Billy stared up at the canvas of the teepee looming over him as he lay quietly, trying to piece together his thoughts. So much had happened - so much that he had forgotten. Myriad emotions clamored over him all at once. Hatred, sorrow, love, guilt, anger . . . mostly anger.
The rustle of the teepee's opening made him turn his face. "Mullins?" he guessed, squinting through the darkness.
"It's me. And Maegie," Slightly whispered, stepping aside to let her in as well. "Billy, is it true? We've heard -- well, slightly a lot of things."
"About Arizael?" Jukes replied, betraying no emotion in his voice.
"Well, yes, but are you sure? It seems slightly ridiculous--" Slightly bit his lip, realizing that wasn't the most tactful thing to have said. "Sorry."
Despite himself, Billy had to try hard not to smile. "It's okay."
"I'm sorry, Jukes. But I have to admit I'm slightly curious."
"He's sorta got a point. How do you know Arizael's your mother?" Maegie asked.
"My mother's real name is Daneatra. I guess I'd better start from the beginning?" Billy asked, seeing the confused looks Slightly and Maegie shared. They nodded and sat down beside him on the bunk.
As the boy started his tale, one other was crouched before the teepee watching them quietly. The cat had left soon after she had awoken, panicking . . . overwhelmed by all the imagery and the memories that shouldn't have been hers by any natural means. She fled to the forest, questions burning in her mind . . . human questions. What was she? Who was she?
She might have continued to run all night if she hadn't heard sobbing fading behind her . . . her son . . . and immediately after those words had appeared in her mind - words she was able to read and understand - she stopped. She knew what the boy meant to her now; why she had reacted the way she had upon the first sight of him. He was her son . . . but how was it possible?
And by what sweet miracle was he alive?
One question led to many and this time she had the answers in her mind. They were so jumbled and tangled with fears and doubts that she had to digest them slowly, one at a time. Slowly she had begun to understand all that had befallen her. Now it was emotions rather than questions that churned within her.
She didn't know what to feel; what to do in response to those questions. Confusion mounting, the calico closed her eyes, fluffed up her fur, and just stayed still - listening to her son's voice as he told what he remembered, adding her own memories to fill where his were lacking.
* * *
She should never have gotten on the ship.
Daneatra cursed every fiber of her being for getting on the ship.
They were both going to die. She bit her lip angrily; now wasn't the time for such thoughts. She and her son were still alive, and she would prefer for Billy at least to stay that way, if not her.
Another scream erupted from above her hiding place and the boy at her side closed his eyes tighter. Daneatra's heart broke. She knew he could still hear the screams even though his hands were pressed against his ears, attempting to blot out all sound of the hideous slaughter going on above.
Someone else could be down here, Daneatra thought sadly. Someone else with a child to hide could be safe from the horrors up there; if not for long, then at least for a moment or two. Billy and I would be at home and away from all this, and someone else could be sheltered from --
"Get away from me!!!" shrieked a young woman's voice. Daneatra started, - heart in her throat - and drew her feet underneath her to get up.
"No! Mom, where are you going?!" Billy cried, grabbing her arm.
"Someone's in trouble."
"I'm coming too, then!" he insisted.
"No, you are not. No matter what you hear, stay right--"
Daneatra was cut off by another scream from the girl. Billy watched her scramble out of their hiding place and disappear. She's brave, he thought to himself, feeling a twinge of admiration through his fear. But I don't want her to die . . . Please, hurry back, Mom. The eight-year old boy drew his knees to his chest and listened as hard as he could for any sign that his mother was in trouble.
He didn't have to wait long.
A loud shout from the men - probably the ones whom the young woman had been shouting at - and the sound of metal clanging on metal made the boy jump to his feet. He stood still, listening to the fight, trying to discern without luck what was happening, until finally a scream jolted him into action. Daneatra's scream.
* * *
She had found the sword gripped tightly in the hand of a pirate corpse. Daneatra had no idea how to use a sword; but she had handled knives before, so she had begun to search the body for one.
The girl gave a shriek, and a resounding slap followed by the men's raucous laughter brought a dark look to the gypsy woman's face. There was no time to look for more suitable weapons. It was now, or never.
"Hey, Mack, leave some of her for me," leered one of the pirates, watching as the other man advanced onto the cowering young woman.
"Get away from me!" she cried, to be answered only with sneers.
"Don't worry, m'love, it won't hurt," smirked Mack, reaching for her skirt.
"But this will!" cried a new voice. A blur streaked into the room and charged Mack. The surprised pirate stepped back hastily and tripped, landing hard on the floor. A swoosh where his head had been less than a second ago told him he'd been a hairsbreadth from losing his life.
"What is this?!" yelled one of the men, drawing his blade. "A bloody Amazon!? Take her down!" He charged forward and Daneatra gave a yelp, bringing the sword in front of her as a shield. The man's blade bounced off it, resulting in a loud clang. He stepped back and brought the sword up again for a new attack. Daneatra froze, uncertain as to what to do, but she did not let her inexperience show in her face. The man attacked again and miraculously she blocked the blow, as well as the next one, and the next.
The men were clearly not expecting a woman to be a match for even one of them, and it showed in their hesitation to charge her all at once. The pirate stopped his swordplay and stepped back, waiting for her to go on the offensive. Waiting for her to make a mistake. Which is precisely what she did.
"She's no swordsmaster. Just lucky!" Mack shouted to the others, seeing her awkward defensive stance. He got up with a grunt and Daneatra noticed a small knife at his belt. She smiled. This was more like it.
Without warning, one of the men kicked the sword out of her hand and it flew to the other side of the room with a loud clatter. A shove sent her into Mack's waiting arms and Daneatra couldn't believe her luck. A heavily muscled pirate stalked toward her and raised a hand to strike her into submission. The girl whimpered, but Daneatra didn't even flinch.
Before the hand impacted with her face, the knife was out of Mack's scabbard and making a red line across the muscled pirate's face while a kick to his stomach sent him bowling back into the crowd of onlooking seamen. They yelled and fell under his weight. Daneatra elbowed Mack in the stomach, but he recovered quickly and slammed her against the wall. The knife flew from her fingers as she slid down, dazed. A kick to her ribs caused her to scream in pain, but she lashed out with a kick of her own. Mack grunted, face turning purple, as he staggered back with both hands cupped around the front of his trousers. The muscled pirate had gotten up by this point, and Daneatra winced as he started toward her again, remembering the kick to her ribs and wondering how badly this was going to hurt.
A small bone-handled dagger flew across the room and struck the man in the shoulder like a dart. He roared a curse and pulled it out, eyes roaming about for the perpetrator.
"Leave them alone!" yelled a boy's voice and Daneatra's eyes widened in horror as the muscled pirate turned away from her and snapped the boy up in his large hands, ignoring his kicking and struggling.
"Billy!" Daneatra shrieked, struggling to her feet. Two pirates held her in arrest, restraining her from reaching the boy.
"You pricked me with your little dagger, didn't you?" rumbled the larger man, staring hard into Billy's eyes. He looked back defiantly. Daneatra caught her breath, wondering what horrible thing the man was going to do to her son. After a long, horrible, tense moment, one corner of the pirate's mouth turned up in the barest hint of a smile. "You must be very brave. Do ye still feel brave, dangling there like a rabbit?"
"Yeah."
"An' so fearless? Ain't ye afraid I'll cut you with my dagger?" The man sneered, waiting for the boy to start crying and begging for mercy.
"If you leave my mom alone, you won't have to," Billy said, trying to sound as menacing as he possibly could. The pirates exchanged incredulous looks with one another, before roaring with laughter.
The man deposited Billy on the ground and gave him a shove toward Daneatra. "Take back your brat, woman. You and the other one are coming with us. We'll get at least some entertainment before we gut you."
Daneatra caught him as he stumbled toward her and pulled him into her arms. "I told you to stay put," she whispered fiercely, trying to sound angry. But she couldn't be angry with him at all. He had heard her scream and because he loved her, had tried to come to her aid. It was impossible for her to scold him, especially since these were to be their last moments together . . .
The young woman choked back a sob and buried her face in Daneatra's shoulder. "Don't show fear," Daneatra whispered to her firmly, though her own heart was pounding in her chest.
"Aye, show fear! Ye ladies and laddie are prisoners now - prisoners of Cap'n Flint! Even I'm afraid of that villainous scug!" crowed a scrawny man, overhearing Daneatra. "Now get to yer feet and march. Your men are down, dead, and waitin' for a hot brand to set their pyre alight."
With a shout, the younger woman lept to her feet. "It's not true!" she yelled in defiance, tears slipping down her cheeks. "My husband would never have fallen to the likes of you!"
Daneatra closed her eyes in sympathy. The woman's husband had been among those fighting. And was now probably among those dead.
"Don't worry, then lassie. If it's a man you've lost, you'll get one of us, aye?" Mack joked, elbowing one of his comrades.
"I don't want any one of you!" she spat, wild with grief. "And I don't care if you kill me because of it! If my love's dead then I'd rather die anyway," the young woman said bitterly. The room was silent for a moment or two, most of the men perhaps wishing they had a woman who'd grieve for them should they fall.
"Enough talk. Let's go," said one of them at length. Daneatra, Billy, and the girl were escorted above deck where Captain Flint and the rest of his entourage waited with their own loot and prisoners.
Daneatra let the girl lean on her, offering commiseration, comfort, anything she could. "What is your name?" she asked gently.
"Ann Bracke--" saying her husband's last name choked her, but she swallowed and gathered her resolve. "Brackeen. And yours?"
"Daneatra Jukes. This is my son, Billy."
"Thank you - both of you - for trying to save me. For as long as it lasts, I owe you my life." Ann broke down then, for she saw her husband's still body laying sprawled on the deck, a pool of his life's blood underneath him. She turned away, her heart torn, and wept unashamedly into her hands.
* * *
Vanessa Devane popped yet another grape into her mouth as she watched the prisoners being herded across the planks to the Walrus. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the pirates still aboard the defeated ship bursting open barrels in search of food or valuables, spreading pitch on the deck and getting everything ready for the bonfire to follow. The bonfire was her favorite part. Her lover was infamous for sending back undesirable women and the surviving men who were too weak or stubborn to be useful and burning them alive along with the dead.
Their shrieks for mercy made her smile. It was almost like the times of old when human sacrifices were burned to deities, only this time, the sacrifice was made to her. Flint had said she was his Goddess, and she knew he had been sincere. No other woman he had sworn this to, not even the old hag Flint had been saddled with before Vanessa had been captured from a royal cargo ship and found herself in the Captain's good graces. Before that, she'd been the maidservant to some snotty Duke's daughter, but now it was she who had power.
Vanessa turned a critical eye to the women marching aboard, searching for a pretty face that might turn the head of her husband. Some of them were crying; good, it was hard to feel attracted to anyone who was red-faced and bewailing their sorry state. As many presents and terms of endearment Flint showered upon Vanessa, she could not help but take measures to ensure nobody would unsurp her the way she had Flint's older mistress. Even that had been a stroke of divine luck . . . from a source Vanessa would never expose.
Flint took a seat by his mistress' side and gave a wave of his hand once the prisoners had been assembled and all was ready. Seeing the signal, the pirates moved forward as one body. Shrieks of fear and anger raised up stimultaneously as the pirates forcibly chose the women they wanted somethimes raising their voices in argument with one another.
Billy saw a nearby woman dragged away and clung to Daneatra, afraid the same fate would befall her if he dared let go. He felt her comforting hand on his back tighten suddenly as she stiffened and gave a cry of outrage. Billy looked up to see a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and reaching up to feel her bosom. Daneatra snarled like a cat and slammed her heel down onto the man's foot. He let go, grunting in surprise, but not before Billy saw the pistol hanging from the man's belt.
"You're funeral," the pirate growled warningly, and limped away, minus both dignity and a loaded weapon. Once he was out of earshot, Billy handed the weapon to Daneatra and smiled.
