by Dawn Dagger
Maybe he was Vedrus. Or Chinghonese. He had neither accent, but what did she know?
“What are you useful for?” He asked suddenly.
“Pardon, sir?”
“I spent half a daermach on you. I can’t exactly sell you back. What are you useful for, maid?”
“You mean to say you haven’t got any plans for me, sir?” Levanine sat up straighter, forgetting to watch her tongue in her stupor. Who was this stranger? Surely a lord or prince would know what he wanted with a girl. Or at least how to get rid of one profitably.
“Nye.” He still didn’t look at her, but she did not mind. It felt safer.
“Th-then why buy me?” She bit her lip with fright, but when he did not tense, she found herself willing to venture further, “I know the money was for competition, but why compete over myself?”
“Because you weren’t ready for what they were trying to sell you for.”
Obviously, she wanted to blurt, but instead she swallowed the bile and words in her throat. “Master, we were all to be bought and sold as sex slaves. That is the market.” She tried not to speak to him as if he were the children she had so often taught to.
“I understand that. But you weren’t ready for it. I saw that look.”
“Not many are, sire. That’s the reason for the whole wicked trade.”
“You’re the only one there who wasn’t trying to be bought. In a port full of whores, you were the only one not trying to have your rags shredded off by sunrise.”
Levanine did not speak. She wanted to tell him those whores had been like her once, that girls who weren’t even women would not give him such looks. But, she held her tongue and let him decide if he wanted to continue the conversation.
He slammed his palms on the countertop suddenly, making Levanine jump. Her master stood up and she shakily followed suit. “What are you good for?” He asked again.
He grabbed her arm in his tight grip and began to lead her out of the bar without paying. She stumbled after him, this time nearly able to match his strides with her trembling legs, despite the pain still shooting through her heels from the small bits of glass.
“G-good for? I’ve been a maid, a nurse for children, a healer’s apprentice A couple of village healers, not witches, um, that I’ve worked for. I can cook and clean and sew. I-I don’t protest or anything, sir. I’m good at working into the wee hours as well. I don’t need much food or anything of the sort...”
“Do you like the ocean?” He asked, as if she had not responded.
Levanine’s heart jumped in her chest and she stopped for a second. “The ocean, sire?”
“No, the volcanoes on the peninsulas of Iatrain.” He grumbled under his breath, tugging her along. “Yes, the ocean. Sailing. The salt-water breeze. Fishing nets.”
“Yes, master. I-I’ve always wa-- Yes, sire. I am fine with the sea, sir.” She swallowed all of the words that expressed her own desires and pleasures. She’d been hit before for saying she liked something.
“I asked if you liked the ocean.” He grumbled, jerking her sideways hard to prevent her from running into someone.
“Yes, sire.” She mumbled, as she straightened herself.
“Good. We might yet find some use for you.” He stopped suddenly, glancing skeptically over her shivering frame. “I suppose you’ll need some clothes? And a cloak?”
“Whatever you wish, sire.”
He grumbled to himself once more and they continued to walk. Levanine noticed that the edges of the fog were almost turning a dirty yellow color, and she realized the sun must be rising, finally. Around the click of her master’s boots and the low hum of men talking and dealing, she could hear the sound of water lapping against stones. They were nearing the ship docks, she realized.
The idea took her breath away. A boat? The ocean? Would they finally be off the forsaken island? Were they going for somewhere she had never seen before? She felt as if she had seen half the world, but she had never seen much of the ocean… Maybe he was a lord. Maybe Iatrain, though those from Iatrain looked very different from normal humans. She had not yet seen his face, so perhaps he did have blue hair and coral eyes.
The man twisted sideways and pushed into a squat building that greeted them with the ring of a rusty bell. She was left beside a counter full of cloth and the master began to shuffle through the misshapen piles.
He grabbed a thick bunch of a course material and handed it to the short man that was hovering nearby, wearing a dirty apron and broken glasses. “Give her a cloak.”
The tailor took the cloth and threw it suddenly around Levanine’s figure, causing her to start. His spindly fingers pinched the cloth at her throat as he pulled some into a hood for her, then fastened it at her throat with a small pin. The cloak was warm and dry, and Levanine was very grateful for it.
Her master slapped a few coins in the tailor’s hand and strode out, not bothering to grab her this time. Levanine clutched the cloak and pin and ran after him, slowing as they stepped out of the building and turned left to continue their walk.
“Th-thank you, Master,” she whispered.
He grunted deep in his throat. Stray hairs began to stick to her forehead as the fog around them grew thicker, and the air tasted of salt and fish. She could no longer hear the wagon wheels and whips cracking. Instead she heard shouting and heavy booms and the groans of large wooden bodies shifting.
As they neared the ship docks she could hear the sailors carrying lumber and tossing crates. She could see their straining figures through the fog, but they looked more like apparitions than solid men.
As it was so early in the morning, the men were loading and unloading ships before the main market opened later in the day. Fishermen were watching whatever eels they could find in the oily waters, and stooped, wrinkled women were setting up booths covered in shimmering objects Levanine knew were used for summoning and worshiping darkness.
