Miya Black, Pirate Princess I: Adventure Dawns

by Ben White

  "Not as sloppy as your face."

  Miya went to spit again, but Grace was suddenly charging, her cutlass ringing against Miya's sword, once, twice, three times and there was an opening, Miya slashing out and catching Grace in the ribs as she twisted aside, just a nick but enough to make her yelp in pain.

  "You cry out over trifles," said Miya, a grim, bloody smile on her face.

  "What you'll cry out over will be more than a trifle," Grace spat.

  The speed and ferocity of Grace's next attack caught Miya off-guard, almost hit her in the side of her neck, would have were it not for instincts gained through hours of drills with her father, instincts that brought her sword up to block the strike, locking their swords together. Miya grunted as the taller Grace pushed down on her, knowing that in this compromised position she was going to slip any second. With a growl that quickly built to a roar, Miya clenched her hand into a fist and slammed it into the side of Grace's face, then again, making Grace cry out in pain, the lock broken as Grace staggered back spitting blood. Miya followed suit, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the deck—the bleeding from the cut on her mouth was weak but constant.

  "You little wench," Grace hissed, raising her cutlass as she recovered, fat drops of rain splashing against the bright steel. "If you just blacked my eye—"

  "You'll be lucky if that's the worst you have to suffer through today," Miya growled, lunging forward to slash at Grace's legs, jumping back again as Grace avoided the attack and responded with a series of short, hard, angry slashes, none of which came anywhere near hitting Miya.

  "Getting a little tired?" Miya asked, before spitting another mouthful of blood onto the deck. "Need a break?"

  "The only break I need is that of your neck," hissed Grace, though her breathing was heavy. She took a good breath as she ran towards Miya, who jumped back then immediately charged forward, inside Grace's guard, surprising her, driving the hilt of her sword up into her rival's jaw. Miya was rewarded with the sharp 'click' of Grace's teeth coming together and a thrilling impact that went right through her arm to her shoulder. Pressing the advantage, Miya drove her knee up into Grace's stomach then slashed down hard, was surprised when her sword met with hard resistance—somehow Grace had managed to bring her cutlass up in a block.

  "Up close you're even uglier," hissed Grace, the two combatants face-to-face as each pushed at the lock, Miya's sword slowly being forced back, her boots close to slipping on the wet deck beneath.

  "Face it, you're not on my level," Grace growled through gritted teeth as inch by inch she drove her cutlass forward, pushing Miya's sword back.

  "You've ... lost!" Grace yelled, giving one final push, forcing Miya to choose between falling back or being cut by her own blade. Just as she felt her sword begin to slide, Miya grinned a bloody grin and spat full in Grace's face, blood splattering her rival, making her recoil in surprise and disgust. Suddenly Miya was pushing back against Grace with all her strength, both hands around the hilt of her sword, breaking the lock, forcing Grace's sword down and slashing at her face.

  "FOR THE SWAN!" Miya cried. She felt her sword bite, and Grace screamed in shock and pain as she staggered back, clutching at her forehead. Miya watched as Grace brought her hand down, looked at the blood on it even as the rain began to wash it away.

  "My face! YOU CUT MY FACE!"

  "Guess we're even," said Miya, wiping at her own cut mouth with a thumb.

  "You STARTED ugly! I ..." Grace looked around, then before Miya could react she was running for the opposite railing, had leapt over the side and was diving down into the ocean before Miya could reach her.

  "COWARD! POLTROON! COME BACK AND FINISH THIS!"

  Miya spun at a hand on her shoulder, scowling and bringing her sword up before she realised it was her father.

  "Uh ... Dad, sorry," said Miya, lowering her sword and shaking her head to clear the fight from it. "I got a bit, um, caught up for a moment. Kind of ... kind of forgot you were here. Um. Are you okay?"

  "My darling," said her father. "Do you have any idea how difficult that was to watch? No, you couldn't possibly. A dozen times, more than that, with every passing second I had to force—FORCE—myself not to intervene. Your grandfather too, and brother ... you make it very difficult for us, you know."

  "But I won," said Miya, grinning her slightly horrible bloody grin.

  "You did. You fought ..." Tomas grimaced, then continued. "You fought superbly, my darling. That was the most terrifying and most proud moment of my life. You do bring out such conflicting emotions within me."

