Bliss

by Daniel Lawley

  “May his Majesty wish to inspect his new fleet?” The question flowed elegantly from his mouth. Deference to a man unfit to rule from one equally unfit of the station in which he found himself.

  “Why else would one come to the capital in the midst of a storm?” He asked in a way that was not entirely a question. Thunder continued to crack the sky as the rain fell, lighter now, although in truth he'd been so intent upon the events preceding Prince Johan’s arrival that he'd hardly noticed as it had soaked his long coat and tricorn.

  “As you see fit your Grace” he responded. The man may be a fool but he would accept no blatant disrespect, no matter how far ahead Mitrick considered himself to be.

  “You were in the midst of executions?” He asked eyeing the ropes swinging in the wind. Of course Mitrick knew Johan had witnessed the finale, the prince was either searching for something over which Mitrick would trip or searching for something he may speak about.

  “Yes, your Majesty.” He answered humbly. “Simple pirates, not outside of the jurisdiction granted by yourself to me in the early days of this venture.”

  “Quite right, I see” answered Johan. “I would that I could string the wastrels up myself, such is the severity in which I view piracy, those who steal from our purse and that of the honest man.” Mitrick neglected to comment that many engaged in piracy were otherwise honest men, many had been put to the rope who could be considered men of better moral character than himself. That he knew.

  “Shall we, your highness?” He asked, sweet pleasantries bitter on his lips.

  “As you wish sir, I am eager to see the fruits of the coin spent upon this endeavour, not all on gallows I hope?” Further mock pleasantries, each knew whose will they followed.

  “Of course not sire” he responded. Faux mirth commanding his tone. “One thinks you shall be quite impressed with the progress, we are nearly ready to further our aims sire” Of course, Johan had shown nothing short of grace. He'd provide Mitrick enough rope with which to hang himself and then take the fleet for his own. The trick was to achieve his goals before becoming disempowered as such. His true mistress expected it, she knew the true nature of men and in that he sought her wisdom. He led Johan through the docks, taking a single moment to eye the dangling corpse, kicking out the final spasmic jerks of life as the noose tightened further around stretched necks. The prince’s carriers hoisted the now heavily weighted palanquin onto shoulders expectant with the sores of a life in servitude. No strain they bore upon their faces yet all knew this was simply a formality, the strength in these men must be of unparalleled heights he mused to himself.

  Around the ironworks he led the prince to the military moorings, away from the prying eyes of the public the work had been strenuous and strict, even now, those employed to build the fleet did so into the dark of the night, battered against the storm they struggled onwards. “Come forth your Highness, it is quite safe” he assured. Gingerly the bearers set Johan down as they spied there was no room for the man powered chariot to be manoeuvred along the docks. Johan jumped from the platform the instant it was laid, excited to see the progress his coin had sprung upon them. The speed at which he moved was considerable, around him all bowed in deference as he made approach. All knew his face. He led them to a viewing area where an enormous vessel was being fitted with a mast. Her broad frame and gigantic height made her a vision to behold, she bobbed upon the sky’s currents, balloon and engine already in place.

  “How fast?” The prince asked, mouth agape.

  “When she gets going, she's no rival in Neta nor in the wider skies.”

  “By the Three” Mitrick's skin crawled as Johan exclaimed his awe. “She's beautiful.”

  “That she is sire, she's not the only one. There are twenty just like her, completed, capable of launching smaller vessels from the hull. Her guns fire at a rate of every six seconds, she can't be rivalled. Many of your enemies sire, shall be swimming toward a date with gravity before they have a chance to realise what is happening” he assured.

  “Sir, you have outdone yourself. Truly. This is something spectacular, truly, what is the name of this vessel?”

  “This sire, is the Anubis. She is the keeper of the underworld in these tides.”

  “Truly…” Johan exclaimed losing his words. A momentary pause passed between them as the gravity of the moment struck the crown prince.

