#brief mention of the non-con aspect of his encounter with gothel

[hookaroo]

Laden of the Torn (12 of 25)

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***

Killian soon discovered that the wait for supplies was not the only motivation for keeping the hooks embedded. The net was still attached in several places when the high-ranking black monkey made a reappearance with a single command: 

“Secure them for Favor.”

Immediately, scorching anguish tore across Killian's shoulders as he was pulled to his knees by the remaining attached piercings. Stifling a yelp, he scrambled to accommodate their apparent wishes.

"No need to get rough." His head spun and his arms trembled beneath his weight. "If you want me to do something, all you need do is ask."

Killian worked to catch his breath as he settled carefully down onto his haunches. The attempt to avoid putting weight on the hooks in the backs of his legs and backside ultimately proved futile. He tried to focus instead on what more he could see of their surroundings now that he wasn't pinned to the floor.

Strings of fish and drying plant matter hung from the wall to his left, no more than two meters away. These were attached to loops of metal drilled directly into the stone wall, and even as he watched, it quickly became apparent that these would serve another purpose as well. A short distance away, the hands and feet of the unconscious Blackbeard had been thoroughly bound with sinewy cord, and now, that cord was being secured by an impressively athletic primate climbing the very rings projecting from the stone. Not an impossible trap to get out of, especially for a pirate, but it would certainly slow him down. And good luck trying to go unnoticed with this many eyes around.

Killian's own bound feet were already tethered to the same wall, and before the first climber had even finished securing Blackbeard, a second leapt onto Killian's shoulder and hauled a corner of the net-cape up to its level, as if fishing over the side of a human-shaped boat. The monkey on the wall curled its tail around a projection and leaned toward its comrade, who fed lengths of tangled netting into its outstretched paws. Killian braced himself for more pain, and it wasn't long in coming: the strands on that side pulled mercilessly at his inflamed skin as the ropes were tied among the cave dwellers' food stores… perhaps not as out-of-place as he would have preferred.

Cursing softly, Killian scooted awkwardly backwards to allow himself more slack. "Is this how you treat all your visitors?"

He was trying to sound nonchalant but only managed pleading. Busy overseeing the proceedings, Mandible flashed his teeth in apology.

"This is for the protection of our healers and our chieftain. He wishes to speak with you."

"Well there's no need for all of this." Killian sucked in a hissing breath as the other corner of the net joined the first, leaving his upper back awash in pulsating pain. "I give my word that I don't intend to harm any of you."

"We dare not take that risk," the black monkey growled back from a good distance away. "And you are in no position to demand otherwise."

Killian bit his tongue. If he didn't move, the pain was tolerable, but every time he shifted his weight the tiniest fraction, it was like claws were tearing him open, fiber by individual fiber, until it seemed the skin covering his back must soon turn inside out in one long strip of flayed flesh. And to add to the misery, his legs were already beginning to cramp up; what would happen when he needed to move off of them?

Off to the side, Mandible stirred vigorously at a substance within a shallow dish, and Killian caught a whiff of something strongly herbal that hinted at the healing arts. A tiny helper lugged a ceramic vessel, tucked under one arm, almost as big around as the little fellow's whole torso. He or she placed the burden within reach of Mandible and scampered away, leaving the lid secured.

Killian's arm was mostly free of netting, so he had been resting his hand on his thigh, using it for balance despite how it burned from fingertips up past the elbow. But then a being that seemed to be little more than white fluff appeared out of nowhere, grabbed onto the fishhook in his finger, and pulled. Killian shifted his weight and allowed his hand to be manipulated into the desired position, hanging loosely at his side and low enough for a rope noose to be secured around his wrist. These monkeys were not taking any chances.

Killian did not resist the brutal treatment, hoping that with good behavior he might earn their trust, especially that of their leader. Whatever deal they intended to offer probably depended on his admittedly rusty diplomacy skills. And as long as they still saw him as a threat, he remained in danger.

