The Journeys of dead men

Chapter Two (2nd part)

Nash woke up covered in sweat and his heart pounding. He was in a dark chamber, the bed swaying beneath him. The ship, he recalled, I'm on the ship. I'm alive. When he tried to sit up straight, a gash of pain went through his bandaged leg that made him grunt aloud. His head was in great pain too and he felt feverish. It was just a bad dream, an absurd one. Still shaken by the dream, Nash yawped as the door opened behind him.

"You have finally awoken," the medic said in a not unfriendly tone. He was a man in his older days, with short, grey-turning hair and a prickly beard. "Here. You must eat something. You have been unconscious for over eight days now." He handed Nash a bowl of porridge and some hard bread. Despite confused and filled with terror, Nash gobbled down his porridge and asked for more.

"What's happened?", Nash asked the medic, after finishing his third bowl. After all, he's been missing out on eight days, but he also needed to know what was real and what was not. His head was burning up and his thoughts were still in great disorder.

"Why, not much has changed. We're on the coast though, and we're currently making our way up the rainy shore. We should be in Wendryn's town within a few days."

"No, not that. I'm talking about my cousins. Are they dead? Are they alive? Does the capital still stand?" The medic seemed surprised by the questions, so he put down the empty bowl and laid a hand on Nash's forehead.

"My god, your head is burning hot!", the medic declared, "that must be from your leg. Lay down and rest for a while, I'll get a cold, wet towel and some fresh bandages."

The medic left, and Nash was still completely lost. As he looked around the room, waiting, he slowly recollected what had happened few days before he fell unconscious, and by the time the medic was back with his things, he remember how he got his infected wound on his thigh.

The medic made a grimace as he gently pulled of the old bandages, but when he inspected the wound, his face lighted up.

"Good news, you're most likely staying alive. You're fever still lingers, but the wound is getting rid of it's infection. You'll need to rest for--"

"Tell me!" Nash interrupted. "I need to know what's going on. Are my Cousins dead?" The medic's kind face turned cold.

"You should know that well enough yourself."

"I can't tell what's true and what's not."

"You had a fever dream after laying in a coma for eight days, I suspect that's what's irritating you. You'll get it all sorted out soon enough, I'm sure. Or else it might be the blows to the head that's causing problems. Whichever it is, we'll see on the morrow. The sun's going down and you need good sleep. I'll put on new bandages, put a cold piece of cloth on your forehead and tie you up, now that you're awake." The medic did as he said and left Nash to himself. You should know that well enough yourself. The words rang in his head. Did I truly kill them? he wondered as he drifted off into a deep, recovering sleep.

It took three full days for Nash to recover all of his memory. After the first day he recalled Sawyer's death and only the day after he realised that Aimery, the king, was still alive. That disturbed him the most, how he believed his cousin to be dead, just because he had seen it in a fever dream. What else is just a dream?

The medic had told Nash he was getting better, so they tied him back to a pole. Fortunately, he was under deck this time, warm and away from rain. They kept one hand free for him to eat, but made sure all of the knots were out of reach. They also let him sit on a pot, so he could do his work without soaking himself in his own soil, but nonetheless, he remained tightly strung to the pole and there was nothing he could do all day but sit and wait for his judgement.