Black White and Shades of Greyy

by ElissaBeth Frear

Chapter 167

  They moved slowly through the dense brush and thick trees seeking the child’s mother desperate to protect their injuries from the harsh jungle. What they found instead was a sight that shook the whole crew to their core. In a dark hut with not even so much as a fire pit sat a female native. It proved that she was the one who was working with the Dark Elf’s Matriarch in order to assassinate the Priestess and implicate the “Vharcan”. She was also the one who had been instrumental in covering Greyy’s ship in the dark curse brought on by her anger.

  Anger in her eyes and murder on her tongue she cursed the child for failing his assignment. Standing to greet the crew in hostile anxiety and with another child at her side she lunged at Greyy with a dagger in her hand. The woman was quickly disarmed and pinned to the floor putting the blade at her throat. Still ignorant of the truth in the matter Greyy showed the woman mercy.

  “T’would be a wise thing for thee to forget thy ways and care for the children in proper female fashion. If I see ye take this action to me again it will be thy last.” Greyy said in a low hushed tone.

  Tossing her back to the corner and sending the dagger flying through an open window and into a tree well beyond reach the Captain made her point and turned to leave.

  The next action of the woman was bone chilling. She was so intent upon seeing her assignment to its completion that she took her child in one arm and raised a crossbow in the other.

  Before she could speak her threat Captain Greyy launched an arrow straight between her eyes pinning her to the wall beyond. In this action she left her two young children orphaned and with murderous tendencies firmly embedded in their minds.

  The task of returning the child to his mother was completed; the task at hand was to return to the ship without any further altercations or surprises. Greyy and those who had traveled with her made their way back in silent brooding hoping for the safety of their ship. The darkness of their vessel seemed darker after the wickedness they had witnessed.

  Almost to “Vharcan” and with the ability to leave the ominous errand behind them the party turned to flee and not look back at the sinister jungle. Skirting a tall tree opposite a clearing that separated land from sea they were met by the village Shaman. No one was certain if his actions were intended for good or evil, but the deep unsettling that lay over the crew like a thick fog was unmistakable.

  Face to face he stood in front of the Captain and dipped his thumb into a small pouch that hung around his neck. The pouch contained black oil that he used to trace a line across Greyy’s forehead. His forefinger and thumb dark with the heavy liquid began together on her skin and slowly swirling out over the eyebrows in shape of an eye before he withdrew allowing them to resume the trek back to their ship.

  She was left to ponder if the mark was a blessing or another curse to be added to the already damned ship and crew, she hoped one day to discover for sure.

  The profound impact on the crew became a topic none were eager to discuss. The images of villagers sending their children out as bombs seared into the minds of those who had see the potion jostled around the child’s neck. The first true fatality of their ranks brought the curse to a new level of intensity. Those who were directly involved were irreparably altered and at the heart they knew their part was responsible for molding the course of the tribe as well.

  Once aboard the crew prepared to set sail and be as far from the jungle as possible. The Pirates and Navy threat seemed quiet and tame compared to the evil that they had allowed to sully their ranks. Moving slowly away from shore movement from a break in the tree line caught their eyes.

  Angry men barely hidden by brush and bark stood at the trees while relieved women sat in small huts. Huddled in the dark corner of the assassin’s hut were her children. The dye in the pool of their lives set and stirred muddling the course of their existence. Behind them tall and silent the Shaman strode quietly to retrieve the unlucky brood of profound evil. Pounding echoed through the thick brush to “Vharcan”. The men were beating their feet and spears on the ground and against the trees. A blood chilling scream suddenly cut off emerged from deep in the forest and it was painfully clear what had become of the children.

  Tribal shouts and screaming spears and arrows flung past the heads of the crew embedding in the hull and masts as the ship continued out of the inlet. Tears fell freely from several of the crew and its Captain as they moved toward the horizon and away from the darkness.

