The Crimson Dawn Part I
The storm raged for three days and three nights.
On the morning of the fourth day, a ship with sails as pale as the full moon and a hull of blackest coal sailed through the mist. The sea itself was relatively calm, yet a small swell pushed at her bow and an ever-present mist somehow parted to allow the ghost ship to sail further into the Blood Strait. The Blood Strait was aptly named, as its treacherous waters seemed to split even the bravest ships into splintered pieces while drawing their crews down into its icy depths. The Strait itself formed a very slim channel between the islands of Arovna and provided a direct route to the Western side of the Copper Isles. Sailing this route took five weeks off the entire journey, though very few captains took the risk. Only one man, the captain of the Red Sun, dared test the Strait on every journey. He alone brought his crew through without a scratch, every time.
Among sailors familiar with the Strait, this fact alone made him a legend. Whisperings of his journeys were tarnished only by the reputation of the very ship he commanded, as the Red Sun was one of a kind. She was the only ship in the sea with a black hull, black mast and pure white sails, which were emblazoned with a fierce red sun.
On land, tavern drunkards delighted in slurring stories of the Red Sun to whomsoever would listen. However, no-one would ever embellish these tales or have a word to say about their credibility. Wise men kept their silence, or clapped the poor sod on the back and finished the tale with their laughter. The Red Sun was not to be spoken of. Not even in jest. Lest she come after you next.
It was common knowledge among sailors and landfolk alike that whomsoever encountered the Red Sun on the high sea, would never return to port. Home port, at least. Fine, healthy sailors were known to fetch a very fine price slave markets in the East – and the Red Sun made her captain money, of that there was no doubt. At every docking port her crew would buy drinks, women, supplies – anything that pleased them. While her captain would buy silks, gold, gems – all the material goods he could desire.
Despite such frivolous spending, the captain of the Red Sun was also renowned for the sale of ship's cargo. Trading merchants would happily turn cut-throat to lay their lands on goods from the Sun. Her cargo included prized weapons, famed delicacies, rare furniture and the finest clothing from all the realms. This merchandise was so rare, so prized, that royalty had been known to pay a great deal to obtain their share, and as such, they turned a blind eye to the less ethical trading methods of the vessel.
It was also rumoured that the Red Sun had… special abilities. An old sailor who recounted this tale at a tavern last Samhain was toasted for his great storytelling flights of fancy, but that was all. Still, he told that the ship drew on the magic of the sea to work its own magic, which it used to create suites of rooms within the ship. The Sun wasn't a very large ship, but the quantity of goods that were loaded and unloaded from its hold would fill at least three ships of an equal size. Those who had gathered to hear the sailor's tale laughed when he told of spaces as wide as a field behind a single door. Perhaps so many long years at sea had driven him mad. Perhaps.
There was much cursing and movement aboard the deck of the Sun as it yet again sailed true and steady through the misty waters of Blood Strait. At last, a deckhand leapt into the sea with a twist of rope tied tightly around his waist, and all was quiet.
Meanwhile, at the ship's rail, her captain simply waited.
Though but a span of minutes had passed, a sea-wrecked stranger was gradually hauled aboard and laid on the wooden boards at the captain's feet by his dripping deckhand.
The stranger lay on their side, a mane of flame-red hair covering their face. Their arms were crimson from days of exposure to the sun, while the rest of their ragged body was covered in cuts and bruises that the salt water had cleaned and kept cool.
The captain knelt and watched the shallow rise and fall of the stranger's chest before he grasped their chin with one large hand and slid another behind their head. The movement lifted his newly rescued prize slightly from the deck and tilted their concealed face upward for closer examination. Waves of matted red hair fell away from the stranger's face, and at once, the captain did something he was not proud of. He started slightly, almost upsetting his balance in front of the crew. It was a girl. On his ship. Ah Gods. This could not bode well.
Suddenly, as if in response, her head jolted in his hand and she gave a hacking cough, her eyes fluttered open to meet his own. To his internal satisfaction, he was able to remain frozen in place, yet several gathered crew members visibly jumped and retreated several paces while making the sign against evil across their chests. His crewmen were ruthless, and had been killers since they first drew breath, but this girl's eyes were… purple. It was unearthly, not to mention unnerving. Coupled with the appearance of a storm fierce enough to send even the Red Sun to the depths her discovery was clearly perceived as an omen by the crew. Good or ill, however, he did not know.
