Esther's Innocence

by Benjamin Boswell

  A piece of oil cloth stuffed into a small nook in the nearby carronade cannon’s mounting caught her attention and distracted her momentarily from the fear she had been feeling. Still holding tight to the railing with one arm, she let go with the other and reached out to grab it. After grabbing the cloth and re-securing her grip on the railing, she took out her journal from where she had tucked it into her belt and wrapped it in the oil cloth as best she could with just one hand. She tucked the small package into the strip of cloth she’d wrapped around her chest under her shirt. If she died, perhaps someone would find the journal and be able to share what happened to her with her family, and if she lived, she wanted to have the journal to document what had happened as well.

  Having finished this small task, her thoughts turned inwards again and conflicting emotions warred within her. It was hard to feel joyous when you were falling to your death, but at the same time, knowing that you had helped save the lives of those you cared about was joyous and gratifying. Then, suddenly, she could sense it; she could smell the salt in the air—the great, tangible, vastness of the ocean immediately below her—and it was coming up fast. Esther could feel it rising to meet her and, just before they were about to hit, Esther jumped out away from the deck of the Nautilus as hard and as far as she could.

  She fell feet first through the air, her arms wind-milling. The ocean slapped hard against her feet as she hit and the cold water took her breath away as she sank beneath its waves. She heard the Nautilus impact, followed by loud cracking and popping noises, muffled by the dense water all around her. It sounded like the ship was being torn apart. Esther swam upwards, angling her ascent away from the cracking noises as she fought her way towards the surface. Her injured right shoulder ached with the pain of having to swim, and, for a brief moment, she felt the current sucking her back as the Nautilus was driven under, but then the current reversed and pushed her away. Esther assumed the Saug oil-soaked wood of the ship was buoyant enough to pop quickly back to the surface.

  Her lungs began to burn as she swam. Finally, when it seemed like she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she broke through the surface of the water, gasping for air. Disoriented, Esther looked around. The rain had begun to fall more heavily now. She could hear wood breaking and men shouting. She turned in the direction of the sound and saw the aft section of the enemy ship rising slowly back into the air as lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the wreckage as it rose. The front half was completely gone and it rose in a haphazard, uncontrolled fashion. The mainmast and sails were gone—as were the propeller stanchions. Finally free of the Nautilus, it would drift into the air until the remaining Saug gas bled out from its bunkers. It was no longer a threat to the transports.

  Esther lowered her eyes to the wreckage of the Nautilus. The aft section was gone—torn apart on impact between the Madrausan ship and the ocean and scattered about in chunks. The front half floated half-submerged on its side in the water, warped and broken. Already, she could see men pulling themselves onto the wreckage from the water. She watched as a Madrasan sailor stabbed an Ardmorran crewman that had pulled himself onto the wreck. Even after both ships were destroyed and the battle effectively over, Madrasan barbarism still held strong. Closing her eyes against this disturbing sight, Esther turned and swam away from the wreckage as swiftly as she could. After a few minutes, the physical exertion and the cold began to sap her strength. Esther looked about. If she didn’t find something to hold onto soon, she was going to drown.

  A large piece of wreckage, perhaps six feet wide and about as long floated in the water not too far away. Relieved, Esther swam over to it. Careful not to strain her shoulder any more than she already had, she pulled herself onto the wreckage. She lay there, facedown, breathing heavily from exertion, shivering and cold as the wind and the rain began in earnest. She didn’t even try to get up as the storm quickly grew fierce and the size of the waves grew and tossed her about. If she fell off of her make-shift life raft now, she likely wouldn’t be able to get back on. Esther clung tightly to her life raft and prayed that the waves wouldn’t flip it. Thankfully, the storm didn’t last long and abated after only an hour. When the wind and rain stopped, she thought briefly about sitting up to see if she could see anybody in the darkness, but her exhausted body couldn’t take anymore and wouldn’t listen to her mind. She fell into an exhausted sleep.

