Defeated
Notes:
Uhhh climax! Kind of a bad climax, meaning it's a little poorly configured and definitely not as traumatic or good or well written as any of my others but...sigh.
*****
Janner couldn’t think or speak or move or breathe. He just sat there, staring, his mind completely devoid of thought. A puff of Sara’s hair obscured his vision, but there was no chance of her moving: she was frozen in his arms. He didn’t mind, she was a steady presence, a certainty, even though they were, in truth, terrified together. He supposed it wasn’t the most excellent method for preparing a confrontation, though.
Grinning wickedly, the Overseer stepped inside the rest of the way and shut the door behind him, surprisingly quietly. “I’ve caught a pair o’ lovebirds, haven’t I? What a happy couple—an interestin’ one too, no doubt, considering I successfully broke both o’ ya. You’re both stubborn, though, obnoxiously stubborn, and you never caved to me then, not fully. Sure looks like you’re cavin’ now, though, so I’ll call it a long-sought-after-win.”
Breathing out slowly, Sara pulled away from him, smiling waveringly, and stood, then turned and faced the Overseer. “We’re not caving,” she said fiercely, no tremor in her words. “Why would we cave to you when you’re nothing but a cruel coward?”
His face turning red, the Overseer fumed and slammed his cane into the floor, the tip flashing as they met. Janner couldn’t help but wince in pain at the sound, the metallic cacophony reverberating through his mind. Now he knew why it sounded so cruel, so deadly. Why it hurt so much. A metal tip.
The memory of that cold point slamming into him, beating him told his body to curl in on itself, to hide from the terror, from remembrance, but the sight of Sara standing there, her fists clenched, her head held high—that made him stand.
She steadied him slightly until he was able to reach for the cane. Once he had, once he stood there, leaning on it, staring at the floor, he looked up. “‘A present,’” he said, echoing Tirge’s words from months earlier. “It seems a little more like payback.”
“That was indeed the nature of it,” the Overseer cackled. “An’ based on the current look of things, I’d say I was successful. Successful indeed.”
“It’s only been a few months,” Janner retorted coolly. “Stranger things have happened.”
Surprise flickered onto the Overseer’s face, but it was gone in a moment, replaced by irritation. “Clearly, like your breaking of our agreement. I’ll be holdin’ up my end shortly; Tirge's takin’ care of a few right now.”
Janner’s mind trembled. A few?
“A few!” Sara cried out. “What you do mean a few?”
The Overseer’s cane tapped into the floor, ringing. “My instructions to Esben Flavogle were to not speak of me in any regards, whether it be his silly confession to you or warnin’ the rest of the ship. Now, not only did he confess to ya, he told ya everything he knows about me. Naturally, a few more will satisfy the price.”
“No,” Janner breathed. “No, no! You can’t do that! We won’t let you do it! We’ll—”
“You’ll what, knock me over an’ go for help?” the Overseer sneered. “I’ll do’t ta you much faster, an’ I’ll hurt you an’ your girl in the process. You know I can, too, don't ya?”
Janner closed his eyes, his breath shuddering, rattling in his chest. He knew, he knew all too well. He knew they weren’t safe, he knew they couldn’t escape the monster in front of them, he knew it was all his fault. Oh, why couldn’t Artham walk past at that very moment?!
“Janner,” Sara said softly, speaking for the first time since the conversation began. Her hand lit on top of his, on his right hand, the hand clutching the cane’s handle, and he flinched.
“So I gave the Tool a little lasting fear, didn’t I?” The Overseer said it as if it were a glorious achievement.
“Shut up,” Sara hissed. Then she began speaking to him again. “Janner, what do you want to do?”
Stilling his breathing, Janner hardened his resolve and opened his eyes again. Run, he mouthed as he lunged toward the Overseer, not to tackle him to the ground—Maker knew he didn’t have the strength to do that—but to distract him, to give Sara an opening.
The Overseer slammed into him and knocked him to the ground almost before Janner actually made contact. He gasped, the breath gone from his lungs in the same moment his leg screamed in agony. Grinning, his yellow teeth close-up, on full display, the Overseer stood, somehow agilely, somehow still brandishing his cane.
Janner half-rolled in an attempt to escape it as it came crashing down, but it slammed into his shoulder, and pain shot through it. His breath back, he let himself cry out in hopes someone would hear and come running.
The metal met him again, this time grazing the side of his head. Heat and ringing flooded his mind instantly, and a second later, the cane caught him unaware across the chest.
Unable to think or breathe, Janner gasped, squeezing his eyes shut in some foolish attempt to block it out, to imagine it away, as if that would actually work. Running feet sounded, and he breathed; he was safe, he was about to be safe, surely the cane could only find its mark two more times—
Three, actually, but even the running feet did not bring him relief, only more fear. Tears sprung from his eyes at the sound of Tirge’s voice, at least until he realized what he was saying.