The head of the flame-haired girl swiveled in his hand, and her purple gaze swept across the men gathered around her, "What are you looking at?" she croaked through cracked lips. Somehow she managed a glare before her head struck the polished boards of the deck with a solid thud. Out cold.
The captain frowned, and gestured to his still dripping deckhand, now several paces from where he originally stood.
"Lawson. Take her below deck, and keep her alive. If she dies… you do too. The rest of you men, back to work."
Though it was clear from his face Lawson would rather once leap overboard than lay hands on the girl again, he scrambled to obey. As did all his crewmen.
The captain stood, and dusted himself off before turning back to rest both forearms on the ship's rail. His gaze then focussed keenly on the rolling dark clouds they have passed through, now gathered on the far horizon.
"I'm sure she will have an interesting tale to tell when she wakes", he said, voice raised slightly. Yet, as though they could not hear him, or perhaps did not want to, his crew continued their duties around him.
Alanna's eyes opened to a dimly lit ceiling moments before a nauseating rocking feeling rolled through her. That meant only one thing. She was on a boat. The very thought alone caused her to lean over the edge of her cot and retch into a bucket she dimly remembered being placed there.
Flopping back weakly into her sheets with her hair plastered to her forehead, Alanna closed her eyes and took several deep breaths as she tried to still the rising storm within her stomach. Eventually, once the worst had passed, she cast her eyes around her in suspicion – as one does when awakening in an unfamiliar place. There was a shelf of worn, well-read books to her right, while directly in front of her cot, which was flush up against one wall, was a small basin and a pull-cord hanging next to what seemed to be a hollow tube. In the far corner of the room was a well-woven hammock, clearly well slept in judging by its tattered appearance, while a small pine desk was bolted to the wall to its left.
Looking above her, Alanna squinted in puzzlement at the source of the soft light in the room. A single globe was suspended from the ceiling which glowed with all the light of a fire, though it spread further into the room than light from a flame would. She stretched her hand up toward it experimentally and found that it didn't give off any heat, but its glow was still comforting.
"It's a firelight lantern," a deep voice rasped from behind her. "The newer model."
Alanna quickly snatched her hand back to meet her chest, like a small child caught doing something they shouldn't, and turned her head to face to the doorway to the left behind her cot. Her eyes met those of a man who stood in the doorframe, his hulking form making it seem smaller than usual. His skin was stained dark by years of exposure to the sun, and his face seemed to stretch as he spoke again, "How are you faring?"
Moments passed before Alanna realised she had looked at him just a fraction too long without speaking, and managed to croak "I'm on a boat."
His eyebrows rose briefly in response and with a look of exasperation the sailor strode over to the side of her cot, seemingly choosing to ignore how she shuffled slightly away from him. He then took one look into the bucket at her bedside, half-filled with murky seawater and bile, before he grasped its handle and deposited its contents into the washbasin. Alanna stared as he pulled the chain above the basin with slightly more force than was necessary. There was a gurgling sound as clear water gushed from the hollow tube into the basin, before it disappeared back into the decking.
After rinsing the bucket and setting it back into it original place, the swarthy man produced a tin cup filled with clear water. Alanna looked at it momentarily before realising that it wouldn't do her any good to dishonour her host in this unknown environment. She sat up, took the proffered cup and drained its contents greedily.
He watched her finish, and seated himself at the end of her cot. "Name's Blair," the giant man said, as he offered a large hand for her to shake. Alanna took it gingerly. As she expected, his palm was that of a sailor, warm but callused. She relaxed marginally, and bowed her head slightly in greeting before she reclaimed her hand.
The corners of Blair's previously friendly mouth tipped downward, "When someone introduces themself it's generally polite to reply with your own name, girl." Alanna blinked, the sailor had suddenly changed from open and friendly to firm and irritated. He practically radiated impatience.
Swallowing she answered, "Alanna."
At this, the sailor inclined his head and relaxed once more, settling back into his previous demeanour, almost. "I'm sure you have an interesting tale to tell," he said, holding her gaze. It was a statement. The air of command was unmistakable.
She cleared her throat. "Well, I was in-"
"Before you begin Alanna," he said, barely hiding the steel in his tone, "I warn you, you are in dangerous waters. Don't even think to lie to me."
