Slave of the Sea (The Chronicles of Salt and Blood Book 1)

by Dawn Dagger

  Guy spat into the man’s eye and he roared, then his cheating fellows gripped Guy’s wildly kicking legs. They began to hoist him up and he held his breath, his palms scrabbling at the sides of the ship for a hold. He wasn’t scared, despite how hard his heart was pounding.

  He was going to wreak vengeance on these filthy rats.

  “Wait!” Levanine shrilled, rushing over, her eyes wide. Quinn stood with a knife to his throat, watching in horror, unable to help. “No! Don’t kill him!” Guy felt his eyes widen. She was stupider than he thought! “Please, please don’t kill him!”

  “What will you exchange for his life?” The man asked, his voice dripping oil as the men hold him suddenly began binding Guy’s legs. Gooseflesh rose along Levanine’s bare skin, but the horrified defiance did not drain from her eyes.

  “Levanine- stop--” he choked. It was harder to think as the blood rushed to his head. The men suddenly shoved a cloth in mouth. He began to cough, but could not dislodge it. It reeked of kerosene.

  He began to lose his thoughts, his vision waving like the rivulettes of disturbed water following on either side of his ship. “M-My life!” She stammered, shaking now. “My life for his life.”

  No. The wicked man pursed his lips as if thinking about the offer, but Guy could see the gleam in his eyes. Levanine’s own eyes twinkled with some sort of desperate, desolate hope. “You see, sea whore,” he started slowly, “When I’m Captain, your life is mine. You have nothing left to trade.”

  Guy felt the air rush past his face, and suddenly everything was water.

  Chapter 5

  Levanine heard the shriek peel from her lips before she felt it rip through her lungs. The Captain disappeared from sight with a splash of dark grey water, and everything was suddenly silent, save for that murky water, gently rushing past, and the creaking of the great masts.

  The man, seeping violent red, turned and grinned like a wicked polecat. “I am your Captain!” He cried, raising his fists in the air.

  The men cheered, then saluted. Out of the many faces, only few looked displeased at the results of the duel.

  Levanine felt shaky and sick, as if her knees might give out. The man who held Quinn let go, and he stumbled, looking equally pale. She wiped her face as she tried to steady herself on her feet.

  “My first order as Captain is for you all to break into those Bandolinda barrels of wine and drink as much as you can! We are pirates, not soft traders!” The contempt in his voice cut like a knife, and the men cheered raciously. “Medic, come here. The rest of you-- go!”

  The men cried wildly and stormed to the lower decks to break open the barrels and drink more than they could handle. The ship jolted and Levanine lurched over against the side. She vomited over the edge.

  The realization of her rapidly changing situation hit Levanine with such force she thought she might plummet over the side of the ship, just as the Captain had.

  She was trapped on a ship of drunk, sex-deprived demons. The Captain was dead. She would never be a pirate. She would be a slave again.

  She could have cried had she not felt so ice cold to her soul. Shock was muddling her mind, she knew.

  The medic followed the fake Captain to where he sat on the stairs, then began to dress his wounds. His face was pulled up in disgust, as if the man’s blood stank.

  “You better dress these well,” the man threatened the medic, “because when I make that whore mine, nothing better get in my way.” He gave her a look, as if he was going to eat her alive. Levanine gripped the side of the boat as she shivered, then, despite herself, was sick over the side again.

  Her mouth was filled with the metallic taste of fear.

  Quinn wandered over, looking dazed, but put a hand on her shoulder. “Levanine, Levanine…” His voice was soft, his eyes red rimmed.

  “As for you,” the man grinned at Quinn, “you are no longer First Mate. You are a swabbie. You’re lucky I don’t just kill ya where ya stand.”

  “A-aye,” Quinn mumbled, his face turning all shades of red and white beneath his orange beard. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. Levanine looked up at him, her eyes burning with tears. “Do not worry,” he whispered. “We shall be alright.”