She snatched it from him immediately. "You be careful with weapons like this; you could hurt yourself," she scolded, then raised the pistol, and aimed at Flint. I love you, Billy, she told him with her heart, in case it was the last thought she ever had. And I am going to kill this bastard, whatever it takes.
A nearby guard saw this movement and lunged forward seconds too late as she fired.
* * *
Vanessa shrieked, all but falling out of her chair as a bullet whizzed by her face. A second one made a good-sized hole in Flint's hat and set his ears to ringing. A third, followed by a fourth richocheted harmlessly past them, biting into the wood of the cabin behind him. Flint's eyes roamed for the would-be assassin and saw a guard struggling with a dark-skinned woman - probably of Indian or gypsy descent - forcing the gun out of her hand. Even with her other arm pinned behind her back, and her gun-hand seized by the wrist, she was still trying to fire at him, or at least to tilt the gun far back enough to blow the guard's face off.
The guard finally got control, what with both another young female and a boy kicking his shins with all their might, and wrested the gun out of the gypsy woman's hand while other guards raced to hold the two prisoners aiding her in arrest.
Triumphant, the pirate subdued Daneatra and aimed the pistol at her head, barking a question to Flint. As he could not hear over the ringing in his ears, the message was relayed to him by word of mouth.
"Kill her, Captain?"
Vanessa looked at him, her face a mask of fury. She nodded, then turned a glaring countenance back to the gypsy woman. But Flint, as angry as he might have been at the woman's attempt on his life, could not help but feel admiration for her courage. Not to mention admiration for other certain aspects of her . . .
"Bring her to me," Flint replied to the messenger. "Alive." He stared ahead, avoiding Vanessa's cold calculating eyes.
* * *
"NO! Leave her alone!" a young voice cried out in distress.
Another pirate forcibly held the boy back as Daneatra was hauled to her feet, both arms twisted behind her. "I won't let you kill her!" Billy screamed, struggling with all his might.
"Stop squrimin', brat!" scowled a skinny pirate, hard pressed to keep Billy from tearing free without having to injure him.
"Just knock 'em out, Jakob," ordered one of the guards. "Make it easy on yourself."
"What the hell is wrong with you? He's just a little kid -- OW!!! Here, stop that!" Jakob shouted as Billy sunk his teeth into the man's arm.
"Billy," Daneatra said sternly, though her heart beat in terror. "Obey him."
At once the boy froze in Jakob's arms. "But --"
"Be still," the gypsy woman commanded. "Hai shala?"
Before Billy could answer, Daneatra was dragged out of his sight and toward the waiting Captain of The Walrus.
"Good luck to her," murmured Jakob under his breath, and Billy could hear him quite plainly. "She's gonna need it."
* * *
Daneatra stared back into the Captain's blue eyes, trying her best not to show fear. It wasn't hard to do; her fear was swiftly being overidden by scorn for this man -- this pig-headed slaughterer. And scorn too, for the blonde chovihani sitting smugly by his side.
"Well?" Flint was saying, eyes wandering over her form. "Haven't you anything to say?"
"You're the one who had me dragged before you. What is it you want?" she answered back.
The Captain blinked. "So, you do not have any regrets for ending your life?"
"My only regret was that I missed. I should have aimed lower - at your heart - and let you bleed to death. Not tried to grant you the quick mercy of a head-wound."
Vanessa sneered. "Your aim was off as it was, apparently. You didn't even manage to nick us."
"If I had hit you, I doubt I would have damaged much anyway," Daneatra retorted, indicating Vanessa's head with a dismissive wave of her hand. Daneatra was slightly surprised at her boldness, wondering if she had unconsciously prepared for death the moment she'd been marched into captivity on this dreadful ship. However, she could feel nothing but contempt - for both the man and woman before her. Especially for the woman; what kind of creature could look upon the victims of such a gruesome attack who yet waited for their own slaughter, and look so happy? At least the man had the decency to look grim.
Vanessa was no longer happy as Daneatra had first glimpsed her; in fact she looked rather put out to say the very least. Her blue eyes were daggers of ice, seeking to tear Daneatra apart, if only such a gaze had the power. Flint looked more amused than anything else, and his eyes had not stopped roaming over Daneatra's well-formed body.
"Such bravery, I believe," -- and such beauty, he added mentally - "deserves a reward. I have never met a woman who showed no fear before me or any man."
Daneatra could not resist the temptation. "Well, judging from the example you have sitting beside you, I shouldn't wonder why you'd think most women were simpering, cowardly, --."
Vanessa leaped to her feet, bristling. "Shut your insolent mouth, witch! You clearly have no idea who you are talking to!"
"I don't care who you are. It's what you are that makes all the difference. Sitting up here on your arse, impartial to the suffering of others! Living in the clothes and jewels of those slain for such goods! I see blood on you, blood of the deceased! You are ma'rime! Unclean and unwhole!"
"Oh, you're breaking my heart," sneered Vanessa. "Flint, darling, let her hang. She will only turn on you again if you let her live."
"When she improves her aim, Vanessa, dearest, then I shall worry," Flint replied, and the men near enough to hear him snickered. Livid, Vanessa sat back down and regarded the gypsy hotly. "As I was saying," Flint continued, "I grant you a reward. You may take back your life, if you wish."
"And do what? Swim to freedom?" Daneatra asked coldly. Vanessa smirked, and Daneatra knew she was liable to go too far. The gypsy bit her tongue and decided for a more humble approach. Perhaps she could yet save Billy. "My life? My life is nothing to me. But my son --"
"Your son, of course," Flint said, raising a hand. "Anyone else you think is fit to save, I will also spare. For you. The time to speak for them is now. You will never again catch me in such a generous mood."
Vanessa could not tear her eyes away from Flint. Was he being serious? His face was unreadable; perhaps he was, and perhaps he wasn't. Maybe this was a test. Yes. If Daneatra asked for too many to be spared, he would frown upon her as taking advantage of him. And then, Vanessa thought deliciously, he would kill her. And her brat.
Perhaps everyone they had taken prisoner. It had been a while since there'd been a good bonfire.
And the gypsy would try to save everyone, judging from the preaching she had just given Vanessa. So pathetic. As of now, Daneatra was looking down, wondering 'Who to save, who to save?' Flint was going to take back his offer if she dallied any longer. Vanessa looked down and smirked with glee as she saw every prisoner's upturned face staring at Daneatra; obviously having heard or gotten wind of the boon Flint had given this woman. Oh, such pressure . . . maybe they would start crying out for her to save them if she omitted their names. What despair she'd feel then! Suddenly, Vanessa was very proud of her husband, and she leaned back to watch the show. This was so much better than a hanging.
Daneatra truly was at a loss. As much as she wanted to save everyone, she knew it was impossible. The ship was crowded with brigands as it was and there was hardly breathing space from the massive cluster of prisoners herded in the center of the deck. Where would the water and food to feed them come from? And though the captain would spare them, what would stop a brigand from slitting a throat here and there?
There were women, too, who grieved and would serve naught but as an unwilling bed-slave; women who'd rather throw themselves overboard than be faithless just to survive. Ann was one of these; though Daneatra hoped fervently she would not join the ranks of those wishing for death. There were men also, who - though afraid of death - would sooner die than turn against their country as buccaneers. Daneatra could not determine who among the crowd these brave and tortured souls were, but she knew how she could give those who still wanted to hang on to life a chance.
"Whoever wishes to serve you loyally," she said, so lowly that even the Captain himself strained to hear, "Let them. If they break their oath, or refuse . . . do with them as you will."
Flint studied her for a moment and then smiled. "It pleases me to know that you don't have the silly notion you can save everybody. There will be execution, yes. But out of respect for you, it will not be by pain of fire. You are wise, woman, and it pleases me. Though I regret to inform you, there will most likely be very few who pledge to serve me loyally."
Daneatra nodded numbly. Vanessa, who had been on the verge of crying protest at Flint's ridiculous generosity, noticed with satisfaction that Daneatra was broken anyway. Her husband motioned for the guards to take her back to where her son awaited. Daneatra followed without incident, brushing mutely past those who reached out to her, plucking her sleeve, asking her what she had chosen; such a multitude of hopeful voices that Daneatra wished herself deaf so as not to hear them.
"I will see you soon again, young woman. This time, I hope, on a less murderous occasion," Flint called after her.
Vanessa sighed testily and crossed her legs. "Well?" she asked her husband. "Let's get this over with."
Flint stood up and immediately the whispering questions and anxious voices were quieted. As one, the prisoners looked to him for the answers.
* * *
"She blames herself for it all. Poor dove," spoke a gentle voice.
"None of them that died woulda done any good on a pirate ship. Woulda just died anyway from exhaustion; slavin' away in the galleys or under the sun. They woulda gone through hell, you know. She did right," spoke another, slightly gruffer, but no less gently.
"Aye, that she did," piped up a third, "But that doesn't mean it was easy to do."
Daneatra opened her eyes, just as the voices slipped away, out of her reach. Ann was beside her on the pallet, asleep still. Daneatra took in a ragged breath, remembering how the girl had clung to her - how they had clung to each other and Billy, weeping as men and women threw themselves overboard to drown. How could they have done otherwise when faced with what options they had? Die now, die later, or die inside and live on as an empty shell for as long as nourishment would sustain them.
She felt as if she had killed everyone; even those who had agreed to serve under Flint, pledging their loyalty by both swordpoint and perhaps wild hopes of escape or rescue. If this was to have been a punishment for attempting to kill the Captain and his lover, it had been more painful than ever they could hope. However, Daneatra knew that as horrible as this day had been for her, it must've been far worse for Billy.
Daneatra turned her head to gaze on his sleeping body, only to find the covers tossed back and the pallet empty. Panic seized her heart. "Billy? Where are you?" she said, sitting up and looking about frantically.
Soft footsteps in the darkness had the gypsy woman on her feet in the next instant. She sighed with relief, seeing her son step into the light.
"Where did you go?" she demanded, placing her hands on her hips.
"To get you and Mistress Ann some water," Billy answered, handing her a mug of the cool liquid.
"Alone? All by yourself?" Daneatra's voice was filled with anger and fear.
"I had a friend. One of the men -- his name's Jakob -- he came and asked if I'd like some water to drink. You were asleep so I thought you'd like some when you waked."
Daneatra took the mug and sat down on the pallet wearily. Billy felt a twinge of guilt and sat next to her. "I'm sorry for worrying you."
"It's all right. I was just frightened." Daneatra's arm wrapped around his shoulders and held him close to her. "As long as you're allright . . . I can live."
Billy stared up at his mother, disturbed at her words. Her once carelessly-smiling face was lined with sorrow, such as he had never seen before. Not that he could blame her. After what both of them had seen, Billy wondered if she would ever smile again. His heart aching, he leaned against her, resting his head on her arm. Her hand lifted to stroke his raven-black hair, which was forever falling in his eyes.
"How are you taking this, Billy? Are you . . . are you allright?"
"I wished we hadn't left home--" Billy cursed himself for his stupidity as soon as he saw his mother's eyes brimming with tears. "I'm sorry," he started, but Daneatra shook her head.
"No, I understand. We should never have left."
"But we had to," the boy insisted, trying to make Daneatra feel better. "We had to get away from the soldiers who kept chasing us and killing the others. Just 'cause we were Romany. . ."
Daneatra nodded, biting her lip. That had not been the real reason for her and Billy's departure at sea . . . the boy was fatherless now, and had no man to accept him into the fold of the caravan. Ociel had died at sea before the boy's birth. Such ill luck was said to have been passed onto her son, but then it had only been a superstition whispered among the old crones of the caravan; a rumor dismissed with a wave of a hand. Then, the killings had begun. Billy had only been six when the crones first came forward, pointing at him and Daneatra accusingly.
"Demon! He brought the soldiers here; he will kill us all! You never should have kept him - he is bad luck!"
