Adrift

by Travis Smith

  “I been stung!” the man wailed. “Ooh, blimey, be I dyin’?”

  Julian seized the pirate’s shaggy locks of hair gruffly and pushed them aside. “Yer fine! Get off yer arse ’n’ quit embarrasin’ me!”

  The Stranger glanced into the jungle on either side of him. With the shackles on his wrists, there wasn’t much that he could accomplish, but if he could get away from his captives, he would be one step closer to surviving and finding his family.

  But Skuttler glanced at his weeping comrade with momentary apathy before turning to The Stranger and glaring at him menacingly. If he took one step in any direction, Skuttler would be upon him in an instant. Sure, he could likely slay the buffoon even with his shackles, but not before the other men fell in upon them both.

  He stood and watched quietly as the gruff former pirate wiped a piteous tear from his eye and stood back to his feet.

  “Somethin’ stung me ’ead,” he complained. “No tellin’ what kinda pois’nous critters be flyin’ about this dicking rock.”

  “Grow some balls, ye bilge rat,” Julian growled, tucking his sword back into its scabbard. “’Twas likely only a wee bumbly bee!”

  “Bumbly bees don’ live in jungles,” the third man chimed in.

  Julian turned on him. “Keep gabbin’, sonny boy, ’n’ I’ll slather yer sack wiv honey ’n’ see what creepies come crawlin’! An’ what’re ye lookin’ at, Stranga’? Let’s be on ye way now, if’n me matey here be still fit fer walkin’.”

  “Bite me bag, Cap’n,” the stung man grumbled, still rubbing the back of his head.

  “I’ll lick yer bag with me blade, you two don’ mind yer tongues aroun’ me. I’m yer cap’n now, ’n’ ye damn well better get used to it!”

  Through this exchange, Skuttler never took his eyes off The Stranger. Certainly daring his captive to make a move and give him an excuse to let violence ensue, Skuttler kept his sword at the ready by his side.

  “Well on with ye, then!” Julian yelled at The Stranger. “How many times I gotta say it? Come now, Skuttly, don’ look so sullen!”

  Before The Stranger could turn and face the other direction, a low rumble shook the earth.

  The man who’d been stung cowered behind his crewmate. “Is this bloomin’ rock sinkin’? Is that possible?”

  “The isle’s not sinkin’, you imbecile!” Captain Julian began, but before he could continue, the thundering crash of multiple full-grown trees being ripped from their roots echoed across the island.

  “What ’n the water-logged fuck was ’at?” a crewman asked slowly, his eyes wide and his mouth agape in awe.

  The five men listened to the ensuing silence with growing tension. A low, heavy growl began to whisper through the trees. The Stranger thought again of escape, but his heart was pounding distractingly in his chest. Skuttler, who had turned away to look toward the threatening growls that were growing in the distance, glanced back at The Stranger. He still wore a scowl, but The Stranger could discern undeniable terror in the man’s eyes. Though the response was warranted, The Stranger couldn’t afford to stand here frozen in fear any longer.

  “On with it, then,” Skuttler said to him. “Let’s get off this rock afore we be eaten by whatever the fuck be yonder thar.”

  “Hold it!” Julian snapped without turning his head away from the sounds in the distance.

  After a few moments of no change, The Stranger spoke. “It’s a punisher.”

  Skuttler narrowed his eyes at him, and the other three men slowly turned and looked on questioningly. They still seemed too stunned to muster any words.

  “And it sounds as if it would make your Kryp look like a grub worm,” he continued to Skuttler directly.

  “Aye, he do,” Skuttler croaked dryly. “I don’ suppose ye have yer magical sword to help slay the beastie, eh?”

  “Shut yer gobs,” Julian grumbled, turning to begin marching again.

  The Stranger carried on nevertheless. “I don’t believe that magic works for your side, you wretched soul,” he said as he turned and walked along the trail.

  “An’ I don’ b’lieve the punishers work fer yer side anymore, neither,” Julian said. “Now let’s get off this rock afore we’re all urchin shite.”

  6

  “We’re fuckin’ lost, I’m tellin’ ye,” a crewman grumbled not for the first time. Night had fallen completely, and it seemed all sense of direction had faded out with the daylight. The Stranger could not have cared less if he’d tried.