  CHAPTER 13

  Stranded

  The man was crazy, but somehow I knew that what he said about the Hadiqan King’s uncle was true—just like before when I knew what I had to do to save my family. Call it instinct. Call it inspiration. Call it whatever you like. But I knew.

  Esther woke slowly, her mind groggy. The air was stagnant and stiflingly warm. She sat up slowly with a groan. Sweat tricked down her neck and back. She wiped her face with her shirtsleeve and looked around, trying to clear the blurriness from her eyes. The water was still and calm. The world was quiet. Small pieces of debris were floating in the water. Esther looked down at the wreckage she was floating on. It looked like a piece of the Nautilus’ hull. She rocked it a bit. It seemed sturdy enough. Suddenly a large fin broke the surface of the water just in front of her and a dark shape swam by. Esther inhaled sharply, pushing herself back from the edge so suddenly, she almost fell off the other side.

  A cackling laugh caused her to jump again. She turned around quickly, towards the source of the disturbing sound. On another piece of wreckage—less than twenty yards away—sat a man. His bald, tattooed head and long beard identified him as Madrasan. She looked around for a weapon of some sort and he laughed at her again, but his laughter was cut short when by a wince of pain and a cough. Esther looked the man over, just now taking in the fact that he was injured. His left arm had crude bandages wrapped around a large splinter of wood sticking out of it. His left leg was also bandaged in several places.

  “No need to defend yourself from me,” he said in clear Northern, “I am not long for this world.” He gestured at his wounds, then looked around. Esther followed his gaze and saw nothing. “From the look of things” he continued, “neither are you.” He laughed again.

  “Who…who are you?” Esther stammered, “And how did you learn to speak the languages of the Northern Kingdoms?”

  “I am High Priest Kamal, one of the High Warlord’s personal advisors. I studied your language as a boy. After all, one must learn to know one’s enemy, don’t you think?” the man laughed again.

  To Esther, it sounded more like a cackle. The man’s demeanor and his insane laughing made her think that he had lost his wits. Given his injuries, he wasn’t much of a threat. She sat back and wiped the sweat from her forehead and tugged at the front of her shirt, trying to get the air flowing to cool herself. She was grateful to the midshipman who had donated this clothing to her. It was a lot more comfortable in this stifling heat than the Wilkinson boy’s clothing. To think that only a little while ago, she’d been cold and wanting a jacket—the thought made her smile.

  Esther looked back at the Madrausan. He was staring at her. Lucidity seemed to return to his eyes for a moment and he opened his mouth to speak. “Of all the types of people I would have expected to see out here today in the middle of the ocean, a young woman is not one of them.”

  “Well,” Esther said heatedly, sitting up straight, “your people have destroyed and disrupted a lot of lives, so you shouldn’t be surprised to see anything, especially when one of our warships can readily destroy three of your own.” She knew she sounded petty and immature by saying it, but her anger at him and every other Madrausan let it slip out.

  The man scoffed, a bit of mania briefly touching his eyes. “Your puny Kingdom doesn’t stand a chance against the might of the Madrausan Empire. You may have repulsed this tiny raid with your heavy ships, but the High Warlord’s Will cannot be thwarted. He can lose a hundred ships for every Ardmorran ship if he must…” The man broke off suddenly in a fit of coughs.

  Esther was sure the threats wer
e meant to sound terrible, but in his mania, the man sounded a bit like a petulant schoolboy. That didn’t mean what he was saying was entirely false, however, for she knew that her own small Kingdom stood absolutely no chance against the Madrausan’s alone. Just this simple raid had brought the southern half of the Kingdom to its knees. If the enemy attacked in force, Ardmorr would not survive without help.

  After the man stopped coughing, he wiped his mouth with his hand and continued, “Your tiny Kingdom will be destroyed and your resources made to serve the High Warlord. And you, my precious girl,” his eyes slowly looked her up and down with a sickening expression. He licked his lips before meeting her eyes again. “You will die out here with me.”

