by Dawn Dagger
“Aye.” She straightened, then looked around frantically. Where was the map? Where had she dropped it in her panic? She patted her empty legs, then saw it lying beside the wardrobe. She darted for the rolled parchment, then handed it out to him with a shaking hand.“Where we are,” she breathed.
As the Captain reached out for the map, she realized that she would not allow him touching her. If he touched her, she would peel herself from her own skin. She would scream until her lungs burst. If his skin came into contact with hers, if anyone’s did, for that matter, she would die.
Captain Guy snatched the map from her fingertips and unrolled it, ignoring the tremor of her body. He examined the map for a long moment, then nodded. “This is unfortunate, but we can correct course, if Silva can get his head out of the ground for one second. Are the rest of the things I said done?”
“Aye, Cap’n,” she murmured.
“Wonderful, let us go get breakfast then.” He reached out to hook arms with her, but she flinched, feeling the scream rise in her throat. He snatched her hand, then let go with a gasp. “What in Ursona?!”
She shrunk, wiping her hand on her shirt frantically, stepping back. “Don’t touch me,” she begged. Her stomach was twisting. She was going to vomit. She wanted to cut her hand off.
“Why does your skin burn?” He demanded.
Her mind was fuzzing with panic, and she struggled to breathe. “I-I-- Poison. Runes.” She choked.
The Captain’s face stayed stony, and he turned away from her, making no move to reach for her again. “You need to wash the damn things off of you. For now, we eat.”
He grabbed his tricorn hat from a peg on the wall, swung his dark green cape around his shoulders, then marched out of the cabin. Levanine followed at a distance.
The Captain swept down the stairs into and she descended after him, the smell of warm food enticing her stomach into voicing its hunger.
The belowdecks looked nothing like the horror they had the night before. The tables were back in place, the hammocks swaying as the ship did. Crates were stacked neatly. Spices hung from the ceiling on strings. In the center of the dining hall, another door led into small alcove. The Captain ducked in, and Levanine followed.
Braxton filled nearly the entirety of the small space, his back to them. Levanine could smell meat cooking, and fire and grease crackled and popped. The space was warm, but not unbearably so.
“Ah! Captain!” He laughed with delight, not moving to turn around. “Come for brea’fast!”
“Of course. Has any food been prepared?”
“Aye!” Braxton did a funny little shuffle, turning his large body around. Two bowls were held in his massive paws. The bowls were filled with something that appeared to be gruel. A pile of dark brown meats sat atop it, and little bits of blue stained the gruel.
“Fantastic.” The Captain nodded, taking his bowl and his leave.
Levanine mumbled a shy, ‘thank ya’ and took her own bowl, darting after the Captain as he left.
Guy climbed back up the stairs and onto the deck. Levanine wished that the soft sunlight would wash over her, warming her skin and making her feel safe. But, alas, the sun was cold, and clouds crowded in front of her face.
The Captain sat down decidedly on the stairs leading to the helm, crossing one leg over the other and beginning to eat his breakfast. The men threw them envious glances, clearly hungry.
The Captain patted a spot on the stairs, gesturing for her to sit beside him. Levanine obeyed, her mind deciding loudly that if he touched her she would die still. After settling beside him, she rested her bowl on her knees, then began to eat the breakfast slowly. The food was rather bland, but it was warm and filled her belly, and that was what mattered.
As the Captain observed his men, his face softened from the anger it usually held. His blue eyes traced over their working figures, his lips pursing softly. The Captain suddenly tipped his bowl up, finishing the last of his food in a few gulps, then stood up swiftly.
He marched down the deck and entered the bay where Quinn was kept. Levanine continued to eat her food, focusing on its grainy texture and not the eyes of the men piercing into her.
Once it became apparent the Captain would not return soon, Levanine finished her food, gathered up the wooden bowls, then began towards the kitchens. She quietly stepped down the stairs, listening to Braxton clatter in the kitchen. Two men were hanging in their hammocks, snoring, and a few sat around the other tables, murmuring.