“Stop!”* he shouted, grunted, and surprise flew Janner’s eyes open and forced him into a sitting position.
A gristly scene met him, one of Tirge’s bloodied hand grasping a dagger in his chest, his mouth open as if gasping, his body sinking to the floor.
Janner stared in horror. “You—” he whispered.**
“I knew his usefulness was ending,” the Overseer said, shrugging as if he hadn’t just stabbed someone. “I never really thought he’d take care of the crew for me. Eh, hired help’s a gamble. Though I woulda liked it if he’d at least detained your girl a few minutes.”
“She…told me to help,” Tirge gasped. “So I did.”
The Overseer grunted. “Even more useless than I thought.”
Janner watched as Tirge’s head lolled, as their eyes met. Suddenly, he didn’t see a terrifying person who had helped torture him for weeks. He saw a boy, much like himself, who was desperate, uncertain, terrified, trying to make it in a beautiful world their experiences had bloodstained.
Then his eyes glazed over, and his crimson hand loosed from the dagger and dropped to the floor with a sigh.
The cane flashed and met Janner’s shoulder again, then his gut in rapid succession. Doubled over in pain, Janner choked, hating the Overseer, hating himself for such a stupid display of strength, anger in his heart burning toward whoever was taking too long to get back to him. Not toward Sara, though.
The blows rained down again and again, and his cries became choked gasps, and his mind screamed as memories flooded over him, drowning him, choking him with images and thoughts of terror and anger and agony and fury and hopelessness and doubt and hatred, and then the cane flung at him in a sudden, furious, thrust, knocking into his head and sending his mind spinning into helplessness, the hateful sort of helplessness where he would still think and feel and see if he wanted, but he couldn’t really hear at all, everything was underwater, and nothing was stationary.
After all this, all this time, all that time of torture away from the safety of his family and those he loved, it was about to die just within their grasp. The sickening irony of it made him want to weep.
*****
Jebsun ran up from orlop,*** the sounds that had reached him from one of the upper levels horrifying. It was the sound of someone being beaten, and since he knew Greston would never beat one of his crew members, something else was wrong, dreadfully wrong.
It was the sort of something he couldn’t help but assume immediately, yet the assumption made no sense, it was too far-fetched, there was no way in Aerwiar—unless there was. And if the barely-possible chance was coming monstrously true, it was indeed very bad.
After far too many twists and turns and agonizing seconds of hearing the sound of a beating raising and raising in clarity and horror, he came upon it just where he had expected it—Janner’s room.
He flung the door—already partially open—wide in the next moment, the sight of a young man with a dagger sticking out of his chest pausing him for just a split second, a split second in which a flicker of snarling, black coat caught his eye and he yelled, “Get away from him!”****
He pulled the Overseer—for who else could the old man with a limp and a cane and yellowing teeth and a desire to beat the life out of Janner be?—off Janner’s gasping, shuddering form and deftly twisted the cane so that instead of being brandished by its owner, it now betrayed him by pressing itself into his throat.
Because Jebsun was behind and weakening the Overseer at a bit of an awkward angle, a slight advantage was unfortunately had on the latter’s part. With a cry of fury, the Overseer lurched forward, and they both crashed to the floor magnificently, except for the fact that Jebsun now had the dagger in his shoulder.
The adrenaline of the moment kept it from hurting, though, and he pulled it out with ease, quickly rolling, pinning the Overseer to the ground, and pressing the dagger against his neck.
“You made a mistake,” he hissed, breathing hard. “You left the dagger in. I mean, seriously, who voluntarily disarms themselves?”
A horrible, monstrous contortion of his face made Jebsun want to squeeze his eyes shut, but the sound of running feet and, soon, Artham’s eyes, blazing in anger, made him very glad he hadn’t.
“Why isn’t he dead yet?” Artham demanded, his voice akin to a roar. “This creature has the audacity to kidnap my nephew and King, torture him, haunt him, beat him under my nose and you—”
“For your information, Artham,” Jebsun retorted sharply, pressing the blade against the Overseer’s throat for emphasis. “I figure if there were any honors to be done, it was your right, not mine, to take care of them. Now would you mind taking care of this maggot while I see to Janner?”
A hint of placidity slipped into Artham’s eyes. “You call him a maggot too?”
Jebsun rolled his eyes and turned his attention toward Janner as soon as the Overseer was out of his hands. Sara had already slipped passed the lot of them crowding the door, how he didn’t know, but he didn’t question it, and laid Janner’s head on a pillow from his bed.
“Good,” he murmured encouragingly. “I don’t know if he was hit there, but the less direct contact with something so hard, the better.”