The fog began to dissipate as the sun rose higher in the sky, and Levanine could see the vessels on the water more clearly now. The ships rose above them, their masts brushing the sky and their furled sails looking as if they might burst from their bindings at any moment.
They passed trader ships and simple skiffs, walking for long enough that Leanine wondered if the man did not have a ship and was looking for any vessel to travel back to his home, wherever that would be.
Finally her master stopped and turned, trotting up a long gangplank and disappearing onto the towering ship.
Levanine made no move to follow, her eyes wandering over the beauty of wood. The ship was made of a rich, dark wood, and its figurehead was an ornately carved merwoman, bent in a half circle as if she had leapt from the water and froze with her belly pressed against the front of the ship.
Levanine’s eyes wandered across the masts whose sails were unfurled and she squinted at the red emblem painted on the ship’s flag. It looked like… She felt the breath stole from her lungs.
“Well, stop gawking and come on!” The cloaked figure called impatiently, suddenly leaning down over the side of the ship.
Levanine could barely tear her eyes from the emblem: a broken crown with a sword above it.
This was no hapless lord or soul-searching prince who had purchased her. This ship… It was The Red Running Royalty.
The pirate ship owned by the most notorious captain on Kethaltar. A vessel of death and plundering.
Levanine belonged to the most reputable captain in the world.
Chapter 2
“I will drag you up here.” The cloaked stranger snapped at Levanine, breaking her out of her disbelief.
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat, then clambered up the gangplank and onto the ship. The large boat swayed and she nearly fell over from the sudden lurching, but her new master grabbed her by the shoulders and kept her steady.
“I thought you said you were fine with the sea,” he growled, his voice threatening.
“I’m not concerned about the sea,” she managed past the lump in her throat. She was shaking and sweating all over again. She felt like she might be very, very sick.
Once the stranger had steadied her he let her go. “You’ll get used to the rocking soon enough.”
She nodded mutely. The stranger opened his mouth, then turned suddenly and growled under his breath. He stormed off, snapping in another language at a man tying down crates.
Levanine had heard many stories about the captain of the Red Running Royalty. He was called a shadow, a demon, a handsome man who had his way with women. Some people described him the same as other pirate captains- grizzled, strong as an ox, and as crude as the mountain folk-- while even others described him as ruggedly handsome and charming as any lord.
Either way, Captain Guy was the richest pirate in any seas.
And he was now her master, owning her even above the the rich sailor who purchased her. Because he owned all of the men on the ship.
Levanine looked around for any sight of the Captain. What would he think of the strange man buying her with no purpose in mind? What would he think of the man spending half a daermach on her? Was it the man’s money to spend?
What if the man who had purchased her was the Captain’s right-hand-man, and that’s why everyone on Dreanis respected him enough to not start a fight?
The ship lurched and Levanine yelped as her feet went out from under her and she fell. Her palms impacted the rough wood and she cursed as her head slammed against the boards.
She moaned and sat up onto her knees, swaying. She brushed her forehead and looked at her fingers, her stomach twisting. Oh. She was bleeding.
Levanine gripped the side of the ship and shakily pulled herself up to her feet. She grabbed the corner of her cloak and tried to wipe the blood trickling from her smarting forehead. A few men passed her as they worked, giving her hungry looks and chuckling amongst themselves.
She knew they were not admiring her beauty, they were simply admiring her being a woman. She suspected they did not bed many women on the seas, so she was fresh meat.
One of the men, a lanky lad with brown hair and silver eyes, hit his friend’s shoulder and gave her an apologetic smile, muttering “deso.”
Levanine pressed her back against the side of the boat and wished the stranger would return and tell her something to do. Yell at her, hit her, drag her around; anything would be better than standing there, swaying, feeling sick, bleeding.
As if her desperate wishing had materialized him from the fog, he was there. “What happened?” He demanded, tilting his head to gaze at her forehead.
“I fell, sire.”
There was a long second of silence, and he sighed slowly. She was relieved he made no move to scold her. The man mumbled something under his breath and then grabbed her arm. It was going to be sore if he didn’t grab her more gently.
“You’ll get your sea legs eventually. Follow me and sway with the boat.” He began to walk in slow, deliberate steps and Levanine shakily followed, feeling like a colt learning to walk-- her knees and ankles bending in all the wrong directions all at the wrong time.
Without tumbling again, Levanine managed to walk towards the door her master was leading her too. The man pulled open the oak door with a sharp tug, and led her into a dimly lit chamber.
It looked like the captain’s chamber, perhaps. There was a poster bed anchored into the corner, messy with silk sheets. Sea-green glass cut a window in the back wall, letting in washed light and the silhouette of the ocean. A desk cluttered with maps and a globe sat to the right of the room, and a wardrobe, a dirty mirror, and another door sat on the opposite wall as the bed.
The stranger nudged her toward the bed and she sat down suddenly on the edge as the boat lurched again. Her master scrutinized the gash on her head, which had now stopped bleeding. “We’ll deal with it later,” he growled, straightening. “I will be back. Don’t move.”
“Yes, sire,” Levanine said.
