by Dawn Dagger
A large man was winding his fist to hit Quinn again, but she cried out. She darted before she could think, throwing herself in front of Quinn. “Stop! Don’t hurt him, no!”
The man’s fist was close enough to brush her cheek. She was panting, her heart roaring in her ears. He glared at her, his eyes dangerous. “Get out of the way, whore,” he spat through his rotted teeth.
“No! Stop hurting him!” She shrilled. Cold, heavy droplets splattered into her hair. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. The sailors grumbled, telling her to move and devouring her flesh with their eyes.
“Get out of the damn way!” A sailor cried suddenly, grabbing at her bare arm. He jerked her sideways and she cried out as she fell onto her knees, slipping in Quinn’s blood. Her head hit the floorboards and her vision swam, her ears ringing. The man was shaking his hand, cursing.
Someone grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and hoisted her into the air, causing her to yelp. She kicked her legs and struggled. The man put a curved blade to her throat, sneering. She choked and felt tears prick her eyes.
“Let my wench go, you stupid dog!” The false captain roared, slapping the man’s face, appearing from nowhere.
The man dropped Levanine and she fell hard on her knees. The captain jerked her to her feet then let her go, glaring. Her knees went weak and she began to sway, feeling as if she was a candle melting under the lustful, angry heat of his eyes.
“Get to the cabin and wait for me!” He commanded angrily, his face turning scarlet.
Levanine dashed toward the stairs as fast as she could, her lungs heaving for air that did not exist in the brine of Ursona. As she reached the base of the stairs, two hands grabbed her. She let out a shriek and Rakifi hushed her, pulling her close. He let her go abruptly, his brow twitching.
“Where are you going?” He whispered frantically, his grey eyes filled with worry.
His image began to swim as tears filled Levanine’s eyes. “To the cabin, they’re hurting Quinn over there and the false captain told me to wait for him there and--” her words fell out in a jumble and were stopped abruptly by the lump in her throat.
Rakifi glanced around frantically, then leaned close to her face, locking eyes with hers. “You are going to be okay, you understand me? You have a plan. You are smarter than that dog. Hurry, go wait.”
He pushed her away and Levanine dashed up the stairs, her boots slipping, still slick with blood. For a brief moment, she was thankful she was not in bare feet, but the thought disappeared as she burst into the cool air of the night.
Clouds covered the moon, casting everything in darkness as Levanine ran toward the cabin. As she flung herself into the cabin, she threw herself back against the door, gasping.
She was not strong. She was terrified.
Maybe…
She had a sudden, wild, terrifying idea. She leapt onto the bed bed and her hands searched quickly across the silk for the cool handle of the knife. If she hid beside the door she could use it before he could grab her…
Levanine tore the pillow away from the bed, only to find that nothing lay beneath it. Her sinking heart roared in her ears, and a horrible image was recalled in her mind. The image of a blade pressed against her throat.
Oh, Ursona…
“Looking for that knife, you little whore?” A voice growled behind her.
She wheeled around as the door slammed shut, the false captain’s shadowy figure standing over her. The refracted moonlight that had begun shining through the window glowed along the edges of his hungry eyes and his sneering lips. The knife the other man had in his belt. It was her knife. Her heart thundered.
“Don’t touch me,” she gasped, grabbing the glass pen and holding it so tightly she felt it crack in her hand.
“Get over here,” he hissed.
“Don’t touch me!”
He lunged toward her and she shrieked. He grabbed her arms and slammed her against the wall, blurring the world and filling her ears with a sharp ringing. She dropped the pen and he tossed her onto the bed. She scrambled to get to her knees, but he pounced her, pinning her like a wild dog.
Levanine shrieked and kicked, trying to get him off as he held her down with one hand and fiddled with his pants with the other.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!!” She wailed, her throat rattling. Her nails clawed at his arms, drawing blood and leaving gashes, but to no avail.