At first, it seemed the plan was to attach this newest rope to one of the hooks behind his head, joining the knots already there. But at an unintelligible command by Mandible, the miniature cotton puff at his side instead vaulted his knees in a single bound before scaling the dangling net like a rope ladder. It tied a knot near his shoulder, so that his arm rested loosely across his torso, with enough slack to allow some movement, but not enough to pose any threat to the primates gathered around.

Mandible took one look at the mess along Killian's forearm and immediately grabbed a monkey-sized bucket and ladle, along with a pawful of fibrous, cotton-like material. He settled himself atop Killian's thigh, not seeming to mind the slope as his miniature clawed toes found purchase in the fabric there. One of his assistants sprang closer with a short, flaming torch in paw. Using his long tail for balance, Mandible filled the ladle and stretched himself into a bipedal stance.

"Just water," he explained as the first trickle washed grit and caked blood from Killian's lacerated arm. While the ginger-furred assistant provided torchlight from a cautious distance, Mandible used his roll of cotton to dab away the grime.

It was more than a little bit surreal, watching Mandible tend to the wound in jerky, non-human movements. Killian could almost believe it to be a dream, except the pain was all too real. And the diminutive primate could exert a surprising amount of force behind the agonizing scrubbing.

Reflex jerked Killian's arm toward his chest as rough cotton discovered Blackbeard's buried needle with a deep lance of heat that seemed to radiate down to the marrow. Killian cursed, then apologized, but none of the monkeys in the vicinity seemed offended, if they even understood.

For a few seconds, Mandible leaned closer to peer at the throbbing lump, gesturing at the torchbearer in a request for more light. Then he set aside bucket and ladle to free his paws. The healer monkey seemed to have no qualms about causing his patient additional pain and went straight for the anomaly he'd spotted, obviously intending to dig it out through the torn flesh nearby. As thorn-like claws probed the area, Killian gritted his teeth, grunting,

"No plans to use your fangs, Mandible?"

"Good guess." Dainty fingers burrowed deeper. "But the name did not originate from the use of my own jaws for healing."

Another lightning bolt sizzled through Killian's arm as questing fingers found their mark.

"And besides," continued Mandible, "Torn blood is much more palatable when properly cooked."

Killian fixed his murderous stare on the unconscious Blackbeard: mental curses really ought to be aimed at the true cause of his suffering, not the torturer only trying to help.

Amazing, how easily the full repertoire of creative vulgarities came back to him despite so many years of trying to censor himself around his little girl. And honestly, Blackbeard deserved each and every one.

The flare grew white hot for an instant, the swollen flesh not easily surrendering the deeply buried needle. But Mandible's grip won out and, at last, the offending metal slid free.

Killian waited a few heartbeats for the pain to fade, then grimaced a smile. "Thank you. Much better."

Mandible was busy examining the red-tinged needle, likely checking to make sure it had remained intact, though for a moment Killian wondered whether he might decide to finish what Blackbeard had started with it. But then the healer set the needle to the side and resumed his enthusiastic scrubbing, ignoring the loose thread trailing from the wound.

"You must get plenty of practice at this," Killian commented tightly. "Considering the geography of the place you've chosen to call home."

"Probably less than you imagine. Our pelts are much tougher than yours, especially on our paws, and we are taught from birth the best way to traverse the Stone Forest."

Mandible set aside his cotton and reached for a small bowl containing crushed plant matter. "Plus, with our four-legged gait and our tails for balance, we are naturally more graceful than you Torn."

Wincing, Killian relived each tumble he had taken among the razor stone. "Can't argue with that."

"But accidents do happen from time to time, and you are fortunate that they do, because we may not have been so well-prepared otherwise." He took a pawful of the herbal paste and began to apply it to the gathering blood. Killian drew some controlled breaths in anticipation of the burn, but it was not nearly as harsh as he'd been expecting. Not exactly soothing, but nothing like the scald of a rum rinse.