The man spun on his heel, his cape swishing behind him, and left, slamming the door. Levanine folded her hands in her lap and relished the warmth of the cabin. She listened to the muffled shouts of the men and the lapping of the waves against the ship. A lantern flickered above her head and she watched the orange flame, trying not to think.
Levanine realized she was exhausted. She did not know the last time she had slept or eaten, but the mead was sitting in her belly in a way that made her feel as if she had eaten, and her cloak felt comfortable despite its coarseness.
Her head ached terribly, and her lids felt heavy. She rubbed her eyes with her calloused, trembling hands and a yawn forced her mouth open.
Maybe, she thought to herself, I’ll just lay down. I won’t fall asleep, I will just rest. How could she fall asleep, being on a ship full of pirates? At any moment the captain of the ship could burst in. Who knows what would happen to her then?
No, she wouldn’t sleep. She would just close her eyes and listen to the goings on outside of the heavy oak door.
Levanine curled sideways on the bed, tucking her grey cloak around her legs and bare feet. She closed her eyes and and waited.
Levanine’s eyes flew open as a door slammed. She was instantly awake.
Oh, Ursona. She had fallen asleep. On the captain’s bed. He was going to kill her.
Levanine could have cried as she leapt off of the bed and fell to her knees, her forehead pressed against the wooden floor. “I’m so sorry, Master,” She choked, praying to the Creator and all the Saints that her Master would not beat her for being so stupid.
After a stretching minute of terrifying silence, she risked looking up. The man was standing in front of her, his arms crossed. As had been the case since he had purchased her, she could not see his expression in the shadow of his hood.
Levanine wondered briefly if he maybe did not have a face. Maybe it was just a pit of darkness. Maybe this man was not a man at all, but a demon.
“Get up,” he said gruffly.
Levanine’s legs felt like they had been lopped off and replaced with fish guts, but she rose despite this. She wasn’t so much standing as she was crouched and swaying.
“I am not going to punish you for sleeping,” he continued, his voice far from what would be described as ‘gentle’, but not reprimanding or loathing. “You were exhausted. Now, come, it is time for dinner.” Levanine’s eyes widened. Dinner? She still felt tired, but if they were going to eat dinner, it meant that she had slept near the whole day through.
The stranger started out and she scurried after him, her knees still bent as it helped her walk despite the ship’s rocking. She reached out and steadied herself on various crates and the masts as she followed, fighting to keep her balance.
The night was cool and a few stars poked out of the grey. She could tell the constellation was of Naska, the bull. If Naska was visible, she realized, they had sailed away from Dreanis and its smog, and they were on the open sea.
The thought made her heart pound with excitement.
Canons, shiny and large, were set along the starboard side of the ship, and a notice she couldn’t read in the dark was nailed to the main mast. The stranger opened the door to a flight of stairs, and she followed him down into the dining area of the ship.
Long tables were spread in neat rows, and they were crowded with men eating and drinking and jostling each other around. Lanterns swayed above, casting shadows, flickering light in all directions, and crudely outlining the hard faces of the ship’s crew.
They slowly walked down the aisle, and each table in turn went quiet as the men adjusted to look at her. Some gazes were curious, some hungry. Levanine kept her eyes glued to the ground. Her master sat down at a single table at the ‘head’ of the space and gestured her to sit opposite of him. She obeyed.
Eyes bore into her back as a large chef with what appeared to be blue hair came and set two bowls upon the table. Was his hair dyed or was he from
Iatrain?
It didn’t matter to her. The food was a steaming soup that smelled quite wonderful. Her master picked up his spoon and began to eat his soup calmly. Levanine stared at the stew and waited for instructions.
“Eat.”
She picked up the spoon and slowly scooped up a bite. The food was delicious. It felt wonderful in her belly, so wonderful. She fought the urge to pick the bowl up and swallow the soup in a few gulps, and instead took deliberate, small bites. Sometimes she had to bite the wooden spoon to force herself to slow down.
She had seen what had happened to those who had not eaten for a long time, then ate too much. She had seen starving hunters fill themselves with stew and bread, then nap. She had seen them fail to rise from their naps.
She did not want to die.
She set her wooden spoon back into the bowl, the bowl still half full, and forced herself to fold her hands in her lap. Her stomach still felt empty, and the soup smelled so enticing, but she could not risk becoming sick.
“When is the last time you had a meal?” The stranger asked, glancing around the room. The lantern light danced small orange circles across his cheekbones. They highlighted a nasty scar. Was his whole face so horribly marred?
“I had a morsel of bread a few days ago…” Levanine shifted as she continued to feel stares from the men around her, worrying that she was insulting her master by not eating.
“I said meal.”
“N-not for a long while, sire.”
He sighed again and continued to eat his own soup. The sigh seemed to be one less of an annoyance and more of understanding. She hoped she had not insulted him. She could not help but glance around as the food settled in her stomach, waiting for the captain of the ship to appear.
She realized, however, she would not know what the captain looked like. There were too many rumors, and for all she knew, he could just be hiding in the shadows, waiting to stab one of his men. Or he could be sitting alone in the crow’s nest, eating and staring up at the two crescent moons flanking either side of the full moon.
