I don't own
'em, I just make 'em dance, that's all.
Enjoy Responsibly. Some Side Effects,
Such As Drowsiness or the Insatiable Desire To Read More May Occur. Do Not Read And Drive At The Same Time.
Thank you.
Otherwise,
enjoy. J
Chapter Five:
Escape
Ashuram lay gently
swinging in his hammock, rocked by the motion of the ship borne by the Eastern
Sea. The hold was quiet, save for the
contented snores of the sailors all around him and the creaking of the beams
and planks against the resistance of the water. Every so often, he could hear footsteps crossing the deck above
as the sailors on watch made their rounds.
He could not
sleep. He had been dozing fitfully,
trying to get comfortable in his hammock, and now he was awake. Sleep lay thickly on him, pulling at his
eyelids and making his body heavy. His
mind drifted lethargically, but could not seem to find the hidden pathway to
slumber.
The whip wounds
burned with a constant, acid
convergence across his chest and ribs, reaching down as far as he could retreat
and pulling him back to wakefulness and awareness of the pain. Even the slight motion of his breathing
chaffed his shirt uncomfortably against the thin slash marks. He almost wanted to take his shirt off, but
was afraid the salt air would sting even more.
He did not fidget, either, knowing that any motion on his part would
make the wounds flare painfully.
I could use
some wine, he thought drowsily. Kanon
burgundy. Lots and lots of it….
"He won't fight
back if we slit his throat first."
Ashuram
came fully awake in the darkness, blinking in sudden alertness. It had been a whisper, barely audible above
the sound of the waves, but he had heard it.
He listened intently, trying to locate the source of the whisper, pain
forgotten and nerves strung tautly on edge.
"He doesn't have
even a knife, now," the whisper came again.
"What? Don't you know how
much that little Elven trinket would be worth?" Ashuram could not hear the other man's reply, but the first man
– there was something about his whisper that just barely fell into the register
of audibility, and Ashuram could make out what he was saying.
He began to try
and think of a way to elude them, and his sleepy mind refused to come up with
any idea.
"He looks like a
half-starved water rat. Between the two
of us, he can't put up much of a fuss."
Again, he could not hear the response, but the first man spoke again
soon after:
"Simple. We'll slit his throat and dump him
overboard. The Cap'n will never mind, and
we'll be rid of the pale spook. No
one'll miss the eerie bastard. Come on;
we'll do it now, while he's sleeping."
Strain though he
might, he could not hear anything after that.
There was a long pause, measured out by the beats of his heart. At last he wondered if he had really heard
it at all.
If I were
dreaming…., he thought to himself, starting to get drowsy again.
The sound of a
soft footfall not far away brought him back to full awareness once again, and
he just barely stopped himself from opening his eyes, making himself stay
perfectly still. He kept his breathing
deep and even, as though he still slept on oblivious.
The footfall
stopped by his bed. There was a pause
that seemed to take forever, and then suddenly he heard the sound of a knife
being drawn.
He opened his
eyes to see the faint glint of light spilling down from the deck illuminate the
edge of a knife, and beyond that, eyes flickering in the gloom. Before the sailor could even make a sound,
Ashuram grabbed the blade of the knife that was descending for him and brought
his foot around to kick the man in the crotch.
It was a weak
kick that had hardly any leverage, but the sailor had not been expecting it,
and grunted in sudden pain, starting to double over. Ashuram sat up, trying to pull the knife from the sailor's grip,
but the man recovered enough to struggle with him.
"Oi," the sailor hissed to someone behind Ashuram,
"what in the seven hells are you waiting for?" Ashuram could only glance over, but he saw another shadowy
figure waiting in the gloom to rush in and attack. Ashuram did not think he could handle two at a time. He quickly let go of the knife, and,
dropping, swept a leg out and dropped the sailor to the planks. The man fell with a muffled thud, grunting,
and then Ashuram was on him, driving his heel against the man's wrist to make
him release the knife. The sailor did
so with a sharp hiss of pain, and Ashuram snatched it up and slit his throat quickly.
The man gasped,
a quiet, wet sound, and Ashuram saw red come to the man's lips. Ashuram took his knife, and turned to face
the other figure, crouching.
There was no one
there. The other man had fled, probably
gone to inform the Captain that one of the sailors had been killed. Ashuram turned, gazing down at the dead
sailor briefly. He doubted the Captain
would allow him to get away with a mere lashing for this one. He wouldn't put it past the Captain to
keelhaul him or even throw him overboard.
As close as they had come to land, the fresh blood of his wounds would
draw sharks and other nasties he could not hope to escape.
He took a deep
breath, gritting his teeth against the pain of the whip lashes, and
straightened.
Knife clenched
in his hand, Ashuram made his way carefully up onto the deck. His feet were bare and silent against the
rough, sea-cured wood. The night was a
bright one; the moon was nearly full, and the stars shone with cold brilliance,
looking close enough to touch.
Cautiously, he looked over the port side and saw the dark, looming shape
of land in the distance.
He had no idea
what country it was that he was looking at.
The ship had been within sight of land for the past two days or so, and
they were following the eastern coast up to Alania.
"Psst," he heard
someone hiss, and whirled, knife in motion before rational thought had taken
over. A strong hand gripped his wrist,
pausing the downward motion of his knife briefly. He realized it was the blonde sailor.
"Don't kill me,"
the man warned, and let go of Ashuram's wrist.
"Look, the captain's dingy is hanging in the stern. I'll help you cut its moorings. You can escape in that."
If he could make
it to shore… Ashuram nodded.