  Levanine let out a small gasp, a half sob. The shock was wavering, and she could clearly see the pain that was going to be the rest of her short life.

  “Yes, don’t fret my pretty little whore. You’ll forget all about your boy captain when I’m done with you tonight.” The man grinned, as if she were crying over the loss of a warm bed, and not the only future she had ever been able to seize.

  Quinn did not respond to the sneering man, but instead rubbed his broad hand across her shoulders in a comforting rhythm that made her feel less terrified. For reasons that made no sense to her, his touch was not threatening.

  A true pirate would not be scared this easily. She thought to herself harshly. She let out a shaky sigh, leaning forward to grip the side of the ship, her thoughts suddenly reeling dangerously.

  Her mind was one of the travelling magic makers, pulling away the veil of shock to reveal not the submissive, desolate thoughts that had once been there, but violent, brave thoughts that could never have been her own.

  She could be strong. If she hid a knife in the bed… or found a poison… she could be strong…

  “Now, swabbie, go get me wine.” The sharp nosed man leaned back against the stair he was sitting on. Quinn saluted, but gave Levanine a worried glance. She responded with the best look of stoic she could muster. It was a grimace, but he seemed satisfied and hurried off.

  “Come sit right here, little slut,” the false Captain commanded, patting his thigh and grinning.

  Levanine’s stomach lurched and she felt a tremble pass through her, but she swallowed her bile down thickly. She curtsied clumsily. “Captain,” she simpered, “if you do not mind, I was going to r-retreat to the chamber and freshen up.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her as if he did not believe she had such pure intentions, then grimaced with a hiss as the medic poured a clear liquid over his wounds. “Fine,” he gritted. “I don’t want your beauty to be spoiled by your stench anyways.”

  She curtsied again, keeling sideways this time, then rushed off to the cabin. She knew she did not stink, but he did not know that. He was going to wait until he was drunk to have her anyways.

  She slammed the door shut behind her and leaned against it heavily, gasping as her heart raced. She was terrified. Her clammy palms shook against the glossed wood of the cabin door.

  Levanine swallowed thickly, then forced herself to stand straight. She could be strong. She took in one, slow breath. It felt like she were breathing glass shards into her lungs. She took another long, slow breath until her pulse had returned to a rhythm that made her feel less panicked.

  Feigning some sort of semblance of calm, she quickly began to rummage through the cabin, the hourglass in her mind making her painfully aware that she had little time.

  Levanine found a wickedly curved knife with a golden handle in the bottom of the wardrobe and slipped it beneath the silk pillow of the Captain’s bed. Rummaging through his desk, she found a number of glass vials filled with discolored liquids and tags full of strange symbols, as well as a carved, glossy wood box full of flower petals. She tossed the petals across the bed, hoping that their bright red would draw prying eyes away from the bulge in the pillow.

  Her hands shook as she straightened the bed, making it neat. She smoothed the silken sheets over and over again, but was unable to smooth the hiding spot of the knife. Was she just paranoid?

  She turned her attention from the bed, praying the man was not observant enough to notice anything was wrong, then began to observe the vials. She popped the corks carefully and sniffed them, able to identify one of the three as a perfume.

  Carefully she poured the scented water on her finger, then dabbed it across her collarbone and on her wrists. She pulled a pillowc
ase off of one of the pillows and tucked it around her wait, making a sort of semblance of a skirt.

  Levanine stashed the other two vials in the satchel the Captain had given her, then glanced at herself in the viewing mirror. From the door of the wardrobe hung a small, three-balled bola painted in red and gold. She swung the long cords around her waist and let them dangle. They were very small, the balls, but they were terribly heavy.

  She had not seen the weapon anywhere else on the ship, so she hoped the wicked man would not realize that they were meant to harm, and not just decoration.

  Levanine smoothed the pillowcase that was her skirt, and took a deep breath. In the mirror, she looked like one of the travelling carnival girls, or a poor farm girl ready to court a rich lord’s son that would give money for anything that moved.