Daneatra could still hear them shrieking. Just like she could still hear the children's taunts; still feel the sting of stones they and other gypsies threw while she shielded Billy from the onslaught.
The rest of the caravan elders had rebuked the crones for their wild ravings that the boy had brought ill luck upon the gypsy clan, and dispelled the tormentors. But Daneatra saw the same accusatory glances - or worse, pity - in their eyes, and couldn't stand it. It had been either let her son grow up in a tribe where no children would play with him for fear of getting cursed or becoming m'arime - unclean - or to leave the mainland in search of another place where she and her son would not be scorned outcasts.
Faced with the current circumstances, however, Daneatra would have gladly stayed an outcast.
"Mom? You okay?" Jukes asked, breaking her out of her silent thoughts.
Daneatra was about to answer when a polite cough startled her.
"I hope," spoke a man's voice, "That I'm not interrupting anything?"
Daneatra stiffened and Billy felt her hand tighten on his shoulder.
"Hello, Jakob," he politely greeted their visitor, letting his mother know that this man was not a threat. She relaxed, but did not remove her hand.
"Thank you, for giving us water." Daneatra sounded calm and at ease, though she was anything but at ease.
"You're welcome."
"Your name is Jakob?"
"Aye, Jakob Combs. I'm one of the ship's gunners. And what you may call an amateur inventor," he added sheepishly.
Daneatra smiled faintly. "An inventor?" On a pirate ship?
"Aye, m'lady. Tis not a profession Flint is impressed with; my role as gunner is the important one. But enough about that -- it is your turn to tell me of yourself."
"And why would you want to know about me?" Daneatra asked suspiciously.
"We are shipmates now, m'lady. You are one of us. Are you not?"
Daneatra blinked and looked at Billy. My god, he's right. We are . . . we are pirates now. "But what good are we to him?" she mused aloud, becoming afraid. "We are not fighters . . ."
Jakob looked at her sincerely. "You are survivors, like all of us. We were not born into our professions, Daneatra. Fate led us to this ship - to the sea. We merely adapted in order to survive. Or," he added with a slight smirk. "To prosper."
"And to kill," Daneatra replied coldly.
Jakob flinched. "Massacres like this . . . yes, they are inexcusable. To more than just myself. Usually, if the other crew is wise, they will surrender and we let them go in peace. At least that's the way it used to be. But lately, Flint's been rather fond of killing and burning what he does not find profit in. Ever since he took that woman Vanessa into his arms . . ." Jakob trailed off with a grimace.
"She's as cold as hoarfrost," mutter Daneatra. "I've known some witches in my day, but this one rivals them all."
"You've barely met her," Jakob chuckled. "Yet, you describe her as I would. By the by, you certainly rubbed her the wrong way. I've never seen her pout so sourly. And Flint looked as if he cared not . . . he'll pay in bed for that."
"What's she going to do to his bed?" Billy asked, not understanding.
Daneatra flushed and Jakob bit his lower lip to keep from laughing at the boy's innocence.
"Well," Jakob said, once he had control of his mirth, "I believe I should get back to my duties. In the meantime, you ought to think of what your own role will be. There are men here who will gladly teach you the art of swordfighting; I hear by word of mouth that you've got potential. And those pick-pocketing skills are coveted by at least five of my comrades."
The gypsy woman opened her mouth and was silenced as Jakob held up a hand. "But first, orders are that you all get rest, food, and time to yourself to get used to your surroundings. The other men and women who clung to life as you did may not be so lucky."
"Flint will not kill them--?"
"No, he will not kill them, nor will he allow them to kill themselves. If they are useful to him, then here they will stay as pirates. But if not, they will be sold as bondservants. You all have a fortnight to find your place and skill on this ship. The boy is an exception, of course, since he is so young. As for the woman beside you . . . ask her if she can cook. Our chef was killed in battle today."
Before Daneatra or Billy could say another word, he was gone. Behind them, Ann moaned and curled into a tighter ball, whispering her husband's name.
* * *
A crash and dull tinkle was heard from without the cabin as a wineglass collided with the wall.
"Who does that zingara think she is?" Vanessa hissed incredulously, clenching her fist so hard she nearly drew her own blood. Nobody had talked to her like that. Ever. Nobody was supposed to talk to her like that -- not unless . . .
Fear seized her heart. Vanessa got to her feet and left her chambers, ducking into a smaller opening which led to the maze of hallways that was the forecastle. A case of winding stairs twisted down before her and she took them slowly, descending into the gloom of darkness below the many layers of the Walrus. Sunlight barely straggled through the cracks, lighting tiny rays of dust particles. Vanessa counted as she climbed down until she reached twenty, then stepped gingerly over a broken stair and continued down.
All was quiet this far below the deck. Not even the rats made their nests in the corners of this particular chamber. Only a small table existed down here, with a candle made of pig's fat and a statuette resting on its slightly uneven surface.
Vanessa produced a match, lit the candle's wick, and reverently knelt before the statuette. "Great Mother, hear my calling. Come to me. Arachnorum nostramus, arachnorum magdus, arachnorum lokirus."
No wind ever managed to gust its way down to the lower levels of the ship. Nevertheless, the candle's flame sputtered and all but blew out. Vanessa gasped, feeling the cold bite into her flesh, past her clothes of velvet and lace. Despite her discomfort, Her eyes remained riveted on the statuette as its wooden eyes glowed amber with unearthly warmth.
Feeling a chill race up her spine that had nothing to with the coldness of the room, Vanessa bowed so respectfully that her forehead pressed against the wood of the floor.
"What have you called me for?" inquired a low, grating voice.
"My . . . my Lady . . . if I may ask a boon . . ."
"Yet another favor, Vanessa? I tire of your predictability."
Vanessa swallowed, regaining her composure. "My husband, today, has gazed upon another woman. And I fear, she has stolen his heart away."
"Someone prettier than you? No, never!" the voice gasped, in mock dismay. "What has this woman dared to receive the attentions of your husband?"
"She did nothing save for shoot at him with a pistol and nearly take off his head . . . set both our ears to ringing, the impertinent little . . ."
"Enough. If you have nothing of interest to tell me, then I shall begone. Did your husband do something unusual for a man whose eyes wander more than you'd care to admit, or was he simply smitten by this woman's figure? Come now, out with it!"
"Forgive me, my Lady, there was something else . . . Flint called off the bonfire."
The room was deadly silent and Vanessa winced, almost able to feel the heat of the Goddess' ire raising.
"He called off the bonfire?" repeated the voice, incredulously.
"Yes, your Grace . . ." Vanessa replied nervously.
"Stop brown-nosing and tell me exactly what he said when he called this off," hissed the diety.
Vanessa told Her everything, and when she had finished, the Goddess moved closer to her, until She stood directly above the cringing woman. "Vanessa," She whispered, almost in a fond tone, "You were right to tell me of this. This woman is trouble for the both of us."
Relieved, Vanessa breathed deeply and grinned in satisfaction. "Yes, m'Lady, that she is. Will you kill her?"
"No."
Startled, Vanessa almost looked up, save for she remembered that to gaze upon the Goddess' face would be a sign of disrespect and thus, would end her life. Even if She was a forgotten diety Vanessa had woken by chance, and now served faithfully in return for favors and rewards, Arizael was by no means weakened by the lack of worshippers. Not too weak to be able to do away with Vanessa, at the very least.
"No, m'Lady Arizael?"
"You will watch this woman closely for the next three years. Her actions, her words, the way Flint looks at her, the favors - if any - he does for her, everything. Neither harm her or seek harm against her, or any of her blood. I believe you told me she has a son? Watch their relationship closely. I want to know everything; you will leave nothing out. Is that clear?"
Vanessa's mouth was agape. This was the second time fortune had smiled down upon that gypsy woman and Vanessa's legendary temper was about to run short, Arizael or no Arizael. "But . . . but why?" she sputtered. "This woman is a threat to us! Flint will cease the killing; he may even block you from controlling him! Without blood and fear to feed on, how will you live?"
"There will be blood, Vanessa, fear not. Whether it be yours or another's. Yours, most likely, if you do not cease that caterwauling. You will do as I say, however unhappy it makes you, and the gyspy woman you so despise will fall into my hands and be destroyed. Is that not what you want?"
Pleased now, Vanessa nodded, a sadistic smile on her face.
"Forget not, that you also owe me a tithe of flesh and blood by the end of those three years. As promised in exchange for the favors I have granted you in the past."
"Aye, m'Lady," the blonde pirate queen nodded, remembering her oath. A tithe of flesh and blood . . . t'was easily done; surely she could lure someone foolish enough down here. Or maybe someone helpless, like the gypsy's young son. She would have to kill him anyway; it wouldn't do for the boy to grow up and take vengeance upon her for whatever happened to his mother.
"I shall depart now, but I will be watching."
With that warning, the room ceased it's drop in temperature and retained normalcy - the struggling flame of the candle righted itself and glowed proudly for a few moments until Vanessa blew it out.
"Thus will I extinguish you, gypsy," Vanessa sneered. "All in a matter of time."
* * *
Three years came and went, with some days bitter, and some worth the cost of living an outlaw's life. Billy had grown before Daneatra's eyes into an outgoing, confident young man. Also a very mischievous one.
"Want some caviar, Ann?" he asked once, offering the woman a fresh, split open fish with black eggs still nestled in its belly.
Daneatra had scolded him and Billy had apologized handsomely for making Ann scream and jump like that. Daneatra still chuckled at his antics, however. He was a good boy despite a few of his pranks getting him into deep water. Once, it had been only due to her intervention that Billy was spared from the wrath of an elder pirate who was not amused to find a live minnow swimming around in his cup of grog.
"Pfffft! Blechhhhh! Why ya bloody little -- ! GET BACK HERE, YA BLIGHTER! I'll use yer ears for soap dishes!!!" said pirate had roared, chasing the boy around the deck while the latter cackled with glee.
"Ow! But it was protein!" the boy had yelped in protest, as Daneatra dragged him by the ear to their quarters for a little 'talk'.
Aside from Billy getting himself into various scrapes, life aboard the ship had been far more pleasant than Daneatra had anticipated. Yes, there were deaths and attacks on other ships -- attacks which neither Daneatra nor Billy had any part in - but the toll of slaughter was low.
Flint's new and more merciful reputation had preceded him. It was now widely known among the rich and poor coasts alike that Flint had ceased the 'bonfires' he'd become so infamous for, and had decreed that any crew who surrendered unanimously to him - with not a pistol shot nor sword unsheathed - would be simply robbed of treasure and left in peace. Were the crew to rebel, bloodshed would occur, but only against those who raised their hands to fight. All others would be spared and sent on their way. It was a miraculous change in policy, thus many rum-ridden sailor's yarns consisted of Flint being visited by an angel and so taken by its serene beauty that he gave up his barbaric ways.
Aye, Flint had been visited by an angel, allright, but he certainly hadn't given up his barbaric ways. As much as he was viewed a 'changed man' on the coast, on the ship he was not a force to be reckoned with. Unless it came to his angel . . . Daneatra.
The man had been infatuated with her since the day she had fired on him with a stolen pistol. She had missed his head, but not his heart. He had fallen for her then, and he was falling now - more and more each day. His policy of mercy had been declared for her and her alone -- because he wanted to impress her; to lead her to believe he could be gentle.
Flint had no apparently logical reason to do this; if he wanted Daneatra he could simply snap his fingers and she'd be dragged to his bed within the next twenty minutes. But no, he wanted to win her love unconditionally -- not to bed her like a common whore. She was worth far more to him than that. Worth more than even Vanessa.
And though little he cared, Vanessa knew it well.
She glared at him as he practically slobbered all over himself as Daneatra walked past, talking with Ann. How she would have loved to kill Daneatra -- a simple slice across the throat with a knife; so swift the gypsy wouldn't have time to scream. Or hire a man to rape her - surely Flint wouldn't want a piece of soiled merchandise.