  “We wouldn’ be lost if ye hadna’ insisted we turn left back yonder!” Julian said. His temper had been steadily rising as the evening progressed.

  “How big can this ruddy rock be?” the other crewman asked their captain. “How come ye can’t find yer own boat?”

  Julian whirled around and swung the makeshift torch he’d lit in his subordinates’ faces. “Antonio made me your superior! You will learn to respect me, or yer gonna be wishin’ ye had while ye sink to the bottom o’ the sea with yer hands tied behind yer backs!”

  “Sorry, Cap’n, we’s jus’ fidgety on account o’ we don’ wanna be eated by the island giant.”

  “Oy, is that so?” Julian asked sardonically. “Ye don’ wanna be eated by the giant? An’ here I was thinkin’ that’s just what ye wanted t’ do!” He rushed the crewman and thumped him in the head with his torch. “The way ye keep givin’ me cheek, it seems precisely what ye wanna do is be fed to the cunting giant!”

  The unlucky crewman yelped as his long hair sizzled and burned.

  “We’re sorry, Cap’n!” the other chimed in. “We trust ye t’ get us back home safe! ’Tis why Sir Staig made you the cap’n, after all!”

  Julian turned to the man dangerously. “Ye best not be tonguin’ me arse now, matey.”

  “Wouldn’ dream of it, Cap’n!” the man replied, tipping his head toward Skuttler, who’d been sullenly staring at The Stranger since interrupting their gabfest.

  “Skuttly, what say ye?” Julian said, his demeanor changing in an instant. “Ye been scowlin’ at our poor pris’ner since the sun set!”

  “Don’ trust ’im,” Skuttler replied in a hoarse whisper.

  Julian cleared his throat. “Why don’ ye take a break,” he started, but Skuttler was already shaking his head. He clapped the man on the shoulder and continued, louder. “Aye, aye, tension’s high, we be lost in a cursed jungle, we got some sort o’ unholy beast chasin’ after us—why don’ we split up. Fin’ the shore ’n’ call fer the others.”

  “I’m takin’ the captive,” Skuttler said at once.

  “The captive stays with me,” Julian replied soberly.

  “Then I opt t’ stay with ye as well.”

  “Ye don’ make the orders ’ere, Skuttly,” Julian cuffed him on the back of the head. “What’s gotten into ye?”

  “What were ye whisperin’ abou’ afore I fell back to ye earlier?”

  “Oh, don’ be a twat, Skuttly, ye’ll embarrass me whole crew.”

  The Stranger was amused in spite of himself. “Don’t hold back on account of me,” he chimed in.

  “You shut yer fuckin’ gob!” Skuttler yelled at him. “Yer the one testin’ me!”

  Julian seized the unruly man by the back of his smock. “Hush yer droolin’ maw, ye bumblin’ bonehead!” He spoke in a gruff whisper, and spittle flew from his furious lips. “Ye’ll ’ave the beast down on us all afore ye’ve turned two shades redder! Ain’t ye listen when I say I be the cap’n fer a reason? Ye’ll do as I say, or we’ll leave yer carcass righ’ ’ere to rot!”

  Skuttler slouched his shoulders petulantly and said, “Yer tryin’ t’ get rid o’ me.”

  “Bollocks! If I wan’ rid o’ ye, I’ll be rid o’ ye! Now, I’m tryin t’ do ye a favor ’n’ let ye find shore ’n’ prove yerself to the crew!”

  Skuttler looked skeptically at the other two men, who both squirmed and struggled not to make eye contact. “Why d’ye hate me?” he asked pitifully.

  “’Tisn�
��t I!” Julian exclaimed. “Antonio Staig ordered me t’ put ye on a skiff ’n’ sail ye to Fordar first chance we got! Now help us find shore, or sit and die in silence!”

  “Antonio? That wily old git? Ye’ll cast off yer matey fer that greasy bastard?”

  Julian closed in on Skuttler. “I be a ranking cap’n ’cause I follow orders! If me men won’ do the same, I got no qualm sinkin’ ’em to the bottom o’ the sea! Quit yer squabble ’n’ get out o’ me sights. Yer a loyal one, Skuttly, ’n’ ’tis fer that reason alone I’ll let ye live through this night.”

  Skuttler’s chest began to heave. He looked from Captain Julian to his crewmates to The Stranger, who said, “I hope to get another shot at you one day.”