Alanna twisted her hands in her lap and started again, opting instead to leave some details out rather than openly lie. "I fell off a cliff and then..." Alanna paused as she tried to recall the events afterwards, "I don't remember."
"Do you know where you were before your fall?" Blair supplied.
Alanna quickly searched her mind for a suitable answer, "Ah- I was serving in a Lord's castle. I can't remember his name."
The sailors eyes snapped to hers, his expression said what he did not need to. He was well aware she was concealing the truth. "Very well," he said in a low voice. "If you do not wish to tell me everything I will not force you, yet."
Alanna lowered her eyes and nodded. She hoped she didn't appear too grateful.
"However," he added, "if you are to stay onboard this ship, you will report to the kitchen an hour after dawn tomorrow, and you will jump at every task the cook gives you, understood? Everyone aboard has a job to do. You are no exception." With that, the sailor got to his feet and left her alone in an unfamiliar bed, on a boat, with strangers, in the middle of Mithros knows where.
As if in despair, her stomach began to protest once more.
The next day, as she clutched at the edge of a wooden bench, Alanna fought to regain her balance as the ship rolled. Merely steps in front of her a small, spindly man moved easily with the motion of the ship as he picked up two plates of steaming food from the bench and turned to hand them to her.
He froze as he took in the green tinge of her face, and snatched his plates back away from her. "Into the sink!" Cookie bellowed over the noise of the creaking ship.
Alanna thrust her head into the sink just in time.
When her stomach was empty, Alanna took several deep breaths to calm herself, as was fast becoming her tradition onboard the ship. Then, she straightened and wiped her mouth clean. Cookie again offered her the plates of food. "Hurry along girl, and don't be too long in findin' yer sea legs. Ye won't last long here if ye don't," the elderly man said with a frown as he gave her a shove out the kitchen door.
In the hallway, Alanna practically juggled the plates like a professional player as she stumbled heavily against the walls each time the ship reared out of the water. She'd used almost every foul word she'd been taught before she made it to the sailors mess. The mess was a large shared area, a square room big enough to accommodate at least a dozen burly sailors. It had four doors, one through which she was about to enter with another opposite, along with two opposing doors in the centre of the two remaining walls. To her dismay, almost a dozen sailors were seated around the large wooden table in the centre of the room when she made her entrance. All turned to look at her in a hungry way, which had less to do with the food she carried and more to do with the fact that she had breasts, as she set their meal down.
Luckily, Cookie came in moments after her, balancing four plates on his spindly arms. He set them down in the middle of the table easily as the ship suddenly leaned to one side; but Alanna lost her footing and stumbled backwards into the wall. Her face went as red as her hair at the sailors' laughter, but she got back to her feet. "Go fetch the last tray girl; it's yours," Cookie instructed, unable to suppress a smile as he took a seat. Crimson, Alanna obeyed.
When she returned, Alanna took the only empty place at the table, next to a large sailor who studied her with the same predatory gaze that a cat uses to watch a cornered mouse. Her skin began to crawl, but she was too hungry to ignore the warning her instincts supplied. Before she had made it halfway through her meal, she felt his rough fingers creep their way up her thigh. At his touch, her fork paused in midair, almost to her mouth.
"Get your hand off my leg," she snarled, barely able to control the urge she had to stab his errant hand with her cutlery. The other sailors chuckled at her display of ferocity, which her neighbour seemed to take as a further invitation. He dragged his hand from her leg, along her hip and stomach, higher, to just beneath her left breast.
"Come on, little hellcat. I'm a lonely lad, long days at sea and all that. No taste of a woman since I seen me wife off at port," he said, as he sneered with lust and laughter, encouraging the others to join his game.
"Off. Now," Alanna hissed, slowly tensing.
The rowdy sailor grinned and turned to face her before he reached out and pulled her onto his lap, his meaty fingers firmly clasped around her middle. "Come now lovely, let's have a little fun."
The sailor next to him lay down his cutlery and shifted to reveal a short dagger at his side, a silent indication that his comrade was clearly going too far with their guest, especially since she was Cookie's new apprentice.