Mandible included the already-sutured half of the wound in his painting, then used the residue to cover the clotted hole in the back of Killian's hand where a fishhook had been torn free. That done, the healer monkey left his perch to retrieve the as-yet untouched ceramic vessel. He handed it off to the torchbearer, who could barely even lift it, considering it was at least twice as big as her entire arm. Mandible clambered back on to Killian's thigh and twisted toward his assistant. His hind claws dug into Killian's trousers as he leaned sideways and cautiously lifted the lid a few inches. Killian caught a brief impression of writhing, skittering shadows, but then Mandible's paw flashed in and out in a movement reminiscent of a serpent strike. The healer replaced the lid just as quickly. He now held in an expert grip a dark mass of frantically struggling, jointed twigs. Obviously not actual twigs, but they certainly shared a disconcerting resemblance. What concerned Killian more were the massive jaws chomping again and again at empty air.

"Bloody hell; is that an ant or an immature lobster?"

"We call them Warrior Ants." Mandible squared himself with his patient, placing his free paw on Killian's arm for stability. "I did not invent this technique but have perfected its use among the First."

It did not take much imagination to guess what he was about to do. Eyeing the giant insect warily, Killian grimaced,

"Hence, Mandible?"

"This time, you are correct."

Without further ado, Mandible thrust the snapping jaws at Killian's wound, directly beside the point where Blackbeard's suturing left off.

The bite felt comparable to the sting of a Neverland Cockerel Wasp, though its burn started to fade faster. While Killian was still fighting the impulse to tear his arm away from the assault, Mandible performed a practiced twist of the wrist that parted the ant's head from its body, leaving a black sphere with two tightly clenched jaws embedded in either side of the laceration. The insect's legs were still twitching feebly as Mandible popped the decapitated body into his mouth.

"And nothing is wasted; an honorable death, wouldn't you agree?"

Killian watched as the monkey opened the container of ants and prepared to select another. "And this treatment is effective, is it?"

“The jaws stay locked in place for two to three days, after which they may need to be replaced, depending on the severity of the wounds.”

Alice would be fascinated by this. Not just the giant ants, but everything: the super-intelligent monkeys, the sharp Stone Labyrinth; hell, even Blackbeard over there, snoring away as though he hadn't a care in the world. Killian could hardly believe any of it himself, even with all he'd seen in his travels. So often had he wished for the ability to allow her to see such things for herself, to counteract the cruelty of imprisoning such an inquisitive mind. 

Although, as a second pair of ant jaws gnawed his flesh just beside the other, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from cursing aloud, Killian concluded that it was probably for the best that she was not here at the moment. There were plenty of other amazing places in the world he could show her that would not result in hours of meticulous and agonizing wound care, innovative though it may be. There had to be adventures far less painful that they could share together… someday…

***

Favor of the First Clan was a deep reddish-gold color, sleek fur framing his face like a lion’s mane and garbing the rest of him in an appropriately royal robe all the way to the tip of his feathery tail. He did not strike Killian as either remarkably large or small compared to the rest; almost exactly middle-of-the-road, in fact. An hourglass of silvery bare skin contained his facial features, which currently rested in a quietly neutral expression. Flanked by a retinue of followers, Favor came to a stop just behind Mandible’s assistant, so that he would be out of range of any sudden attempts at attack, as well as squarely in the strongest torchlight in the vicinity. He paused to study Blackbeard briefly, then cast a roaming gaze over Killian, whose kneeling pose was only incidentally deferential.

The chieftain addressed his healer first. “Do you have everything you need, Mandible?” 

His voice was as silky as his shining pelt, but its tone held a natural authority commanding instant attention. Mandible positioned a struggling ant in line with the growing number of severed heads clamped firmly into the skin all along Killian’s wound.