  “What does his Majesty plan next?” He asked, knowing what would happen. Allowing the prince some control gave the illusion of power, it bought time for Beocantes.

  “Now that is simple. He responded. We bring the fight to them. Not a pirate vessel shall remain in these skies. It is a new dawn and we rise victorious!”

  ~ The Stormkite~

  ~ Ninth of the Sheath, Song of Sorrow~

  Queen of the skies,

  She sits above the currents,

  Bringing death and misery

  Where she might fly.

  -Vincent Marcherius first Prince of Neta

  Captain Afton Orochi stood upon the navigation deck a fierce grin plastered across his face. As the ship sped along he reveled in the luxury of the air currents as they caressed their fingers through his hair. Removing his tricorn momentarily he allowed the wind to take his fur, locked and matted together in thick ropes, he gave the impression of a wild man despite the grace with which he usually held himself. Closing his eyes he focused upon the dreams of freedom which had always teased at him, just beyond reach. Captain Afton Orochi, the sky-pirate, the man who loved the sky. He enjoyed the touch upon him for a moment longer before tearing himself away at the expense of his joy. It was one thing to be amongst the tides of the sky, it was another to truly be one with them, a pleasure he would never know. He knew that were he to lead himself off this construct upon which he trod he would tumble to the nothing below. The tale of one more sailor brought to premature oblivion by the allure of the sky.

  After one moment longer he placed the black leather hat upon his head, taking time to casually coif his heavily plaited beard where the breeze had taken it. It seemed apparent to him, although none of his crew dared speak of it, that his years were increasing at a frightening rate, age would soon be upon him. He wondered for how much longer could he uphold the pretence. His crew had remained loyal, and would so long as he led them toward gold, and ruled them with a fist of steel. Yet the effort he expended to maintain the act took its toll upon him and where once black hair flowed at his back now curls of deeper grey found their home, where once the smooth skin of youth had covered his bones now the canvas bore the scars of time. He would need to think upon what came next, there was little point in accumulating great wealth if he never got to retire and enjoy it. What a retirement it would be.

  Above them a lesser scaled dove swooped, its prey the small insects that found themselves this high up in the lilac, screeching it snatched one up in its talons before biting into it with such vitriol one would have been forgiven for assuming it had borne some grudge against the delicacy it now tore into. Like all within the realm of the living, it hungered. But did it hunger for sustenance or for the opportunity to bring death upon another living creature. Where was his own hunger now?

  The assault upon the Order of the Pearl had been a large scale success. They had defended themselves well and ultimately held their ground, but had incurred heavy losses. However his crew had achieved what they desired, in the process they had tasted the sweet blood of battle. They wanted more. Did he? The man he held within his chest, his cabin heavily guarded, it would be safe from both thief and mutiny. The prying eyes of opportunity. Upon his honour as a thief he would see to it they had their taste of death again. Yet inside another desire grew, something he struggled to admit. That perhaps it would be safer to sell the map on, remain otherwise uninvolved. Split the hefty profit among the hungry coin purses of the crew. Then he would retire to the islands. Content at a life spent at the luxury of pirating. Only his conscience to remind him of the guilt he did not feel for the c
opious sins he'd committed.

  “Vessel to the starboard side!” Alerted a voice from the crow’s nest.

  “Boson!” He shouted. This was it. Piracy!

  “Indeed captain” confirmed the fat boson as he held a long telescope to his good eye. “Merchant class vessel, small, usually carries fat and tallow, fetch a good price in the provinces Sir if so.”

  “Then raise the sails and ready the guns men! We have work to do,” he yelled. At his order the kite soared into life, men hoisted ropes to inflate her emerald sails with the breath of the wind. They grunted and shouted as they took the strain of her heavy mast. She gained velocity as she flew. A marvel of the skies, she was breathtaking to behold. She'd always travelled at speed and yet today she was unlike anything he'd known. His ship, his Stormkite, his home. Ravaging the clouds at a pace of knots she was unstoppable.

  “Keep them in sight Boson!” He ordered. Unwilling to overshoot their mark.

