Oceanswept

by Hays, Lara

  A sound like angry thunder shattered my anguish. A strong vibration kicked against the ship and nearly tossed me to the floor. Another booming noise followed. I sat up, rigid as a board, and clutched the sheets to my chin. Shouting punctuated each deafening rumble. The ship lurched again.

  The last time the ocean was this choppy and the thunder was this loud, my ship sank. My stomach twisted with fear.

  A fist banged on the captain’s door, directly across from mine.

  My breathing stopped.

  I heard the sound of the door opening and a rushed conversation followed. I strained to hear the exchange. Two words clearly cut through the chaos. Two words that made me numb, “…under attack…”

  Sounds escalated. The booming thunder and lurching continued at varied intervals. No. Not thunder. Cannon fire. Voices barked all around. The sound of running feet was so pervasive that it was impossible to distinguish one set of footsteps from another. Crashing, banging, screeching, and thumping. Sounds of violence surrounded me.

  There were only two reasons we would be attacked. Either we were in the midst of a naval battle—which made no sense because the Banshee was not a military vessel—or we’d become a target for pirates.

  Nicholas had reminded me repeatedly how dangerous these waters were. I’d been so naïve, thinking he was exaggerating. Nicholas also said this ship transported goods. Perhaps it was carrying tobacco, rum, or newly minted money. Plenty of treasures for any pirate to loot.

  My hands began shaking.

  Pirates were cruel and merciless. Survivors were rare and were often sold into slavery or kept captive. Everyone aboard this vessel would be killed or maimed. Then, after every valuable item had been taken, they would sink this ship. Would I be drowned or hoarded away with the booty? Neither alternative was particularly appealing.

  A primal terror overcame me. I could not wait for imminent death in this wooden cage. I would run. Hide. Wait out the attack. Then as the ship was sinking, I could clutch to a floating piece of wreckage and hope to be rescued at sea for a second time. It was an impossible escape, but it was the only way to avoid what would come to a young woman in the hands of pirates—torture, slavery, and only the glimmering possibility of death.

  A volley of footsteps pounded on the deck above my cabin, spurring me to action. I had to escape while I could.

  A chilling scream echoed from the deck. My blood ran cold.

  I didn’t have time to dress. Without wasting a moment, I threw Nicholas’s jacket over my underclothes—perhaps I would look like a man—and swung my door open.

  Bracing myself against the hallway bulkhead, I hurried towards the deck. If I could cross unseen and dash downstairs to the galley, I knew I could make my way into the bottom of the ship and hide in the bilge with the ship’s seepage.

  The battle on the deck was worse than I imagined. A blood-soaked man brandishing an axe froze me in my tracks. He was pure evil. He towered over me like a hulking predator, his twisted face dripping with blood.

  A series of piercing screams reverberated through the air, and a horror like I’d never known filled my soul. The bloodied pirate looked down at me, a curious expression on his face. I willed my legs to move, to take me anywhere. I broke my frozen terror and ran.

  The screaming stopped.

  It had been mine.

  Everywhere I turned was a scene of chaos as grisly as the last. Filthy pirates wielding all kinds of weapons overtook the bulwarks and crawled across the deck like ants.

  I backed myself against the portside railing, unsure of what to do. Any moment, I could be taken hostage or cut in to bloody bits.

  My presence did not go unnoticed. A wiry man with long, stringy grey hair and a wicked scar on his forehead pointed in my direction, grunting at his large companion. The two pirates advanced slowly and deliberately, like wolves toying with a rabbit so weak that there was no need for cunning, no need for speed. Their jeering smiles dripped with venom.

  My only escape was behind me in the depths of the merciless ocean. A watery grave was a welcome reprieve from the violence surrounding me.

  My hands desperately fumbled along the caprailing behind me. Without turning my back on the approaching monsters, I tried to launch myself over the side of the ship but I could not get enough leverage.

  My terrified eyes met their stalking gazes. I couldn’t look away. I shrank harder and harder against the bulwarks as if I could melt into the wood.