Levanine set the bowls on the table nearest to the stairs, not wishing to bother Braxton. She skirted sideways as the mumbling men passed by and up onto the deck. She listened for any calls from Captain Guy, but she heard nothing.
Levanine sat down on the bench beside the table carefully, then crossed her legs and waited. What was she waiting for? The Captain. But, he wanted nothing of her at the moment.
She liked the belly of the ship. It was cool, and dark. Comfortably quiet. The swinging lanterns cast such pretty shadows, and dust danced around in their orange beams. The water slipped past, around the sides of the ship, and the sound made her feel as if she were under water. She liked that feeling.
Levanine lied down, pressing her spine hard against the wood of the bench. Her hands were tingling, and the violent images behind her eyes were appearing again. She determinedly traced the imperfections in the wood beams, and followed the erratic dancing of dust motes, like Ronartion fire dancers. She tried to push the horrors out of her mind.
Hush… Hush… The sea whispered against the wood of the ship. Levanine closed her eyes, allowing herself to pretend she was falling backwards slowly into the sea. If she could only float through the blue, like one of the mermaids, she would be safe. No one would harm her. She could be happy.
Levanine lost herself in the day dreamings. Her chest slowed and she breathed steadily, feeling calm. Blood and pain no longer crowded her mind… No, instead, the vision of light dancing in blue water, and the feeling of weightlessness filled her.
Levanine felt calm.
Chapter 8
Levanine opened her eyes to a darkened room. Her face was pressed into a cool pillowcase, and silk kissed her skin. Her lashes fluttered and she turned a little, sleep still settled over her in her comfortable state. Lazily, she tried to recall what she had been thinking about before she had fallen asleep, because she had a feeling it was something wonderful. Perhaps she had been on the copse of deciding what the Saints did all day in Elsomora.
She slowly realized that she had fallen asleep on a bench, and that could be why her back felt so sore. This silk bed she laid on was not a wooden bench.
This sudden realization transformed her sleepy contentedness into fear. A small cry left Levaine’s lips as she attempted to leap from the bed. Her feet tangled in the silken sheets and she fell hard on the wooden floor.
She gasped and rolled over, rubbing her aching palms against her knees. She examined her clothes. They were different. She was wearing the very large, silk shirt of a man, and no trousers.
She would have no idea if she had bled.
Levanine felt a shriek rise in her throat urgently as the realization that someone had to have touched her to move her swept over her mind. Someone had changed her clothing. Oh, Saints, oh Ursona… Her mind wailed.
Her eyes swept across her porcelain skin as she pushed the sleeves of the shirt up frantically, searching for new bruises or mars to tell she had been handled roughly. She found nothing, but this did not make her feel better.
Her heart was thundering in her chest, and she gasped for breath.
All of a sudden, the door to the room swung open. Cold air rushed into the room, carrying with it the rain pounding the ship. The cold droplets clung to her face and wet her shirt. The Captain carried a tray in one hand, and attempted to push the door shut with the other.
His raven locks were soaked from rain and he dripped as he stepped into the room. He slammed his shoulde
r firmly against the door, closing it. He used his free hand to wipe the excess water from his face, shaking droplets onto the ground.
Levanine regarded him with wide eyes, confusion trying to force its way out of her trembling lips. He looked her over, then commanded,“Get up.”
He held out the tray with both hands. It held a steaming bowl and a mug, presumably supper for her. Levanine obeyed, struggling to her bare feet, still trembling. She reached for the tray and he allowed her to take it.
“Look me in the eyes.” Levanine gripped the tray tightly, and tilted her head to hesitantly lock eyes with his. “I am going to keep you safe. Now, stop being scared. No one on this ship is going to hurt you, do you understand me?”
Levanine nodded shakily, her mouth dry.