  “Aye captain” he affirmed. Raising the telescope once again to his face.

  She raced forth upon the air currents. Pushing forth, the resistance barely registering upon her sails and large body. The Stormkite, his vessel. “Do me proud old girl” he whispered secretly to the ship. A silent prayer of hope to she who kept him afloat.

  “In range!” Smith exclaimed.

  “Deckhands man the guns!” Orochi ordered. Men already saturated with the sweat of the preparation now worked towards the fray. The disorganised ringing of rolling iron ball against the inside barrel of her cannons resounded loudly. It would not be the loudest thing they heard today. “On my mark” he shouted. “Release!” At his word the fuses lit in unison, short wicks of devilry aloft instruments of destruction. Not half a breath passed before the first released her payload, shooting across the small gulf between them. The Stormkite and her prey. She came close to striking home yet she was a clear miss. The ball falling only just short of the mark. The others flew across. Never mind, one of these would surely hit. The aim was not to ruin her entirely. Only to disable her. Hit the mast, destroy her weapons. Any more and they risked plunging whatever plunder was to be found on board to the deep of the world below. Never to be recovered.

  Suddenly an unexpected noise emanated from the merchant ship. Ascending toward them several small shapes flew. Growing in size and velocity as they came closer. Ten pound cannon balls. “They have guns of their own, Captain!” Exclaimed a panicked deckhand. Orochi only smiled.

  “It is clever move on behalf of their captain, illegal but clever!” He smiled, reveling in the adrenaline. “Evasive manoeuvres, thirty degrees portside” he ordered into a pipe through the floor of the navigation deck. Below whips cracked at the backs of men lashed cruelly to postings, slaves pressed into the crew. Not yet thinking of the kite as home. As they walked they turned a great wheel. Above decks her mast shifted, turning the direction of the wheel. She caught the wind from a different angle narrowly, one ball of blackened metal missed. Three more overshot, screaming past the kite into the abyss. Powerful and dangerous counter measures indeed. The captain was a man to be admired, forward thinking and worthy of the title. It had been many a long year since he'd fought one so capable. Planned recklessness. He admired the sensibility.

  A cry came from behind. “Gentlemen, man the engines!” Ordered the boson. A stroke of genius from a man Orochi was pleased he'd promoted. Their jaws closed further around her. There was no way for the main guns to be of much use if they were dodging cannon fire themselves. They would keep up the assault on smaller vessels. Keeping her busy until they worked the bluster from their systems that showed when faced with extinction. A marvel of survival.

  The engines buzzed to life. He heard them before he saw them. He knew below, upon the launch deck, men straddled a small balloon-mounted motor of their own, fast and infinitely more manoeuvrable than a galleon such as the kite, they came armed with projectiles and blades, each a vicious weapon in its own right. The first launched, beginning to swarm. A collective of death. Once enough had launched they began to move toward the merchant vessel. Closing the gap between themselves and her. In response they shot cannon balls towards the engines, swatting them away. The riders swooped with grace. Dodging all as they braced themselves for impact. Orochi watched intently as they continued to make their assault. A vibrant wave of cries from men as they were struck by the blast of angry guns. Shot to pieces in the sky or blasted to ribbons upon the shattered husk of flying, fighting machines. Some span as they cascaded down into nothing. Preparing for impact on the world below. Some screamed, some fell silently. Yet for all who fell more pushed through to make their assault. She was one vessel. They would force her to succumb through sheer force of numbers.

  The stench of blood and oil wafted over in a cloud. The trails of engines and the claret now in the air. This was the stench of victory, of loss, of life and death and the stench of battle. As the merchant fought off the engines, they had used the opportunity to steam closer toward her. They would not fire their cannons. At this range they risked too much, blowing her from the skies or killing his own men. Neither seemed like a sound investment of time, nor a strategy at which he would turn a profit. Yet with each passing second the merchant vessel continued, punching ahead. Through the air and skies she sang. He witnessed in awe as she did so, swirling and riding forth the currents. In a dance they were locked, desperately he willed his kite to take the lead. Entangled upon the atmosphere they waltzed. What she lacked in speed she made up for in sheer imposing force. Her prey was swift yet distracted. She pushed onward.