"Why?" He asked the man. The sailor grinned.
"It's only a matter of time before my greed
overcomes my innate caution and I try to steal your golden charm," he
whispered. "I saw what you did to Felg,
and I don't need another orifice. Besides,
we don't always do things we know the reasons for. And if we stand here shooting the shit, you're going to be
caught. Come on." He pointed to where the dingy was stowed,
gesturing for Ashuram to follow. Mystified
as to the man's actions, Ashuram followed.
They
made their way back into the stern of the ship, where the Captain's dingy was
stowed, tied down tightly against the rolling of the deck. Ashuram could hear movement elsewhere on the
ship, and knew they were probably looking for him. He did not have much time.
Moving quickly, the sailor moved to saw through the ropes that stowed
the dingy and cut the covering free, pulling it aside hastily. When it was
hanging free of the deck, they pulled the rope that lowered it over the
side, grunting at the effort. The dingy
splashed down into the dark water below, and began to drift away in the wake of
the ship.
"The stern!"
Ashuram heard a voice calling. "In the
stern!"
"Hurry up!" The sailor urged him. "Go!"
Without looking back, Ashuram
launched himself over the side of the ship and landed ungracefully in the
dingy, barely making his target. He
nearly capsized the dingy and came close to losing the oars in the
process. For a moment he lay curled in
the bottom of the boat, panting with effort and dizzy with pain. Above him, the dark shape of the frigate
slipped away from him. He saw sailor's
faces appear over the side of the ship, calling out curses to him that were
lost in the sound of the ocean, the figures waving their small fists at him
getting further and further away. He
could not make out the blonde sailor's face at this distance, and at last gave
up.
For awhile, he
wanted nothing more than to lie there and sleep, but he made himself sit up and
look around. He was on a very small
craft in the middle of a very large ocean, and the bumpy darkness of land
looked very far away. He sighed, and unshipped
the oars. Turning the boat so that he
faced out to open sea, he began to row.
* * * * * * *
If the tide
hadn't turned with him instead of against him, Ashuram doubted he would have
made it. He had fallen into exhausted
slumber towards morning, slumped over the oars, and not even pain could keep
him awake. When he woke again, it was
to the feeling of the dingy grating against solid ground. Blearily, he pulled himself upright,
blinking in the morning sun, and looked around.
The boat was
floating a few yards from shore, caught in the shallows as the tide pulled in
and out, tossing the boat to and fro.
He rubbed his face, trying to chase exhaustion away, and stretched
gingerly against the stiffness that gripped his shoulders like a vise. Straightening pulled at the wounds across
his ribs and he hissed at the sting.
Trying to ignore it, he realized he needed to get to shore before the
tide took the boat back out to sea again.
He
had no reason to keep the boat, and so he stepped out of it, into a cold ocean
that immediately drenched him to the knees.
Slogging through the water and wet sand, he struggled to get to
shore. The tide alternately pulled at
his legs and pushed him forwards, keeping him on the verge of stumbling with
nearly every step.
When he at last
reached the narrow, rocky shore, he fell to his hands and knees, gasping great
gulps of air, sweat slipping down his face to drip off of the end of his long
nose. Or were they tears? He could not tell.
I could just
lay here, he thought to himself. I
could just lay here, and not get up again.
I don't have to get up. There's
nowhere to go.
"You've got more
lives than a cat, you slippery bastard," he heard Lord Beld's rough, rude voice
reverberate in his ears. It was
something Lord Beld had said to him a long time ago, before the war.
"Apparently,"
Ashuram muttered in agreement.
"There must
always be a balance," it was Karla's voice he heard now, smooth and cool and
ancient, sounding ever so smug in her own knowledge.
"So you can
hedge your bets, you old bitch, and play at trying to make the future," he
replied in a low snarl.
It was only then
that he realized he was talking to voices in his head. Appalled at himself, he sat down on the
sun-warmed pebbles and took several deep breaths, clearing his head. I'm not going crazy, he thought
determinedly to himself. Wagnard was
crazy…. I'm not taking his path. Oh, Hell.
When he felt
calmer and less delirious, Ashuram stood up again. His head felt very far away from the ground. He needed to find fresh water, and
food. After that, he did not know. He steadied himself, and started westward.
* * * * * * *
He had been
hearing the sound of a stream for what seemed like hours. He could not tell if he were imagining it or
not, for it seemed no matter which direction he turned, it always seemed to be
just out of sight but almost at hand, if he could only manage to find it before
it slipped away again.
When he at last
did find the stream, he slogged into it without any restraint and nearly
submerged himself in his eagerness to drink.
He drank like an animal, putting his face to the water and sucking it
between his teeth in noisy gulps. The
water was cold and sweet, and tasted incredibly fresh after so many days at
sea. When he was finished, he wiped
his dripping face against his sleeve.
Getting to his feet again, he continued walking.
What's
happening to me? He thought vaguely to himself. Where am I going? What
am I becoming?
"You are the
Sword Bearer, My Lord," Pirotess' voice said, soft and sweet, in his ears, and
he sighed.
"I am lost," he
corrected her. "Pirotess. It seems I will join you sooner than we
thought."
"There is a
different path waiting for you," her voice came again. "What is meant to be, will be."
"Speak more
plainly! What is meant to be?" He demanded, and there was silence. He realized again he had been talking to
voices that were coming from his own delirium, and closed his eyes with a sigh,
shaken.
How Wagnard
would laugh to see this, he thought, this time silently. The Black Knight, little more than a
crazed hermit wandering through…Gods know where.
With nothing
else to do, he kept walking.
