Okay.. Hi. I know I haven't finished my other story and that it's been.. a year and a half. But now i suddenly felt like starting a new one, so... :) I hope you enjoy it, and if I'll see people are interested I'll keep publishing. And to those of you who didn't read my older stuff, please note that English is not my native language and be thoughtful, thanks :)


"No! No! Please, Henry! Don't take him- oh, please! Henry! Keep shouting so I'll know where they're taking you! I'll find you!" But the toddler's voice was lost in a sea of grunting and yelling as a muscular, dirty man carried him away from her. Two other men, just as beefy, dragged her by her armpits along the short, damp corridor that divided the two rows of wooden cells, built on the inside walls of the belly of a big ship. One of them held her hands behind her back, twisted so that she couldn't move without dislocating both of her shoulders, while the other pushed a small wicket open. She was immediately shoved into a wooden cell, overly crowded with women of all ages, and suddenly the chaos became real. Coughs, shouts for help and mercy, hollers of pain and agony, mad laughter, quiet mumblings that mixed to create a noise similar to the hum of a full nest of wasps.

"Where are we going?" she numbly tried to ask, willing to take any answer from anybody, but no response was granted. Her weak voice was swallowed, just like Henry's.

"Alright, you dirty rats, shut your mouths and stand up for the captain!"

Suddenly every mouth was closed, every pair of eyes glimmered with anticipation. The crowed around Emma was shifted as those who were sitting or lying down rose, with some effort, to their feet and she was pressed uncomfortably against the moldy wooden bars.

His feet were the first to appear as he walked down the stairs, as if he was walking on steady ground- his boots remarkably scrubbed, shining in black. The end of a long leather coat waved around his ankles and a glint of clean metal illuminated dimly in the weak light the few oil lamps provided. His face, scarred and sun-burnt, were almost animalistic with the broad, black stripes around the eyes, the feathery black strands of hair that escaped the dark ribbon on the back of his neck and the exposed teeth. "I assume you all know what awaits you." The captain's voice was quiet and dangerous, crawled between the cages like a slippery, oil covered snake. Not even a single breath was heard in the utter silence that consumed everything. "I do hope that it is very clear to all of you that I will not hesitate to personally kill every one of you who tries to… harden this journey for me or for my men." He continued. "You may not speak, you may not pray, you may not make any noise at all unless you have been directly ordered to do so. You may not go out of the cages until we reach our destination, in three or four days. I don't even have to bother with stating the obvious, but I will, for the slow minded of you- when you are given an order, you obey at once, or you die. Don't bother trying to go against me. Although it would cost me some of my profits, I can and I most certainly will slaughter every last one of you, no matter who was involved. Is that understood?" Some nodded, some were frozen. The threat, coming from anyone else, would have sounded unrealistic, ridiculous even. No pirate slave trader in his right mind would consider killing all of his prisoners over one attempted riot, but his bright eyes and the tongue that slipped over his front teeth told a different story. A bloodier one.

He turned slowly to face the other row of cells. "Well, I bid you a pleasant journey," he smiled wolfishly and started to walk towards the stairs to the deck.

"Wait!" a shrieking, terrified voice broke the silence, and fear struck everyone as the pirate captain stopped, the muscles of his back evidently tightened with rage. He slowly turned around. "I see your brain isn't your finest feature, miss..?"

Emma gulped silently. She had to use his attention wisely, or Henry would be left an orphan sooner than she had expected. "Where is it that we're going?" she managed to ask.

He raised a thick eyebrow. "I think I'll refer everything that just happened here to sheer stupidity, love, but if you were a tad less pretty I would have killed you the moment you spoke. From now on," he came to stand in front of her, close enough for her to smell the sea salt and rum on his skin. "You may not speak unless you are told to speak, when I ask you a question you answer at once, and you may absolutely not say anything to me but 'yes captain' or 'no captain', unless I asked you something that requires a different answer. Because in the next time something like this happens," his blue eyes seemed agonizingly human as he spoke the next words. "I will treat it as audacity and disobedience. And those are two things I will not have on my ship, and especially not from a slave." The last sentence was louder, both to intimidate her and to make sure everyone else heard. "Is this clearer to you now, princess? You've managed to wrap your mind around it this time?"