  It occurred to her that none of her movements had been her own. They were of other girls she had witnessed, preparing for what she had hoped to avoid.

  Maybe it would be convincing enough.

  Levanine decided she had been in the cabin entirely too long, so she dashed out, slamming the door shut behind her.

  As she walked briskly across the deck towards the lower decks where she was sure the disgusting pig was waiting for her, she noticed a figure bent over the edge of the ship.

  The man’s tied back, brown hair had streaks that glowed nearly silver in the moonlight. He was waving a hand lazily above the softly churning waters, his face knotted with concentration. Levanine briefly wondered what he was doing, but chose not to ask. As she passed behind him, he looked up and reached out for her, causing her to jump back with a small yelp.

  “Wait,” his voice was soft and kind. His grey eyes held no lust nor threat in them. “Wait, don’t leave yet. Please come here?”

  “Why?” Her voice came out windier than expected as her throat had dried from fear.

  “I need another pair of eyes. I feel as if I’m missing something.” He bowed quickly, tipping his head, as if he suddenly realized he had not introduced himself. “Rakifi. It is a pleasure to meet you, Levanine.”

  She eyed him warily. How did he know her name? “What are you looking for?”

  He tilted his head to the water and his golden earring winked in the moonlight. “The Captain’s body.”

  She reluctantly stepped toward the edge of the ship, keeping a good distance between her and the man, then peered over the edge of the ship. The waters were murky and dark, with a strange sheen of moonlight across the top, almost like a film of broken oil.

  The man began waving his hand methodically over the water again, and the water underneath his hand cut back and forth gently as if a very large fish were swimming close to the surface. “I cannot feel his body. All I feel are fish.”

  “‘Feel’?” She repeated, peering deeper into the water. He wasn’t touching it. Was this man insane?

  “Yes. Feel. I am feeling for his body in the waters.” ‘Rakifi’ provided no further explanation. He suddenly turned his head to look at her, then tilted it, his face curious. “What have you got in your bag there, Levanine?”

  She straightened and felt her cheeks flush. She had trusted this Rakifi on a small level, and it exposed her, leaving her unable to lie. It took a good deal of concentration to lie without fainting. “I-I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Vials. I think they are perfume, but I cannot read.”

  He held his hand out. His fingers were long and thin, but his calloused hand looked strong. “Might I see? I will return them.”

  Levanine opened the satchel and carefully handed him the two crystal vials she had been unable to identify. He examined each one, his grey eyes widening. “They’re poison.”

  She was suddenly glad the new captain had not found her with the vials-- he would have killed her, if he could read too.

  He would not have believed that she could not read. It would have given away all she had tried to do.

  Rakifi made to hand her back the vials, but she shook her head. He nodded and pocketed the vials. He opened his mouth, slowly closed it, and pulled one of the vials back out of his pocket.

  He peered at it, lifting it higher towards the sky, causing the liquid to catch and toss orange sparkles from a nearby lantern. He glanced Levanine over, then popped the cork and took a deep smell.

  There was silence for a long moment, and she could see the thoughts running across his purple eyes.

  “Levanine? Do you trust me?”

  Yes. No. The words flashed in her mind quickly, one after another, before she could respond. She trusted him not to hurt her, but did not trust him beyond that. The trust was instinctive, because he seemed kind.

  Why did he need her trust?

  She did not respond.

  “This liquid burns the skin ferociously.” He whispered, leaning his face closer to her. “I might be able to protect you from him.”

  “How?” She blurted, feeling herself shiver. “If it’ll burn me...”

  “I can… it's called Runecasting. You do not know what that is, not many do, but I can protect your skin from harm until the runes wash away… Like… Like a shield. A barrier.” Levanine felt she understood his meaning. She could understand what he wanted to do, if she did not understand why. “Do you have a pen?”

  She carefully reached into the satchel and produced the glass pen. Rakifi unscrewed the tip and dabbed ink onto his fingers. “Please unbutton your shirt. I have to draw it low enough that the Captain does not see it. If I might touch you, that is.”

