Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods)

by Leone, Hudson

  Button kept looking over his froth soaked beard to see how I was doing from time to time. His face grew wide in shock as he saw I was still somehow keeping my composure and in desperation he began to drink even faster.

  The warmth in my hands was no longer welcoming. For every goblet I had to dilute, it was likd my hands were being stuck to a burning skillet for a full five seconds. With every glass brushing past my lips, my thoughts gradually became fuzzier and fuzzier. I wondered dully if it had something to do with what I was drinking. After glass thirteen, I began to see large spots shape up and then swim away, like small little fishies in a yellow pond. After sixteen goblets I began to see double, although how I managed to count my empty glasses was a mystery in retrospect.

  Button seemed to have lost all motor control, and was now flopping his flabby arm aimlessly on the table to claim himself another drink. “Hey, Greg-o. You gotta hear this one.” Button snorted with the immense amount of effort it took for him not to laugh “There’s this barmaid right?”

  “Heard it,” Gregor said indifferently.

  “And the barmaid goes,” Button paused as he snorted unexpectedly and burst into a mad fit of disoriented laughter. “No, the barmaid goes,” he tried to repeat himself however he soon had himself in stitches again. The drunken noise emitting from his throat was rattling the windows around us.

  Through the opaque glass I could see passing by people stop and look in to see if they could spot the commotion.

  Fat tears had begun to pour down Button’s wobbling face as he tried in vain not to laugh at his own joke. “The barmaid goes, ‘Why don’t I... I...” The pirate’s jovial noises ceased unexpectedly as he suddenly let out with a rib shattering burp. Both of Button’s eyes rolled to one side of his head and he slowly fell off of his chair, spasming slightly. The pirate went completely pale as his breathing gradually slowed.

  “We have a winner!” Gregor exclaimed excitedly, before propping me up and dancing me around on the spot. The sudden unexpected movement of his jig did not agree with my stomach though and I felt the sickening lurch of liquid within my chest. I leaned over and bombarded the lower half of Gregor with a waterfall of beige liquid. He immediately dropped me in disgust yet I was perfectly happy to lie on the floor where for some odd reason, the air felt a lot fresher.

  In a drunken lapse of time, I somehow managed to confuse the next few hours with the next few minutes, where I felt myself hoisted up a flight of stairs and thrown into a bed for the night. Umber paddled through the lake of my disoriented night visions, desperately trying to try and tell me something. “He can be such a pest sometimes!” I remarked to myself. “Good night Umber! I’m going to go to sleep.” Soon his warnings faded into a comfortable nothingness where I could finally rest in peace.

  Chapter twenty-five

  Time Never Wasted

  Drink the rain from the sinking storm

  It’s lovely and warm

  But it won’t last forever.

  Taste the life from a fragrant flower

  It’s lovely and warm

  Yet remarkably sour.

  Eat the heart of your distraught lover

  It’s lovely and warm

  Though you won’t find another.

  241 days remaining.

  I reluctantly woke up to face my harsh morning hangover when suddenly I realized that I couldn't move my arms. Despite this setback, I felt my weariness overtake my alarm. A couple minutes later, I tentatively tried rattling a hand. My bicep cramped, sending a wave of pain washing through my whole body. The only thing that struck me as interesting was the sound my arm had made when it shook. I expected little or no sound to come to ring out, yet instead I heard the clinking of metal chains against wood. I frowned and felt a slight feeling of bewilderment. Arms were not supposed to make that sound.

  I jerked my neck back and yelped in pain as my skull knocked against a sturdy piece of wood. I whimpered in dismay as my migraine suddenly intensified. Something was definitely wrong. My eyes flew open and I found to my surprise that I was looking down at a well polished wooden floor. “Umber where are we?” I asked, bracing myself for any number of horrible answers.

  “I don’t know,” Umber responded sourly. “I can only see what you see.”

  I was just about to respond when suddenly the voice of Gregor reverberated from somewhere behind me.

  “A deal is a deal pirate scum!” he roared, rattling his own chains loudly.

  “Not for me to decide,” Another person said from behind me. “We’ll send the first mate after you.” The man cleared his throat loudly before lumbering outside oafishly. Right before he sealed the door, he greeted what sounded like a friend and made a brief mention of a broken mast.

  Gregor began bellowing in outrage but stopped once he noticed I was conscious.

  “I’m so sorry Sunshine, did I wake you up?” he asked coldly.

  “Where are we?” I demanded, trying my hardest to look up at the room around me

  “I thought that would’ve been obvious Jacob. We’re in a set of stocks and we can’t move.”

  “You know what I meant!” I protested loudly.