  “That may be, Priest,” Esther spat the title out like it was a bad word, “but the Hadiqan’s won’t stand for this, and neither will Rodheim or the Northern Kingdoms. Or the Island Kingdoms of the East for that matter.”

  The man laughed, “The Easterners are too insular and unorganized, and much too far away to care—and the Hadiqan Empire will shortly fall from within when their young King is assassinated by his uncle. His uncle is a power hungry man and all too easy to manipulate. He will purge the unwitting military to consolidate his rule—and then we will strike and the Hadiqan Empire will fall. On the Jiyamna before Lughnasadh, the King will be dead, and we will be at war!” The man cackled again, suddenly overcome by his mania. After a minute, he stopped laughing and sat quietly, lost in his own thoughts and mutterings.

  Esther began to worry. If the Hadiqan King truly was assassinated, then the scenario that this man had just described may very well occur. Of course, even leaderless and in chaos, the Hadiqan’s would fight and be a tough nut to crack, but severely weakened as they would be, they may fall. Then it would only be a matter of time before the raid that Ardmorr had just experienced became a full-fledged invasion.

  Esther tried to fight off despair, but the memory of the man’s maniacal laughter seemed to drive it deeper into her. She lay down on her side, facing away from the man and tried to think of a way she could warn her people and the Hadiqan’s, but the man was right—she was going to die out here, with him, in the middle of the ocean. She tried not to, but the tears came anyway, forming in the corners of her eyes and rolling across her cheeks to land on the wreckage of the beloved Nautilus. After a while, she drifted off to sleep again and dreamt of wings suddenly growing out of her back so she could fly high into the sky to escape this nightmare.

  - - -

  The heat of the afternoon sun was even more sweltering than it had been before and Esther woke groggily once more. She propped herself up with her left arm as she wiped her face with her right shirt sleeve. Something had awakened her. A noise. Esther shook the fog from her brain. The sound had been the Madrausan’s crazy laughter again…and the bumping of wood!

  Esther quickly spun around and found that the injured man had somehow moved his platform of wreckage over to Esther’s and they were now touching. He was sitting up, staring at her, his eyes devoid of any remaining intelligence and filled only with hate and lust. He awkwardly lunged at her, grabbing her shirt, and jerked her toward him. The motion pulled Esther’s arm out from under her and she fell forward, hitting her head hard on a raised portion of the wood. They both fell flat, the man half on his own piece of wreckage and half on Esther’s, causing its edge to dip down into the water.

  Stars shot across her vision as Esther struggled to maintain consciousness. The Madrausan groped at her, his foul stench filling her nostrils. Using all of the strength that she had, she spun on her side, swinging her legs around and kicking against his left arm where the shard of wood was embedded. He screamed and let go of her shirt. His wooden platform had been pushed away during the struggle and his legs were in the water.

  He grabbed Esther again and tried pulling himself further onto her piece of wreckage. She kicked at him again, but he wouldn’t let go. The platform was unstable and they both started to slide off. She pulled her leg back and kicked him a third time, as hard as she could. This finally broke his grip on her shirt and he slid into the water. Esther scrambled back from the edge of the platform and watched for a moment as he spluttered about and fought to stay afloat.

  Under the water, dark shapes began to converge on him and Esther turned away, shutting her eyes tightly. The man screamed suddenly and Esther lay on her side, covering her ears. Tears came to her eyes and she shook as the adrenaline bled away. The dark shapes thrashed and bumped the platform, causing her to flinch over and over again each time they hit. She tried not to think about what was happening with each of those bumps, but it was hard.

  Esther didn’t know how long she lay there. It must have been a long time because the sun was beginning to set by the time she sat up. Her head hurt immensely. She gingerly put her hand to the spot where her head had struck the platform and winced. It was tender, and there was a small cut. She could feel dried blood on the side of her head and face.