  With nothing else to do, I screamed.

  A figure flew from a rope in the sky and landed directly between the two pirates and me. His back was towards me, but I instantly recognized the red scarf tying back the honey-colored curls and the powerful form of his posture.

  It was Nicholas.

  But I felt no relief. This rescue was futile. The hunger in the pirates’ eyes did not diminish. One defender would not stop them. What Nicholas had meant as a rescue mission was nothing more than suicide.

  Drawing a cutlass from the scabbard at his hip, Nicholas leveled it at the pirates and proclaimed, “She is not for you.” His voice rang with authority.

  “C’mon, Marks, just a little fun,” the small pirate said.

  “Spoils o’ war, and all that,” the burly one echoed.

  They continued to advance, barely noting the sailor blocking their way.

  “You can have at her too. No reason not to share.” The wiry man’s eyes never left mine.

  “Black won’t hold kindly with his things being touched.” Nicholas stood even taller and withdrew his pistol.

  The men halted under this greater threat. They broke their gaze from me and glared at Nicholas now, their eyes narrowing into slits. I did not understand Nicholas’s words and how they pertained to me. I just knew that whatever he said seemed to be working.

  The stalemate between the pirates and my rescuer lasted several excruciating heartbeats. Nicholas held his stance without moving a muscle. The angry pirates looked from Nicholas to me then back to Nicholas again, muttering indiscernible grunts to each other. They pressed on.

  Nicholas aimed his pistol at the small man and cocked it. A shot cracked and the small pirate jumped back, yelping. The bullet missed his foot by a mere inch.

  “Next time it’s your knee,” Nicholas darkly promised.

  The pirates cursed Nicholas and left us.

  Nicholas harnessed his pistol and turned to me. Instead of taking my hand and dashing for safety, he grabbed my upper arm and shook me from my post at the rail. Fury boiled in his eyes and a snarl formed on his lips.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing?” he boomed. “You promised to stay in your room!” He punctuated his words with angry gestures, waving his cutlass wildly. I cringed at his brutal reprieve, afraid of his wrath and the weapon he so carelessly brandished.

  “Do you have any idea of what you have done?” he bellowed, shaking me. His eyes were hard, his expression fierce.

  “I-I am s-s-sorry,” I stammered.

  Still clenching my arm, he brusquely shoved me in the direction of the small hallway, meaning to escort me physically, I was sure, back to my cabin. My shaking legs could not keep up with Nicholas’s forceful gait and I fell to the ground, breaking his grip on me. I looked up to his face in supplication, terrified by his temper. His angry features were framed by the billowing sails of the ship.

  It was then that I noticed a flag atop the mainmast that I had never seen before in the dark of the night. It billowed black against the pale sky.

  A dark realization made its way into my muddled thoughts.

  The pirates had called Nicholas Marks, the name he said his shipmates called him…

  A large explosion off the port side of the ship ripped my attention away from my disturbing thoughts. Another ship, larger than the Banshee—oh, I should have known just by the wicked name of this cursed vessel!—exploded into flames. With my back pressed against the portside bulwarks, I had failed to see it before.

  I gaped at the orange fla
mes and rolling black smoke. Countless pirates swung from ropes, leaving the burning vessel and dropping onto the quarterdeck of the Banshee. Several frantic victims tried to do the same, only to be tossed to the waves or bludgeoned to death.

  I had not been entirely mistaken. A ship was under attack, but it was not this ship.

  My eyes strayed again to the black flag flying on the mainmast. A gust of wind unfurled the flag in all its terrifying majesty. Against a black background, the image of two white swords piercing a skull let all who saw it know that this was a pirate ship.

  Nicholas followed my gaze to the burning ship beside us and to the telltale ensign, waving overhead.

  He knew that I knew.

  When Nicholas looked at me again, all trace of fury was gone. The anger had been replaced by a flat, stoic look that frightened me even more.

  Another man approached the scene. Nicholas’s eyes flicked in his direction then continued searching my face.

  “The prisoner’s awake, eh?” the approaching pirate asked Nicholas cheerfully.