  Chapter 168

  The crew diminished and vulnerable to attack, low in spirits and damaged in body was less than surprised to see the Navy’s “The Charming”. For some it was almost a welcome sight. The enemy they knew and understood wanted to board, and the crew of “Vharcan” allowed without protest. But instead of looting and arresting the entire crew their Captain who was Roland White brought across his chief medical officer to assist Doc and to inspect the crew for injury and damages. Others of the Navy crew came aboard to repair and clean damaged places on the deck and in the sails.

  The remarkable and unsolicited kindness of Roland caught Greyy off guard but she was far too spent to argue or question it. Without any word of explanation or fan fair they left as they had boarded. How the Navy had acquired knowledge of the incidents that had occurred none would ever tell, but to say they were a welcomed sight would be an understatement.

  “Captain, we will resume the chase on the morrow.” Roland said with a snappy salute as he moved away from her ship.

  Watching the Navy vessel drift off the edge of the horizon Greyy finally turned her attentions to chores aboard that desperately needed tending. The first priority was to mourn the loss of one of their own. Jarvis “Starvin’ Marvin” as he had been called was wrapped and prepared for burial at sea. Holding services of this sort was the most difficult especially in a crew that was small.

  Jarvis was constantly eating something and the cook gave him the nick name to get him out of the kitchen. The name stuck with him and his real name had been lost to the waves by most of the crew. He was a tall scrawny man barely with enough meat on his bones to keep from blowing away in a good wind. His short cropped hair was scraggly and unkempt with evidence that he tried to be his own barber. He had large hands, almost disproportionate to the rest of his body. He had a smooth easy manner that endeared him to everyone he met, regardless of the fact he was part of the most ruthless band of cutthroats that sailed the seas. His only fault was his lack of good judgment in people. It was this poor decision that landed him aboard the “Vharcan” as well as got him killed.

  Doc was called to say the parting words of their comrade. It was certain the speech was lovely but none remembered anything other than the events that flooded in like a tsunami. In time the blood stains would wash away and the vivid memories would fade but at the moment a hushed numbness hovered over the crew as they watched the body move across the deck each member caught in their own thoughts.

  As his body splashed over the rails and sunk into the deep blue waters a heavy sigh spread throughout the crew. The troubles they faced were certainly contributed to the curse enacted by the Captain. They all partook in it and they would all face it together, until death ripped them away.

  “Turn this bucket to Port Bistrot.” Greyylene ordered as she turned toward her cabin.

  Chapter 169

  Roland White and his new crew turned the “The Charming” back towards Port Bistrot. They followed out of sight of “Vharcan” making certain nothing more befell the battered crew.

  “Sir Gilead, they’re going to think we’re hounding them.” Roland called over his shoulder.

  “Nay, Commander, they will not even notice we are here. They have far too many other things of bigger concern.” Sir Gil said emerging from a dark corner.

  Chapter 170

  A day and half passed without so much as a flicker of interest and “Vharcan” eased into their quiet private harbor barely noticing they had returned. They spent the days cleaning off th
e decks and trying desperately to erase the memories and images that haunted. When the call came that the ship was secure and decks swabbed Greyy strode to the center mast and waited for the crew to gather around her.

  “We will be dropping the plank shortly, and I want to make this announcement clear. None of the events will own our memories or our imaginations. We will not be haunted by the evil that was forced on us! We will claim our own follies and this is not one of them. From this day forward none will speak of it, we will not mention the names of those who saw us harmed and we will continue to be the very best at what we are! Is That Clear?”

  Her announcement was greeted with cheers and hearty agreement. Even as she strode boldly to the wheel; inside she felt like a small child waking from a horrific nightmare. Every fiber in her being quivered and quaked at the visions that ignored her command when she closed her eyes.

  She was thankful for the shore leave and hoped she would be able to run into some friendly faces. Donny Porter was top of her list to visit, and she also quietly hoped the Monk would mysteriously show up, as he often did.

