Alina woke with a start, nearly tipping over the driftwood she had been lying on. She clutched onto the mildewing wood and looked around wildly—shadow and mist surrounded her in every direction, the waves rising higher and higher. The water was as dark as the shadows swirling around her, the night ever-present but with no moon or stars or any light at all to guide her out.
She climbed further up the driftwood—her boots were soaked all the way through. Her white hair plastered to her face, her thoughts as abstract and wild as the shadow-storm surrounding her.
Her hand reached instinctively to the medallion dangling around her neck. It was important she wear it, keep it a secret—Alina knew that much.
And yet, with a panic, Alina realized that she could not remember who had given her the medallion.
Indeed, as cannons fired around her, the iron balls sinking into the sea or ships beyond her sight, she realized that she could not remember at all which ship she came from, or indeed what had happened to her.
All she knew was that she was out in the dark and the cold of the treacherous sea, and her own name.
Alina Starkov.
Her name and the driftwood were all she could cling to, with closed eyes that were about as effective as eyes wide open.
For how long she floated, she didn't know—but then the light came. The glorious full moon, making her hair glow in the silvery-blue rays cast about the water, had become her savior.
And above her was a ship.
Alina could faintly hear yells on the ship over the roar of the ocean—and then there was a rowboat, lowering with someone inside. Alina reached to kick and pull at the water, inch by inch making her way to the lifeboat—just as it hit the water.
A couple of men inside, with blue scarves marking them as men of the Imperial Navy, held torches and helped her inside of the boat. From there, the rowboat rose, and Alina was free of the endless night-sea.
A stern-looking man in an emerald coat looked Alina up and down.
"Tell me, are you all alone, girl?"
"I think so," Alina stammered.
"You think so?" He raised an eyebrow.
"I don't quite remember. . . Sir," she added, as an afterthought. She was not used to the word rolling off of her tongue. She realized her scalp felt warm.
The man tilted his head. "I see—you have hit your head, haven't you?"
Alina blinked her surprise as she reached to head—red blood stained her fingers and white hair. Her own blood, she realized with a start.
"Poor child," a woman nearby murmured. "All these pirates and buccaneers—they likely attacked another passenger ship! That girl's lucky to have survived."
"It is clear that your leadership is well-needed, Governor Keramsov," added another gentleman with a blue scarf. "And you are so generous to plan to open an orphanage for victims of those vicious scoundrels."
Alina's stomach churned—pirates, those were familiar. Pirates had something to do with her necklace. . .
"She will make a fine addition to my new orphanage," Governor Keramsov declared, for he was the man in the green coat. For the first time, he met Alina's dark eyes and knelt to be eye to eye with her. "Tell me, what is your name."
"Alina—just Alina." Perhaps it was just superstition, but her instincts told her to keep her surname to herself. That he wouldn't care for it.
"You will have my surname now, Alina." Governor Keramsov smiled, although there was distance to it. "Alina Keramsov, does that sound nice?"
She nodded, not knowing what else there was to say.
"Good girl." He patted her shoulder and stood, looking about. "Somebody get her some proper clothes, and something warm to eat!"
"Aye, governor." A woman stepped forward. Her mouse-brown hair was tied back in a tight bun, and she wore a neat gray gown with a pale pink floral print, with rather crisp pleats in the skirt. Her face was angular, her light brown eyes hawklike and glinting amber in the torchlight.
"Ah, Miss Kuya, thank you." Governor Keramsov smiled at her. "See to it the child is cared for?"
"I'll do my best, sir." Kuya nodded and placed a hand on Alina's shoulder, guiding her towards the doors leading into the interior of the ship.
Alina chose at the moment to look over her shoulder, to the sea and the cloud of shadow as a ship emerged. Damaged and ragged, there was smoke coming off of what remained of the vessel. Silver lettering was illuminated by the moon on the side of the ship.
The Volkvolny.
Behind it, the shadows were parting and fading, showing the silhouette of a ship that appeared as if it were flying above the water, with oars rowing to keep it above.
Kuya looked to see what Alina saw—and she visibly paled, her grip tightening on Alina's shoulder.
"We need to go below decks," she murmured, more to herself than Alina. "Now."
With sudden urgency that frightened her, Alina was escorted to a room lit by candles below the decks, with a small port window revealing the ocean and the moonlight. And yet, Kuya drew the curtains over the window.
"I think you've had enough of the sea for some time, haven't you?" Kuya gave a small, pinch-faced smile. "Let's get you cleaned up and into some clean clothes, shall we?"
"But what about those ships—"
"Hush." Kuya rushed to the window and pushed the curtain aside. She surveyed the ocean scenery once before returning her eyes to Alina. "There are strange things on the seas. I've heard the stories, of women who were half-fish, who sing of desire, of an ice dragon who kidnaps beautiful maidens. Then there are ghost stories."
Alina shivered.
"And ghost stories are best left where they belong, among the dead men," Kuya finished solemnly. "And dead men tell no tales."
There was a strange gravity to the governess's words. Alina was certain that there was a story behind those words. But the reserve in Kuya's features were enough to discourage her from asking for the tale.
She had been taught to be quiet, to survive—that much Alina was certain of.
And so she would be quiet, and hope that it lead to better fortune than what almost befell her in a sea of shadows.
Still, later that night, when she had been washed and dressed in a shift as white as her own hair, the cut on her head bandaged, she played with the medallion dangling from her neck in her hands, wondering if the one who had given it to her would ever come looking for it.
AN: This is my first time writing Nikolina fic and working with the lore of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, but I'm excited to see where this will go. I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it! I can't wait for you to see what's in store.