But Arizael had given strict orders -- the only barrier separating Vanessa's thoughts from her actions.
There were, however, other ways to skin a cat. If she could not get her claws into Daneatra . . .
"Hello," she purred, stepping into the galley and startling Ann who was tending the fire.
"Miss . . . Miss Devane!" Ann cried, wondering what the woman was doing here in such a lowly place.
"Yes, so flattered you know my name. I just wanted to . . . congratulate you."
"Congratulate me?" Ann repeated, confused. Vanessa smiled thinly. Was the little mouse as stupid as she was spineless? Good. All the more fun to toy with.
"It's not every day a poor, heartbroken widow makes a new life for herself on a pirate ship. So yes, congratulations. I'm sure your husband must be proud of you."
Ann smiled uneasily. "Th-thank you," she replied uncertainly and hoped Vanessa would leave. But the woman was not done yet.
"Yes, proud of you," she went on, glibly, "For making peace with the very men who killed him. For feeding them. For forgiving so easily."
"F-Forgiveness is divine," Ann began, but Vanessa ignored her.
"Proud of you for clinging to life - however miserable it turned out - rather than face death and go back to his arms, warm and safe in heaven. Why would any widow turn that down? Could it be you were forced into marriage with him?"
"No! I loved him, I did . . ."
"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself more than me," Vanessa smirked. "Maybe you've just gotten over him. Maybe you're eying another man to make you feel warm inside, to take the place of your husband on lonely nights. What does it matter to him anyway, he's dead after all, isn't he? Those tears you wept for him, you wept for yourself!"
"No!" Ann gasped, and felt her heart drop as the pirate witch's words sunk in. What would he think of her? For not jumping overboard to join him in heaven? For exchanging friendly glances with the ship's inventor, Jakob, the other day? Was he hurt? Was he jealous? Her husband who had loved her with all his might, who had told her to go down below the decks and try to save herself while he kept the attacking pirates back? Who had died for her . . .?
"This is how you really felt for him, isn't it? He died to save you and here you are among the very brigands who slayed him!" Vanessa said, but without moving her mouth. It seemed to be echoing in Ann's head, so vague that she had to wonder if it wasn't her own thoughts and accusations instead of the other woman's. "He was too good for your unfaithfulness!"
Ann felt tears welling up in her eyes as she choked back a sob. What had she done? Wherever he was, whether in heaven or somewhere in between, he looked down upon her with grief and hurt inside him -- wondering why she was still down here befriending those who had separated them so cruelly. It was more than she could bear and Vanessa's next words pierced her even further.
"He was waiting for you," she whispered in the younger woman's ear. "I felt him on the other side of the ship while the woman were jumping. He was waiting to catch you, to save you. I guess he didn't really need to after all, did he? You've done a fine job of saving yourself."
Feeling her heart shatter, Ann dropped to her knees sobbing quietly.
Hidden in the shadows, a young pair of eyes watched the entire display, and as tempted as their owner was to step forward and tell the pirate-lady to stop making Ann cry, he knew he should get someone else who'd make sure it stopped. Treading softly as cat's feet, the boy was gone in the next instant.
Vanessa casually drew a knife from a garter-sheath on her thigh and handed it hilt-first to Ann. "Your husband was a forgiving man, wasn't he?" she asked, still manipulating Ann's thoughts to guilt - never letting up for an instant for fear the girl would get some sort of message not to do what Vanessa was hoping she would. She didn't have to worry. The girls' mind was weak and easy to control. Sneering derisively, she watched as Ann took the knife with a shaking hand.
"Kill yourself," Vanessa suggested bluntly. "Put an end to this charade. I know you love him, as well as you do. But he doesn't. It's time to prove yourself, Ann."
Ann Brackeen looked up, her face full of hope. Vanessa's voice had a different ring to it now; it was soft and full of understanding and kindness. The poor girl had no inkling that Vanessa was a two-faced monster; she could make her voice sound as sweet as a kindly grandmother's, no matter how menacing her motive was.
"Do it, Ann. A clean cut. Across the wrist, just like this," she coaxed, miming the action. "It won't hurt for long, I promise. And when you wake up, you'll be in your husband's arms again. He's still waiting for you, Ann. Go on."
Fingers trembling, Ann pressed the sharp blade against the skin of her wrist and . . .
"You BITCH!" howled a new voice and Vanessa screamed as the back of Daneatra's hand cracked across her face with enough force to send her reeling. A kick to the pirate woman's midsection made her grunt and fall down, clutching her ribs.
Daneatra's ire melted into concern and horror as she snatched the knife away from Ann and looked at it, transfixed, unbelieving anyone would be so heartless to do this to a grieving and sensitive young woman. As quickly as the sorrow had shown on Daneatra's face, it was now masked with fury. In the next second, the gypsy had pinned Vanessa flat against the ground with the tip of the knife pressed against her throat.
"Give me one reason why I should not slit your throat," Daneatra hissed dangerously.
Vanessa replied by bringing her knee into Daneatra's ribs and rolling the gypsy off her. A sharp pain echoed in her side and an unseen force kept her from getting up to do any more damage to Daneatra. Thus, Vanessa was unable to dodge as another fist blacked her eye, then drew back and bloodied her lip. Quite stunned, Vanessa laid in a heap on the ground, simply waiting for the beating to continue and cursing Arizael mightily.
"I will not kill you Vanessa, only because my son has seen enough bloodshed and so has Ann. Neither of them needs to see me brought below your level. If such a thing is possible. But if ever you so much as touch one of my friends again - or god help me, touch my son -- you will wish I had killed you this instant!" Quickly, Daneatra turned her back on Vanessa and left the galley, with an arm around Ann's shoulders and Billy's hand clasped in her long fingers. Having Vanessa see her break down in tears was the last thing the gypsy wanted to do.
"Billy?" she whispered hoarsely as they walked.
"You allright, Mom?" his voice wavered back.
"Yes."
"I hope you don't mind me saying so, but you were fantastic. I wish I could've--"
"Billy. No. Vanessa is our enemy. She wishes us nothing but harm. Keep away from her and don't play any of your jokes on this woman."
"But--!"
"I mean it!" Daneatra raised her voice, cutting him off effectively. "I want you to consider her ma'rime. That's how far I want you to stay away from her. As if to even breathe the same air would make you unclean. Hai shala?" she whispered to him sternly.
The boy only had to look at her face for a moment before nodding. "Okay. I promise. But I still wish I could've--"
"Hush," the gypsy said, kissing him on the forehead. "No more talk of this. Ann?"
"I'm sorry," the young woman spoke, stumbling all over her words. "I'm so sorry, Daneatra. I . . . she . . . I was so confused and it seemed like I was doing the right thing . . . " Both her voice and body trembled. Daneatra held her close, stroking her hair.
"Ann, you have nothing to apologize for. Please, don't blame yourself for this."
"I should never have listened to her . . . but . . . I . . . it seemed as if her words were true . . ." Ann sobbed weakly.
"Shhh, of course it did. She's a charmer, how else do you think she got into the Captain's bed?" Daneatra asked, wryly. Ann giggled a bit and wiped at her eyes.
"Huh?" Billy asked, not getting it and desperately curious for further information.
Daneatra flushed. "Go now. Find something to do that doesn't make people threaten your life. And if you see Vanessa anywhere near you, come to me immediately and I will rip her head off."
"M'kay," the boy replied and let himself be shooed off while his mother continued to soothe Ann's tears.
* * *
Stupid old Vanessa, he thought angrily to himself. Why does she have to be such a hag to Ann? If I hadn't promised Mom I wouldn't play pranks on her . . .
A clang of metal on metal made Billy nearly jump out of his skin. That wasn't her was it? The clang echoed again and roused Billy's curiosity. This he had to investigate, especially when he heard deep singing drifting from the source of the noise. It didn't sound like it belonged to any of the pirates he'd become 'acquainted' with due to his usual antics.
But it wasn't the prospect of a new victim that got Billy's attention. It was the sound of metal being hammered; the rhythm beating in time with his own heart as well as the man's voice.
My boat's
by the tower, and my bark's on the bay,
and both must be gone at the dawn of the day.
The moon's in her shroud, and to light thee afar
On the deck of the daring's a love lighted star.
So wake,
lady wake, I am waiting for thee,
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be,
So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee,
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be . . .
Billy smiled, following the sound until only a half-opened door stood between him and the music within. He pressed his ear to the door and listened, trying to figure out what the man was doing without stopping his singing. It was better singing than he'd heard for a while - save of course for his mother's. Though the voice was certainly no nightingale's, it was still on key, and the words were interesting to listen to. Not nearly as interesting as the ones his mother covered his ears for, but pleasant nonetheless. And soothing to the boy's nerves, which were more frayed than he'd like to admit by the fight between Vanessa and his mother.
The boy could smell fire and realized that beyond the door must be a hearth of some sort. The thought of a hearth made him feel drowsy and he would have gone back to Daneatra and fallen asleep on the bed if it wasn't for the fact that he was aching keenly to know what lay behind the door. The man's voice had not stopped singing, save for pausing briefly to perhaps take a drink of water or something, and now continued gaily.
A hundred
shall serve - the best of the brave,
And the chief of a thousand shall kneel as thy slave,
And thou shalt reign queen, and thy empire shall last
Till the black flag by inches, is torn from the mast---
"GOTCHA!!!" the voice roared in triumph, a split second after the song was completed. Jukes was wondering what on earth it was the man had 'got' until he felt the door swing open. Too late, he realized he had been leaning his entire weight against the door, lulled into a half-awake state by both warmth and the song. Quite an interesting wake-up call it was, crashing face-first to the floor.
"What you do you think you're at, snoopin' around here?!" the man yelled. Billy looked up at the pirate, who was easily the hugest man he'd ever seen, and gulped. "Well?!" the pirate demanded, glaring.
"I heard you singing, sir. And clanging."
"Ya heard me singin' and clangin'?" repeated Bartholomew, raising an eyebrow. Billy nodded then flinched as the man began yelling all over again. "What bloody sort of excuse is that?! I don't care if ya heard me gargling saltwater and playin' a tambourine! You stay away from this area and if I catch ye stickin' yer nose where it don't belong again, I'll chisel it off with an ice pick!!! Do you understand me?!"
"Aye, I understand," Billy answered, not looking nearly as terrified as Bartholomew would have preferred. "What may I call you, sir?"
"Bartholomew," he grunted, surprising the boy. Then, surprising even himself, "And you?"
"Billy Jukes."
"Yeah . . . well . . ." Bartholomew trailed off, and the two stood there in awkward silence. Staring at each other. Bartholomew started to fidget. "Is there any reason yer standin' there starin' at me like a hungry cat, or are ye gonna shove off now like a good lad and let me do my work?" he asked crossly.
"I'd like to watch you, if you don't mind."
Bartholomew grinned, despite himself. "Have an interest in the trade o' smithin' aye?"
Billy smiled in delight. "That is what you're doing! I thought it sounded familiar. Gypsy men did it all the time at our camp back home. Mom even said Father did it, but gave it up for the sailor's life." The boy's face fell and he looked down. "That's how we lost him."
"Ahhh, lost me own father too," Barth sympathized, then shook his head and groaned. What was he doing? Aye, he'd lost his father. So had One-Eyed Pete. And Gimpy-Legged Joe. So what? He didn't want to have a pity party now; there was work to be done!
"Come on, boy, you wanna watch, then you'll help too. You can start by shoveling more coal into the furnace and pumping the bellows. Don't you grin at me now! It's hard work and come tomorrow, you'll most likely be avoidin' this section like all the other lads who were interested before you."
But Jukes came the next day as well, much to Bartholomew's surprise, and worked with little to no complaint. Bartholomew tested him, giving him odd jobs that would be hard labor. Day after day, the boy returned, winning Bartholomew's respect until he was made the blacksmith's honorary apprentice. Once his jobs became more interesting than shoveling coal and polishing finished weapons, Jukes fell in love almost immediately with the trade. And upon seeing his obvious skill with metal, the usually over-critical Bartholomew found himself admitting the boy was a natural.