  Her shirt was untucked and two buttons had come undone. She sat up straight, buttoned it back up, and tucked it in. Then she sat back and watched the sun dip below the horizon. She was immensely thirsty and her stomach rumbled with hunger. With the setting of the sun, the temperatures started to drop. Esther sighed. It was going to be a long, cold night. Fortunately, her clothing had had time to dry after the scuffle with the Madrausan.

  Having slept and rested on and off throughout most of the day, Esther didn’t feel like going back to sleep, so she relieved herself as best she could, then crossed her legs and sat—thinking. The events of the last week had left her feeling overwhelmed and a bit numb. She hadn’t cried so much in her entire life as she had in the last few days. Even now, as she thought about all that had happened—and about her family and friends—tears sprang up in her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  Esther wiped them away, angrily—she was tired of crying. It didn’t help though—the tears just kept coming anyway. She shook her head, laughing at herself. So many conflicting emotions warred within her—sadness, loneliness, frustration, fear, anger, remorse—even hatred. The hatred and anger she felt towards the Madrausan’s almost scared her more than the Madrausans themselves. Never before had she felt such strong, bitter emotions. They felt corrosive, so she locked them away and tried to focus her thoughts on other things.

  She thought about her family and wondered where they were. Hopefully, her dad was on one of the transports headed safely back to Ardmorr. She had no idea where her mother and siblings were—hopefully they had made it safely to Worchester.

  Esther pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them to her chest as she sat. Stars were beginning to appear in the clear night sky. It was a moonless night and the stars seemed even brighter than normal.

  What would I be doing right now if that raid had never happened? Probably just getting back home after the festival, she thought. She sighed as her thoughts turned to the men she’d killed—the raw emotions that those thoughts evoked brought more tears to her eyes. She sniffed and wiped her nose with her shirt sleeve. Who had those men been before she’d killed them? Obviously they had families and mothers, but were they simply the foot soldiers of a barbarous people, or was there more to them? What had happened in their lives that had led them to where they were on the day they had died? She didn’t have any answers to those questions.

  In truth, she faced more pressing concerns at the moment. The first, her immediate survival, and second, the possible assassination of the Hadiqan King. Was what the Madrausan High Priest said true? Could the King’s uncle be plotting to assassinate him? If Hadiq fell, then Ardmorr and the other Northern Kingdoms would fall as well. They were simply not strong enough to withstand a unified Madraus—no one was except the Hadiqan’s, or possibly the Kamakuran’s to the far west. If Esther survived, she had to warn the Hadiqan’s. Of course, she had to survive first.

  That thought brought her back to her current predicament. She was stranded in the mi
ddle of the ocean, hundreds of miles from any land-mass. High Priest Kamal had been right about at least this one thing—she was probably going to die out here…slowly, and painfully.

  Esther pulled her journal from where she’d secured it between her skin and her make-shift undergarments. She carefully unwrapped the oil cloth and opened the small notebook. It looked like water had gotten in and one corner of the journal was wet, but the rest appeared to be undamaged. Relieved, Esther flipped to her last entry.

  It was too dark to read the words, even with the brightly shining stars overhead. That was alright, she knew them by heart. She wished she still had the little bottle of ink and her pen though. She’d written in the dark before and she really wanted to get her thoughts and feelings down. Even so, she felt much better now than she had earlier. At least she’d had a little time to process the events of the last few days.

  Esther’s mind wandered and took an unexpected turn when thoughts of the Nautilus’ young Dr. Scott entered her mind, with his gorgeous grey eyes and sandy hair. She didn’t know why these thoughts had popped up, or where they had come from, but they were a pleasant contrast to her previously dark mood, and she let her mind linger on them. A sudden thrill rushed through her as she pictured herself dancing with him at the festival in Tewksbury. The thought brought a smile to her lips. Dreams…only dreams.

  Esther re-wrapped the little journal in the oil-cloth and tucked it back into her undergarments. Hugging it tightly to her breasts, she lay down and closed her eyes. With her mind relatively clear for the first time in a while, she was finally able to drift off to sleep.