Shadow Kingdom

by N. A. Oberheide

  Morra sprung off the wall and with a few well aimed flicks of her flaming blade disarmed the privateer by dismemberment before finishing him with a skull split down the middle. Naurus struggled to free his blade from the wooden wall and the privateer whom he could feel losing his life, draining by the second as blood pooled around their feet. After yanking with both hands, he finally freed his blade and the lifeless body collapsed in a bloody heap. He looked over at Morra, who grimaced with her mouth but smiled with her eyes as she clasped her hand over her shoulder to staunch the bleeding. He looked down at the carnage he just created and didn’t know how to process it. Suddenly, his stomach decided to do that for him and he heaved chunks all over the corpse in front of him. The burning in the back of his throat and nose snapped him back to the present moment and he looked up to see Morra smiling a nasty smile at him.

  “Feel better, princess?” She jeered.

  “Yeah…just peachy.” He coughed up, wiping his mouth.

  It was becoming obvious the battle was being won against the privateers, as now there were few of them still standing and putting up resistance. Morra walked around, gingerly stepping over severed limbs and corpses and continued cutting down those foolish few who were brave or stupid enough to not have surrendered as this point. Her blade flashed with a purple fury, whistling through the air with great prejudice. He simply followed her around like a child does its mother, sword at the ready but not entirely sure what he was supposed to do. Before long, the few privateers who were still alive were huddled into a corner of the deck, disarmed and now captives of the Astranian crew. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced over to see the privateer captain standing on the deck of his ship, levelling a pistol in the direction of Morra who was surrounded by some of her crew.

  “GET DOWN, HE’S GONNA SHOOT!” Naurus screamed as he barreled into Morra and the crew standing around her trying to knock them out of the way. Ramming her wasn’t much different than throwing himself against a log, but she did move a few steps nonetheless. A bullet sizzled overhead just as Naurus thudded to the deck. He glanced up to see Morra’s scowl bear down on him for a second as she contemplated hitting him back even harder, but then looked up toward the enemy captain. She sheathed her sword in a twirling flash and dove down, grabbing a rifle that was laying on the deck. Naurus peeked up over the gunwale to see the captain ducking back behind his mizzen mast, using it for cover. Morra grabbed a cartridge from the pouch of a dead sailor, loaded up the rifle, and popped up over the gunwale and took aim.

  The privateer captain likewise levelled his pistol from behind his mast, and both guns seemed to go off simultaneously. Naurus saw a lock of Morra’s hair fall to the deck as the bullet cut through it. Her shot however, hit home as the enemy captain fell to the deck, clutching his arm and writhing around in pain. Morra clambered across the boarding ramp connecting their two ships, stopping just short of the enemy ship and spinning around.

  “What are you toe rags staring at? Get over here and secure this ship, now!” She demanded.

  Naurus and the rest of the crew scrambled across the boarding ramp as fast as they could. He looked up to see Morra grabbing the captain by his thick, embroidered collar and dragging him back to the boarding ramp like a sick dog. She dragged him back over to her ship and threw him into the corner with the few other surviving privateer prisoners that were huddled there. She drew her blade across the blood that was sticky in her palm, coating the flat of the blade with it. Just as soon as she finished, the blade burst out with a dark red flame looking almost as if it just came out of a smithies forge. Securing the ship was an official way of ordering to loot and pillage, but at least it wasn’t a crime if the commodore ordered it.

  He noticed most of his crewmates going below decks, so he looked around and found the door leading to the captain's quarters. Inside, it wasn’t a terribly elaborate affair with only a few old draperies hanging off the wall and the grimy, crusty windows behind the desk across from him only let in murky light. The desk was festooned with cheap, gaudy carved wooden miniatures of mythical beasts and even a dragon too. Naurus scanned around as and noticed a rusty old chest in the opposite corner of the room. He pulled his blood token off and tucked it away, not wanting to get it rusty. The chest was locked but was light enough that he could pick it up so he did and set it on the desk. Silver decanters one empty and one full of a spicy smelling liquor were stashed away under the desk in a little shelf built just for them.

  He decided to come back for those later and made his way back outside to haul the chest over to his own ship. Crossing back over, he couldn’t help but to notice Morra was clearly enjoying herself more than usual. She was snaking and twirling her blade merely inches from the captives faces, paying special attention to their captain in the process. She would occasionally rest the blade on his shoulder or neck, causing him to recoil as if being burned and shouting in pain. Naurus set the chest down near the main mast with a satisfying thud which got the commodores attention. She looked back for a moment and her eyes lit up.

  “Now that’s the stuff! What’s in that chest?”

  Naurus didn’t say anything, instead jiggling the lid indicating it was locked. Morra turned to the captain, flicking her blade but stopping just short of his neck.

  “And where would the key to that chest be? Speak if you want to live you mangy brigand!”

  The captain buried his head in his knees for a moment, then looked up with a mopey resignation in his eyes.

  “I-it’s...in the...the secret compartment in my quarters. Under the desk...” He sighed out in defeat..

  “You heard this worthless whoreson, go find it Naurus!”