  One final assault against his engines indicated desperation from their captain. A volley of iron smashing into the first wave with gusto. In return his own men upon their terrible airborne vehicles swooped at speed with cutlass drawn. Mowing down all upon the deck, a wash of blood and a scream to the abyss.

  I'm sorry my friend. He mused. It is a sad day when two great titans of the sky must force one another to such measures. I push against you and yet you push back. There is an elegance to this situation in which we find ourselves. Yet it cannot remain so. I do not want to crush your beautiful ship to falling splinters upon the currents. So quit being so stubborn, you may die, but your ship and cargo shall remain. Give them a chance you proud and difficult man. It was an odd sentiment. That he knew, yet there was a strange appreciation he found in the actions of the events unfolding before him. The kite stalked her swiftly through the clouds, whatever resistance they had been offered had subsided. Who could say why? Perhaps now they lacked the men to make a full assault. Perhaps they had run out of munitions. They had fought valiantly. That was something he could appreciate. Now it was a matter of time.

  “Order the engines return!” He ordered quietly to the boson.

  “Order return!” He parroted for all to hear. At his order a flag of deep crimson became raised upon the crow’s nest. It stood out vigilantly against the amethyst shade of the skies. They began to return, filing one behind the other into the launch bay they had come from. Below, his engineers would be readying to make repairs to the small jets. They gained quickly upon the vessel now. He'd been tempted to harpoon her, tethering them together for the plundering.

  “Ground crew ready!” He yelled. They screamed in assent, in particular one female crew member. He'd need to promote her if she returned, he needed a new first mate.

  “Captain, what's that?” The boson asked suddenly as turbulence lurched them.

  “By the gods!” He remarked, astounded. From the clouds had descended two enormous military dreadnoughts. They dwarfed the kite. “Men! To battle stations!” It had been a trap. “It's going to be one hell of a fight! Reverse engines and give ‘em everything we got.” His stomach lurched with the turbulence. For the first time in a long time Afton Orochi felt fear.

  ***

  She lurched and almost tipped, nearly spilling her contents of men and plunder into the nothingness. All around the fearful cries of panicked men sounded. A unity of catastrophic re
lease and fear. Orochi would need to belay his own frightened emotions for now and take charge of his own ship or he risked total disaster.

  They had reversed and accelerated the way they had come, yet the dreadnoughts remained close on their heels. A small, unshakeable pack, predatory. The hunter had become the hunted. They had allowed themselves to be fooled and in his greed he'd made them vulnerable.

  He silently reprimanded his foolishness, fleeing was of little use. They attempted the impossible, to outrun those which out-matched them in both speed and guns. There would be no emerging from this alive. The shadows of each dark vessel crept across his deck. Even from this distance they were dwarfed completely.

  No! He told himself. We have to try. Resolute, a decision made within, we have to try.

  He'd no idea of their intention. Yet he could guess it was not to plunder. Either captain would happily blast them to shrapnel the moment they came into range. No honour. There was no honour to it. All his being raged and thrashed against it.

  The ships stalked still, carried by the winds and keeping pace against his frantically burning engines with little effort of their own. In the distance he spied the merchant vessel, floating still. Undefended. Incapable. How foolish he'd been. Tales had reached his crew of a clampdown on piracy, he'd even lost a few crewmen convicted of petty thievery, yet he'd never believed it would escalate to what it had become. What a fool he'd been. The distance refused to close, it had not opened despite his efforts, but they kept pace. Each vessel stood two decks taller than the kite. He marveled, like a boy, at the feat of engineering which had served to bring each to existence, Each churned and whipped the clouds to frenzy beneath. Black wood and ornate golden workings stood out against the violet sky.