  Nicholas grunted.

  Prisoner? Had he called me the prisoner? The situation was graver than I dared consider.

  My only route of escape was to dive over the ship’s edge. I eyed the distance to the chest-high gunwale, wondering if I would have enough time to launch myself into the ocean. I was trembling all over. Would my legs even work? I had to try. I scrambled to my feet.

  Nicholas raised his cutlass, leveling it at my throat. All thoughts of running dissolved instantly. With the threat of the sword rooting my feet to the deck, Nicholas addressed the approaching pirate.

  “This filthy wench has insulted me. Lock her in the brig.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  My wretched cries echoed in the hollow belly of the ship. I lay curled in the corner of the brig, sobbing loudly. I did not care who heard me, who I bothered.

  If I thought my cabin was a cage, I now knew better. Iron bars crusted with rust and dripping with moisture surrounded me on all four sides. It was larger than my quarters upstairs, roughly eight feet by eight feet square. The only furnishings were a wooden chair, a small stool for sitting, a tin plate for food, and a bucket for relieving oneself.

  I had been crying in the ship’s prison for hours now, the memory of the morning’s atrocities still strong. Of all the horrors I had experienced today, the worst by far was Nicholas’s betrayal.

  Angry tears burned my eyes. He had lied to me.

  Why had he put on a charade? Courting me nightly then locking me away like an animal during the days, just a novelty for his entertainment. And what else? What else did he have planned? What would he have eventually done with me? Or to me? And now that I knew the truth, my execution was certain.

  Sobs of hatred seethed between my teeth. I angrily tore off Nicholas’s jacket and threw it across the brig. It caught on the chair, pulling it over. The violence was liberating. In three wide steps I reached the wooden chair, raised it over my head and threw it across the tiny room into the metal bars. It clattered noisily.

  This outburst meant nothing, really, but I felt in control for the first time. I could not control what happened in the world—hurricanes or murdering pirates—but I could control the life of this stupid chair. I threw it again. And again. I picked up the tin dish and hurled it against the bars. The din echoed throughout the belly of the ship and the bars left scars on the thin plate. I laughed loudly. Standing in the middle of the brig, I threw everything—the bucket, stool, the chair, and the noisy dish. My sorry cries had turned in to screams of rage. If Nicholas had no use for propriety, then neither did I.

  A square of light appeared at the top of a steep staircase that led from the main deck into the ship’s hold. Two men shimmied through the hatch and hurried down the ladder.

  My tantrum did not lessen. If anything, its intensity only increased with the promise of an audience. I screamed, the burning on the back of my throat matching the burning of hot tears in my eyes.

  “Miss Monroe!” a voice exclaimed in disdain from the ladder. It was Nicholas. Illuminated by a lantern, he marched solidly behind a round, ruddy pirate with hair like straw and a beard to match.

  The tin dish slammed noisily into the bars separating me from the pirates. They flinched. I grabbed the chair and threw it as hard as I could in their direction.

  “Tessa, now!” Nicholas bellowed approaching me, his posture angry, his eyes smoldering.

  I stopped in my tracks and faced the men, my chest rising and falling dramatically with each heavy breath. “Oh, now is it?” I sneered, stepping closer to them. “If you want me to stop now then I better stop now! I suppose I owe you an apology. Is that what you came for?” The boiling hatred within me spilled over, lending a dangerous edge to my voice that I did not recognize. “Oh, I am sorry, sir. I am sorry for my temper. I am sorry my lack of manners has disrupted your pillaging. I am sorry your charade is up! What more do you want? A curtsy?”

  Nicholas passed the lantern to the other man and approached the brig door. He held a ring of keys.

  I shrank back, fear eclipsing my anger. No longer was I looking at the face of a friend who had lied to me. I was staring into the eyes of a trained killer.

  Nicholas opened the door and crossed the threshold.

  To back down from him now would reveal how vulnerable I was. And he was the one who told me that an enemy would capitalize on any sign of weakness. With my pulse thundering in my ears, I forced myself to stand tall and take a step forward. “Don’t you come near me,” I hissed with a bravado I did not feel.

