A Stitch and Time
In the inky blackness of a storm-laden night, aboard the whaling ship Raven’s Call, there came a frantic pounding on the door of the stitcher’s cabin. Elara Voss, the ship’s stitcher, awoke with a start, her heart thundering in her chest. She had learned to recognize the urgency of such knocks; they spoke of blood and pain, of wounds that needed her skilled hands and arcane touch.
Elara sprang from her narrow bunk, her feet hitting the cold wooden floor with a sense of purpose. She was a woman of both resilience and resolve, her life dedicated to mending the torn flesh of sailors and wielding the ancient magics stolen from the essence of sea monsters. Her cabin, a small yet well-equipped sanctum, was filled with jars of rendered fat from giant sea turtles, vials of selkie essence, and bundles of sinew from krakens muscle and other formidable beasts.
As she opened the door, she was met by the anxious face of Jakob, one of the younger deckhands. His eyes were wide with fear, and his words tumbled out in a rush. “It’s Michael, ma’am. He’s been struck by a selkie spear, and the wound won’t stop bleeding.”
Without hesitation, Elara grabbed her satchel of supplies and followed Jakob to the main deck. The storm raged around them, rain lashing against the ship and waves crashing with furious intent. The deck was a chaotic scene of men working to secure the rigging and shouting orders to one another, their faces etched with the strain of the tempest.
In the dim light of the ship’s lanterns, Elara saw Michael, a burly sailor with a deep puncture in his chest, lying on a makeshift stretcher. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the wood a dark crimson. The selkie weapon, a cruelly barbed spear, had left a ragged wound that refused to clot, as if cursed by the very magic of the deep sea.
“Clear the area! Give me space you lot!” Elara commanded, her voice cutting through the din. The sailors stepped back, giving her space to work. She knelt beside Michael, assessing the wound with practiced eyes. The edges were jagged, and the flesh around it had a faint, eerie glow, a telltale sign of selkie magic.
“Hold on seaman,” she murmured, her hands already moving to prepare her tools. She pulled out a needle fashioned from the tooth of a sea serpent and thread braided from kraken sinew. These stitches were more than mere mending; they carried with them the power to bind flesh and dispel dark enchantments.
With swift, precise movements, Elara began to stitch the wound. The kraken sinew glowed faintly as it pierced the torn skin, the magic within it weaving through Michael’s flesh. He groaned in pain, his body writhing, but Elara’s touch was steady and sure. She whispered ancient incantations under her breath, words passed down through generations of stitchers, meant to invoke healing and protection.
The bleeding slowed, but Elara knew that the selkie’s curse still lingered. She needed to perform a ritual to cleanse it fully. She glanced around, finding Jakob standing nearby, his eyes filled with worry. “Jakob, fetch me a piece of kraken beak and bring me the ceremonial dagger from my footlocker!”
Jakob nodded and dashed off, returning moments later with the requested items. Elara took the fragment of kraken beak, its surface dark and glossy, and placed it in a small iron brazier. She drew the dagger across her palm, letting her blood drip onto the beak. The mixture of her blood and the beak’s essence began to simmer and smoke, filling the air with a pungent, otherworldly scent.
Holding her hand over the brazier, Elara chanted in a low, resonant voice, calling upon the spirits of the sea to lend their power. The smoke swirled and coalesced, forming tendrils that snaked towards the wound. The sailors watched in awe as the dark magic was drawn out, dissipating into the night air.
At last, the ritual was complete. Elara bandaged the wound with careful hands, her heart finally beginning to steady. Michael’s breathing eased, and the color slowly returned to his cheeks. She looked up at the gathered crew, their faces a mixture of relief and respect.
“He’ll live,” Elara announced, rising to her feet. “As long as you idiots don’t sale into some other danger. Now let me sleep for more than a blink.”
