to death. For the next few minutes those three remained together, watching each others' backs and joining forces for pivotal moments of combat.
About twenty feet away from them, Nausicaa scanned the arrangement of guards quickly, and found the weakest point in their formation. She directed her energy to the few guards standing in her way, and gradually broke an opening in the human wall surrounding them.
"This way!" Nausicaa shouted to the rest when an escape route was apparent. She did not foresee, however, the king himself directly approaching her, sword unsheathed and prepared to fight.
Sarkil made the first attack, bringing his weapon down in a full-forced strike from above. Nausicaa blocked the offensive with her own sword, absorbing the impact into her shoulders and upper body. From the sharp ring emitted by her sword in the clash, she soon realized her weapon could not sustain heavy shocks, likely made of a cheap material vastly more brittle than the ceramic swords at home. She switched tactics and sought to inflict injury on Sarkil's lower extremities, bringing the physical action lower to the ground, to prevent him from raising his sword high to attack from above. They continued to fight furiously for several minutes, foreseeing each others' actions and blocking strikes. Sarkil seemed absolutely hellbent on killing her, moving with with cunning speed and brute force. Although he had the advantage of being much taller than her; she held her ground and battled wisely, saving her strength wherever possible and using the combat tricks she had been taught in her youth.
In the end her sword gave way, smashed into pieces by Sarkil's superior sword in a heavy swing from the side. Her wrists sustained a sharp stab of pain from absorbing shock at an unnatural angle. For several seconds she did her best to dodge the sword, until Sarkil began to attack with his feet and elbows as well, directed at the most vulnerable parts of the body. She realized her doom when she successfully blocked a punch to her gut but in the corner of her eye saw him simultaneously raising his sword. A gaping empty horror filled her soul in that split second as she scrambled to step back, though deep within her she already knew she would not make it.
Suddenly an ear-splitting boom startled her to the core, and she fell backwards on her hands and elbows. When she looked up in bewilderment, she noticed Sarkil's sword slipping out of his hand, and his attention diverted to a small, circular wound on his opposite arm. Although it was not a life threatening injury, the king was momentarily stunned enough to give Nausicaa several short seconds to quickly leap away from him.
"And that is why I keep a gun with me at all times." Tersa announced to Asbel, pistol still raised in her hands. She had been standing a good twenty feet away from Nausicaa and Sarkil but had hit the precise center of his upper arm. All commotion stopped and the guards quickly left their targets to tend to the injured King.
"Remind me not to get on your bad side..." Asbel commented to Tersa, visibly awestruck.
In absolute haste Nausicaa bounced up from the ground, opened the notebook and tore out the pages listing the names of those that fell victim to Sarkil's schemes. She threw the stack of parchment in his direction; it plodded and slid across the floor in a heap.
"Let this be a compromise." She asserted, still panting heavily. "I am giving this to you now; do not chase after me after I leave Merinth. I will be taking the plant but the rest of your secrets are safe." Immediately she turned and fled towards the exit, gesturing the others to follow.
The group gathered together and barreled past the Palace gates. Speedily they mounted a couple horseclaws standing idly outside, feeling certain Sarkil would unleash the remainder of Merinth's army on them within the next two minutes. Twenty seconds later they were flying through the main streets in the bustle of the early morning, as fast as the animals could run. Common folk stared at the commotion and scurried to avoid getting run over, uttering a long string of angry curses after them.
About halfway to the airship Nausicaa glanced behind her and confirmed her strong suspicions: in the distance a squad of sentries were in pursuit. After all, in her parting words with Sarkil, a chase while she was still on Merinthian soil was fair game. She gauged the ground to be covered between them and concluded they had enough time to get everyone safely onto the airship. The Princess only hoped that the airship engine would be able to fire up quickly, before the sentries executed some premeditated method of preventing liftoff.
At last the patch of grass came into view, as did the familiar outline of the airship. Nausicaa felt relieved to have made it this far: their chance of escaping alive was improving by the second. Upon reaching the grass she heard the engine start up; Jarel must have sensed the urgency of the situation. They instantly dismounted the animals and sprinted to the humming plane: Kitson running next to Tersa, Yupa ushered Nausicaa ahead of him, and Asbel stayed behind Lewis in case the aged man's joints failed him along the way.
Bullets started to whiz by; Nausicaa remained unfazed by the sounds, and pressed onwards with her usual sturdy determination. However she was jolted out of her concentration when someone uttered a cry of pain from behind her. Whipping her head around she noticed Asbel grimacing in pain: a spatter of blood was visible about an inch from the top of his left shoulder, midway between his shoulder joint and his neck, and right above his collarbone.
"Asbel!" She cried, immediately worried that it may have tore through an artery, and within a heartbeat she was by his side. His running gait slowed significantly from the pain, and the girl supported him by the arm as they climbed into the airship, several seconds after everyone else had already safely boarded.
"In the air! Now!" She shouted loud enough for the entire ship to hear. The flying craft lethargically heaved off the ground, while crew members worked to close the ramp doors.