  “We sail in two days time. Use this as an opportunity for a Bath! You boys reek!” Greyy said with a wink as the plank was finally dropped and the crew made their way ashore.

  The last of the crew bustled off the ship Captain Greyy returned to her quarters to wash the grime and maybe be more presentable. She made it a practice to be the last to leave and the first to return in hopes of avoiding stowaways and such. Normally it worked well, however she did acquire a few of her crew by discovering an uninvited passenger.

  Stripping off her tattered clothing she began to realize how battered and sore she really was. Bruises and burns were showing their ugly colors and telling more than she was willing to share. Gazing into her small mirror revealed deep circles under her eyes and an ancient woman staring back at her.

  “This shore leave could not have come at a better time. You look horrible!” She said to her reflection as she gently touched her black eye.

  Chapter 171

  Determined not to show sign of injury she found an outfit that was presentable, loose enough to be comfortable but snug enough to show off a bit. The deep blue skirt hung just below the knee in front and draped to her ankles in the back with a bit of a flirty ruffle at the hem, topped with a white fitted shirt that tied at her neck. She chose the cropped quilted jacket that had been tailored for her special from one of the port tailors they frequented. His craftsmanship was renowned though the land and she felt privileged to have been able to acquire a piece from him without having to bribe, steal or kill him for it.

  The jacket fit just below her bust and fastened with a silver clasp square between her breasts. Sleeves were embroidered with soft nautical designs down the arms and ended in flair at the wrist. She had requested a jacket with a hood to hide her eyes when necessary and the hood on this one showed remarkable talent with needle and thread. The designs he inlaid with a rare metallic thread through the entire piece. Her short cut heeled boots finished the look.

  She had no occasion to wear the exquisite jacket normally but a shore leave after the adventure they had recently survived begged to be celebrated. One final inspection in the mirror to ensure she was remotely presentable and she turned on her heel to search for Donny Porter. Before reaching the door to her cabin a thought struck her and she turned around toward the chest of Savage Ale she hid in a secret compartment under her cot. On the offhand chance she would find the Monk it would be best to take the Dark Elf’s pendant rather than have to return to the place she was seeking to vacate.

  Striding with a careful gait down the side of the main road Greyy made her way past establishments that were familiar yet different. So much of the town had changed since they were last in port. Some seemed more run down, others had new owners, but the tavern was deliciously the same! The best part was the music flowing from the open door. A bard and his troupe had come to town and were playing for a growing crowd.

  She made her way into the darkness enveloped by the noise and people. Lithely she crept along the wall keeping her eye on the patrons searching for the ones she came to see. At last her gaze fell on a back table where both Donny and the Monk were sitting.

  Joining them at the table Greyy took the dimly lit corner and removed her hood hoping the shadows would hide the bruising on her face. They made pleasant conversation for a while and Greyy listened as Donny filled her in on the latest news from town. None of them were particularly aware when the music ended and the Bard made his way over to their table.

  About the time Greyylene noticed the Monk’s amulet shift color a pair of arms caught her in a huge bear hug lifting her out of the chair with her feet dangling in the air. The sound of a bruised rib cracking was muffled by the rest of the din around them, but her agonizing moan brought the men to their feet. The Bard released her from his embrace shocked and embarrassed that he had injured her.

  She dropped to her knees barely able to breathe from the fire in her lungs due to the broken rib. They retrieved a few more candles for their table and then it was discovered that the mighty Captain was badly injured. Sir Gilead inspected the marks on her face carefully as he tried to help her to stand.

  When she was back on her feet and standing unassisted she reached out her hand to the bard and caressed his face.

  “Ah my Beard Boy!” she said with affection before sinking into a chair barely able to remain conscious.

  “Help me get her up to my room.” Gil ordered the other two. Leaning over the Captain he slid his arm around her shoulders lifting her carefully and making her walk toward the back stairs.