She nodded slightly. "Yes, captain."

He smiled at her. "Good!" he praised her mockingly. "See? It wasn't that hard, now, was it?"

She kept her fear and frustration from reaching her voice. "No, captain." She answered him. The smile vanished from his face. "Excellent." He said, and resumed walking to the staircase. As he reached it, he turned back again. "You are on the Jolly Roger, ladies and gentlemen, on your way to be sold in the Enchanted Forest. I am Captain Jones," he smiled ironically before adding: "at your service." And disappearing up the stairs.

Emma rubbed her chest in order to relieve the tension that had formed there. She's missed her chance to use the captain's attention to improve Henry's condition, but at least she was alive.


The next few days were an increasing nightmare. She couldn't tell between nights and days .The suffocating smell of vomit, feces and urine seemed to invade every thought she had, and the nausea was almost unbearable, not to mention the hunger and the thirst. But above all, beyond the humiliation and the fear, was the silence. The silence that kept her from knowing whether Henry was alright or not, whether Henry was alive or not. The children's cage was as quiet as the adults'. She toyed with the idea of trying to talk to him, at the very least letting him know that she was still alive and well and maybe even hearing his voice in response- but the risk was too great, after she had already drawn attention to herself once.

Only one of the oil lamps was still illuminating when the captain came back. Most of the captives were sleeping in their cells, accepting the fact that there was nothing they could do for themselves. Emma's hand was dangling from one of the horizontal wooden bars and her face was pressed against it, splinters digging into her dirty cheek. The loud thuds of a heavy pair of boots across the floor made her eyelids flutter and then open wide. The captain was standing right in front of her again, reeking with sweat and rum. He swayed a little, but not because of the waves that rocked the ship. He was drunk. She was given a second chance.

She stretched her back and made eye contact with him, almost flinching at the intensity of his drunken glare. His glassy, blue eyes seemed fragile, but not delicate, as if they were thick, brick walls that had suffered one blow after the other until they were finally beginning to crack. She said nothing, waiting for him to address her, as he earlier instructed her.

"Why did you ask me that question?" He finally asked her, putting one hand on the cell and leaning on it. His voice was steady, but not as intimidating as it was when he was sober. "What do you have here that's worth dying for?"

Emma couldn't believe the opportunity that was so simply dropped into her lap. She knew she had to proceed with great caution. "A child," she replied carefully, constantly observing him for any changes her answer may have provoked. And indeed, an unclear emotion glimpsed on his face and softened his features for a brief moment. The alcohol was softening him. "We were captured together by your men."

"My men didn't capture you, lassie." His face twitched and he searched his pockets until he found a silver flask and swigged. "I only get paid for delivery."

"Where will they take him?" she whispered, not having to put any effort into sounding honestly terrified. The tone seemed to have strum the right strings in his alcohol immersed soul.

"Usually the Madam gets to pick first." He almost shamefully admitted. "She doesn't often pick young boys," he added as he saw how horror was starting to dawn on her face. "How old is he?"

"Five," Emma whispered.

"So he won't end up in a brothel, probably. Not as a prostitute, anyway. Perhaps she'll take him as a cleaner. But I can't say the same for you." There was no mockery or joy in his voice. He seemed almost resentful of her fate. He shook his head, as if trying to elude a thought. "And if she doesn't take him he'll probably be taken by a landlord. At most cases, this isn't a fate I would wish upon any child. He'll learn the taste of violence soon enough. The ones left are usually killed." He squinted. "Why all the shock? You didn't expect slavery to be pleasant, did you?"

She breathed heavily. "Is there anything you can do for him?" she finally dared to ask, her voice a perfect mixture of desperation and hope. "I'll do anything. Please."

Suddenly, something blocked the sincerity she caught hints of in his blue gaze. Without another word, he turned and left.

And just like that, the final chance to save her child was gone.


A few hours, or days, later, the starved, sick population of the ship felt the considerable bump that informed them of their arrival to a dock. A few large men emerged from the hatch and down the staircase, frowning at the smell. They unlocked the cages, and all at once the small, dark space was filled with rushing people, eager to see the sunlight after long days in the moldy, well-sealed belly of the ship.