“Yes, Favor. The Torn intruders are in little danger of perishing from their injuries.”

“Good.” Chocolate eyes glinted in the firelight, peering into Killian’s wary gaze. “I am Favor, chief among the First Clan. Have you been advised of your situation, Laden of the Torn?”

“My situation hardly requires explanation,” Killian answered ruefully. “What I haven’t been told is what exactly you need from me so badly that you’re willing to spare my life to obtain it.”

Tawny twins crouching behind Favor shared a look of wordless disapproval at his tone, but Favor only appeared tired. 

“The fact is, Laden…” He stopped, made a furtive survey of the cave over his shoulder, then continued in a low voice. “Our rival clan dealt us a terrible blow recently, and you may be our only hope of restoring what they took.”

“Rival clan?” This was the first time Killian had considered the possibility that there may be more than one faction of these creatures. Favor bared his teeth, and even Mandible took on something of a sour expression as he dipped his fingers back into the ceramic pot. Killian glanced down at his arm, wondering how many more ants would lose their heads to finish closing the wound.

“The Less,” hissed Favor. “Savage little brutes. Always scheming, coming up with ways to expand their territory or otherwise raise their status over ours. We try not to antagonize them, but you must understand, our lands have belonged to the First for many generations, and we will always defend them.”

Killian shifted his weight, trying to relieve the worsening tingling in his feet. Pierced flesh that had gone relatively quiet suddenly flared as his movements tugged at penetrating steel. 

“I won’t be much help securing your borders,” he growled. “You can see for yourselves how poorly I’ve managed to navigate this terrain.” 

Furious insect jaws chomped into lacerated skin, emphasizing Killian’s point, and he gritted his teeth through the sting. 

“Our borders are secure," Favor assured him. "Though they do try, the Less have inferior warriors and unreliable weaponry, and must admit defeat every time. However, six days ago, they… you see, the best of our fighters were occupied in a skirmish, to the north, in the Triple Cascades region, and…” The chieftain seemed to grow smaller, his ears drooping and his tail wrapping protectively around his haunches. “I failed to post enough guards here at the Burrow, and Less cowards crept in and some of our sentries were slain and… a child was taken.” 

The sudden wave of heat coursing up Killian’s spine was not pain, but inspired understanding. That look in Favor’s eyes… How could he have missed it before? It was everything Killian was forced to see when faced with his own reflection. And despite the rough treatment he’d received here, his heart went out to the small creature before him.

“Not just a child. Your child. Yes?”

Favor blinked once in slow defeat. “The future matriarch of the First. My only heir, now fated to become…” 

Golden fur stood on end, then rippled into a shudder. Favor’s distress was nearly palpable, and Killian barely even noticed when Mandible quietly transitioned from ant-wrangler to bandage-wrapper. 

None of the monkeys dared glance in their leader’s direction as he took a moment to regain his composure. They fidgeted with their claws, scratched or groomed themselves anxiously, and even Mandible’s assistant kept her gaze anchored on the torchlight she was providing. Finally, Favor bared his teeth.

“Puzzle is not yet capable of producing an heir for that villain Lack. When she does, our clan will be absorbed into theirs, our people enslaved and our lands forfeit. And she will be given no choice in the matter.”

Bile rose in Killian’s throat, having little to do with his physical condition, and for an instant, he half expected Blackbeard’s ugly face to dissolve into Gothel’s even more repulsive one. To be similarly taken advantage of, and at a young age at that…

“I’m truly sorry,” he managed to say, suppressing a shudder of revulsion.  “I take it your attempts at rescue have failed?”

Favor lowered his head, half in shame, half in sullen petulance. “We are forbidden to interfere. She is theirs by law, and we cannot venture to claim her back, at least not directly, or we risk the wrath of the gods.”