Aside from smithing, Jakob taught the boy how to use a cannon, tie sailor knots, balance on the riggings, and mend storm-ripped canvas. He also invited the boy to help him assemble a few of his inventions in order to test their designs. Thrilled, Billy worked something out with Bartholomew to get the inventor scraps of metal he needed for a project. Barth agreed since he believed it would be good practice for him, but only on the condition that Billy hammered the metal out himself. A busy trio they made; both the boy and Jakob working together, with Barth lending a hand whenever an invention called for something too complicated for his rather young apprentice.
"Don't get used to it," he growled the first time. "I'm just curious as to what the bloody thing would do. Supposing it works, that is, and doesn't take off me bloody head!"
"It's not gonna take off your head. It's not even sharp," Billy assured him. Jakob held up an innocent-looking piece of the invention to back him up.
"Could explode and put out me eye then. Doesn't matter. Shaddap and work on it, boy. Chattering so will make your tongue fall out and the forge get cold."
"Whatever you say, Bartholomew," the boy replied. He looked over at Jakob then and for the length of an hour, both had to struggle valiantly to keep straight faces.
* * *
". . . please . . . no, no! NO!"
Daneatra reached over and touched her son's trembling shoulder as the boy whimpered, calling out for her in his sleep. "Billy," she whispered, shaking him awake softly. He gasped and awoke with a start, only to find himself enveloped in his mother's arms.
"She was . . . she was going to kill . . ." he trailed off weakly.
"It's all right now, it's no more. Calm your heart," Daneatra soothed him, holding him closer. She knew well who it was Billy dreamed about, as this was certainly not the first nighmare he'd had. Vanessa . . . even in dreams she wishes us harm. By the gods, why won't she just die of some disease and leave us be?
Vanessa had only gotten worse since the incident with Ann in the galley. She never attacked them; something seemed to prevent her from physically harming either Daneatra or her son, although the desire to do so was by no means obscure. Whether it was insulting Daneatra, making threats on the welfare of both her and her son, or anything else she could possibly do to make the gypsy miserable, Vanessa never tired. Daneatra took the abuse and dished it out likewise when she had to get the pirate witch out of her face, yet she quickly getting weary of this game of 'cat and mouse'.
And speaking of cats . . . a calico she had never seen before had taken to following her around lately. Whenever Vanessa wasn't there, the cat took her place – scrutinizing Daneatra with its unblinking amber-orange eyes. The gypsy entertained the theory that it was Vanessa's familiar, ordered to 'keep an eye' on her in the guise of a feline. It was unnerving, but she'd come to prefer its presence to Vanessa's.
Daneatra looked down to find Billy asleep again, snuggled next to her. She smiled fondly, and laid him back down under the covers. If only I could do the same, she thought wryly, now more awake than asleep. Perhaps thinking about the distasteful woman had made her alert; in any case she was not going to get any rest until all thoughts on Vanessa were out of her head. The gypsy got up and made her way in the darkness toward the ladder leading up to the main deck.
Perhaps the stars would clear her mind tonight.
* * *
He was going to go mad unless he had her. He must have her . . . and at her assent. No other way would be enough; she had to love him back.
Flint rubbed his aching temples, feeling another headache. It was as if something or someone was entering his mind, trying to make him doubt his love; tying to encourage him to turn away from a hopeless quest. He had not listened to it before, nor would he now. He wanted her, and he was going to give anything he owned to get her.
Do you hear me? He demanded, the voice crying out in protest at these thoughts. She is mine. She will be mine and she will love me. If she does not, I will go mad. If I am not already . . .
Flint gazed up at the stars from the main deck, making a fervent wish - while Vanessa watched from her place in the shadows, eyes brimming with bitter tears.
* * *
When she emerged from the lower decks, Flint at first doubted what he saw. Was it a ghost? A wraith? Had his mind suddenly concocted hallucinations out of his longing for her?
No, she was no dream. Moonlight shone through spirits; it did not alight in their hair or caress their soft skin as it was the gypsy woman's.
Flint could scarcely believe that the heavens had been so kind and heard his plea for both love and sanity. For here Daneatra was, alone, with no brigand to watch his clumsy attempts to woo her -- oh, how he felt like a boy: clumsy, inexperienced and tripping over his own tongue at the mere sight of her -- nor Vanessa to show her wrath at his passion toward a woman fairer than she with no need of jewels to brighten her glow.
His lust at a new high, Flint put one foot forward, and found himself drawing near the gypsy. Why he used stealth, he did not know. Nor did he realize he was using it, until when he reached out to place his hand on her gleaming shoulder--
Daneatra whipped around, and found herself staring into Flint's eyes.
"Pardon me, my lady," the Captain said, diplomatically. "Did I startle you?"
"You caught me unawares," she answered simply. "I heard nothing behind me. It is a dangerous trick if you can sneak up on me."
"I meant to play no trick on you, m'lady. Simply to . . . spend time with you."
Daneatra paled, not liking the tone of the man's voice, nor the look in his eyes. She did not know this Captain, and while his manner appeared smooth, he wore the look of a man intending to get what he wanted from her. Be it gentle or rough. "I'd prefer to spend time alone. There is much on my mind."
"Concerning?" Flint invited.
"Mainly, concerning your lover, Vanessa Devane. If you pardon my saying so, she is starting to get on my nerves. And that's only putting it mildly."
Flint nodded silently. He was very well aware of the reasons why Vanessa treated Daneatra like dirt on her feet. He'd done nothing to stop it for the sole reason that it would only make things worse between the two women. And the fact that it was amusing and downright exhilarating to watch a woman finally get the upper hand on Vanessa.
"I know how she can be," he said, letting his eyes wander over her body. Daneatra looked at him then, and was faintly disturbed to see the way he was looking at her. "If you wish, I will punish her."
Daneatra stared at him for a moment, then, "Punish her? How so?"
"We can punish her. Daneatra . . . " Flint's face was a mask of pure passion, and his mouth stopped moving; mind striving to find the best combination of words to speak his emotions.
In that moment of conflict, Daneatra knew what he was going to ask her. Her heart nearly stopped beating. She bit her lip, hoping against hope that Flint was drunk and that the whole matter would be forgotten in the morning. But she knew he was sober within the next ten seconds . . .
His lips didn't taste like alchohol when they all but crushed hers in a lustful kiss. Daneatra jerked back violently from him and staggered away.
They stood there for a shattered moment, too caught up in what had just happened to notice or hear strangled sobbing and the sound of rapid footsteps fading away further into the darkness.
"Captain," Daneatra finally said, wiping her lips, and trying to keep her fury in check. Before she ay more, Flint was already talking.
"Yes, it was out of place, Daneatra, but there were no words to tell you how I felt. I am a man of action, not a poet. I love you. I want you to be mine. I will worship you like a goddess--"
"Vanessa is your goddess. Do you care nothing for her now?"
"Her time of reign over my heart is over. You have converted me, Daneatra," Flint whispered, taking Daneatra's hands and placing them to his heart. "Have no doubt of my faithfulness to you."
Daneatra snatched her hands away. "Oh, I have no doubt whatsoever," she shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your willingness to drop Vanessa like a rock for another pretty face makes you quite the man of faith."
"I can assure you, that will not happen with you. I have played games, I have broken hearts, I have lied. And through it all, I have never felt anything. But now . . . you make my heart pound everytime I catch a glimpse of you. I love you. I want you. Be mine, and you will have anything you could ever desire. We'll rule the seven seas--"
"First of all," Daneatra said, cutting his romantic monologue right in half, "I'm not interested in the life of piracy. I'm here because you captured my ship and spared my life. Which was nice, thank you. Second, in case you haven't noticed, I have a son. I don't necessarily want this kind of life for him. Thirdly --"
"I will have the helmsman drop him off in Port Royal. The boy is gifted in the art of metal-shaping, is he not? He will make an excellent apprentice."
"What is wrong with you?! He's my son, you bastard, not luggage!"
"There is no need for hostility," Flint said smoothly, yet with more than a hint of anger.
"I apologize for offending you, sir," Daneatra said, trying to keep her own temper in check, "But you have no place telling me what port I can leave my son at so you and I can live happily ever after. In any case, it doesn't matter. I am a married woman, Flint."
The Captain stared at her for a moment in confusion. "You are married to a dead man, Daneatra. Do you not feel you can move on?"
The gypsy stiffened, tears coming to her eyes. That question had hurt alot. She bit her lip to keep her tongue still, and turned her back on Flint. "No, I can't. I do not, nor can I ever, love you. Good night."
As he watched her leave, Flint felt the world crash down around him.
* * *
Arizael looked on at the sobbing heap that was Vanessa, laying prone before Her. It was all She could do not to smile. Finally, the moment She'd been waiting for was near. Finally, She would have what She sought after.
"Vanessa," she whispered, her tone oozing so much sympathy it rang as false as a broken bell. She was not used to comforting mortals, or even pretending to. "What is wrong? What happened?"
"You must know," wailed the pirate witch. "You watched everything, didn't you? You saw his lust for that . . . that . . ." Vanessa's wailing cut off her words. As she slumped her face to the ground once more, Arizael's eye twitched in annoyance.
"Now is not the time to feel sorry for yourself," She hissed. "Now is the time for vengeance. For Daneatra to fall. Three years have passed tonight, Vanessa. I see you are surprised, the way you stare at me so. Have you not been keeping track? Tomorrow is the first day of Daneatra's journey to hell at our hands."
"But the tithe--" Vanessa started. "It may not be ready--"
"Forget the tithe for now," Arizael said, smiling. "This is more important."
Vanessa's face lit up through her tears. "Yes. What are we going to do?"
"Think carefully, Vanessa. How do you hurt a mother?"
The pirate witch grinned slowly, as Arizael's plan unfolded itself.
"Why . . . you take away her child."
* * *
"What are you workin' on so hard tha' ye haf to be skippin' lunch?" Bartholomew demanded, looking over Billy's shoulder.
"Just something Jakob needed. It's allright, I'm not hungry just yet."
"'Not hungry just yet'? Listen, your mother will have my guts for garters if I let you miss a meal. Off to the kitchen with ye. You can work on that later."
"A few more minutes, I'm almost done!" Jukes protested.
The blacksmith sighed and rubbed the sweat off his bald head. "Allright, you win. If you ain't up in the galley in ten, I'll come back and drag you by th' ear."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Good lad." Bartholomew threw his leather apron over the chair and walked out, shutting the door behind him.
Billy continued to pound the dents out of the metal, not able to hear footsteps approaching above the clanging. A soft cough next to his ear startled him. "OW!" he yelped, accidentally burning himself on the forge's hot surface. The boy sucked ruefully on his stinging fingertips and turned around to see who was there. His young face tensed in apprehension and fear.
"Oh . . . it's you . . . "
* * *
Daneatra scrubbed at the pots vigorously, unable to get the caked grease off without a certain amount of extertion. "Sheesh," she griped, letting her sore arms rest for a moment.
"Mreowww!" wailed something behind her. Daneatra looked over her shoulder to see the calico cat sitting on the floor, regarding her with those cold amber eyes.
"You're back again? What do you want?" The gypsy put down the scrub brush and walked toward the cat to shoo it off. Instead of retreating, it suddenly streaked to her. Daneatra cried out as its claws ripped into her wrist as she reached out to keep it at bay. It bit her ankle as well, before she kicked it away. Finally, with a last silent glare, the cat slunk out of the room. Daneatra rubbed her sore wrist and looked down at the blood streaming down her ankle.
"Crazy beast . . . it must be Vanessa's. She attacks without reason too."