  He obeyed her command and went back into the captain's quarters and scanned under the desk judiciously. It was rather poorly lit under the desk, and he struggled to see any obvious latch or switch that would open a compartment. He started pressing on random pieces of the dirty wooden floor decking and realized a rectangular section cut out was popping up slightly when one side was pressed. He kept trying to pry the piece off the floor but just couldn’t get enough purchase for his chubby fingers to get any leverage. Frustrated, he started pounding on the floor trying to force it to give, and give it did. He slammed his fist into a particular spot that must have been the trick, as the floor cut out flipped up and slammed edge on into the crow of his head. He curled over and clutched his head, shouting vile curses at the piece of wood that attacked him. He let go of his head, and felt a warm tickle run down his face. He pressed on the wound, feeling a warm wetness coat his hand. He looked at the blood covered sigil on his palm, it glowed a dull red as it seemed to absorb all the blood that was on it. Putting pressure back on the wound, he looked down at the hole now open in the floor.

  His effort was not in vain. Lying in a cloth lined cubby was indeed a brass key that looked quite well used. Grabbing the key and the liquor for his troubles, he made his way back over to HRF Skywind. Coming back onto deck, Morra looked over and scowled as she saw the now bloody face of Naurus his hand he was clutching against the wound.

  “Well who said you were allowed to get a face painting, sailor? Did someone offer you a free bloodletting in there?” Morra cracked with a cheeky smile. Naurus set the liquor and key down on the chest.

  “No ma’am, I just uh...I fell. That’s all.” He lied. The privateer captain struggled to stifle a laugh.

  “Well you better go see the medical corpsman then, off you go now!” She turned back to her captives.

  Naurus made his way to the officers' quarters which doubled as the medical triage center. Inside, the sight of about a dozen wounded men greeted him, moaning and groaning filled the air. A chubby, square faced man looked up from one of the wounded he was standing over. His blood-stained white apron and caduceus pins on his lapel glowed softly in the candle lit room.

  “Evenin’ sailor. What’s ails ye?” The corpsman asked nonchalantly. Naurus removed his hand from his head and the corpsman scanned
his wound.

  “Ah, that should be not a problem! Take a sit o’er there.” He pointed to a stool in the corner.

  Naurus took a seat as the corpsman brought a beaten black leather bag over. He pulled out a jar of a greenish brown substance. Unscrewing the lid filled the area with a musky smell that carried a hint of burning fruit with it.

  “Now this’ll sting but it’ll be over soon.” The corpsman reassured as he slathered a dollop of the gritty paste directly into the laceration on the forehead.

  It did indeed sting and burn quite a bit, Naurus winced and contorted his face grimacing through the pain as a few bandages were wound around his head.

  “What in the world is that stuff?”

  The corpsman chuckled. “Told ya it stings!” he started, “It’s sakaberry paste. Wonderful stuff! Heal ya up in no time, and keep the pus out to boot! Off ya go now, I’ve got work to do here.”

  The corpsman went back to tending to the more seriously injured, and Naurus didn’t want to hang around in such a depressing room for any longer so he gladly made his way back out. On the deck, some crewmen were busy throwing bodies overboard. The sharks below were enjoying the buffet, having already whet their appetites with any unfortunate souls who were knocked into the water in the earlier fracas. Morra was busy rifling through the chest which didn’t seem to have much more in it than some documents and a few logbooks of some sort. A few other crewmen were busy making their way back from the enemy vessel, arms full of bits and baubles along with various weaponry along with a handful more captives that were hiding below decks. Curiosity got the best of Naurus and he walked back over to the chest to try to get a better look at what was inside. Morra smirked at him as he approached.

  “Sorry, can’t let you go through any of this until I’ve had some time to look them over. But this decanter you brought, what is it?” She asked. Naurus shrugged. She picked it up, popped the stopper out, and gave it a good sniff. Her expression contorted to something between disgust and curiosity.

  “What a horrible smelling swill. What sort of fermented piss concoction is this?” She turned and asked the captives. None of them answered.

  “Oh well, I think I might know what it is actually. Here goes nothing!” Morra took a quick swig, promptly spitting it out and cursing under her breath.

  “Of course, its dog’s wort liquor. You lot of brigands probably stole it thinking it's actually worth something if you put this piss in a shiny bottle. Here Naurus have at it, finders keepers.” She shoved the bottle into his hands.

  Morra ordered the captives hands bound and to be locked up in the hold, and demanded everyone report to the main deck for a final count. Naurus realized he hadn’t seen Tauny since earlier in the day and started wondering where he might be. Soon everyone was cleared out of both ships and on the main deck. The corpsman just then got around to tending Morra’s wound. She looked annoyed by his attention but pretended as if he wasn’t there as she scanned over the crew. Naurus glanced around too, realizing he hadn’t seen Tauny in the triage area nor was his body anywhere to be found. After several seconds, came an announcement.

  “As of now it appears we have just over a dozen wounded, about ten of ours confirmed dead and a further half dozen unaccounted for, presumably overboard. We hold eight of them captive and will capture their ship and return it for payout. Clean this blood off the deck and get the ships lashed together!” Morra announced.