Killian almost scoffed. Not at the mention of their deities or the outdated regulations permitting a young one to be stolen from her family and forced to mate with their enemy, but at the concept of a father not doing everything in his power to get her back, consequences be damned. But… the curse on his heart… didn’t that feel like a smiting every time he entered Alice’s presence? And wasn’t he allowing it to keep them apart for fear of that pain?

He could not, in fairness, fault Favor for his reluctance.

“But sending in a neutral third party,” Killian reasoned, “that would be considered an ‘indirect’ attempt?”

“The law does not forbid it.”

This was apparently the best answer Favor could provide, but Killian was no stranger to exploiting the rules in any given situation. 

“And what are the chances that this rival clan doesn’t slaughter me on sight?”

“That is a risk,” Favor admitted. “But I believe their chieftain will have a particular interest in meeting you.”

“For argument’s sake, let’s say you’re right. How do I persuade the Less Clan to release your daughter? It sounds as though I’ll need something quite valuable to offer in exchange.”

Favor lost some of his confidence then, pensively watching his healers as they began to pluck the vicious barbs from their prisoner’s skin. “Sadly, their victory makes anything we might offer them redundant.”

Killian squeezed his eyes shut as a particularly stubborn fishhook took a painful piece of flesh while tearing free. “Bloody hell. Well then I can’t imagine I’ll be very convincing. Unless this chieftain is far more merciful than you’ve made him out to be.”

Instead of responding immediately, Favor took a moment to size Killian up once again, dark eyes taking in all of the metal barbs yet to be removed, the bandage covering his wounded arm, his general exhausted pallor from days of sickness and a rough road. He must have seen through all of that, down to the sacred parental role they had in common, for no hesitation or doubt showed as he said,

“There is another way. If we appoint you as the First Clan champion, any challenge you raise, they must answer. Defeat their champion, and by sacred law, you may claim even their most prized possession as your spoils.”

Killian nearly laughed out loud. Perhaps he’d been naïve to have sworn off all dueling after his latest disaster… but he hadn’t expected to be required to break that vow so soon after making it. “Fight your battle for you, you mean.”

“It is the only way,” Favor confirmed gravely, oblivious or maybe just unconcerned about the ludicrous burden he was placing on Killian’s shoulders. On his best day, the pirate wouldn’t have thought twice about his chances against any of these excitable creatures, even the larger, more menacing ones. But he wasn’t exactly in his prime anymore, and weakened by the journey and hampered by injury…

“You’re asking a hell of a lot from an ignorant stranger you caught wandering your territory. What makes you think I’m anywhere near the right person for the job?”

“Our scouts have been watching you, Laden. We know you did not come here by choice and are not driven by such selfish motives as your Torn captor. We sense that you can be trusted with this task. You will not betray the First.”

Killian’s concern was more of physical failure than whether or not they trusted him. But what choice did he have, really? If he refused to help, he was almost certainly a dead man.

“If I succeed in bringing your princess back,” he said half-heartedly, “do I have your word that you will then release me?”

“That, and anything else you desire which is within our power to grant.”

“‘Within your power’ is a far cry from the unlimited wish-granting of legend, mate.”

“But better than leaving with nothing but your life.”

Mandible spoke up from his position atop Killian’s leg. “Do not dismiss our offer so easily, Laden. If we are able to cure your heart and restore you to your daughter, then it will be a fair trade indeed.”

Killian stared down at him, taken aback by the casual way he had just thrown those words out there. As if it would be so simple. Was it possible?

“You need not decide tonight,” said Favor, and the weary grief was back in his tone. “We will give you until tomorrow, and perhaps when you are feeling better, you will see the sense in such an arrangement.”

Without further discussion, Favor turned his back and departed the way he had come, taking most of his attendants with him. When he was out of earshot, Mandible looked up into Killian’s eyes and said sorrowfully,

“Favor did not mention this, but he also lost his mate in the same raid. Our current matriarch. Having our princess back would do much to restore joy to the First Clan. And we would then gladly use all of our resources to help find a way to return yours.”