  He took his daughter in his arms, embraced her tightly for a moment, then released her.

  "Nice duelling," commented Heartless Jon, who had somehow managed to light a cigarette and was leaning against the railing smoking it, holding it cupped in his hands to protect it from the rain. "Liked the mouthful-of-blood-in-the-face gag at the end there. Very pirate."

  Miya, still grinning, turned to Sola, who shrugged a 'fighting really shouldn't be something to be proud of but that was reasonably impressive; well done' shrug. She nodded at him, then spat again.

  "This bleeding is getting really annoying," she said. "And it hurts too. Ow. Ow! It really stings!"

  "You'll have a lovely scar there," said Heartless Jon. Miya grinned again.

  "We can find a medicine chest after we signal," said Sola. "I heard two more during the fight."

  "Captain Patron's and Captain Sydnor's," Tomas said, still smiling at his daughter.

  "Oh, right," said Miya, looking up from gingerly exploring the extent of her wound. "I didn't even hear them."

  She raised the shell to her bloody lips, but found she couldn't blow properly with her injury. Heartless Jon chuckled at her attempts, and eventually she had to hand the task to Sola, who blew a clean long-long-short on his own shell.

  "Miya, I'm going back to see if I can help in the town," said Tomas, after Sola finished giving the signal. "I want you to stay here with Sola and your grandfather, okay?"

  "Okay," said Miya. Heartless Jon stamped out his cigarette and stepped forward.

  "I'll go back with ye too," he said, patting Tomas roughly on the shoulder. "Got a feeling ye might need the help."

  Tomas thought a moment, then nodded. "Come on, then. Miya, you'll be okay here?"

  "I think I can handle things," she said. "Go quick. I'll be fine."

  "I ... know you will," said Tomas. "Make sure you take care of that wound properly." He leaned close. "Don't ever tell your mother I said this, but I envy you the scar you'll have."

  Miya smiled as she and her father hugged quickly, then Tomas and Jon were gone, back down the rope to the dinghy below. There was the sound of oars splashing into the water, and then they were away. Miya sighed, quite happily, then winced at a sudden pain from her mouth.

  "Ouch. We'd better find a medicine chest, I suppose. Hey, where are all the northern islanders, anyway?"

  "Down below, with their families," said Sola. "And watching Grace's crew."

  "Oh. Well, that's good, but we should probably get some up here to check for grapples, in case Pete or Grace or someone tries to recapture the ship. Just maybe four with sharp eyes. You go get them, I'll keep an eye on things up here."

  "I don't know if they will agree to that."

  "What? I'm not asking them to throw themselves at Pete's flagship, I just need a couple of lookouts!"

  "Even so. The northern islanders ..." Sola sighed, shaking his head. "To them, this is not their fight. It's complicated. I will ask them. But perhaps they will not come."

  "Huh. I don't want to sound rude or anything but that's kind of ungrateful."

  Sola sighed again. "I will ask."

  Miya looked at Sola, then shrugged a discontented sort of shrug.

  "All right, then," she said. "Try, at least."

  Sola nodded and went below deck. Just a few seconds after he'd left, there was the sound of another whistle, short-long-short.

  "Little Willy Baker,"
said Miya, smiling as she opened the door to the captain's cabin. "Well done."

  Stepping inside, Miya felt an unexpected twinge of guilt.

  "Don't be silly," she muttered, as she looked around the room. "You've captured this ship, you've defeated the captain in a duel, by every right it's yours now."

  Grace's cabin was large and, to Miya's eyes, ridiculously gaudy. Long stretches of light, fine fabric had been hung around the room, mostly white or off-white, and a wide four-poster bed took up a far greater portion of the room than it really had a right to. There was a large dresser with a huge mirror near the bed, unlit lamps hung on either side of it. On the other side of the room was a small desk, with a couple of chests beside it—one of which was marked with a large red cross.

  "How in the world did they even get that bed IN here?" Miya wondered out loud, as she opened the medicine chest. "I'd be embarrassed to have such a ridiculous thing anywhere on MY ship."

  Still, it does look comfortable, said a traitorous tiny voice in her head.