  Nicholas stopped and eyed me cautiously. “You need to trust—” Nicholas started.

  “How dare you speak to me of trust?” I interrupted, fanning the flame of anger still burning in the back of my mind. I was cornered. But even the meekest cornered animal lashes out. “You murder for money. You lied to me for gain. I will never trust you. Never.”

  Nicholas stepped closer to me. I backed up. I could sense the bars just inches behind me.

  “I stopped them from killing you,” stated Nicholas matter-of-factly, as if this explained away everything.

  “You should have let me die. It would have been easier than killing me now.” I jutted my chin in defiance, my last show of strength before he slaughtered me.

  Nicholas stepped hesitantly forward, holding his palms up, “I am not going to kill you.”

  My entire body trembled. My eyes flickered to his sword, waiting for him to draw it. Hoping to die with a little dignity, I steadied my shaking voice. “You already have. I will die in this cage.”

  “Come here,” said Nicholas. He closed in on me and placed a hand on my shoulder. I recoiled from his touch like it was a branding iron, and skittered against the back of the brig.

  Nicholas reached for me again. I slapped him hard across the face, the sound ricocheting through the hollow belly of the ship. I had not planned it. I instantly regretted it. His retaliation would be fierce.

  “You will not touch me!” I seethed, taking advantage of Nicholas’s stunned silence. “You will not speak to me. You will not even remove my bones from this cursed prison. I’d rather the rats bury me in their stomachs than you touch my rotting flesh!”

  My strength was spent. I sank against the bars, terrified of what would happen next. My eyes stayed focused on Nicholas’s sword.

  He massaged his cheek where I had hit him, flexing his jaw. His nostrils flared slightly and I tensed, waiting for a blow. Instead, Nicholas stormed out of the brig. I flinched as the metal door clanged shut.

  I cowered in my cage, shaking uncontrollably. What had I done? Had I won my life? Or a slow and agonizing death?

  A shiver of panic took root as I watched the two sailors ascend the ladder. They were leaving me to die, just as I asked. The ruddy sailor disappeared into the square of light. Nicholas paused on the ladder, turned, and looked at me.

  It was too dark to see his expression but his posture was tense.

  I w
anted to call him back. I wanted to know if any of the comfort and warmth he had shown me before was real. If he had ever been my ally at all. But I held my tongue and he said nothing more to me. He turned and continued up the ladder.

  Revulsion welled within me. I hated Nicholas for being a pirate. I hated him for lying to me. But more than anything, I hated him for leaving me.

  “You’re a monster,” I whispered. The words were not intended for him, but the acoustics of the ship amplified them. Nicholas froze, exhaled angrily, and then vanished into the daylight.

  * * * * *

  My wish for solitude was granted. Aside from quietly placing a hardtack roll beside the brig twice a day, no one disturbed me. I never bothered to see who brought the food. I was afraid it might be Nicholas, and I never wanted to see him again. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t come down again. Was it so easy for him to give up on me?

  I refused the hardtack, leaving it for the unidentified creatures that scurried in the shadows. I vowed to starve. That was the only way out of this prison.

  There was little to do but sulk, and I became remarkably good at it. I was angry with my father for making me leave England. I was angry with the captain of my ship for sailing us into a hurricane. I was angry with the pirates for rescuing me from a promising death at sea. But mostly, I was angry with Nicholas.

  I focused on him constantly, screaming in frustration at times, cursing under my breath at others. Everything bad was because of him. It was his fault that I was imprisoned in the damp, putrid brig. It was his fault that I was slowly starving to death. It was his fault I was alive at all. And because he was the one who had told me my father was dead, that became his fault too.

  I knew there was something unnatural about the way he treated me. I knew there were devastating secrets. I had suspected it all along. Still, how could I have missed all the signs that I was aboard a rogue ship?

  Nicholas had expertly explained away my doubts. I had even started to trust him. And he knew that.