He gave up trying to remove his own clothing and instead pinned her kicking legs beneath his strong ones, then grabbed her shirt. It ripped underneath his hands, and he pulled it away. He reached for her, and he gripped her throat. His eyes widened as he saw the figures on his skin, then he hissed in pain, jerking back from her.
“What did you do?!” He demanded in a roar. He tore the rest of her shirt off as she twisted, trying to claw herself out from under him. He gritted his teeth and let out a strangled growl, and Levanine could feel his calloused hands beginning to burn against her skin. He twisted her roughly and pinned her again.
“You witch!” He snarled, using one hand to grab her hair and pull until she screamed in pain. “I’ll make you wish you had never been born, you witch! I’m going to--” A noise suddenly gurgled in his throat, and something silver flashed on his chest.
His eyes went wide and he gurgled suddenly. Blood spilled out of his mouth as his grip went slack, then, in slow motion, he fell sideways off of the bed with a thump.
Levanine barely dared look.
Standing above her, his eyes burning with the twin fires of Ursona, his ghoul face outlined by the moonlight, and his silver sword dripping blood… stood Captain Guy.
Chapter 7
The Captain’s raven curls were glued to his head and tangled with ocean weeds, his clothes were bloody and plastered to his body, and the fire in his eyes burned so fiercely they might have been the sun.
Levanine had never believed in ghouls. She felt foolish for her ignorance.
He stepped toward her and tossed a blanket over her body silently. She wrapped it tightly around her, beginning to sob. She was terrified. “Don’t kill me,” she begged. “I’m sorry you died, I’m so, so sorry. I tried so hard… Please... please don’t kill me.”
His calloused fingertips brushed her cheekbone. They were freezing cold. “I’m not dead.” His voice was the growling of a vengeful wolf. It was not comforting, and lent nothing to believing he was real. “Get dressed.”
He stooped down and grabbed the false captain, now dead, by the collar of his shirt, then drug him out of the cabin. A trail of blood followed them, gleaming in the moonlight.
Levanine sat on the bed for what felt like hours, staring at the trail of blood. She prayed to every saint she could remember the name of, begging for safety. When she felt no greater peace, she pushed herself to her feet. Saints cared not for pirates, if the Creator did.
Levanine stepped toward the wardrobe and grabbed a new tunic, a thicker one. She pulled off her torn shirt and put on the new tunic. She donned her cloak, hugging it tightly around her, then started out the door toward the deck. She stepped carefully around the trail of blood.
The night was shadowy and dark, despite one of the moons being full and icy white. The air whipped coldly at her hair, tangling it in her lashes and against her cracked lips.
She watched as the captain propped the body of the man against the side of the ship then snatched one of the wildly flickering lanterns. He climbed atop the edge of the ship and tilted his face toward the moon, raising his fingers to his lips.
A piercing shriek of a whistle that cut through the air. It was a sound that could only have come from an apparition, a ghost come back to wreak revenge on its killers.
It made Levanine’s blood run cold. The Captain shattered the lantern down at his feet and flames sprung up around him.
Was he going to kill them all? Burn their bodies before drowning them in the dark depths of the sea? Levanine was frightened,
but did not move toward him.
The flames, along with his cloak and curls whipped in the wind, but the flames did not spread. His pale, hollow face was shadowed so he looked like a skeleton, but the fury burning in his eyes was the ferocity of a thousand burning souls. Blood dripped off of his orange bathed blade.
Levanine realized the oil would not catch flame on the wood. The Captain was wise enough to be safe. That did not make her feel any better.
Pounding footsteps suddenly sounded as the sailors came from the below decks. They poured onto the deck and, like a wave, their ruddy faces went white and their loud cursing went silent.
The Captain’s eyes flickered to her and held hers for a moment, then he nodded towards himself, indicating for her to approach. She shakily began walking toward him as he turned to the sailors. “Kneel you dogs.” Each word was cold and stabbing. The sailors all fell to one knee, looking horrified. She caught sight of Silva at the edge of the crowd, looking as if he might be sick.