  "Be quiet, tiny voice," Miya muttered, as she rummaged through the chest, finding what she needed after a few moments. She poured a little alcohol onto a clean white cloth then dabbed at her face with it, cleaning the blood from around her wound, wincing just a little at the painful stinging this caused. Then she found a small vial marked with a large 'A' symbol and applied a little of the clear liquid inside onto her wound. The bleeding stopped instantly, although Miya grimaced at the taste of the stuff.

  "Can't really wrap a bandage around my whole face," she murmured, examining the wound with a small mirror. "Well, I could, but it'd look SO stupid ..."

  Miya thought for a moment, then shrugged to herself and put everything back into the chest. She straightened, took a short, quiet breath, then left Grace's cabin, feeling a little relieved as she walked back onto the deck.

  "Phew," she said, then smiled as she heard another whistle. "Griffin Jones. Surprised he took so long."

  Speaking of 'taking so long', she thought, where's that Sola? Maybe I—

  Miya turned her head quickly, eyes narrowing. Though the rain was still driving down hard, she thought she'd just heard something—a small sound, but nonetheless a significant one. It was the sound of metal hitting wood, and right here and now that meant one thing.

  "Boarders," Miya hissed.

  She ran towards where she thought she'd heard the grapple land, clambering up onto the forecastle deck, her sharp eyes instantly picking out the grapple where it was hooked around a railing. She drew her sword as she ran to it, preparing to cut it loose.

  "Ye picked the wrong ship to board, mate!" she yelled out, looking down at the pirate climbing as she swung. Then her expression changed completely, and she stopped her sword a few inches from the rope.

  "Uncle Lars!" she cried, delighted. "What in the world are you doing here? We were looking everywhere for you, we needed you for the boarding parties!"

  "Hello, Princess! I was scouting a bit in the eastern jungles," Lars explained, accepting Miya's hand as she helped him aboard. "Making sure those raiders weren't hiding, waiting to attack again as they do sometimes."

  "Good thinking," said Miya. She hugged Lars quickly, then laughed as he frowned at her newest wound.

  "I just had a fight with Grace," she explained. "Don't worry, she wasn't even on the same level as me."

  "Still, an impressive injury."

  "Thanks! Oh, come down to the main deck, it's a bit murky up here."

  "But a good place to board, yes?"

  Miya shrugged and smiled, leading Lars down to the main deck.

  "Once I got back to the town and found your mother, she sent me out here to look after you without an instant of hesitation," said Lars. Another whistle sounded above the noise of the rain, and Miya smiled.

  "Grizzly Solcher," she said. "That's his signal." A thought struck her. "That's the seventh signal! We've taken every frigate!"

  "Oh, is that what the whistles are?"

  "Yeah, didn't Mum tell you? I guess you were in a hurry."

  Lars laughed. "Yes, as soon as your mother saw me she sent me here with barely any words."

  "Wait, so is town okay?"

  "Fine, Pete's raiders were easily repelled," said Lars. "So knowing that, your mother thought I could do more good out here with you."

  "Typical. That's just typical, isn't it? I've already captured a frigate practically by myself, and she still thinks I need protecting. When is she going to realise that I can take care of myself?"

  "Where's your father?" Lars asked.

  "Gone back to town, sounds like he shouldn't have bothered."

  "So you're alone here? Maybe it's good that I did come, yes?"

  "No. There's no threat out here," said Miya. "Besides, there's a bunch of northern islanders below deck, Sola's down there trying to get a couple to stand watch, just in case any bad guys try to board."

  "That seems like a good idea," said Lars, and his sword was in his hand as he swung at Miya's neck.

  18

  True Pain

  Miya stared at Lars, shock in her eyes, his sword an inch from her neck, stopped only by a mixture of instinct and luck—Miya hadn't sheathed her sword from preparing to cut the grapple rope, and blocking against this kind of move had been something her father had drilled into her over many, many hours. Lars's expression was calm as he pulled his sword back, assumed his favourite stance.

  "Lars ... w-what?"

  "That was a good block," he said. "Very clean. Effortless, perhaps. I'm pleased to see that you've given up on your little fancy—perhaps even 'conceit', it could be called."

  "I ... I ... what?"