  Chapter 172

  The Monk’s room was the last one down the hall and the only one with a large bath. Once they got the Captain to the room the task was to disrobe her as delicately and as discreetly as possible. None of them wanted to see her in the weak condition, but to help her mend they had to find what was injured.

  “Alright Miss Captain, you need to explain all This!” Sir Gil said once she was disrobed enough to see the damage fully.

  As they readied her bath with mineral salts she retold the tale of their last grand adventure in all its gruesome detail. She sat behind a screen covered in a soft robe waiting for the water to be filled; tears ran down her cheeks unashamedly knowing the silence on the other side meant they felt her agony too. The images she had tried to force away rushed back at the telling.

  When the bath had finally been filled and she was settled in the deep tub with a towel across the top for some privacy Sir Gilead removed the screen so they could all see each other’s face. Donny Porter was the first to voice the horror they all felt.

  “Capt’n, I just donnow’at ta say wit all that. Nutt’n here so grand and excit’n as all that, then ‘gen maybe excit’naint what ya’ll need.” He said in a hoarse whisper.

  Greyylene, Donny, Sir Gil and the Bard remained in the quiet room allowing the Captain to soak in the healing bath. Twice the water was refilled to the point of sloshing over the edges but no one seemed to care or notice. The aching in her body began to subside and she was about to step out of the water when Doc rushed in horrified that he had not been present when his Captain needed his assistance.

  “Ah, Capt’n, so sorry I was absent! Ye be in need o’ me service I think?” He said throwing the contents of his medical pouch on the bed. He was so intent on helping her he had forgotten to close the door or notice the others in the room.

  “It’s alright, Doc. Sir Gil here was letting me soak in some mineral salts. I’m feelin much better now.” She said wrapping the towel around her gently.

  Embarrassed Doc began to collect his items fearing he was replaced by the Monk. Sir Gilead smiled at the ship’s doctor and put a hand gently on his shoulder.

  “She would be more comfortable if you tended her broken ribs. The rest will heal in time, but the ribs look a bit more complicated.”

  Another hour and the small party was again
sitting downstairs in the pub sipping on a quiet ale Gilead had brought from some far off region of the Empire. It was just strong enough to take the edge off a harrowing day, but not so strong as to make one feel they would breathe fire if near an open flame.

  For a while Greyy enjoyed the attention the men around her paid; she finally felt safe for the first time in many years. As the candle flame danced shadows on the table she allowed herself a moment to reflect back to her home and wonder how her sister was fairing and if they would ever meet again.

  Chapter 173

  As the Monk’s ale began to settle into their spirits Greyy startled herself causing a wincing pain in her side. Pulling the amulet from the Treacherous Elf from her pocket she leaned across the table handing it to the Monk. As the two stones grew closer both changed colors to matching sinister red. When the Monk took it both amulets made a sizzling pop and faded back to their inert colors. Sir Gilead held the blood stained talisman in his hand as he stood, bowed slightly to those at the table and turned to leave.

  Striding through town in the middle of the road Sir Gilead made his way up to a small clearing. Many times he stood on the outcropping of stone overlooking the Port below. When he arrived to the place where he had spent many hours in fervent supplication to the deity he served.

  As he knelt on the soft earth he noticed a small smooth stone beneath him. The surface was flat and unassuming yet the power that resonated from it compelled him to lay the menacing amulet from the Dark Elf on top of it. As images of the story he had been told rushed over him rage flooded his spirit and he took up another larger jagged rock landing several crushing blows on the offending charm. The jagged edges did no damage to its target but drew blood from the Monk’s hand landing on the leather cord that was stained with the blood from the ruined Elf.

  In a blinding flash of light a fireball struck the small alter throwing Sir Gil back and consumed the area. A searing stench of sulfur and brimstone filled the air causing the Monk to choke and gag. Turning away he wept bitter tears for the ones who had paid such a heavy price at the hand of the Evil brought on by the Dark Elf.