He discovered evidence of a graze to Janner’s temple fairly quickly, though it didn’t seem like it was severe enough to launch him into unconsciousness. Likely he would be dreadfully sore for the next while, but nothing seemed as though it was broken, except for a rib or two that gave a little when he pressed them. It was the same ones that had been tender when he first found Janner, he noted, though the fractures were worse this time. He wondered how long it would take for them to fully knit.
“Is he going to be alright?” Sara whispered, her hands clutched tightly together. She didn't tear her eyes from Janner's face. It must have been terrifying for her, seeing him this way so often.
Jebsun placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and nodded. “Despite the impressive array of bruises forming, physically, he should be alright in a couple of weeks.”
“Jebsun!” Nia’s voice suddenly sounded sharp, urgent. He spun around. He hadn’t realized she was there. “This boy isn’t dead,” she whispered, her fingers pressed delicately on the young man’s neck.
“That’s Tirge,” Sara whispered, horror crashing over her face, as if she hadn’t seen him before. “I passed him when I was looking for Artham, and he said he’d try to help and stop the Overseer.”
“Then the least we can do is try and help,” Jebsun murmured, kneeling in a puddle of blood as he lowered Tirge to the floor gently, his shoulder protesting a bit. The wound would be deep, he realized, considering how long the blade was, which meant the slit in his shoulder was fairly deep as well. He’d take care of it later, though, once other more pressing matters had been handled.*****
Tirge was still bleeding, quite a bit, and his efforts to apply pressure to the wound resulted in a groan from his new patient and clenched teeth on his part.
Now, though, Tirge’s eyes opened, painfilled and bleary. “Don’t…try,” he murmured. “I deserve it…he’s okay…right?”
Jebsun nodded. “Yeah. Janner’s okay.”
“Good,” Tirge breathed, his eyelids drooping. “Tell ‘im I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—” his words were cut off, though, by his last breath, and Jebsun couldn’t help but hang his head in shame. Another patient lost.
“Jebsun,” Sara asked, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Can you help me get Janner to his room?”
Smiling, Jebsun nodded, and, ignoring far more than a flicker of pain, he picked Janner up and carried him to his room, where Sara took care of arranging the blankets and pillows around him. She stayed, sitting at the end of his bunk, watching, likely once again wanting to be there when he awoke.
He had just closed the door when Nia gasped, “You’re bleeding!”
Jebsun glanced at his shoulder and saw that it had, annoyingly, bled through his shirt quite a bit. “It’s nothing,” he said, waving it off. “I’ll take care of it.” Actually, it didn't feel like nothing, and it burned dreadfully now. That was the worst part about adrenalin and such: it wore off.
“You’ll stitch your right shoulder with your left hand when you’re right-hand-dominant? That’ll go really well,” Nia said drily. “Let me help, alright? I’ve done it before.”
Jebsun finally relented. She had, in fact, done it before, the night the Fangs chased him out of Glipwood. That had been much worse than this, though, meaning he had no logical reason to refuse her kindness. “Okay. My bag’s in my cabin.”
What he hated most about stab wounds was that even though they didn't really hurt in the moment, or perhaps even in the first several minutes of their appearance, after that they seared, and it was not the most pleasant experience. Nia was aware of that too, though, and as she cleaned the blood away and mixed and set aside a poultice, she was as gentle as someone could be, considering the circumstances.
As she slipped neat stitches into the now-clean slit, she murmured, “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked, a little puzzled.
“For saving my son’s life,” she whispered, smiling, her eyes filled with tears. “Again.”
*****
Notes:
*Spagetti Thwap, I am thinking of Telemachus' "STOP!" in "Odysseus" lol
**what Janner was going to say was, "You monster" but the Overseer cut him off...
***the orlop is the lowest level of a ship, like, the lowest level with a flat floor instead of a curvy ship bottom
****Spagetti Thwap, I am thinking of Telemachus' "GET AWAY FROM HIM" in the original draft of "King," where Tele comes and helps Ody out <3 (I don't know if you've watched that short yet, but Jay posted it a week or so ago and I highly recommend; very entertaining)
*****Perhaps not fully logical, but if anyone watched Enola Holmes 2, you should know Sherlock got shot in the shoulder and he was FINE for, like, the entire climax and afterward and they also didn't follow it up later but OH WELL- (if you can't tell, that irritated me quite a bit lol)
(that was a lot, wow)
Asterisks aside, I hope the climax chapter was climatic enough (I know it wasn't, but I tried. Oh well, I hope you like it anyway) and....yeah! That's all I have!
Let me know if something was wonky. Or weird. I know it was. I know it was weird and wonky and probably the climax I'm least pleased with out of everything I've written but sigh I don't know what more can I do to it....
I promise, we'll deal with the Overseer tomorrow, but it just didn't work into the chapter well.
So…..why is Artham being such a Podo to Jebsun? 🤣
Okay, so, Overseer is….just, taken away….but will be dealt with…..good!
And Jebsun…..YOU ROCK DUDE!!!!!!!