Nausicaa didn't even bother saying another word to anyone else around her and simply concentrated on getting Asbel to his room. By now Lord Yupa, Tersa, and Findel were following the couple, with worry evident on their faces. Asbel seemed to be getting weaker with every step; his breathing became increasingly labored, and his body hunched lower and lower to the ground. His own hand covered the wound area in an attempt to stifle pain and slow the blood flow, but the bright red was spreading quickly beyond his hand and over his left side.
"Just hang on, you'll be alright." She muttered with determination, but her heart was terrified at how quickly he was bleeding. She had no idea if it had nicked an important vessel, or even reached his lung.
"We need to pull the bullet out." Lord Yupa stated grimly as the group moved into Asbel's room.
"He could bleed to death." Nausicaa objected emphatically, lowering the injured man onto the bed with utmost care. Once he was seated securely she possessively snatched his hand and observed him concernedly.
"You don't have a choice; the bullets are coated in poison." Findel uttered solemnly; Nausicaa stared at him in terror, then shifted her gaze back to the man resting quietly on the bed. Asbel did not speak and kept his head down, but his clenched fists and tightened jaw muscles hinted at his overwhelming pain.
"The emergency kit is here." Tersa announced seriously, setting a small wooden box down on the bedside table.
"I'll do it." She volunteered, her voice quiet and grave, as she stood up to extract the tools from the box. They didn't have the luxury of bringing their own doctor onto the ship, and most times were capable of healing wounds amongst themselves. Nausicaa had definitely dealt with more serious cuts and burns, but never in the past had she removed a bullet. Nevertheless her hands were the most adept out of everyone on board, and she wasn't planning on letting anyone else touch Asbel anyway.
Her determination to heal him steadied her nerves, and she pulled out a scalpel and a pair of forceps. Tersa set up and lit the flame for her and she sterilized her instruments in the heat. With a regular dagger she tore away a square of the fabric soaked in deep red, revealing an ugly hole about one centimeter in diameter, flesh brutally torn and old blood caking at the edges. Her stomach churned slightly at the bloody mess - not because it appeared gross, but because she was assaulted by the hurt it brought to the victim.
"Don't watch." She whispered to him softly, her fingertips lightly touching his chin to turn his head away.
She could barely see anything inside the wound, and hoped to find the bullet quickly without having to search extensively. Somewhat timidly she began poking into the opening with her forceps, revealing light pink fleshy material underneath that she surmised was a mixture of muscle, fat, and fascia. She felt relieved that nothing was uncontrollably gushing, but blood continually oozed and hindered her view whenever she tried to peel away flesh. She needed to soak some of it up if she wanted to see the bullet.
"Tersa can you hand me a small piece of dressing?" White gauze came her way and she carefully placed it in her forceps before dabbing away at the area. She finally strained her eyes into the hole, saw where the pit ended, and presumed that the bullet lay at the very bottom. However she could recognize no glint of metal and concluded that the metal pellet must have been covered by the tissue above in its travel to the bottom.
"I have to cut deeper." She whispered apologetically to him, giving him a warning of the trouble to come.
She carefully poked the scalpel into the cylindrical hole; the wound was no more than a half an inch deep but she felt as though her hands were descending into a lengthy chasm. With the tiniest movement of her fingers she lightly pushed at tissue with the blade, trying to gain a clearer picture of where everything lay. Asbel uttered a suppressed grunt of pain, and her own heart began racing in anxiety from his suffering. This was why she couldn't be a doctor... her soul felt tormented every time she inflicted pain on others, even if it was out of necessity and good intentions.
Where is it? she asked in her mind, her features twisting into a frown as she searched for the piece of metal. She didn't have much time, for blood was quickly filling the area. Finally her knife struck a hard surface; she squinted and identified the bullet, embedded at an angle and with a corner exposed.
"Found it." She pronounced, resolve and confidence finding its way into her voice.
With dexterity she brought her forceps into the chaotic scene, and clamped down as hard as possible on the end of the bullet. Her fingers gripped the forceps tight enough for her knuckles to turn white; and her hands pulled with steady force, feeling the metal glide against tissue. With a final momentous slide the tiny round came free, and she heaved an internal sigh of relief. Deftly she put it down on the table for later inspection, and returned her attention to the wound: blood was sluggishly dribbling out again, now that the foreign object was removed. Wasting no time she grabbed another square of dressing to absorb the red fluid. With one hand she applied pressure over the wound to minimize the flow of blood, while her other hand rummaged through the emergency kit for ointments. The moment her hand made contact with the wound Asbel gave a sharp, tense exhale and gripped the side of the bed.
"You alright?" She asked anxiously, popping open a jar of herbal oils used to fight infection.
"Fine." He gritted out.
"Any trouble breathing?" She didn't think it traveled deep enough to hurt the lungs but she wanted to make sure.
"No."
"Any dizziness?" Underneath the concern lay the sturdy tone of a professional medic.
"Yes." He answered simply. She was not surprised, considering the amount of blood she had seen in the last fifteen minutes. Her next step was to prevent infection and slow down the rate of blood loss. She removed her hand from the wound, and sighed to see the blood stubbornly oozing out. Quickly she applied the ointment to the skin surrounding the wound, being extra delicate with her touch at the the inflamed areas nearest to the opening. Afterwards she covered the majority of his shoulder with loads of dressing.