“Good.” He removed his tricorn hat, pouring out the water out of the top, then replaced it. “Eat supper. There is a book in the top drawer you may read if you want. I do not expect you to come out of the cabin. Training starts tomorrow.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
He nodded, tipped his tricorn hat to her, then left quickly, shutting the door firmly behind him. Rain torrented down against the ship, drowning out the shouts of the men.
Levanine sat at the desk and set down the tray, wondering what the tipped hat had meant. The Ronartion men did not wear hats, they wore piles of cloth atop their heads. The Bandolindaen men wore fancy black barrel shaped hats with large, colorful plumes sticking out of them. Neither tipped their headdresses.
She decided that it must be a forgien way of saying goodbye, then began to eat the stew. Levanine finished the ale and stew slowly, feeling better than she had when she had awoken. The Captain will not let me get hurt.
Once she had finished her food, she rummaged through the top drawers of the desk until she found the book the Captain was talking about. It was a thick, leatherbound book with cracked edges and waterlogged, torn pages. On its leather face was carved the symbol of a multi-headed sea serpent devouring a man with a sword.
She gently picked up the tome, her fingers trembling slightly. She had never been allowed to read or hold a book before, save for fetching one or putting it away. She swallowed thickly, brushing her palm across the top, cleaning off the flakes of old leather. Oh, how many meals and beatings she had risked just to breathe in the smell of ink. How fortunate, and unfortunate she was, to have taught toddlers to form the figures in their mouths.
The one time she had been caught flipping through the pages of a book, when she still thought the figures were pictures and not word, she had been beaten so badly that she was bed-ridden for a month.
She still limped sometimes.
Levanine clutched the book to her chest quickly, holding her breath. No one came barreling in to hit her. The ship creaked. The lantern above her head swayed. The rain torrented outside of the window.
She padded over to the bed and sat down on its side, opening the book in her lap. Her thumbs flipped through the pages, and she roamed her gaze over the scrawled handwriting accompanied by strange figures and pictures that was inked across every tan page.
Levanine closed the book, took a deep breath, sending a praying to the Saint of Souls and the Saint of Knowledge. Then she cracked open the book, settling it open on the first page.
Then she began to read.
After a very long while, Levanine rubbed her eyes and stood up, stretching to relieve the tension in her muscles. The temperature had fallen inside the cabin, and the silk blanket she had wrapped around her thin frame did nothing to help warm her. The rain outside had stopped falling, and everything was replaced with a thick silence.
Her feet whispered against the wooden floorboards of the cabin as she paced, her mind slowly replaying what she had read in hopes that some of it might be committed to memory. She could only read every third or fourth word (she was much better at reading Roanak than Waonasy), but the pictures help her with enough context that she felt she had learned something.
Mist began to curl up from beneath the door of the cabin, and Levanine stopped her pacing to watch it. The sun was not out; the rain could not turn into mist quite that quickly! A putrid smell turned up her nose, and she pulled the collar of the shirt over her face.
Was the green tinge of the curling, hissing mist from the glass window, or was the mist truly green?
Levanine felt a little frightened. After reading pages and pages about monsters on the seas, she felt on edge. She was also curious. She had been in the cabin far too long.
She sat back down on the bed and pulled on her leather boots. She pulled the lantern off of the ceiling and held it tightly.
Levanine’s fingertips brushed the doorknob, but she hesitated, taking a step back.
The Captain had said he did not expect her to leave… Did that mean he wanted her to stay in the cabin? Or that he simply did not think she would leave? How cross would he be if she left and he had meant for her to stay?
Her curiosity was too intense for her to weigh what his crossness would mean. Damn reading. She thought, half joking to herself.
The boat let out a creaking wail and Levanine bit her lip. The smell was sharper now, and it cut into her nose through her shirt. She needed fresh air.
Levanine pushed out of the cabin and stepped out onto the mist-covered deck. It was dark, and the putrid-smelling, sickly green mist was covering everything up to her knees. Dark shadows drifted from one side of the ship to the other as the Red Running Royalty rocked, moaning.
Other lanterns flickered on the ship, and she noticed two shadows were standing at the helm. Levanine rested one hand on the side of the ship and let her other lead her forward, the lantern held high.
