The Princess and the Blood of Eternity

Chapter 9: A Foolish Sacrifice

Cleo woke from a forgotten nightmare to be greeted by acute head pain. Had he lost a bet to Ural and been forced to finish a bottle of whiskey? No, that wasn't right. Something else had happened—something unforgettable and unforgiveable.

The first thing he noticed was the patter of constant rain on the cabin's thatch roof. Freezing cold sweat covered every inch of his body. Both his clothes and the sleeping mat were soaked. He should get back to sleep, but a return to his dreams and reliving the events back on the beach soured his mood even further. Instead, he focused on the ceiling overhead.

"Why am I awake?" he whispered. It could have something to do with it being the first night ashore. Without the dutiful sway of the ocean, his inner ear felt locked and confined. The world felt a little less alive, not being on the move with the wind at his back. He hoped it was that simple and not his unconscious self waking him in case of danger.

Around him were the sleeping forms of his shipmates. Marius and Quinn snoozed to his right, Marius on his side, like a lounging cat, and Quinn stiff as a board, lying on her back. Ural and Agis slept near the rear of the cabin, two large lumps nearly invisible in the shadow created by the moon's glow.

The air smelled of sweat, feet, and greenery from the jungle interior, and beneath were the subtle hints of moisture and salt from the ocean. For him, the distinct stench of plant life stood out as an unusual element, though it was certainly more common amongst the western frontier than anywhere near the central, larger islands where wild plant life had all but vanished.

The raging thunderstorm mirrored his mood better than he could imagine. It was almost enough to drown out his pesky thoughts. Danger, betrayal. Had he really lashed out and severely injured the princess? And what of the presence back on the beach? Common sense said he had imagined the evil presence. And yet it made little sense when he didn't have a history of such nonsense. This island held too many secrets.

Why had he ever agreed to carry a weapon? Blades such as these were for killing... And to attack blindly and without provocation—the action went against his core beliefs of live and let live. To react as he had made little sense. The princess could have bled to death from his actions.

He wished sleep would let him forget. Not relentlessly remind him in heightened detail. Offering an apology to a receptive Boulder and Cassandra had helped, but he still needed to apologize to Lilith, a feat that continued to feel insurmountable, especially in the current climate circulating around a guilty conscience.

Sleep shouldn't leave him so drained, and if anything—his restlessness was getting worse. The figurative beast within was trying to come out. It made his heart rattle inside his ribcage like a drummer on a longboat timing the oarsmen. And the rain was making it worse. It felt like a metronome for the wicked had been implanted inside his head.

Ignoring the invisible torrent of emotion, the rest of his body did not feel normal either. Physically, he felt ill. Feverish. His skin burned hot while his insides were locked in ice. He could get up and walk the beach, but that would put him back to square one, alone with his thoughts and reminiscing about the day's mistakes. If he could snap his fingers and go back to sleep, he would.

What started off as a mild irritation soon blossomed into a full-on problem, as parts of his skin itched like he'd crawled through a pile of poison ivy. Digging with his fingernails, he scratched so much—his arms, shoulders, and back should now be covered in red marks. If he didn't stop, the damage might lead to blood.

Blood reminded him of the strange hallucination on the beach. After accidentally attacking Lilith. Did she really have green blood? Had he imagined that same as the evil presence?