  “Ye’ll get yer shot, ye prissy would-be king!” Skuttler spat back.

  Julian grabbed him by the nape of the neck and intoned, “Now that sounds like a splendid idear.”

  Skuttler looked back at his captain, the contempt in his eyes melting away into fear.

  “Let me have him,” The Stranger said. “I’ll even leave the shackles on.”

  Julian slowly grasped Skuttler’s sword hilt in his hand. “Now, now, a fair fight may be a good bit o’ fun.”

  “N—n—now wait a second,” Skuttler said, his voice transforming as he spoke, becoming higher pitched and whiny, much like that of the Miles Cutler that The Stranger had met in Dask. “The B—B—Baron will want ’im a—alive!”

  “Then don’ kill ’im,” Julian said plainly. He laughed, and the other men joined in. They knew there was little risk of such happening.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll let me go if I kill him for you,” The Stranger said, making the rugged crew laugh even harder.

  “I b—been loyal,” Skuttler begged.

  “I know it, Skuttly,” Julian assured him, “that’s why I’m givin’ ye the chance to prove yerself now ’stead o’ guttin’ ye and hangin’ ye from a tree.”

  At that moment, the crewman who had been stung before began to scream anew. “Ow! Ow! Ow! The bees be back!” he hollered as he lunged forward and fell flat on his face. He writhed and moaned in the dirt, attempting to swat at his back.

  “What in the furry fuck did I say ’bout yer hollerin’?” Julian screamed at his mate, wheeling around to face him.

  Skuttler wasted not a moment. As soon as his captain turned his back, the man devolved into a four-legged cave dweller and rushed silently into the trees on his hands and feet. Despite their differences, The Stranger too thought this a good plan. He went crashing in the opposite direction into the night, his bound wrists positioned awkwardly in front of his chest.

  “Skuttler!” Julian bellowed before realizing that his prisoner had vanished, too. He shrieked in fury and barked orders at his two remaining men. “Paulie, go get that tittering twit now! Bee-sting, yer comin’ wiv me. Get up!”

  7

  The Stranger tore gracelessly through the thick underbrush and darkness. The last time he’d fled through this jungle from a band of murderous pirates, he’d had a musket ball in his chest. If he could escape them then, this should be a breeze.

  He heard even over his own bumbling the footfalls of his pursuers. They crashed and yelled just as heedlessly as the last crew that had sought him out. He doubted if Captain Julian had grown as roguish and sea-smart as the late Slougher, however, and he felt confident in his abilities to outsmart the men.

  After being locked in Eugene’s cellar for as long as he could remember, as well as recovering from his fatal wounds, The Stranger felt invigorated and free, despite the shackles on his wrists. His heart beat wildly in his healthy chest, and his legs pumped ever faster through the thicket. Vines and limbs struck and stung his face, and he could have laughed if he weren’t running for his life. In that moment he felt like a child, and he couldn’t take the pirates seriously if he’d wanted to. The only thing he thought was that one familiar phrase, that mantra of his new life: I have to find my son.

  He ran and dodged all of the largest obstacles until he completely lost track of the men chasing him from behind. At last he broke out of the tree line onto a dark beach. The bright moon shone down upon the waves, which sloshed reassuringly against the shore. How long had it been since he’d seen this shore? How many days had he passed in captivity? His billowing beard told him that it had been many.

  The coast looked nearly as majestic as it had on the morning before he’d stumbled into Eugene’s trap. What he wouldn’t give to set out right into that great sea and begin his quest to find his son.

  But, alas, his pursuers could find him at any moment, and before he could revel a moment more in the peaceful scenery, he spotted their grand ship a short distance down the coast. While Julian had bluffed once about a larger party of crewmen waiting upstairs, The Stranger decided not to take the chance at running aboard the ship and finding twenty men lying in wait. He would find another ship in which to flee the island.

  He turned in the opposite direction and ran along the beach.