  The crew broke up, with a group led by the bosun going onto the other ship to secure it for towing. Naurus decided to grab a bucket and start hauling up sea water to start cleaning the deck off. The stickiness of the dried blood was quite annoying, but a few buckets later that started to dissolve. The gunwale was peppered with bullet holes which made drainage even easier. After that unpleasant task, the sun was well into setting and everyone looked exhausted. The captured sloop was tied securely and would be a nice little payout for the crew onboard under prize rules. He hadn’t eaten since that morning, but the thought of eating anything was simply unappetizing after the days experiences. He was tired but still wired at the same time as his mind wasn’t nearly as exhausted as his body was. He decided to retire to the crew quarters with his bottle of fermented piss as it was so eloquently described.

  He had nothing better to do, so he decided to go bottoms up and try it for himself. The regret was immediate. His eyes watered, his throat and nostrils burned, his stomach churned, and he barely could stifle his coughing. Who in the world would actually enjoy drinking this? He thought, as the first bit of warmth radiated from his stomach. He plugged his nose with his fingers and downed another swig which went down considerably easier. Soon a strong buzz crept up on him, and finally felt like he could get some sleep. Most of the other crew had come in by this time too, and it was certainly much breezier in the quarters with all the new portholes that had been installed earlier that day. He climbed up to his hammock. Tossing and turning, the booze in his system was not calming him down so much as it just dropped his inhibitions about what was racing around in his head.

  Why didn’t I stick with Tauny?

  Why did I have to kill someone? I bet I could have captured them.

  I don’t see why we had to fight, couldn’t we just have sailed away?

  Why does Morra seem to enjoy fighting and I don’t?

  I’m not getting paid enough for this shit.

  These and even more thoughts danced around behind his closed eyes. The negative feedback loop was only made worse by the thought of the loss of his newly wrought friend and gunny. He never considered himself lucky in the least, and that Fortune indeed was playing yet another cruel joke on him as he felt his right palm start pulsating in rhythm with his heartbeat. The pulsations became painful, and he felt his heartrate start to rise as he realized what was about to happen again. He looked at the sigil, turning his right palm over to see it glow a dull red as it hissed and seemingly boiled off the blood that had soaked into it earlier. It started to grow brighter, and the pain became increasingly difficult to fight. He jumped out of the hammock and went to fetch his medicine. He stepped in something sticky by his footlocker, only to look down and notice a dark substance that drying out next to a hole punched into it by a cannon ball. He opened up the chest only to discover the contents there of destroyed, including the decoction vials which had seeped out. He cursed under his breath but that slowly grew into profanities loud enough to wake the sleeping crew around him. By this point all he could do was lay on the floor, clutching his arm helplessly as he writhed around unable to think clearly by the searing pain shooting up and down his spine. It felt as if his arm was stuck in a smelter, the sigil glowed brightly in the dark quarters which illuminated the crew’s faces as they looked on in shock and murmured amongst themselves.

  “Someone go get the corpsman!” One shouted.

  “No no...here I’ll carry him up. Someone help me!” Another offered.

  That crewman stepped forward and bent down, trying to sling Naurus over his shoulders in a wrestler’s carry. However well this worked for a few seconds was in vain, as when his glowing palm came to rest on the chest of his would-be savior, he instantly collapsed as if hit by lighting. Naurus thumped back to the deck and looked over to see his crewmate completely unresponsive and pulled away by others as everyone else backed away from him. Shouting and cursing broke out. This only stressed him out more, causing the pain to worsen as waves of phantom heat rolled up and down his body. His shouting soon drowned out the whole deck. Morra came bounding down the ladder and plowed her way into the quarters, woe be to any crewman who was not moving out of the way fast enough. She and Naurus locked eyes for merely a second, as she realized the gravity of what was happening.

  She knelt down and crossed his arms across his chest then picked him up and cradled him like a baby. Naurus looked up and could see her eyes flashing and mouth shouting but his hearing was almost completely gone, replaced by his thumping heart beat and dull ringing in his ears. He lost his voice, t
rying to shout away the pain in vain. He suddenly felt hot tears roll down his cheeks as Morra made her way back up the ladder with him. She looked at him with a fearful rage. This was the only time Naurus had ever noticed her face show any kind of doubt.

  She quickly made her way through the officers quarters, practically kicking the door down. The startled corpsman and bosun stood in the dimly lit room, staring at the commodore and the crewman she held moaning in pain.

  “We have a casualty down in the crew quarters. What are you two morons staring at? Get down there, that’s an order!”

  Her command was swiftly obeyed as she made her way into a room behind the officers quarters that Naurus was unfamiliar with. The room had a lantern throwing its warm light sitting off in the corner and soon he felt himself being lowered down onto a cot. He rolled over, the pain making it nearly impossible to sit still. The commodore quickly pulled a stool up and examined his palm more closely. The room filled with an orange-yellow glow now that the sigil was facing out in the open. More warm tears rolled down his cheek, landing around his lips. He licked them reflexively, being rewarded with a strong metallic taste that he wasn’t expecting. He wiped the tears away with the back of his other hand and looked at it only to find blood. He turned to Morra, trying desperately to talk but only able to groan and wheeze with great effort.