  "This 'I point my sword at your neck you point your sword at my heart' joke of yours. Don't you remember? At the time I thought something of it, but said nothing. Apparently you have learned yourself, though, that in real combat your opponent will not give you the courtesy of stopping his sword before it strikes you. But I talk too much, to put it simply I found your block to be impressive. And you've become a little quicker, I think? Maybe? Maybe not? Let's test."

  Lars attacked, Miya bringing her sword up to block his attacks automatically, the strength of his blows almost painful to parry.

  "Lars, stop, this isn't the time for sparring," said Miya, as Lars backed off a little, despite the horrible feeling in her stomach that this wasn't sparring at all.

  "Always time to improve yourself, Princess. And, as you said, there's no threat out here. Come at me."

  Miya looked at Lars. His expression was the one he usually wore when they sparred together—calm, confident, slightly amused. But something was definitely wrong.

  "No," she said. She threw her sword from her right hand to her left and raised her right wrist in almost the same motion, quickly blowing into the Ula Se, forgetting that with her wound she couldn't get a sound from it. "SOLA!" she yelled, as Lars came at her once more. Miya knew she didn't have the strength to stand against him, so when his sword clashed against hers in a lock she didn't even try to hold it, instead dodged to the side, focusing on keeping her footing on the slippery, wet deck.

  "So maybe you realise," said Lars. He sighed, short and resigned. "I didn't want to do this, Princess. You know I'm really so fond of you."

  "What ARE you doing? I don't understand!" said Miya, backing away as Lars stepped towards her.

  "Miya!"

  Miya looked past Lars to see Sola at the doorway to the lower decks. Lars glanced back at him—Miya took advantage of the momentary distraction to switch sword-hands once more.

  "Don't come near, boy, I have not any attachment to you," Lars called. Sola looked at Miya.

  "He's turned traitor, he attacked me!" called out Miya, feeling sick as she said it. Sola pulled the long wooden spear from its place on his back and held it firmly, his eyes dark as he approached Lars.

  "Stay there, Princess," said Lars, as he moved to engage Sola. "I have a word for you in a minute."

  "Lars, don't�
��"

  "Stay!"

  Lars ran at Sola, sword held low, bringing it up to slice at his chest. Sola blocked with his spear then twisted, almost wrenching the sword from Lars's grip.

  "But my grip is strong," said Lars. "Yes, Princess?" He kicked out behind himself as Miya tried to attack, forcing her to stop her swing to jump aside.

  "Both of you together are no match for me," said Lars. "Yield now, I will have mercy!" Sola swiped at his legs with his spear, but Lars jumped over it then bashed Sola on the head with the hilt of his sword, dazing him.

  "Stop, Lars!"

  "You should be stopping," said Lars. Sola tried to swing his spear at Lars's head, but Lars caught it with his off hand and pulled, sending Sola stumbling. Miya saw what she thought was an opening as Lars was distracted, but as she attacked she found Lars's sword blocking her strike.

  "No," said Lars. "It's not so easy."

  Miya growled and attacked again, but every strike she made was blocked instantly, pushed aside as a nuisance.

  "Enough," said Lars, as Sola swung at him again. "You are an annoyance."

  Lars spun, sword out, forcing Sola to step back, against the railing.

  "No more," said Lars, and he kicked Sola in the chest, hard, hard enough to unbalance him, and with a crunching blow to the side of Sola's face he sent him tumbling over the edge, the spear falling from Sola's hands as he disappeared, a splash sounding as he fell into the ocean.

  "Sola!" Miya cried.

  "He'll live, if he's smart enough to swim away. If you're smart enough to yield now, so will you live also," said Lars. "You understand me."

  "I don't understand anything!"

  "Don't you? You left, yes? You had your adventures, the grand search for your grandparents, I understand why you did that, Princess, because it's the same reason I do this."

  "I did it to protect Clover Island," growled Miya.

  "NO! You did it for freedom! For adventure! To be a PIRATE!"

  Miya had never heard Lars raise his voice before, the harsh passion in his words now strange and threatening.

  "Perhaps only with the last few years has that island begun to be a cage for you," said Lars. "For me ... I have been trapped there for so many long, dull years, I have even lost count, fourteen, fifteen? Since before you existed, certainly. Yes, the sparring, the company of your father, speaking with the few pirates who washed up there ... there were moments I enjoyed. Training you, that was my passion for a long while. But always the yearning, the desire for adventure, to be free—"