She glanced out into the dark sea. Craggy masses of rock jutted out of the water, collecting mist at their bases. None of the stars nor the moons were visible.
Levanine turned her attention to the flapping masts and realized that some of the cloth had holes and tears in it. The storm must have been a vicious one. And to think that she slept through most of it, and read through the rest.
Perhaps she was dense.
Levanine finished her walk from one end of the ship to the other, and stopped at the stairs that led to the helm, looking up. The shadows were the boy, Silva, and the Captain, who both stood close together. Silva steered the ship, his green eyes wide with fright.
“Steady now…” She heard the Captain warn the boy as the ship creaked again, pitching in and out of the rocks. The rocking made Levanine’s stomach churn, so she stepped to the side of the ship and set the lantern beside her foot, gripping the side of the ship until her knuckles turned white.
Cra-a-a-ack! The boat lurched suddenly, and Levanine was thrown sideways. She cried out as her feet slipped on the wet wood and her lantern went rolling away from her heels, but strong arms caught her.
“Steady, dammit!” The Captain snarled.
Silva was concentrating too hard to apologize, biting his lip. Rakifi suddenly approached, using his hands to steady her. She heaved dryly. She was unsure if she was going to sick on Rakifi’s boots or if she was panicking.
The boat groaned and lurched again, and she clung tight to Rakifi. One wrong gust of wind and they would shatter against the craggy rocks, and they all would drown. Silva knew this. A drop of dark red blood dripped down his chin.
Levanine’s heart was roaring in her ears. She did not even care that someone was touching her. Rakifi’s grip on the shoulders of her shirt made her feel as if the boat might not splinter from under her feet and vanish into the churning, grey waves.
The rocks became narrower, squeezing tighter around the ship, until they consistently scraped and scratched at the wood, sending shivers through the boat and up into Levanine’s feet. The sailors were silent, clinging tightly to lanterns and the sides of the ship.
“I see caves! Land ho!” The man in the crow’s nest called, pointing.
“Keep steady, Silva. Keep steady.” Captain Guy
had a hand on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing tightly.
Blood dripped off Silva’s chin, glistening in the lantern light.
Levanine shuddered uncontrollably. The Red Running Royalty was a magnificence. She was a power to be reckoned with on the open sea: glorious, impressive. But now, having to squeeze through the rocky confines of the passageway, she was a floating coffin.
A gasp burst out of Levanine’s chest and the man with one eye threw her a dirty look from nearby. He hated her for her Captain returning and letting him live marred.
His incessant hatred would soon be consumed by icy water. Silva’s lip was welling up with blood now, bright red rubies lining the white of his skin.
The Captain stormed down the ramparts and across the deck, on a mission no one knew of.
The men cried out as a mass of black rock materialized out of the fog, rushing toward them. A horrible grinding filled the air and Levanine was thrown as the ship lurched. She gasped and choked on thick, dark water as it filled her nose and mouth, her face smashing into a hard surface. She tried to cry out, but her mouth was too full.
The ship must have dissolved upon impact with the mountain of rock.
Levanine struggled, begging for light as her lungs squeezed. Everything tasted of iron. Her face hurt. Her lungs hurt. Was she going to drown?
She opened her eyes and she was on her back, a cloth pressed against her face. Rakifi stood over her, looking concerned. “You’re alright! You’re okay! Just breathe!”
Levanine felt her face burn as she became aware she had blacked out upon hitting her head. The thick water was not but her own blood flowing from her nose into her mouth. Levanine rolled onto her side, spitting out blood.
Rakifi gently grabbed her and helped her to her feet. The sailors were lining up and leaping over the side of the ship. Levanine assumed it was onto a beach below. They had crash landed.
She felt dizzy. Her trousers were torn, her palms had splinters, and her head pounding. She lifted two fingers to her forehead as she swayed, finding the scabbed over wound had reopened and was trickling blood. Rakifi watched her with concern.