  Her fingers trembled as she pulled the buttons out of the buttonholes, exposing her skin to the cold. He leaned so close to her chest she could feel his warm breath. It made her uncomfortable. Gooseflesh painted her skin.

  Rakifi looked up at her suddenly. “May I touch you, Levanine?” He asked again.

  She swallowed thickly, nodding.

  The ink was cold and wet, making her shudder reflectively as he drew small figures across her skin, his lips murmuring unspoken words as he concentrated deeply. It felt as if she stood there for years, the strange man painting across her chest.

  Once he was done he leaned back abruptly and began to wipe the ink from his fingers with a kerchief, instructing Levanine to wait to button up until the ink had dried. She waited.

  Rakifi pulled the cork from the crystal vial with black-stained fingertips and doused his splotched handkerchief with the liquid. He was careful not to let the poison touch his fingers.

  “Tilt your head back.” She obeyed and he gently pressed the wet corner of the cloth against her skin.. She screwed her eyes shut, bracing herself for pain. Her heart pounded, but she felt nothing.

  Once he was satisfied she was not hurt, he began to wipe the cloth all along where the small characters on her chest were. The sensation left by the poison was strange. She could feel the oily film across her skin, yet not the pain of the liquid, as if there was a barrier between the liquid and her flesh.

  Rakifi tossed the kerchief over the edge of the boat and into the sea, destroying evidence of their sins. He nodded to her. “I pray that will help you.” His voice was serious and sincere.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, taking the glass pen he handed to her.

  “HEY!” A voice barked, causing them both to jump. A burly man began to march toward them, glaring. “Why aren’t you two down drinking like the Captain commanded?!”

  “I don’t drink.” Rakifi said cooly.

  “I don’t care what you don’t do.” The man lunged forward suddenly, knocking Rakifi in the chest. Levanine yelped as Rakifi gasped, stumbling. “Get yer asses down there.”

  Rakifi nodded and began toward the lower decks, Levanine at his heels. His stride was long and determined. She got the sense that he was going below decks because he wanted to, not because he was told to.

  As he stepped down the stairs she paused. Noise and heat were exploding up the stairs, and coupled with the smell of vomit and alcohol, it made Levanine’s stomach t
wist. Her body trembled. She imagined that going down the stairs would be like descending into Ursona.

  I am a pirate, I am strong… She whispered in her mind before throwing herself down the stairs, stumbling over the first few before gaining her footing, attempting to move more quickly than she could second guess herself.

  She slowly descended into Ursona, gripping the banister tightly, suddenly wishing that the Captain had left her back on land, in the cold jail cell.

  Anything was better than being stuck in the middle of the sea with no escape.

  She was not a pirate.

  She was not strong.

  She was going to die.

  Chapter 6

  The below decks were a mess of tables, crates, hammocks, and men shouting. Small streams of vomit and wine trickled across the floorboards, and the smell was so strong it almost knocked Levanine off of her feet. The lanterns rocked and flickered in ghost winds as she made her way through the crowd of drunken sailors, towards where she assumed the new captain must be. The sailors were gathered in a dense circle cheering and caterwauling.

  The one time she had been below decks she had been rushed so quickly to the dining hall she had not realized it also served as the sleeping quarters for the men. They were destroying everything the Captain had created. She would have been sorrowful, if she were not so terrified.

  She heard the violent, sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh and the sailors cheered. All of the men around her guzzled alcohol, but some did not seem as joyous as the others.

  Perhaps they had been loyal to Captain Guy. Another loud hit made her jump.

  Was it a fight? What was happening?

  She shouldered her way around the sailors, pushing through the throng towards the sound of hitting. She gasped in horror, feeling sick.

  Quinn was tied with his arms above his head, dangling like a lantern. He was covered in bruises and bleeding so much that is was dripping down his chin and into puddles on the dirty floorboards.