Grumbling to herself, Daneatra put her ankle on a chair, and began to clean the blood off with a damp washcloth, feeling slightly dizzy for some inexplicable reason. A soft gasp let her know Ann had returned to see her injury.
"What happened? Did you break a glass?"
"No. That blasted cat I told you about . . . it attacked me."
"What's all this about a blasted cat, now?" asked a man's voice. Daneatra smiled at the blacksmith as he moved to look at her ankle. "The little vermin bit ya good! May wanna put some brandy on it. To get rid of the dirt. Cat's claws can go anywhere an ye don't want that infectin' the wound."
"Li' ha'eer! Brandy? That stings like the devil's whip! It's just a scratch. Soap and water will do fine. Look, it's not bleeding anymore."
"Ach, the pain only let's ya know the stuff's doin' its job. But suit yerself, lass. You're right, it don't look as bad as it did a few moments ago. Oy--" Bartholomew started, seeing Daneatra walk unsteadily back to the sink. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, whatever do you--"
Ann shrieked as Daneatra suddenly crumpled to the floor. Barth, having gotten out of his seat the moment he saw Daneatra's knees buckle, was at her side in an instant. "Daneatra? Avast, wake up! This is no good omen . . ." The last part was directed to Ann, who was staring at Daneatra's wrist and ankle with growing horror.
"What is it?" Barth asked, looking himself. His breath caught in his throat as he saw his answer.
The blood on Daneatra's skin was no longer crimson.
It was black as ink.
* * *
"What do you want, Ma'dam?" Billy asked carefully. Vanessa gave him a sweet smile.
"Merely to ask a favor. I hear you are an excellent craftsman?"
And why would you care? Billy wanted to retort, but kept his mouth closed. "Well," he started, trying to remember to be polite, "Is there a reason you're asking, Ma'dam?"
"Ooh, cutting right to the chase, are we?" Vanessa beamed at him and Jukes could see no trace of malice in her face, although he knew it was there. He shifted, uncomfortable, and backed away toward the forge. "Careful now!" she said, putting her arm around him suddenly and spiriting him away from the glowing furnace. "You don't want to be burned now, do you?"
As hard as he tried not to seem rude, Billy was afraid he pushed her hand away a bit hastily. Vanessa, thankfully, did not seem offended in the least. Before another word was spoken, the door swung open, allowing Flint and a few other pirates walk in. "There he is," Vanessa said, pointing straight at Billy. "He's the one."
"I'm the one who what?" Jukes asked, confused.
"Him? That's Daneatra's son," Flint said, unhappily. He turned to Vanessa. "I see now. You were planning this against her, weren't you?"
"Husband, don't be ridiculous. My only quarrel is with the woman, not the boy. He has my necklace. I know a liar when I meet one."
"What?! What are you talking about?" the boy asked, confused and most of all, scared. He had an inkling to where this was going, and didn't like it one bit.
"Stop lying, and tell me where you've hidden it!" snapped Vanessa. "That necklace was very expensive. I should never have trusted it to be safe with gypsies on board."
Billy found her hypocrisy astounding. "You're one to talk! You probably stole that necklace from someone else." Quick as lightning, Billy was on the floor, head ringing and cheek burning from the force of the slap Vanessa had given him.
"Check him," was all he heard from the woman before he felt rough hands searching him through his clothes. Billy gasped as he felt a lump of something cold and metal dragging against his skin as it was pulled from his vest pocket. He looked up to see Vanessa proudly holding up the necklace she had somehow planted on him. 'Somehow' as in by either incredible skill or magic. Jukes had Daneatra for a teacher as well as a mother; he had been trained to know immediately when someone was trying to slip any fingers into his pockets. So how had she . . .?
Vanessa must have seen some cofusion on his face, for she laughed at him cruelly. "Didn't think anyone would find it?"
Billy glared, sitting up. "I did not steal that necklace."
"The proof is here in my hand. Lying isn't going to improve matters. You're in enough trouble as it is."
Jukes turned pleading eyes to Flint. "I didn't do it sir! I swear! You know I can work with metal -- if I wanted a necklace to give or sell, I could make it myself! I have no reason to steal such things!"
The Captain looked at him, seeming to hear his words and see the truth in them. Feeling a twinge of hope, Jukes continued. "She hates my mother, that's why she's trying to get me in trouble!"
Flint's eyes snapped upwards and he looked long and hard at Vanessa. Billy all but sighed in relief; it was over and Flint had seen right through Vanessa's game.
But as soon as the Captain opened his mouth, all color suddenly drained from his face. Jukes watched on in consternation as the man convulsed, blue spider veins showing more visibily through his rapidly paling skin. Gasping, Flint struggled to fight a losing battle, before his eyes darkened completely . . . and focused on Jukes.
The boy cried out in horror and protest as Flint seized his arm in a vise-like grip and dragged him out of the make-shift smithery. "Thieves and tramps," Flint hissed, "Are punished without mercy aboard my ship. Especially those who steal from the Captain himself."
"But I didn't--"! Jukes yelled, drawing a few stares as he was forcefully led through the passages below decks.
"You lie again, and you will regret it sorely."
Billy bit back a whimper and looked back at the pirates who had started to follow them on their way to the main deck. His heart leaped when he saw Jakob's face; the man trying to brush and squeeze his way past the crowd of onlookers. Billy lost sight of him as he was marched up the ladder and toward the main mast.
It was then that Flint uttered to one of his guards the most frightful words Jukes had ever heard in his life . . .
"Fetch the whip . . ."
* * *
Jakob moaned as he realized what Billy's punishment was to be. He turned away, unable to watch as his young friend was bared to the waist. Nor the sight of Vanessa looking on smugly as they tied him to the mast, the boy still pleading for Flint to believe him.
He had't heard the whole story of why the boy was being flogged, but he - among others assembled on the deck - knew Vanessa was behind it and that Billy hadn't done a thing to deserve it. Flint, however, did not appear to be capable of listening to reason.
"Your pardon, Captain," said the first-mate, holding the whip he had been sent to fetch. "But if he's innocent as he claims -- "
"I assure you, he is a liar and a thief. Turn your pity elsewhere. Or are you so determined to protect this scum that you will bare your back and take the flogging for him?" Flint raised an eyebrow and the cowed first-mate scuttled back, giving the Captain a wide berth.
Flint approached the trembling boy, putting the cord of the whip gently against his skin and stroking down along the spine. The gesture made Jukes shudder and cling to the mast, whimpering for forgiveness. "It doesn't hurt now, does it?" Flint asked cruelly. "In fact, it's rather cold against your skin. Is that why you're shivering so? Well, let me remedy that."
Jakob wished he had deaf ears for the screams that followed. "God damn . . ." he cursed softly, and headed toward the ladder to fetch Daneatra.
* * *
"She's dreamin a bad sort . . ." murmured Bartholomew, watching Daneatra's troubled face while she laid on the bed. Ann applied a cool cloth to the women's forehead, even though she knew the gypsy's ailment came not from a fever.
Not from any natural sort of fever.
Jakob's arrival was announced with a bang as the door was flung open. "Barth, Ann!" he gasped. "Flint has gone mad!"
"What?!" barked the smith. "What's goin' on?"
"Billy's in trouble. I have to warn -- what's wrong with Daneatra?!" Jakob cried in dismay, seeing the unconscious woman.
"There ain't nothin in the world we can do for her," Barth moaned, shaking his head. "And now Billy -- what's happening to him?"
A shriek of rage and anguish issued out of Daneatra's throat before Jakob could answer, sending chills up every spine. "No! Leave him be! You're going to kill him!" Badly shaken, Ann rushed to her side, trying to wake her out of what was apparently a nightmare. "Please!" Daneatra sobbed. "Stop whipping him! He's done nothing!"
Jakob backed away, eyes wide. "There's witchcraft at work here--" he muttered.
"Matters not what's at work," Barth interrupted him. "Mothers always know when their children are in danger, be it witchcraft or no. He's . . . flogging the lad?" Jakob nodded solemnly, eyes still transfixed worriedly on Daneatra's thrashing form.
"How many?" the smith asked grimly.
"I do not know. He's just letting the whip fly without mercy. I don't know what Billy did -- I don't care what he did. Nobody deserves a beating like that. We have to stop him. He's gone insane!"
"Aye. Ann, stay here!" Barth commanded her.
"Be careful!" she called after them as they left. Feeling her knees go weak, she sank into the chair by Daneatra's side, holding her friend's hand as the gypsy continued her feverish nightmare with no sign of ever waking.
"God be with you, Daneatra. And you too, Billy," Ann whispered brokenly. Not knowing what else to do, she closed her eyes and began to pray.
* * *
Daneatra felt like dying each time the whip passed through her own body to hit her son's bloodied back. His screams for mercy shattered her heart and brought fresh sobs just when she thought she could cry no more.
Behind her, she suddenly heard laughter. Harsh laughter. Familiar laughter.
"Vanessssa," she hissed, the hatred dripping from her voice frightened her, but it was a hatred she could not let go of. Billy's body convulsed from the pain as another lash bit across his already torn back. Daneatra despaired, knowing her efforts at shielding him were in vain. But she could hurt the one who had undoubtedly caused this. Vanessa smirked and Daneatra could feel her blood grow hot with fury.
She turned from Billy and with a feral scream of rage, launched herself at Vanessa, smiling with satisfaction as her nails ripped gashes across Vanessa's pretty face. The woman crumpled to the ground, screaming in fear like a pig going to slaughter. Wide eyes looked up at Daneatra, full of terror and pleading forgiveness. It felt good . . . so good to have this woman at her mercy.
Billy screamed again, his wail piercing her heart; but not the anger that rested within its core.
Daneatra's very being burned with the desire for vengeance as Vanessa smiled through her fear, taking pleasure in his pain. She was sitll smiling, even as Daneatra grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her white throat. "You die," she whispered hoarsely, drawing a dagger.
The gypsy brought the dagger down upon Vanessa's bared throat just as the vision ended in a blur of gray and purple mist.
Arizael smiled broadly. She's mine . . .
* * *
"Please, please . . ." Billy was choking, sobbing. The pain in his body was making it hard to breathe. Another lash tore fire across his back and this time he lacked strength to even scream. "Vanessa . . ." he beseeched through gritted teeth, desperate to end the agonizing punishment, "Please tell him the truth . . ."
Lady Devane smirked coldly, and raised a hand to Flint, telling him to pause as she made her way to Billy's trembling body. "Poor little one," she soothed, stroking his hair. "In so much pain. And where is your mother to protect you?"
"I . . ."
"Not here? Not even on deck? Perhaps she is too embarrassed at your thievery to face me."
"I didn't steal from you and you know it!" Billy rasped.
"You certainly don't know when to quit lying, do you?"
"I'm not--"
"Beg me for mercy. Plead your guilt. It's all I ask of you. How can I forgive you if you continue to lie? Simply tell the truth and all will be pardoned."
Billy was silent for a moment, then shook his head. "Sheka! You're lying. You won't forgive me."
Vanessa sneered. "Suit yourself," she said, and stepped out of the way. "Your funeral. Cut him up," she told Flint.
Billy swallowed and dug his nails into the mast as the whip howled through the air.
* * *
Daneatra blinked, finding herself on her knees with the dagger embedded in ground. Grey and purple mist swirled around her, confusing her. Where was Vanessa? Billy? What was going on?
Do not be afraid, spoke a voice. Now is not the time for fear.
"Who's there?!" the gypsy demanded, weapon at the ready.
Your son is in danger.
"Where am I? Let me out of this!"
But if you let me help you . . . we can save him. Together, the voice continued.
"I do not know who you are, but if my son is in danger, then let me out!" Daneatra pleaded. No answer came back to her. She looked all around and could see only mist. "Who are you? Show yourself to me!"
"I am here," the voice spoke from behind her. Daneatra whirled around to face a creature so twisted, misshapen, and evil that she felt her heart freeze.
"What are you?" she cried backing away.