  Gregor sighed. “What’s really important, is why we’re here,” he snapped, ignoring my initial question altogether. “The Storm Striders don’t want to fulfill their end of the bargain. I imagine we’re here to negotiate the deal.” The way Gregor emphasized the sharp sounding syllables of the word ‘negotiate’ made me think that it meant something else in our context.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked frantically.

  “Oh gee what a dilemma.” Gregor began sarcastically. “It’s not like there’s a distortion warlock here who can undo these locks and take off these chains.”

  “Oh,” I stammered, suddenly feeling hot from embarrassment.

  “Well?” Gregor asked expectantly. “Get us out of here!”

  “We need to stay put,” I said, surprising even myself.

  “What!?” Gregor cried out in anguish. “This is life or death you little shit! Why would you possibly want to stay?”

  “Shut your fat mouth and let me explain!”

  Gregor went unusually quiet. I could almost feel eyes pressing into me like sewing needles.

  “Right before that man left, he had said something about a broken mast right?”

  “Didn’t hear him,” Gregor said stubbornly.

  “You were too busy shouting to hear him!” I protested with a great huff. “Anyways, that’s what he said. A mast is a part of a boat isn’t it?”

  Gregor began to ask another question, so I quickly cut him off.

  “We’re not in a storage hold somewhere. In fact, I think we’re on a boat, maybe in the middle of the ocean.”

  “Fine, whatever. Let’s pretend I beleive you for one glorious moment. Why does that stop you from getting us out of these locks?” Gregor asked ardently.

  “Okay, there are two problems with escaping. One, we don't know how many pirates are on this ship,” I said, trying my best to motion around the room. “Second, we don’t know how far away the boat is from shore.”

  “Then how do we escape?” Gregor asked with adopted patience.

  “We should at least try talking to the pirates. If things turn ugly, we can use our anti-magic and improvise from there.”

  “What makes you think we’ll have any bargaining power with those savages?”

  “What makes you think we won’t?” asked tenderly.

  Gregor suddenly barked in primal fury. “You know what? Fine! Get us killed. See if I care!”

  In the next couple of minutes, all of the pirates filled into the room to see what might happen to the strange captives cuffed and bolted to the floor. I began to break out into a cold sweat as the volume rose. I couldn’t see anything of the pirates but their black leather boots which formed a large circle around both Gregor and I. The latches holding me into my stock clicked suddenly and two powerful men on either side hoisted me up.

  The
room was cavernous and had long, well maintained tables pressed up against the perimeter of the room, as if they had recently been shoved off to one side. At the front of the room stood an impressive series of thrones, with lush velvet cushions and masterfully carved headrests. Above me, a large candle chandelier provided a soft warm glow. At the front of the commotion, a burly looking man sat in the second largest throne, eying us carefully. The muscular hulk was completely bald, yet he still managed to carry an entire face of hair which hung down to his belted brown tunic. An ugly scar on his chin prevented a noticeable portion of his facial hair from growing, making it seem like something large had taken a bite out of his beard. His dark villainous eyes had the same sort of hidden cunning Button had, however this man’s vision seemed to be clouded by malice rather than booze.

  He propped himself up on his two rather large feet and began striding towards us with an immense sense of purpose. The crowd backed away respectfully as the bald figure stepped carefully around us. Milking every moment of fear, he examined me in each eye before grabbing my jaw and tilting my head painfully upwards, as if he was trying to guess what my skull would look like. He retrieved a scroll of battered up parchment and threw it at my feet.

  “What are you two playing at?” the bald man interrogated in a weathered voice.

  Gregor told him the taborthodox drinking game that had taken place last night.

  The man scoffed and scratched the scarred portion of the face sub-consciously. “Button did this?” he asked coolly.

  Like a wave, the pirates moved as one and threw the fattest one of the bunch at their leader’s feet. The red-eyed and remarkably sober Button wobbled to his upright position and nervously bore his eyes into the floor. The man regarded Button with a moment of disgust before turning his attention back to us.

  “Did it ever cross your minds that the extraordinary services of the Storm Striders were never Button’s to give away?” he asked in a booming voice which crashed off the walls like thunder. “Look at him!” he added for further emphasis. “Does this look like the kind of person that could lead the most feared group of pirates?”

  Button chuckled and muttered a clever but rude comment that everyone but the bearded man seemed to hear.

  “Our fleet will only and always follow the captain.”

  “So why are you telling us this if you’re not in charge?” Gregor asked angrily.

  A vein appeared on the upper right hand side of the man’s temple, pronouncing the little jaw that was visible beneath the storm of his tangled bristles.

  “I am the captain's first mate. Anything not worth our leader’s time comes straight to me. And here you are right on schedule.”

  The crowd laughed in agreement.

  “You’re a team aren’t you?” I asked suddenly thinking of Preston. “What kind of team is it when all the members aren’t even here. We need the captain to negotiate our deal immediately,”

  Loud mockery jabbed out from the sidelines. The pirates were obviously unimpressed with my comment.