Her captor ignored the warning and pulled her face to his for a kiss, but before his lips met hers, Alanna let her fist fly – straight into his crotch. The sailor howled and clutched at his manhood, in the same movement he flung her away from him so that she collided with the sailor who carried the dagger. As she landed against him, Alanna slid the blade from its place at his belt and deftly slid it up her loose sleeve before assuming a defensive stance against the wall. Around her, ten sailors slowly got to their feet, obviously unimpressed at her actions toward their shipmate.
"Just, stay away from me," Alanna warned, feeling outnumbered but somewhat reassured as she fingered the fine steel of her concealed weapon.
Sailors love a scuffle. They ignored her warning.
The first man to reach her was young, perhaps a few years older than herself, but well muscled. He grabbed her round the middle from behind with arms of iron, and held her in place for a blow aimed by another crewman. Before the blow came, Alanna removed the dagger from her sleeve. With both hands and a speed that surprised her, she thrust the blade between her body and elbow straight into his chest. He provided almost no resistance as the dagger sank home and, as his blood spurted forth onto her clothes, Alanna was barely aware that the steel of the blade had begun to vibrate and hum.
It had begun to sing.
Though one hand still held the dagger, Alanna spun to see her victim. His eyes were wide in shock at the speed of her attack, and focussed wholly on the blade where it protruded from his chest. A small stream of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, but he made no sound as he slid to the ground.
Alanna pulled the humming dagger from his chest and clutched it in her hand as the dead sailors shipmates turned to her, shock and outrage abundant in their eyes. As they closed in on her, Alanna felt her breathing change and slow, her world decreasing until it consisted only of the sailors in front of her and the dagger in her hand. Her eyes changed from soft amethyst to sharp crimson The dagger whispered to her. It promised to kill them, assured her of their deaths. If only she would surrender herself to it, just for a moment. One moment, and she could be free.
Through her haze, she heard a new voice call "Enough!"
This voice was familiar, even through Alanna's blood lust haze it was strangely comforting.
"No," the dagger whispered, "let us kill them. They dared to threaten us. Let us kill them, we will be safe and happy, you and I. Undefeated."
"Safe and happy", thought Alanna, as though in a dream. "How nice that would be."
She felt the dagger chime with joy, and pleasure flooded through her body as she stepped forward and slashed the blade across another sailor's turned back. They were brawling amongst themselves now, all fists and intoxication. The blade sang in her hand with the joy of taking a life, and Alanna felt her gift stir in revulsion.
"I said enough," the familiar voice hissed and this time the command was clear. The voice would be obeyed.
"No,"the dagger whispered desperately, "he means to hold us. We cannot let him; we don't want to be caged. Not again. Never again."
At this statement, something within her snapped, and Alanna's gift roared within her in protest at her lapse in control, breaking the newly forged bond between girl and dagger. As she struggled to be fully free of its influence, Alanna struck out aggressively at the remaining sailors. She wept in helplessness as her arm carved an arc through the flesh of men who stood too near.
As she moved, Alanna felt as though she was drowning in a fast flowing river, water churning above and around her. She gasped for breath and closed her ears to the last desperate whispers of the dagger, which pleaded with her to reconsider its offer. With the dagger in her hand, it was as though she struggled to be free of a strong current, but finally, her fight for complete control was rewarded when she thrust her arms up and out of the influence of the river within her mind. Then, as if from a great distance, she heard the dagger clatter to the floor.
She swayed, unsteady on her feet, and dropped to her knees as a roaring sound thundered through her eardrums. Blair's disapproving face swam for a moment in her field of vision, and she could make out the shapes of a few men lying prone on the floor, but mainly, Alanna was aware of the crack of her head of the wooden floor as the world faded to black.
When she awoke several days later, clear-headed and able to resume her duties, there was no sign of the dagger. No-one so much as mentioned the incident. To Alanna, it might as well have been a dream. However, every member of the crew made the sign against evil whenever she passed.
She was not troubled again, by the men at least.
On the high seas, however, trouble is never far away. Unbeknownst to everyone onboard, the black and white sails of a pirate ship fluttered gently in the breeze just over the horizon.
Authors Note:
Redflame: I dont like Kel :). But dont worry, she isnt in this story.
ZuliaGirl: Maybe I should have changed the sun to dusk or something...
Anyway. As always, review! I crave reading them, it fuels my insane I must write moments :D Thanks to The Whisper for Beta-ing *hug*
Part 2 will be up when I feel like it :)
Regards, CDL