Once Levanine reached the edge of the ship, the fire had died, dissolving the oil and snuffing itself out. The Captain lifted the man’s body and displayed it to the sailors. “This is what happens when you touch my wench.”
He threw the body overboard and a heavy splash was the only noise that followed.
After a long moment, the ghoul pointed to the man who had taken the curved knife from beneath the pillow, then gestured for him to come forward. The man stepped forward with no hesitation, his eyes defiant. She could not tell whether the bravery was from wine or hatred.
The Captain yanked his knife from the man’s hand, then grabbed his shoulder, jerking him close to whisper in his ear, “Burn in Ursona.”
“I’ll see you there,” the man hissed.
The Captain threw him backwards to the floor of the ship. His face twisted with rage. The Captain turned the blade in his hand, then launched himself down from the ledge of the ship, plunging the blade into the man’s eye socket.
The soft eyeball dissolved into goop underneath the metal and the man howled, rolling on the ground. The sailors gasped collectively and Levanine turned away, feeling sick. She leaned against the side of the ship, staring into the dark water.
The false captain’s body was gone, but now three grey fins were cutting through the water. Sharks. She realized, horrified.
Captain Guy turned his attention away from the wailing sailor abruptly. He pointed to the man with the rotten teeth, the one who had been tormenting Quinn.
“Get up here, Taska.” The man hesitantly stood, then slowly began to make his way towards the ghost. “Are you sorry for touching your commanding officer?” The Captain growled.
“Y-Yes, Captain.” The man’s knees quaked.
He leaned closer. “Are you sorry for touching my wench?”
“Y-yes Captain!” He shouted fearfully.
“You better be.” He made no move.
For a moment Levanine thought he would let the man go. Was this ghost merciful?
The Captain grabbed ‘Taska’ by the throat and lifted him into the air, then threw him over the side of the ship. Levanine turned away from the side, clapping her hands over ears and closing her eyes tightly. Despite her hands cupping her ears, she could not block out the screams of the man as he was devoured alive by the sharks.
There was a sickening gurgling, then the splashing stopped. All was silent except for the defiant sailor weeping in pain, and the sails fluttering in the wind.
“You will never cross me again, you foolish sea slugs.” He growled.
The smoke of the fire vanished, and the clouds covered the moon, and Levanine believed that the ghoul would disappear, his revenge fulfilled. He did not.
“Where is Quinn?” He demanded. The sailors did speak. He stepped threateningly toward Rakifi. Levanine nearly stepped forward to stop him, but instead froze, afraid of what he might do to her if she crossed him. Before the Captain could demand again, Rakifi responded in a calm, collected voice,
“He is belowdecks, Cap’n.”
“You and Braxton, go get him.”
Rakifi rose quickly, bowed with an ‘aye cap’n’, and hurried off. Another sailor, large and burly, followed suit.
“You dogs are going to learn to obey me, or you’re going to die from the lashes I’ll give you. Go, now, and Winston get my lash. The rest of you, TO YOUR FEET!”
The man named Winston dashed to toward the helm and the rest of the sailors were on their feet in an instant, hands sloppily pressed against their foreheads. Levanine followed suit, her knees weak, hoping the ghoul of the Captain would not choose to kill her next in vengeance of his death.
He stepped over to the man lying on the floorboards of the ship and glared down at him. “I said, to your feet.” The man spat at him and cursed. The Captain reached down and yanked the knife from his skull with a spray of blood. Levanine felt her insides churn. “To your feet.”
“You stabbed out my eye!” the man wailed, clutching at the gaping socket.
The Captain grabbed him by his tunic and drug him to the main mast. He leaned him up against it, then bound the man’s wrists. At that moment, Winston dashed out from wherever he had gone, carrying a leather lash that put fear into Levanine.
Captain Guy took it and rolled the whip in his hand, feeling it for a moment before raising it into the air and snapping it. The sound was the most vicious sound she had ever heard.
He turned and stared Levanine dead in the eyes. Darkness wavered at the edges of her vision, and she feared she was going to pass out from fear.
“Levanine.”
