Laden of the Torn (8 of 25)
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***
How could one man's nose, monstrous though it was, be responsible for such an ungodly racket? Tearing through the glass-peaked canyons, sound waves like a cross between an enraged hornet's nest and a shoal of frenzied mermaids rattled the slab acting as Killian’s backrest. It had seemed prudent not to stretch himself flat and expose more surface area to the brutally jagged terrain, but apparently, his total exhaustion was not enough to allow sleep in an upright position. And now this nonsense.
Killian gingerly shifted his weight, and even the scrape and rattle of chains as his heavy shackle skittered along the stone was muffled by Blackbeard's drunken droning. The ring of chafed skin beneath the band encircling Killian's ankle burned with the movement. If only he had his hook back, or even a sturdy dagger; perhaps then he could work one of the links out of shape to at least be rid of the ball’s encumbrance. But as he reached down, intent on sliding the metal higher and onto less irritated flesh, the chain clanked again and Blackbeard snorted awake. He didn't even bother to open an eye.
"Go to bed, Hook."
"I pity every last man on your crew," grumbled Killian in reply. "How many have been flogged for nodding off while on duty?"
Blackbeard's snoring resumed, even louder than before, and Killian sighed bitterly. The bastard had the most selective hearing he had ever witnessed.
A brief image flashed into his mind, that of himself using the blasted spherical anchor to bash the rival pirate's head in. But the chain was too short to accommodate a height of any more than an inch or two above the ringleted skull, and as he'd already discovered, the blood pulsing into his own injured head as he hunched over to lift the ball would soon have him faceplanting onto the razor rocks at his feet. Still, the thought was a tempting one.
“Just what the bloody hell are we doing here, anyway? Are you ever going to tell me, or do I have to figure it out all on my own?”
Grunting irritably, Blackbeard opened one eye and gave his captive a sideways glance. “What, so you can devise a way to escape? I don’t think so. I told you: I’m getting my money’s worth out of you.”
“And just how do you intend to do that, exactly? In case you hadn’t noticed, this is hardly the heart of high society, here. Do you even have a clue where we are?”
“Of course I do. The legendary Blackbeard is never lost.”
“Is that so?” Killian grinned tauntingly, though he certainly felt less than prepared for banter at the moment. “All right then. Prove it.”
With a hugely exaggerated eye roll, Blackbeard reached into an inner pocket. “Fine. If it will finally get you to shut up for once…”
He drew out a folded parchment and held it between his first two fingers, barely making any effort to angle it in Killian’s direction. Killian leaned stiffly closer and plucked the offering from his grasp.
“A treasure map,” he said as he unfolded the grubby bit of crumpled parchment. “That’s your grand scheme.”
“Give me at least some credit, Hook. I’m not likely to spend a small fortune on an expedition to nowhere.”
Killian still could not see anything to make him believe this was anything other than an ordinary treasure map. A complicated one, to be sure, with a maze-like route that undoubtedly purported to navigate them through the current mess of narrow canyons. No key provided any interpretation for the scattering of symbols marking the parchment. “Then where is this taking us?”
Killian immediately spotted some false confidence in Blackbeard’s demeanor as he snatched the map back.
“If the ancient tales of this place have any truth to them… we’ll soon have the pleasure of meeting some powerful magic-wielders; creatures with the ability to grant anyone their heart’s fondest desires.”
Dubious eyebrow raised, Killian settled back against the rock face. “Creatures? What, like mythical beasts?”
Blackbeard returned the map to his breast pocket. A hint of defensiveness colored his tone as he carefully replied,
“The legends tend to describe beings more… simian in shape.”
“Monkeys?” Killian scoffed. “Magical wish-granting monkeys? I always knew you were a wily devil, but I somehow missed the fact that you were also a madman.”
“Mock all you like; this ‘madman’ will soon be celebrating riches beyond your wildest dreams.” Blackbeard tilted his hat forward over his eyes and folded his arms, prepared to resume his slumber.
“Aye? And what’s my role in all of this? Surely you could have moved faster without the burden of an unwilling traveling companion.”
“Did I forget to mention?” Blackbeard didn’t move, seemingly not interested in Killian’s reaction to his provocation. “The going rate for wishes in this land is a mere human sacrifice. A bargain, if you ask me. I hear the monkeys consider roasted human flesh a delicacy. Although your aged bones may need a bit of extra time on the spit to properly tenderize.”
Ignoring the gibe, Killian made no effort to conceal his skepticism. “All right, mate. Say for a moment that I believe you. Once we’re in the monkeys’ clutches, what’s to keep them from feasting on both of us? Seems a dangerous gamble for such an unlikely reward.”
“Not all of us are as jaded as you are, old man. These monkeys are moral creatures. They honor their deals.” He shifted his weight slightly. “Speaking of deals… I believe you now owe me a bit of quiet.”
Killian rolled his eyes, even though the other man couldn’t see. “You’ve a disturbing amount of faith in these nonsensical stories of yours.”
Blackbeard didn’t respond, and soon, the buzz-rumble had returned.
Though he’d expressed so much doubt for the sake of appearances, Killian had too much life experience to dismiss the legends outright. Most folk tales had some element of truth to them, and even if the magical beings inhabiting this hostile land were not actual monkeys, he had no intention to treat them with anything but caution. Magic had never been particularly kind to him.