  8

  The Stranger rushed far along the beach, until the barony ship was long since out of sight, before stopping to allow himself to rest. Free as he’d previously felt, his chest now burned and heaved as his lungs struggled to pull in enough air to keep up with his pounding heart. He glanced around to ensure that no one was nearby and approached the shore. He slipped off his soft leather moccasins and sat down upon the wet sand, allowing the cool water to flow over his feet and legs. Before long, he stripped as well as he could while still wearing the shackles and dove into the refreshing waves. He had aged accustomed to a lavish lifestyle, and he’d always been a clean, well-groomed man. While life on the run from Reprise had certainly changed that, he had never in life felt so grimy and disgusting as he did now. With no freshwater sources nearby, he was glad to settle on the salty sea.

  For the second and last time in life, The Stranger watched the night turn to day on the mysterious island south of Fordar. The black sky slowly faded to purple and pink before he realized that he must be far from the cliff where he had previously watched the sunrise. The sun was rising just out of sight from the direction he’d seen the barony ship.

  When the sky was mostly bright blue and the beach was well lit, The Stranger decided he had rested long enough. He couldn’t accomplish anything with the shackles on, but getting them off would be no easy feat. He struggled for a moment to pull his hand through the cuff, but the pirates had taken pains to make such an easy escape impossible.

  He wandered into the trees at the edge of the beach and began to search for thin sticks to attempt to pick the lock. After trying and snapping two or three thin branches in the keyhole, he found a more substantial piece of wood and began rubbing it against a tree in an attempt to whittle it to a point. Even if it wouldn’t open the cuffs, it would likely make a handy weapon if he ran into any modest danger.

  The moment he thought it, he heard the low murmur of voices through the trees.

  “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. Had they found their ship and rounded up the rest of their crew, or was he merely running from two or three men still? If he stood any chance of getting off this island on his own, he would have to skirt the perimeter on the beaches in search of a vessel that he could use, but if he left the cover of the jungle, he would be at much greater risk of being spotted, so The Stranger quietly made his way deeper into the trees.

  He made an effort to move away from where he thought the voices were travelling, and before long he found himself drudging his way up a steep hill. Already on his way and not eager to backtrack into the open arms of Captain Julian, The Stranger decided to climb his way to the top and hope for a decent vantage point to scope out the rest of the island.

  Before long, the hill turned into cliffs and the dirt beneath his feet turned into stone. The Stranger found himself more often than not forced to use his bound hands to pull himself upward on the nearly vertical climb. As he neared the top, he began to hear the sound of running water.
Was it possible that fresh water existed so close to the shore? It certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’d seen since arriving on this island.

  When he reached a plateau in the climb, The Stranger stopped to catch his breath and listen for his followers. As he sat, he began rubbing the stick against the stone beneath him. It proved far more effective than the tree trunk. After some time, he’d gotten it pared to a rounded point that fit snugly inside the keyhole of his shackles. He struggled to achieve any result and failed. Desperate, he cracked the tip of the point and bent it sideways to give the stick a more key-like appearance, but when he inserted this into the hole and turned it, the broken tip became dislodged and stuck within the keyhole. Cursing, The Stranger contorted his arms and wrists impossibly to get the chip of wood to fall out, but to no avail. He slammed the cuffs against the hard stony cliffs and used every ounce of will that he possessed to not scream in frustration. How would he accomplish anything in this state? How could he captain a craft with these cursed chunks of metal on his wrists? How could he protect himself should he be put again in harm’s way?

  Just then a low rumble emanated from the stone beneath him.

  9

  The Stranger turned and looked up toward the peak of the cliff. Beyond that lay the colossal source of the clicking growl that was continually growing in pitch.

  He froze for a short time, unsure whether the monster knew he was here or not. Listening for any sign that the beast was moving toward him, he slowly made his way to the top of the rock face. The sight before him was doubly awe-inspiring. Atop this vast plateau lay a freshwater oasis with running streams that cascaded and coalesced as they made their way down the steep rocky chasm. Unless viewed from far out at sea, the substantial knoll must be hidden from view by the towering trees along the beach.

  The Stranger would have taken pause even in his urgent quest to enjoy such a remarkable scene, but the second thing he saw guaranteed that such would not occur. Far below, in the rocky chasm beneath the cascading falls roamed a behemoth creature that dwarfed any he’d ever beheld. Enormous, scaly tentacles waved to and fro, sampling the sides of the rocky cliffs. It roamed on either four or six short, inept legs in the shallows below. The Stranger couldn’t see the beast’s face, but it let out a drumming roar that could have conveyed any of twenty human emotions.