“Yes, Cap’n?” Her throat was tight, so the noise came out as a whisper.
“Go with Eldred and attend to Quinn.” Rakifi and ‘Braxton’ were supporting the injured man on their shoulders and dragging him him toward the room where the lash came from. They left him in the small alcove and returned. They fell into line and saluted.
“Aye,” her and another man muttered at the same time. She recognized ‘Eldred’ as the medic that had been forced to help the false Captain. She turned and followed him toward the cabin where Quinn was being held.
Her footsteps were faulty and she felt dizzy. SNAP! The crack of the whip against flesh and the cry of the sailor made her gasp audibly, and she covered her ears. She quickened her steps, trying not to think about the horrible pain of the whip.
Quinn lay on the floor, his face a patchwork of dark browns and blues. The rest of his body did not fare better, and Levanine fretted he might have broken bones.
The whip continued cracking through the air, underlaid with groans.
Eldred rummaged through the barrels that lay along the wall of the room and produced a leather bag. From the leather bag he pulled a handful of long, stained bandages. He knelt beside the large man, then carefully began to remove his shirt.
Levanine watched, making no move to help. She was afraid of hurting him.
Once Eldred had removed his outer garments, he began to wrap the man’s barrel chest. This time, Levanine did help, taking the ends of the bandages or tying them off tightly. Eldred gestured to a barrel in the corner marked with red. “Levanine, go soak a rag in that water. Wipe off his face.”
She obeyed, standing unsteadily. She pulled off the top of the barrel, then dunked the rag in the bitter smelling liquid. She realized it was most likely alcohol, which made sense to her.
Levanine returned rag to Eldred, who began to wipe off Quinn’s face. Quinn hissed through his teeth, though his eyes were still swollen closed. “They sure destroyed ‘im.”
“He isn’t going to die, is he?” She asked softly, feeling her heart sink.
“I dun think so.”
Eldred continued to dress Quinn’s wounds while Levanine crouched beside him, every now and again taking something he handed to her and holding it quietly.
Finally Levanine asked softly, “you don’t have spices, do you?”
“Spices?”
he repeated, raising a pointed, black brow.
“Yes… ah... Swallowstail, myrthe… daxton… elish berries?” She tried to mention ones from every region she had been in, thinking he may have heard of at least one. Or at least understand what she was trying to say.
“Oh,” He turned away from Quinn, who’s shallow breathing deeply worried Levanine, then began to rummage through the barrels. “I did not think so. No, we do not have any herbs on the ship. I was not able to get any in Bandolinda. Akka knows that Dreanis did not have any.”
Levanine nodded, standing and rolling her shoulders. She stretched lightly, then sat back down, ready to wait the whole night for Quinn’s recovery. She watched out the door and onto the deck, wondering which God or Saint Akka was. Where did this strange-looking man come from?
More men were bleeding now, but they were all cleaning, marching, or doing some other task, just as demanded. They worked under the burning, watchful eye of the captain, who, in the moonlight and flickering lamps, still appeared to be less than real.
She watched the men for a very long time, trying to decide whether Captain Guy was truly a ghoul or not. There was no way he was real. She watched him die.
She blinked heavily a couple times. Everything that had happened had exhausted her.
After a few more long, heavy blinks she noticed that the edges of the sea were beginning to ting a blood red color. Had it really been that long? Was the sun truly rising?
“Eldred?” She whispered, turning to the man, who had begun to check Quinn’s pulse.
“Yes?”
“When the sun fully rises… is he, ah, the Captain, going to disappear? If he does, who will be captain?”
“Why would he?” Eldred’s brows furrowed.
“Because he’s a ghost!”
He shook his head. “That is not a ghost.” He let go of Quinn’s wrist.
“But he drowned!” Levanine gasped, turning toward him. “His touch is cold as ice, and the fire that burned in his eyes… we saw him die!”
Eldred shook his head again, rolling his eyes. “No, you will know when you see a ghoul.” His gaze became distant. “You’ll know for certain… There are unmistakable.”