But what if they really could grant a heart’s desire?
***
“Watch yourself, Hook,” sneered Blackbeard from up ahead. Killian picked himself up yet again, inspecting the newest addition to the dozens of cuts and scrapes already adorning his elbows, knees, and hips. He glared at his nemesis, who was in much the same state, though due to the percentage of his blood that was actually alcohol, Killian doubted the other man could feel any of it.
“You don’t say,” gritted Killian. Blackbeard stumbled, but somehow remained upright. Killian made a note of the obstruction so he could avoid a similar incident.
Their second day of navigating the menacing canyons, Killian was already completely lost. Lingering wooziness did not help his sense of direction one bit. Blackbeard frequently consulted his map, purloined from gods-only-knew-where, allegedly leading to the cannibal, wish-granting monkeys fabled to live in this inhospitable location. But knowing the way and being able to traverse the terrain were two different things. And now they were running low on water.
The pair rounded a bend and came to a rare clearing, where the walls widened into more than the average arm’s length they had grown accustomed to seeing. In the center stood a gnarled, sickly tree, also an oddity since leaving the road. Blackbeard made a grunt of satisfaction and tucked the map into his pocket.
“Over there, Granddad. Time to get well-acquainted with some tree bark.”
Grudgingly, Killian followed Blackbeard to the tree, watching as he fished a length of rope from his satchel.
“Is this where your monkey friends live? Inside a decaying old tree? Doesn’t appear very magical to me.”
“Don’t worry; this is only a quick layover. We’ve quite a ways to go yet.”
Killian engaged in a token struggle as Blackbeard grabbed his arm and shoved him back against the tree trunk, but secretly, he was glad of the opportunity to rest. His whole body ached, and his ankle was so chafed from the ball and chain that he wouldn’t have been surprised to find smears of blood beneath the iron band.
“I don’t expect this to hold you for long,” Blackbeard commented, wrapping the rope around the trunk. He fashioned a quick noose with one end, slipped it around Killian’s neck, and then bound his hand with the other end. Now, too much movement of that arm would tighten the loop encircling his neck. “But it would be foolish to try and find your way out of here without this.”
He flashed the map in front of Killian’s face, then stuffed it back into the front of his coat. Cautiously testing his bindings and making no effort to disguise his movements, Killian growled,
“More foolish than peacefully accompanying you to my death?”
Blackbeard shrugged. “Try it, then. You have no chance of outdistancing me.” He rooted around in the bottom of his satchel for a moment and located Killian’s hook, sneering,
“Don’t want you getting your hand on this.”
Then, after also pulling out their empty waterskins, he tossed his satchel carelessly nearby. “If you do get the gumption to lose the ropes, feel free to clean yourself up. I’m off to fetch water. It’s a bit out of the way and it would take three times as long if I dragged your dead weight along with me.”
He inspected his knots once more and then patted Killian condescendingly. “Be a good little sacrifice and stay put.”
Killian didn’t waste time watching Blackbeard swagger off; instead, he sank slowly to a seated position, careful to allow the rope enough slack that he didn’t choke himself along the way. Almost immediately, he located a protruding piece of bark and got to work loosening the knot securing his wrist. He didn’t expect his captor to have overlooked any means of self-defense in the satchel, but he was hoping a certain other item may have been deemed unimportant enough to be forgotten…
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i gotta sing praises for these little nasal dilators real quick
i genuinely don't remember a time when i regularly got good sleep in the past decade. chronic fatigue has been my constant companion, and it's interfered with every aspect of my life.
at some point i also started having mild chronic sinus inflammation, especially at night (it didn't help that i had started smoking weed regularly)
for a while, i tried the adhesive strips you put on your nose bridge, but they didn't always last the night and eventually started damaging my skin
a couple of weeks ago, after several months of waiting for gravity to open one nasal passage every night so i could sleep, i finally realized that i was also probably waking up a lot during the night. i kept waking up exhausted and no amount of sleep medication helped.
so i dropped some of my remaining money on these little nasal dilators
these were the cheapest i could find, and it took a couple of nights to get used to the sensory weirdness of it. it's not the most pleasant thing to shove something up your nose at first, i will admit
but y'all i have had two weeks of the best fucking sleep in my life
these little gizmos literally prop your nasal passages open and let you breathe
it didn't take long at all to adjust to it, and now i barely notice that i'm wearing it. they're also supposed to be antibacterial, and all you need to do to clean them is (GENTLY) wash them with soap and warm water (don't use hot water, it will warp the plastic)
i'm astounded that such a simple thing has had such a huge impact on me. combined with my current prescription cocktail of vyvanse, prednisone, sleep meds, and pain meds, i feel like a functional human being for the first time in??? i don't even fucking know.
i'm also weirdly grateful now for my fucked up knees, because it has forced me to take off work and take care of myself. so now i am operating on a schedule that works for ME for the first time in my entire fucking life
i'm rested, i have energy, and i've made more art in the past month than i have in years.
and i can breathe when i sleep
anyway. i highly recommend this nasal dilators for anyone who can't seem to get good sleep. it may not fix your problem completely but it could very well make it a little easier
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