So John's a warlock that wants to be a wizard again. On the way he needs to learn a few more trades though. First is learning how to be a sailor... and that includes getting along with the crew.
For those waiting for things to get spicy again, wait no longer! John's making up for lost chapters in this one!
John hoped seven days at sea would give John a chance to learn some new things about sailing as well as give him some time to dedicate to learning more about himself and his magic. Instead he spent most of it mediating between Steff and Little Red or worrying about what he might say or do that would set one of them off.
"Put your back into it, John!" Steff shouted. "Hold that line tight until we get the sail trimmed and finish the tack."
Yanked from his thoughts, John felt the thick line slipping through his grip. His hands were burning and cramping from all the rope work required every damn time the
Red Witch
altered course to zig and zag at an angle to the wind. The rope kept slipping as the wind buffeted the sail. He'd also been forced to endure seven days of abstinence, which not only put him on edge but Zynga reminded him of his responsibilities to their Mistress every chance she had. His frustrations were mounting and the damn rope was the easiest thing to focus his anger against.
He growled and leaned back while clinching his left hand as tight as his cramping fingers would allow to give himself enough slack to wrap the rope around his forearm and hold it tight. That worked better even if they'd said not to do that. His right hand ached as the rope pinched and squeezed it, but as long as he kept his bare feet secure on the deck and leaned back, the sail wasn't slipping anymore. Sailors were a superstitious and fearful lot. After a week he'd come up with a half dozen ways to improve the way they did things and this was one more.
Steff swore from the quarterdeck. "Tie that line off!" he heard her howl before the sound of wood thumping against wood sounded behind him. John wanted to turn and look but even that much of a distraction caused him to lose focus. The rope didn't slip this time, it pulled. John's eyes widened as it sawed at his wrist and palm, squeezing with a strength unlike any he'd known.
The rope behind him was tugged tight as someone grabbed it. John grunted, the pain now spreading up his forearm as that part of the rope drew taught. It was intense, burning and tearing and squeezing. He felt something grinding inside his palm over the other pain. For a moment he lost track of everything and didn't even have sense enough about him to remember to breathe, let alone call on the magic to aid him.
Not that it might have helped. After a week his magic had gone from flushed to restless to hungry again. It was being drained from him slowly, whether that was a natural occurrence or because Mistress fed on him through her bond he didn't know.
John hissed and struggled, trying to yank on the rope to loosen it. It was pointless, his arm was being crushed by the sheer power of the wind pulling the rope taut.
He cried out as something popped in his wrist. There was more grinding, which sent a searing agony through him. He blinked through the red haze in his eyes and saw Zynga running across the deck toward him. She was going to save him! He didn't know how, she was half his size. Did imps have incredible strength because of their infernal nature?
"There!" Steff shouted. "J'rome, help me!"
Steff was there at his side then, her wooden peg holding her up while her other leg braced and pushed against the deck while she grabbed the line ahead of his hand. A heartbeat later J'rome was there, a swarthy dark skinned man with a deep voice and ready smile that showed half his teeth were missing. He grabbed the rope with her and together they fought the full weight of the wind that filled the sail.
"John!" Little Red cried moments before she forced her way between him and Steff. She added her weight and strength to the effort to try and pull his arm free.
Unnoticed by everyone except John, Zynga leapt into the air and sailed into the corner of the sail where it was tied. It was a leap three times her height and probably impossible even for a trained leaper. She hit the lower corner of the sail and, for the briefest of moments, pushed it far enough to loosen the rope.
John and Little Red pulled free of the constriction and crashed to the deck. J'rome and Steff staggered a step and then had the rope ripped from their hands as the wind snapped the sail taut again.
Zynga picked herself up from the deck and saw John clutching his arm. The sleeve of his robe was shredded and blood poured from the rips in his skin, covering the shards of bone laid bare in an instant. She took a deep breath and shook her head while Little Red cried out and ripped her scarf off her head to wrap it around his arm.
John stared in shock at the blood that covered the deck and his and belly. Little Red's brown rag darkened in seconds as his blood soaked through.
"Mind the lines," Steff barked at J'rome and then knelt down on John's other side. She looked at the blood dripping from the bandage and then up at Little Red and John. She shook her head and then glanced away and muttered, "Stupid."
John clenched his teeth. His arm didn't hurt, but it didn't feel right or good either. It was numb and hot at the same time. Every squeeze of Little Red's bloodstained fingers caused him to wince from the pressure.
"It's not spurting," Little Red said, hope tinting her voice.
"I told you not to do that!" Steff growled at him. "I said, mind the lines don't wrap you up. You'll be done and gone ere you know it!"
John nodded. "You did... I know."
"But you done it all the same!" she persisted. "I thought mages was supposed to be smart?"
Zynga snickered behind her.
John looked up over them and met the woman's eyes. She looked at his wrist and shook her head. Then, in typical fashion she offered the one and only sign language she knew: her finger pumping in and out of a hole made with her other fist.
John opened his mouth to bark at her when he remembered the cut on his arm— not the near dismemberment from the rope but the dagger cut that Harold had given him. When he'd killed Harold with his spear the cut had healed. Not completely, but the wound had scabbed over and now, a week later, there was nothing but a pink scar where it should still be scabbed, weeping, and sore.
But that meant killing someone with his spear to steal their life force. He couldn't do that here, on a ship full of people that had done him no wrong. Sure, Steff and Little Red seemed a little more distant every day, but they still cared and he counted them as friends. Red, the ship's captain and Little Red's older sister, had even taken a liking to him. Sasha, Red's lover, tolerated him now, which was a victory in itself.
"I'm no barber, but I think the hand should come off," Steff judged. "What I saw was a lot of mangled bone. It'll be useless if it heals. More like it will fester and kill you. Damn shame, you were good with your fingers."
"Hey!" Little Red snapped at her. "John's—"
"What this? Another fool caught up in a line? Steff, you're to make sure they know not to get caught up like that," Red said as she leaned over the railing from the quarterdeck. "Looks bad. We could turn in to Land's End to see if they've got a healer. I'll not pay for a priest. Might be better to heat up some coals and be done with it."
"I told him!" Steff said. "I warned him day after day."
John nodded. "She did. I couldn't hold it... I didn't want to let the crew down."
"Because you're much more useful to us with one hand?" Red asked. "I'm no wise-woman, but don't mages need their hands and fingers to cast spells?"
John nodded. The numbness was starting to fade, leaving his arm hotter than ever and throbbing with pain.
"I don't suppose you can fix yourself?" Red asked.
John closed his eyes and fought through the waves of pain. The magic was there still, but it was sluggish. Was it weak because he was injured, or because it had been too long since he'd fed it? Or was it because he could barely stay focused on it?
When he opened his eyes he saw Zynga cupping her breasts through her shirt and then she moved her hands down to rest on the imaginary hips of a woman in front of her before she thrust her groin forward and back.
John's eyes widened in shock and in wonder. When he's killed Harold with his spear he'd felt the same pull of energy as when he brought a woman to her climax. He'd never bedded a woman while injured though... could it be the same result, just a different means?