Emma was in a different kind of rush. She pushed her way in the agitated crowd, trying to spot the brown hair, the slim figure, the little voice. She was on the brink of tears, exhausted and desperate to succeed, when she finally heard a faint, familiar cry. "Mommy!"

"Henry!" she called, a powerful emotion rushing through her in waves of electricity. "Henry! I'm here! Come here!" and all of the sudden her little boy was flying out of the people stream like a bullet discharging from a pistol. She open her arms to catch him and held him tight to her chest as she did.

"Mommy," he cried, unable to express the distress he must have been feeling.

"I know, baby, I know," she whispered in return, just as unable to comfort him. "But I'm here now, baby, everything's alright." He sniffed as she let go of him and held his tiny chin between a thumb and a finger. "Okay?"

He nodded. Emma took his hand and made herself inhale deeply. She could hear sharp yelling from the deck and prayed that Henry couldn't, even though the fear that never left his small eyes was now beginning to rebuild itself.

The sunlight was nearly blinding, and the fresh breeze reminded Emma of what it was like to use her lungs properly. But they were given no time to adjust before a rough hand grabbed Emma by the arm and threw her to stand in the end of a line of quivering women, guarded by a wall of large men. They were counted, then counted again, while she helplessly watched as Henry tumbled and fell, tears filling his eyes as a heavy man grabbed him harshly by his armpit. "Henry!" she screamed as the little creature attempted to peel the thick fingers from his skin and received a loud slap across his face. "Henry!"

"Shut up!" yelled another man, short and rat-like, who was too clean to be a pirate.

"Henry!" Emma carried on yelling nonetheless, searching for a way around the guards that kept her from her child.

"I said shut up!" was all she heard before a hard object came crashing on her back, sending her to the hard wooden floor, seeing stars. "Get up!"

"Henry…" she managed to blurt, as the small, fragile figure disappeared from her eyes.

"What on earth do you think you're doing, you bloody brute?" a clear voice was abruptly heard above the tumult, cutting through it and leaving many mouths shut and many eyes wide with awe. The captain slowly walked towards the man who had Henry wiggling in his firm grasp.

"I'm taking this slave to its place," the man's thick voice was highly careful.

"This just happens to be my personal child!" exclaimed the captain. Emma swallowed a gasp. "He has lived on this ship since the day he was born! And you mean to tell me you mistook him for a slave?"

The man's voice was a lot less confident when he answered. "There's a child missing, and he's the last one-"

"A child has died over the journey." The captain replied, his voice nearly indifferent. "We had to throw the body into the ocean."

The man reluctantly let go of Henry's hand, and he immediately ran towards Emma. She desperately tried to signal him to stay away, but it was of no use. He somehow managed to get through the line and reach her. "Mommy," He cried and wrapped his hands around her waist.

She almost didn't want to say the next few words that left her mouth, as if she could have just stayed right there and then and embrace her child forever. "It has been very nice to meet you, Henry," she said loudly enough for everyone to hear, but not loudly enough to keep her from hearing her heart crack with every syllable. "But I am not your mother, we can stop pretending now, because I have to go and you have to stay." She gulped the hard lump down her throat. "So go on and join your father, dear," she gestured at the captain. "I hope we'll meet again someday."

"But you are my real mother!" he yelled, frightened and confused.

"No, Henry, I'm not. We've only met a few days ago, on the ship. Please go to your father now."

"No!"

"Henry, please."

"No, mommy, I want you! You're m-" the sentence was cut as the squealing boy was lifted from behind.

"Henry, say goodbye." Said Captain Jones quietly.

"No," henry cried, trying to reach his mother.

"Goodbye, dear." Emma's voice broke.

"No!" Henry shouted as he was carried down a different staircase, a cleaner one, and slowly disappearing from Emma's eyes. "No! No! Mommy! Mommy, no!"

The urging need to run and get her boy was overwhelming. But after she was lead to the dock and the ship had already sailed away, to the horizon and beyond, she knew it was too late.

When she turned her back to the ocean, she found herself face to face with wrinkled skin powdered white, and tired, cunning eyes under an overly large purple wig. Yellow teeth peeked from between two painted lips in an intimidating smile.

"I'll take this one," said the madam, and a bag was almost immediately put over Emma's head.


tell me what did you think! honest reviews help me improve both my writing and my english :D