This story is for Mazzie, for the 2013 Ficathon.
(Cover photo by me and the sysop on Flickr.)
The sun sparked on the water and threw up flares of light, refracting on the waves and casting shimmery tendrils of flame onto the mainsail. Thess felt errant splinters from the last attack of cannon fire start to push through her glove as she gripped the rigging and leaned out over the edge of the deserted deck, watching the fiery sunrise.
She leaned out further over the water, and one of the splinters pierced the tightly-woven fibers of her glove, embedding itself in the pad of her middle finger. Thess ignored the tiny stab of pain as she stared out over the water; her visage was serious, intent. She was searching for something in the midst of the bright orange-gold light pouring over the edge of the world. Whatever it was, she did not find it, so she called up to the silent watcher in the crow's nest.
"Any sign of Cavarr, Reuben?"
"Aye. I see the towers casting shadow in the morning sun."
"We are making good time, then."
"Would be making better time if the oars was fresh."
"Unless you're volunteering, I'd keep those comments quiet around the captain."
Reuben muttered something about bloodlings but made no other audible comment.
Thess strode across the deck, her sea-worn boots thudding a familiar rhythm to those belowdecks. To the crew, her footsteps said sunrise, and another peaceful rest after another busy night. Reuben and Thess were the only crew members to greet the sun every morning. Thess, because she was Thess, and Reuben because he was older than the sun and no longer afraid. Thess didn't trust him for that reason, but the Captain said he would not cause trouble, and there was no arguing with that — especially because not even that much could be said of the rest of the green crew. They were fresh from the earth and barely done heaving every meal to the sea; their loyalty was still of grass and seasons and not the hard faithfulness of salt and unending waves. Happy for the rest from a long night, the crew settled into the shadows and salty nooks below the deck, dozing and waiting for dusk.
To the Givers, her footsteps said peace, and another day to be alive. Not much sunlight filtered down to the oar deck, but when the main deck grew silent and they heard the thumping of Thess's boots, they knew the sun had come once more. They had to row sometimes, when the wind was slack, but often they were able to rest along with the crew. Until Thess came down to them, a sharp knife in one hand and a key in the other, and hungry crew members close behind.
Not many Givers were still alive from the time before Thess joined the crew, but those who remembered those dark days told whispered tales of the coming of the angel. Before Thess, Givers would only live for a few weeks before they were drained. It was always gruesome, and always unexpected when a Giver would suddenly seize up, struggling to free himself from the grip of a crew member, and then fall limp in the lap of the creature's overindulgence.
And then came the girl. Barely a woman, and barely able to hold a knife, she somehow held the creatures in sway with her iron determination and irrefutable arguments. The Captain valued her; the Givers heard multiple arguments between Ephraim the Bloody and his vicious crew members, but the results were always the same — the girl would stay. The Givers were never sure how she could be useful to the blood-men, but she was the saving grace of the pitiful prisoners below. Most of the blood-men had forgotten how humans lived and what they needed, and so the Givers were cared for poorly. But Thess never forgot them, and she protected them from the ferocious appetites and moods of the crew with her steel and fire. Specific blood hours were set, and guarded by the lean girl. No Giver had been drained since she set her post outside the locked door in the long hours of the day. Givers began to live for years, especially those who were captured after Thess had instated her reign over the oar deck. The prisoners were fed three times a day, with the food that Thess herself ate, she swore. Throughout the long days, Thess stayed outside the door and kept watch.
To Thess, her footsteps meant the beginning of a dangerous day and the end of a safe night. Her nights were spent behind a locked door in a spare room in the Captain's chamber. The Captain was the only one with the key, so she knew she was safe. She could lie down without listening for approaching footsteps, slink out of her sweaty clothes without fearing that even a bare shoulder would jeopardize her life. She could let her guard down and slip into untroubled sleep — for the most part.
Thess trusted the Captain with her life, and he had proved himself worthy of that trust over and over in her six years on the ship. Never once had he breached that trust, or even come close to doing so. He had defended her life, her honor, and her freedom to walk about the ship without constraint. She knew that he was the only thing, beside her brain, that kept her alive every day. She knew that as simply as she knew that the sunlight would burn the crew alive, and that the Givers' vitality depended on their own happiness. It was a simple fact. She had to trust Ephraim, because if he ever caught a hint that she didn't, she would likely be dead within the hour.
Luckily, Thess never doubted him. His motives were straightforward and passed her scrutiny, or she would have left him two years ago. He loved her. She counted on his love, her usefulness as a human, and her quick thinking to guarantee her next breath. So far, it had served her well.