"The only one who can help your son. Even if you manage to save him now, he will die from his wounds. Vanessa is hurting him. And she is using me to do it."
"What?!" Daneatra yelled in rage. "You!?"
Arizael raised Her hands. "Yes. I am to all appearance nothing but a monster. I am a Goddess of Rage, Vengeance, Bloodshed. Though many have mistakenly called me Justice. Long ago, Vanessa brought me back from the realm of the Forgotten. She worshipped me, but only to give me power enough to serve herself. For that, she must pay. You are my tool of vengeance, just as I am yours. You now belong to me."
"I belong to no-one."
"Daneatra. You were mine the moment you turned from your son to kill Vanessa. I know what's in your heart. You wish to kill the one who harmed your son. Wouldn't any mother?"
"No," gasped Daneatra, retreating from Arizael. "It's not true . . . all I want is to protect Billy . . ."
"Your words are noble, but I can see what lies in the depth of your soul. Your desire to protect him is now mingled with your desire for Vengeance. Or would you prefer to call it Justice instead?"
"NO!" she screamed and ran from the deity. Arizael closed Her eyes as She felt Daneatra trying to escape the mists and return to her consciousness.
"I will let her go. For now. And she will see the turth."
* * *
Ann cried out in joy as Daneatra opened her eyes. "Are you allright, Daneatra?"
Without answering her, the gypsy got to her feet, clutching at Ann until she had steadied herself. "I have to save him," she growled, getting her bearings.
"Bartholomew and Jakob just ran up to -- Daneatra, please!" Ann cried as the gypsy grabbed her sword from against the wall and ran out the door. "Daneatra!"
* * *
Bartholomew and Jakob cleared the ladder and shoved their way through the assembled mass above decks to get to Flint. "Hoy now, move it!" the burly smith shouted, trying to wrestle past two of Flint's bodyguards. A marlinspike pointed at his throat, forcing him back.
"Think not on it!" the bodyguard snapped.
"What are you at?! Can't you see Flint's insane?" Jakob demanded, also being held back. "He'll kill the boy!"
"You really think you'd stand a chance? He'd split ye dead in a heartbeat. Tis for yer own good that you stay back."
Jakob opened his mouth to protest. He never got a chance to begin his sentence before a blur passed him, sword-metal gleaming.
"Halt--" the bodyguard started to shout and was seconds after lying on the ground, clutching a bleeding shoulder. Jakob and Barth looked from the fallen guard to Daneatra who now stood with her arms spread before Billy's limp body.
"Touch him again," she snarled, "And I'll--" Daneatra broke off with a gasp of pain and dropped the sword with a clatter as the whip snapped forward, ripping through the bodice of her dress and snapping off some of the worn material. A thin red weal rose across her breasts and collarbone, drops of blood appearing.
Stiffly, she moved her head to look back at Flint who now let the whip rest on the ground. Blood trails streaked the deck between him and the mast, and it was all Daneatra could do not to turn around to see the damage he had done to her boy. She knew she would lose all resolve and break down if she did.
Flint was staring at her now, more noticeably at the area where material had been torn away. Daneatra blanched, realizing now why Flint had not seen through whatever accusation Vanessa had pinned on her son to deserve such a punishment.
He was angry with her dismissal of him.
If she gave herself to him, he would let Billy go. Tentatively, she stepped forward. "If you want me, take me. As long as you let my son go. Promise me, and I will give you what you desire."
Though she trembled with disgust, Daneatra took Flint's hand in her own and pressed it against her lips. Flint's other hand dropped the whip and carressed her hair, seemingly coming to his senses. A tear streaked down her face. How could he? How could she? To give in like this was like commiting suicide; she knew she'd die inside when Flint claimed her as his own. But if it saved her son . . .
A whimpering sob made her turn just in time to see the enraged Vanessa gripping Billy's hair and pulling his head back to expose his throat. Daneatra felt a stab of terror as the witch raised the dagger above her helpless son.
"NOOO!" she screamed, throwing herself at Vanessa. The two of them tumbled to the ground, kicking, biting and scratching. Daneatra cried out in pain as Vanessa finally kicked her off and swung the dagger wildly, slashing it across the gypsy's arm. The woman scrambled backwards and Vanessa advanced, raising the bloodied weapon high.
"First you," she hissed, face hideously alight with triumph, "Then the boy."
Daneatra struggled to get up, but she was overcome with pain and a strange sort of fatigue. She could not move; able only to watch as Vanessa came closer, readying the killing blow.
Let me help you, whispered a soothing voice in her head.
And suddenly, she found the strength to stand.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaugh!" Vanessa squawked, struggling to get out of the vise-like grip Daneatra had on her throat. Her feet kicked aimlessly to find ground though it was two feet below her. With a power she did not know she possessed, Daneatra hurled Vanessa into the railing. She would have loved to do more; her rage was fueling her even now to finish the pirate witch off. But Daneatra's thoughts were on Billy.
Swiftly, she ran to her son's side, undoing the rope bonds that held him upright. His body fell into her arms and she held him close, weeping at the damage done to him.
Flint stood over the unconscious Vanessa and wordlessly picked her up. "Cap'n?" asked the first-mate, shuffling towards him. "What do we do with the gypsy?"
The pirate Captain placed Vanessa in the man's arms and turned to face Daneatra. "Put Vanessa in my chambers and tend to her wounds," he spoke hollowly. "Tell her that the tithe will be paid in full tonight. The gypsy is now mine. Place her in the brig until I come for her."
"Sir? I'm afraid I don't understand . . ."
"Nobody asked you to understand. Do as I say."
"Y-yes, Cap'n." The first-mate turned to two more of Flint's guards. "Ye heard the man. Take the gypsy away."
Daneatra saw the guards coming toward her and turned her eyes to Bartholomew and Jakob, who had run to her side immediately. Knowing what they were about to do, she gently placed Billy in the great smith's arms. "Take care of him," she pleaded with her eyes, as two pairs of hands gripped her arms and began to drag her to the lower cells.
Jakob cried out in protest and started to follow, but Batholomew placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "She's already asked for our help, lad," he said soflty.
* * *
Vanessa bowed again before the statuette, murmuring the words that would bring Arizael forth in Her true shape. The first-mate had been confused, simple fool that he was, but she had gotten the message clear enough. It was time for her to repay the Goddess for Her kindness. A tithe of flesh and blood . . .
"Vanessa, you have served me well," purred Arizael's voice from the shadows, once summoned. The Goddess moved forward fluidly, smiling with false kindness. "Served me better than I could ever have hoped for."
"You are too kind, your Grace."
"And now you will serve me forever."
Vanessa blinked, keeping her face toward the ground. What did She mean by that?
"Where is my tithe, Vanessa?"
"The boy? I shall kill him at the stroke of midnight. Unless of course, you want him sooner--"
Arizael gave a sharp bark of laughter, startling the pirate witch. "You do not understand, do you? No, you never did. The tithe is you, Vanessa."
"What?!" shrieked the woman, looking up. Almost too late, she gasped, and threw an arm over her eyes to avoid looking at the Goddess's face. "The tithe of flesh and blood --" she began, confused.
"Your body, Vanessa. I have served you well, have I not?"
"Y-yes, but--!"
"Should it not be an honor that I would choose your body as my permanent host? Or did you think I would be content - I, a Goddess, -- to live in a wooden idol in the filfthy dredges of a ship full of brigands? You are my priestess Vanessa. Now you will be me. If, of course, you are willing."
Vanessa trembled, sweat dripping off her hair and face as pale as ash.
"You will wield great power . . ." Arizael promised, then made a small sound of dismissal. "But then again, you won't really get to enjoy it much . . .will you?"
"If your spirit is to rest in my body . . . then where shall my spirit --?"
A hollow mewl cut through the silence, and the calico rubbed its furry body against her side as it stepped forward.
"Why Vanessa," chided Arizael. "You don't think I'd forget my minion, do you? I've created the perfect container for your soul. Every witch needs a familiar. So do Goddesses sometimes. I suppose you'll just have to make do."
Vanessa could not find her voice for a few painful moments, but when she did, she gathered it all in a shriek of denial. "I would sooner ROT! Dletiarockt!!!" she screamed, banishing the Goddess back into the wooden statuette. The cat hissed as she kicked it away from her and ran across the room to grab the statuette of the table and run up the stairs with it, forgetting in her haste the broken one and nearly twisting her ankle as she fell. Cursing and feeling blood trickle from her skinned knees, she continued to race up the steps until she was in the cabin.
Gasping, she flung open the window and hurled the figure of Arizael out into the briny, watching it disappear with a splash. Vanessa's heart beat wildly, knowing that simply throwing the idol away would not ensure the Goddess would never return. She slammed the window shut and sank against the panel, sobbing with fear.
Things were definitely not working the way she had planned. All because of that stupid gypsy woman. Where was she now? More importantly, where was Flint? Oh yes. The trollop had given herself to him in exchange for Billy's life. Well, she'd just have to remedy that, eh?
Vanessa charged out of the cabin, badly startling the first-mate who was keeping guard to tell Flint when she waked. "You! Are we near land?"
The first-mate shrugged, bewildered. "I do not know, ma'am. If we are, it is only past islands fit for marooned men and corpse-burials."
"Good," she smirked, "Because I have a coprse I need to bury very shortly." Vanessa snapped her fingers and a one of the bodyguards, his shoulder bandaged, stepped toward her. She took off a piece of jewelry and handed it to him. "If you and anyone else want more, take the gypsy's brat -- Billy Jukes -- and row him out to shore. Kill him or leave him to die, whatever you want. As long as he is gone and Daneatra suffers."
"But--" started the first-mate, "Flint never --"
"Flint ordered you to obey me as he would you, is that not correct?"
"A-aye, but what's the boy done?"
"He was born of his mother, that's what. Get rid of him! NOW! I myself will take care of the mother. Do you idiots understand or must I further explain myself?"
Shaken, the men nodded, and set off to find the boy. Muttering darkly, Vanessa grabbed a sword from the belt of a passed out drunkard and headed to the brig.
* * *
Whatever are you going to do, Daneatra? the voice whispered in her head. Your son is dying. And you are trapped. Flint will bed you as he did Vanessa. He will claim undying love for you and then, as you said yourself, drop you for the next beautiful flower that boards the Walrus.
"Stop it," Daneatra pleaded softly, covering her ears though she knew the voice was coming from no outside source.
Look what they did to your son, the voice whispered. Daneatra could suddenly see the boy crying out in delerious fever, struggling as Bartholomew held him and Jakob treated the wounds. Ann was trying to calm him, stroking his hair and speaking Psalms under her breath.
"You have to warn her!" Billy was yelling, trying to break out of Bartholomew's grip. "Vanessa's going to kill her -- while she's in the brig -- please you have to help Mom!"
"He's gone mad," Ann sobbed, holding him to her. "The pain has made him so ill --"
"But what if it's true?" Jakob asked, anxiously. "Shouldn't we --"
"Vanessa is unconscious. Daneatra messed her up pretty badly - you saw her as well as I did. Billy needs our help now."
Daneatra gasped as the doors suddenly banged opened, letting in guards, who immediately seized the boy, ripping him out of of the smith's arms as he was shoved back.
"What's all this?!" roared the smith, getting to his feet. Jakob crashed into a table and staggered to his feet with a bleeding nose, before racing to help Ann who'd been knocked over. "What's goin' on?" Barth yelled, reaching for Billy as they dragged him off.
"New orders. The boy is no longer part of this crew. It would not do to trouble yourselves further with him."
"What bloody bastard issued those orders?"
"Lady Devane herself."
Bartholomew turned pale. "By God . . ."
"No," whispered Daneatrea. "NO, damn you!" she wailed launching herself at the bars and beating against them with her fists. "Stop this, please, somebody! Help me save my son!" Sobbing, she slumped to the ground in a heap, rocking back and forth slowly.
I can help you . . .