"Done." She breathed gently to him when she was finished.
"Better let him rest." Yupa's deep commanding voice droned, weariness evident in his speech. One by one they filtered out of the room to get their own sleep, until only Nausicaa and Asbel remained.
"Thank you." He sighed tiredly to her.
"You're welcome." She replied with a faint smile, taking his hand in both of hers. Tenderly she lifted it to her face, and her lips found the back of his hand, while her eyes, slightly sad, stared deeply into his face. From the way she lingered over his skin it was clear how much she yearned for him and for his well being... She longed to embrace him completely, but this fraction of contact would have to suffice for now.
"No one else was hurt right?" He confirmed with a weak voice.
"No," she answered quietly. "You should rest. Can you sleep?" He shook his head, a frown carved deep into his face. The pain was much too strong to allow him to sleep.
"I'll search the kitchen for something to help." Even a piece of ginger would be worth a try, if she were to find one. She rose to leave but his hand only gripped her tighter, preventing her from stepping away.
"No... Don't leave." He muttered. She was already his own personal analgesic. Quietly she resumed her position on the bed next to him, observing him sympathetically.
"We need to distract you from the pain... Did you have a book?"
He didn't answer, and she noticed the frustrated expression and furrowed brows. The torment so greatly consumed him that he could barely focus his eyes on anything, much less hold a book in front of his face. A better idea crossed her mind.
"Where is it?" Several seconds ticked by as he tried to remember where he last put it.
"Under the bed." Without another word she got up to find it, returned with it in her hands, and began reading it aloud to him.
Asbel rested his head against the bed and gratefully listened to the spoken words, occasionally zoning out into the mesmerizing tone of her sweet voice. Eventually his body accustomed to the pain - or was the sensation lessening? - words blurred into droning, sentences merged into a calming lullaby, until he finally drifted asleep. Nausicaa smiled at the sight, then faithfully remained in the room with him, reading his book on her own.
An hour or two later he woke up in a great deal of delirium, and when his eyes opened with a glazed-over expression Nausicaa's heart sank in dismay. The girl checked on his wound and tried to calm him; she guessed that his mind had given up momentarily while the body fought against infection, blood loss, and residual poisons. Some moments he whimpered helplessly in pain, other times he launched into loud babbles of English and gibberish. Nausicaa could barely piece together the odd syllables, but from what she gathered, he hallucinated himself into being trapped by Sarkil, and insisted that she run away now before they caught her.
"Leave now they're coming for you... they're coming for you..." He repeated like a broken record disk, along with a string of indiscernible words. His breath grew weaker with every reiteration and he tired himself out from the non stop chatter. The girl finished applying new dressing over his wound and reached out her hand to clear away some of the hair and beads of sweat clinging to his forehead.
"Sleep love; you need to rest." Her voice gently nudged him. He quieted for no more than thirty seconds before resuming his nonsensical ranting.
"Run!" He cried forcefully, lurching forward with considerable effort to lift himself off the bed. He leaned on his arms as if there was no wound, which undoubtedly aggravated his injuries. Instantly Nausicaa lept over to restrain him, gripping his arm and applying pressure to his torso.
"Asbel you have to sit back... Please!" She beckoned when he tried to struggle. "You're going to reopen the wounds." The man leaned back into the bed, staring at her with a dazed look on his face. Every five minutes he tried to get up, and every time Nausicaa had to pin him down, until she eventually got tired of it and sat down on the bed next to him. She deliberately placed her head on his unhurt shoulder to weigh him down, and claimed his free hand to herself to prevent him from wildly flailing his arms. When he rambled about leaving to escape she used an authoritative tone to counter his whining.
"Well I'm going take a nap." She declared to him, like a mother would to her child. "You should sleep too." He looked away, slightly put out, but he didn't move. Once or twice upon restless impulse he attempted to get up, but Nausicaa held him down with the force of her body. In silence he sat for about twenty minutes, until he gradually grew tired as well and peacefully slid into oblivion.
Nausicaa heaved a sigh of relief when he finally dozed off; the entire time she had lay quietly curled up against him, still as a statue, monitoring his vital signs and patiently waiting for him to relax. It was crucial that he fall asleep; had he stayed awake he would easily be bounding out of the room in another bout of delusion and his brain would never find the chance to rest along with his body.
The act of lying still made her realize just how exhausted she felt, as weariness suddenly swept over her mind and weakened her muscles. Why was she so tired? She tried to think back how many hours she had been awake, then remembered she hadn't slept more than an hour the night before she went to the Conservatory. They had left Merinth the next morning at the break of dawn, and it was now evening... Which meant she was approaching 48 hours of wakefulness with one hour of sleep in the middle.
Well that would explain it... She remarked dryly to herself, and decided that a short nap wouldn't hurt.
Thank you for reading so far! Hope that wasn't too gross. I almost posted my thought process for choosing the location for the bullet wound but it ended up being a whole paragraph of medical jargon...