  The first mate of the Storm Striders stared at me, taken aback by my demand. “I don’t believe the captain would have anything to negotiate with you,” he said with a sly smile.

  “How would you know that? Please all we ask for is a moment of his time.”

  Everyone tittered with laughter, as if this was somehow funny.

  The first mate bit back a smile. “Alright. For the benefit of our organization, we’re going to assume you have something of value to us and ask the captain to make a brief appearance.”

  The crowd groaned. Some even pounded on the tables.

  “However!” the bearded man interrupted, causing the pirates to hush immediately. “If we don’t strike an agreement, you’re going to be left with me and the rest of the fleet to deal with you.” The thugs cheered at their stroke of good fortune and began to talk among themselves loudly as the first mate left to retrieve the captain.

  “What are you doing?” Gregor rasped over the commotion of the rouges.

  “Improvising,” I assured him. “It’s the only chance we have, and I need you to play along.”

  Gregor muttered a brief insult under his breath which I took as an unenthusiastic agreement.”

  The first mate slowly re-entered the room while calling out in a strange sounding tongue. The hollering roar of respect that followed could’ve only mean one thing; the captain had arrived. Every soul in the room fell on bent knee save for the four people griping Gregor and I, as if we were both crazed animals that needed to be held at all times. Slowly, the soft sound of a single pair of footsteps filled the room. I tried to distinguish where they were coming from, but the echo of the are made it impossible. Louder and louder the steps became until I was trembling from anticipation alone.

  Then suddenly I was staring, unable to understand. The captain of the Storm Striders, the strongest criminal organization in the world and the ruler of every foul-mouthed gold-loving swidler, was a woman. I gaped as the long figure marched up to the largest of the thrones, while the rest of her company remained bowing respectfully. She said something to her first mate who shrugged and whispered something back while glancing at me.

  She turned around to look at me and against all remarkable odds, I recognized her. The impossibility of this coincidence was larger than literally any other absurdity I’d ever experienced. Not even two days ago I’d seen her sculpted of wood and now I was standing before her as she eyed me uncertaintly. As she advanced, I noticed the subtle way her gilded expression seemed to radiate a soft glow. Her braided hair was carelessly flung to one side, giving the impression that she hadn’t worn it any other way for many years.

  “What's wrong with this one?” she asked, gesturing carelessly to my bewildered face. I noticed that she pronounced her ‘O’s’ in the exact same way Totara had. I chuckled nervously.

  “I know who you are,” I whispered loudly, both out of amazement and fear. Through the corner of my eye, I watched as she slowed and tried to understands I’d just said. She revolved back to me and gaped like a child who had been caught out after bed. She suddenly turned angry.

  “And who are you to tell me this? I don’t go by any name,” the woman boasted loudly.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure... Rimu.”

  For a while, nobody said anything. Everyone just stood with large eyes pressed onto the captain to see if this was true.

  Her mouth fell open. She looked like a child that had been caught out of bed. “Impossible,” she said flatly. “You have no proof.”

  “Proof?” I asked boldly. “Do you want proof Rimu?” I reached into my chest pocket and pulled out her silver pendant, holding it out for everyone to see. “A very special friend gave this to me. He told me that a long time ago it used to be yours.”

  The pirate captain shuddered and turned away. “That’s not... possible,” she said in a broken voice. “No one could have given you that. You stole it!” She declared, suddenly marching up and ferociously grabbing me by my armour.

  I hesitantly looked up and saw her eyes were starting to water. “You know that’s not true.” I said for only her to hear. “You know that there was someone else.”

  “Totara,” she whispered instinctively.

  I nodded.

  Rimu cleared her throat and brought herself up as if nothing had happened. “I don’t believe that this man Totara is even still alive,” she said darkly. “Suppose he were... Where might he be?”

  “For that piece of information, we need to negotiate a little bit further.” Gregor interjected suddenly. I knew in all honesty he was trying to help, but it didn’t seem like an appropriate time.

  Rimu frowned deeply.

  “Fine. Let me see this contract.”

  The first mate stumbled to her side. “Captain, if I may so be useful as to suggest-”

  “You will do no such thing until I have thoroughly studied this very important document,” Rimu demanded strenuously.

  The bald pirate bac
ked away a pace or two while looking quite annoyed at the deduction of his social stance.

  After many silences, Rimu sighed and looked up.

  “You’re both Grimlar trainees looking to kill Orthonus? Are you insane?” Rimu asked, looking absolutely revolted. “All the bloody men the Grimlars have and they decide to send two children after the most powerful dragon in our lifetime.” Mortified at being called a child, Gregor had to twist his legs to keep himself from screaming in protest.