"How?" Daneatra croaked through her tears. "I swear, I'll do anything . . . anything . . ."
. . . good.
* * *
Vanessa cackled gratingly. Soon it would all be over. The sword scraped along the walls as she stalked down the stairs toward the cells. Yes. Soon.
"I'm coming for you, Daneatra," she called madly as she approached the dark brig that held the gypsy. The woman was curled on the floor, chest rising and falling with gentle sleep.
"Daneatra," Vanessa called again. There was no change in the gypsy's breathing pattern. Vanessa tried again, louder this time. "I've killed your son, Daneatra! He died screaming your name! Alone . . . and in pain."
Still no answer. The gypsy couldn't be sleeping. She had heard. Perhaps she was lying there because she no longer cared what happened to her. Well, Vanessa would make her care.
"Wake up, you insolent bitch!" the pirate witch howled, grabbing the keys that hung on a peg and jiggling them in the lock. She flung open the cell door, then looked down and gasped. Daneatra's body was no longer there.
Cold breath gusted on the back of her neck.
"I've been waiting for you," whispered a voice in her ear.
Vanessa barely had the breath for one scream, but she used it well.
* * *
By the time Bartholomew, Jakob and Ann reached the brigs, it was far too late. Blood pooled beneath their feet and the scent of it overwhelmed their senses. Ann put a hand over her mouth and fought to swallow her gorge. There was no sign of a corpse, but one thing was certain; someone had died here.
"Let's go," Jakob said quietly and the trio headed to the upper decks, away from the stench of death. Where they ended up was not much better.
Every brigand on board was staring up on horror at the mast where there hung a decapitated body dressed in jewels, velvet, and lace. A thin retching scream from the Captain's cabin let everyone know where the head had just been found.
"Holy hell . . . I ain't never been a religous man, but this is makin' me rethink it," muttered the smith, crossing himself.
"What happened to Daneatra? And Billy?" wavered Jakob, supporting the trembling Ann.
"I don't know, matey. I don't know," Bartholomew replied. "But may God preserve their souls . . ."
* * *
"Will he live?" Daneatra murmured, standing over her son. The men Vanessa had hired were more merciful than she had expected them to be. They had chosen to maroon him rather than simply slit his throat.
Why do you ask me? Arizael countered back. Why do you expect me to care? The Goddess was cross. She thought she had Daneatra in the palm of her hand, but the gypsy's spirit was strong and not so easily detached from her body. Not , at least, until she took care of her son's well being.
"Can't you heal him?"
Why should I? You belong to me now. You no longer have the freedom --
"It is still my body, Arizael. You have no worshipper left to sing you praises or quench your thirst for blood with human sacrifice. You are nothing more than a witch within my body, and nothing more than a forgotten Goddess in a statuette without it."
And you, Daneatra, are a woman who gave up her motherhood to seek vengeance. Arizael shot back.
Daneatra closed her eyes. "If you do not heal him, I will fight with whatever strength I have left to thwart you. I will destroy this body before letting you have it completely. Then you will live the rest of your life trapped in a piece of wood, waiting for another self-serving bitch to call upon your powers."
. . . very well, Daneatra. But know this. I am not a healing Goddess. Whatever power I channel through you will have consequences for the both of you. It is my power and your love for this child combined that will heal the wounds that were inflicted. He will no longer remember you, nor shall you remember him. That is the price you must pay if you want him to live.
"But why?" Daneatra cried in protest.
I cannnot claim a body soiled by love. Vengeance has no room for it.
"But he will wake alone . . . thinking no-one has ever loved him . . . he may even die of starvation on this island. . ."
True. Perhaps you would rather I killed him? It would be more merciful.
"No! I will not let you kill him!"
Of course not. After all, a ship may pass and take him aboard. There is a chance, I won't deny it, however slim it is. The question is, will you forsake so much for it?
Daneatra looked down at Billy's pain-filled face and shaking body. The whip had ravaged him badly, and he was caked with blood; he'd die from infection within two days if nothing was done. She couldn't take him back to the ship -- not with Arizael in her body. The Goddess was a loose cannon; there was no telling who'd she strike out at next. And after what she had done to Vanessa . . . she doubted her friends would want anything to do with her or Billy.
Have you made your choice, Daneatra?
"I will do it," she whispered, stroking the raven hair out of Billy's eyes. She leaned over to kiss him on the forehead for quite possibly the last time.
A flash of light temporarily blinded her as energy coursed through her body, entering the boy's form and sealing the blood-clotted wounds stretched across his back.
Billy called out her name once, then fell silent into a peaceful sleep, all lines of pain vanishing from his face. Daneatra found herself smiling at the young lad, though she did not even know his name. She was tired . . . so tired. As Daneatra drifted into comforting darkness, Arizael picked herself up, brushing off the sand and grit from her flesh and clothing.
She bent down again only once -- to pick up the statuette and the impatiently mewing calico -- before she began walking through the fog that swept in from the ocean.
She had kept her end of the bargain.
And now, it was her turn to play.
* * *
The young castaway fed the fire with scraps of the driftwood he had managed to find. The fire consumed them all too quickly - its hunger reminding him of the own empty ache in his stomach.
The boy was cold, tired, and starving. He'd woken up with nothing but the clothes on his back, a leather canteen of water, and a loaded musket. He'd used the musket for shooting down seagulls before the bullets ran out, and cooked them over a fire. Now all the water and ammunition was gone and he had resorted to eating strips of leather from the canteen to keep from starving.
He didn't know where he had come from, why he was on this island, nor why he had whip marks all along his back. Maybe he deserved them. Maybe he did not. All he could remember were shadows, voices, and pain. If that was all his life had been, wouldn't it be better if he died? Wearily, he spat out the piece of leather he'd been chewing and licked his dry lips. What he wouldn't give for a cool drink of water to get the horrid dryness out of his mouth and throat. Suddenly feeling more tired than he ever had in his life, he gave up on the fire and laid down on the sand. He wanted this nightmare to be over.
Billy closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of his arm. The meager warmth of the fire was lulling him into a merciful sleep that would keep his mind off the hunger and dehydration. He curled up to try and reserve the warmth the fire would give before it died; it would likely do so before he woke. If I wake at all, he prayed bitterly. Let it be because my life is about to be saved. I don't want to live another day like this.
With those final thoughts, he drifted off. Mere seconds before seeing a galleon drifting closer and closer to the island, and twenty minutes shy of hearing longboats scraping against the sand as they were hauled up the shore by grunting and swearing men. By the time they had tied the boats off, the sun had set and the sputtering fire was the only thing casting light on the shore.
"What's this we got here?" chuckled a muscular man dressed in a torn shirt as he approached the sleeping boy. Lightly, he kicked the body and got no response. "A corpse," he grunted.
"I say, check his vital signs, Mason," sniffed a reedy man with a black moustache.
"I'll check his vital signs allright, Starkey," chuckled Mason, picking up a piece of driftwood with a glowing end. With a mischievous smirk, Mason poked the boy with the live ember. The results were almost immediate. With a yelp, Billy was jolted awake and scrambled away from the fire, glaring at it and rubbing his stinging hip. Mason laughed loudly, making his heart leap in his throat.
"He's a live one allright!" roared Mason, slapping his knee. His mirth was shared by others. Their footsteps crunched the sand as they came forward and Billy scrambled to his feet in alarm, grabbing the empty musket and aiming it at them, hoping to frighten them into leaving.
"You keep away if you mean harm!" he croaked, sounding far less than threatening with his hoarse voice. He wished he hadn't stood up so suddenly, for now the world was spinning. What looked like one fire was turning into six and spots were coming to fill his vision. Billy's aim was certainly off now, trying to follow all three Alf Masons as they approached him.
A hand easily wrested the gun away from him, and another planted itself on his chest, shoving him backwards into the sand. "Weak as a kitten," sneered Mason, then inspected the weapon which brought another scoff. "Keelhaul me, you really think you were gonna scare me off with an unloaded gun?"
Billy just groaned and tried to sit up, feeling very lightheaded. "Leave off, Mason!" he heard someone shout. Immediately after, he felt arms gathering him up and then he was leaning against something warm and solid. "Picks on a kid and acts like he's bested the devil hisself," a voice with a Brooklyn accent muttered. A lantern sprang to life and Billy had to close his eyes at the sudden brightness. He felt something cool against his lips and nearly cried out with relief as he tasted water.
"Slowly," the man told him, before the boy could try to gulp down the contents of the water canteen. "Or ye'll get a headache." Billy took his advice and quenched his thirst little by little. As he drank, he listened to the other men bantering back and forth in argument. About him no less.
"Look at 'em. He wasn't worth gettin' in the longboats for. He'll make a scrawny cabin-boy at best," Mason was griping. "Most likely'll get underfoot."
"The Cap'n will sort 'im out, right enough," declared a short gray-bearded man wearing glasses.
"Aye, but --"
"What, yous sayin' we should just leave 'em here?" countered the man with the Brooklyn accent.
"Keelhaul me, Mullins, I just don't want a kid aboard! We's buccaneers, not nannies!"
Billy nearly spat out the water in his mouth. "If there's one thing I'm not, it's a helpless little kid! Besides, I've been on a pirate ship before."
The men instantly dissolved into laughter. "You?!" choked Mason. "What the heck were ya -- the cannon broom?!" This set the other men off all over again.
"You-you've been on a pirate ship?" Starkey gasped, wiping his eyes. "Pray tell, which one?"
The boy furrowed his eyebrows in thought, trying to remember. "I think it was called -- no wait. It started with a 'W' . . ."
Ignatious gave a sharp bark of laughter. "You mean you can't even remember?"
"Just hold on a moment, you old -- The Walrus! That was the name of it, I'm sure!" the boy said, grinning.
The men immediately fell dead silent.
"Flint's ship?" muttered Starkey.
"Poppycock," snorted Mason. "He's lyin'!"
"I am not!" Jukes scowled.
"If the boy says he was on Flint's ship--" shrugged Mullins. Billy turned to smile at him, thankful at least someone believed him.
"Belay that jaw music!" roared a new voice. Metal gleamed and Robert felt the boy shrink back against him in fear. Gallantly, the newcomer stepped into the light, letting Billy see his face as well as the curved blade at his belt. "Allow me to introduce myself, me lad. Captain James Hook, esquire."
"C-Captain! We-we thought you were waiting for us on deck!"
"Aye, Gentleman Starkey! Waiting for your immediate return, ya dull-witted lummoxes! My orders were clear, were they not?"
"B'jeepers, of course they were, sir!" Smee cried, grabbing Jukes' arm. "Come along now, ye young scalliwag!"
"Hey!" Jukes yelped and Mullins swatted the Irishman's hand away.
"Belay that, Bosun!" Robert growled getting to his feet. "This lad is not our prisoner, so ye'll not be treatin' him like one! Come along, boy," he said in a much gentler tone, helping Billy stand.
"But Cap'n," whined Mason, "He's just a --"
"Shut your worthless maw, ya slubberdegullion! Well, Mr. . .?"
"Jukes, sir. Billy Jukes."
"Mr. Jukes," Hook continued smoothly, "Unless you want to stay on this miserable island, then from now on you will work for us as our new cabin boy. Any objections?" the Captain asked, holding out his hand for the boy to shake.
Jukes gulped at the all too non-chalant way Hook's other hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Then he looked back at the scattered embers - all that remained of the fire he'd struggled to keep himself warm with. He should be leaping at this chance to sign aboard the pirate's ship. Whatever happened, it was better than starving to death.
Billy faced Hook, squared his shoulders, and shook the Captain's hand.
"No objections, sir. None at all."
To Be Continued . . .
Romanian (gypsy)/English Glossary| Hai shala? | Do you understand? |
| Sheka! | Horseshit! |
| jostumal | enemy; "wishes you harm" |
| ma'rime | unclean; impure |
| chovihani | witch |
| Li' ha' eer! | By the gods! |
