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Chapter 2. Stop With All the Blackouts!

by Sybil

How long has she been sailing around in this dump? One week? Maybe more? It had at least been a week out in the middle of this ocean. It wasn't her first time in a ship, but Sybil still hated all this teetering and tossing with the waves. In here, she could barely hold down her own stomach and her shoulder wound constantly stung. Was it infected? She wouldn't know; and as flexible as her kind was, she couldn't twist her head around to inspect it either.

And to make it worse... her secret stash was left back at Seaport Isle. Who was going to find it? Probably some snot-nosed rat with grubby paws. The marten buried her head in her arms as she imagined all those hard-earned goods being stolen. A thief being robbed by a beggar... that's rich.

But then again, she was going to Evnara- one of the most prosperous vermin ports in the world. It was out of sheer luck that she was ending up in there. How many aristocrats were there to steal from? Probably a lot, and it was likely that they would have troves of treasure compared to the junk back at home.

Heh... might not be so bad after all... once I get off this blasted ship, that is.

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP!

Sybil cursed the corsairs up on deck. They were always so loud, stomping around and roaring at each other. She groaned and leaned against the wall as the pounding pawsteps shot frantically against the wood. Sometimes she wished she could just poke her head out of this miserable storage room and peg them in the forehead with a fist.

"Get the... loosen the... I swear I'll hang ye by yer... and gut... kill..."

And now was the daily round of muffled verbal abuse from the captain himself. The stowaway fidgeted, wishing for the long-awaited quiet and empty night shifts where she would leave her hiding to stretch and wander. Here however, she was left alone to her thoughts as she simply slept, drank, and ate.

She picked up an overripe apple from a box, biting into it as she mulled about her future plans. Wouldn't it be nice, starting from scratch and creating a reputation all over again? After all, a new criminal would be all over the news, making those poor rich snobs have to buy padlocks and pay for extra guards. And what kind of name would they give her this time? "Trace Thief" was catchy, but she was getting tired of hearing it over and over again.

There was a sudden high-pitched shriek that jolted her from her thoughts. It was a scream- not one of those angry screams. It was the kind of cry born from fear and pain. She swallowed nervously, trying to shrug the disturbing sound out of her mind. It was none of her business what the captain did with his crew anyways. But still, she couldn't help but wonder why he would suddenly find it necessary. She gave a tiny gulp, gripping the handle of her pocket knife.

And again, Sybil jumped as she heard more screams of agony, followed by the harsh clashing of steel.

Mutiny?

That was a possibility. There was more panicked yelling going on above deck and it felt as if the sea itself was roiling up at the thought of bloodshed.

"FEEEEELLLDOOOH!"

Of all the sounds she could discern from the scuffling up there, that was the one thing that was clearest. Who in blazes is Felldoh? Is the crew avenging someone?

That was it. She just had to look now. Just a peek. It had been a long time since she'd seen anything even remotely interesting. The marten swept up the small flight of stairs as gracefully as her cramped legs would allow, pressing an ear by a door as she tried to listen for anybeast right outside. If anything, the clamor of combat had only intensified and she heard the sounds of more beasts than she thought was already on board. The idea struck her: what if they were being attacked? They could easily burn the entire ship down!

She forced herself to swallow down her panic, pressing her right shoulder against the door while the stupid thing refused to budge. She panted, paws growing sweaty as she pushed her full weight against it. Her fears were surfacing in her mind now as she started jerking the handle in and out rapidly.

No, no! Wait! This can't be! The lock was always broken! How...? And then she felt something warm and sticky against her footpaws. Sybil looked down at the liquid pooling on the ground. It was too dark to see, but the sickening smell of death made it obvious. She shoved the door half-heartedly, watching as some more blood began dribbling through the cracks in the woodwork. Now she knew what was blocking it.

---

"All right... clear 'em up!"

The marten crouched down further behind the barrels as her mind buzzed with doubt. There were so many things that could be on the other side of the door and she had no idea what they were here for or what they were going to do. If she was lucky, they would simply take the useless carcasses and toss them overboard so that she could escape later. But if they decided that they wanted to snoop around here...

She heard some creatures grunt outside as something heavy thudded against the ground. The thief held her breath, laying her ears flat against her skull as the door shuddered open to reveal the silhouette of a mouse. She hissed inwardly, turning away from the dazzling sunlight as she heard more pawsteps and several hushed conversations.

"Now search the area," a voice boomed above the rest. "We want to catch as many as we can." There was a chorus of "yessir"s from the group as they began shifting past the inventory, sometimes showing delighted surprise at what the wine casks held. Sybil huddled between the clusters of barrels, her paws strangling her tiny knife while mentally kicking herself for choosing the spot that would attract beasts the most. It must've been that she was frazzled and injured. There is no way in Gates that I would normally make a mistake like this. I shouldn't even be stuck in this situation, dammit!

She felt one of the casks grate against the floor as somebeast tugged at it. The outlaw took advantage of the moment, jumping up and punching him right in the throat. She didn't catch what kind of creature it was, but all she knew was that it was down on the floor gasping for air as she dashed up the stairway and through the door.

The runaway heard the banging of paws up the steps as she looked about her, seeing the shocked faces of both the woodlanders and the captured crew. Where was she going to go now? She twisted her head this way and that, trying to find someplace to hide in broad daylight. Crow's nest! They'll never catch up to my climbing!

Knife between her jaws, the marten clambered on to a net of rope that climbed upwards to the tip of the mast. She felt it sway and shudder at her weight as she struggled upwards, keeping her eyes up on the top. If there was a beast there, she would knock him off. If nobeast was there, all the better.

"Get it down from there!"

"Shoot it! Shoot it!"

"No! There's nothing up there. It's trapped."

"I'll get her!"

She chanced a look downwards, scowling as a young squirrel scrambled up the rope ladder, forcing her world to jerk and wobble even more. There was nowhere else to go now but up. The thief cursed herself, wondering why she made such an impulsive decision in the first place. She abruptly shoved those doubts to a corner of her mind. If anything, she had to escape. She had gone too far to be captured by these woodlanders.

Sybil pushed herself up with in unsteady movements, frustration building up at the pit of her stomach as her shoulder hindered her. The marten couldn't help but stop to take a break at one point, gritting her teeth as she saw the little dots of woodlanders on the ship next to them, their arrows trained on her. She bit her lip, ignoring the doubts suddenly screaming in her head. Instead, she forced herself to stare at her safe haven up top as she continued closing the distance between her and her destination.

"Give it up, vermin," her pursuer panted raggedly. "There's nothing up there to go to. This ship is taken, so just surrender! Surrender!"

Sounds like a tempting offer she thought sarcastically, throwing a leg over the side of the crow's nest. Here she was now, the highest point of the ship. It was strange, how while everything down on the world was chaos, the air was pure in the skies and the sea never lost its sheen.

But this was no time for daydreaming.

She took the blade from her mouth, feeling her hot and shaky breath against her paw. The squirrel was even closer now, though he hung back in case she decided to do anything with that knife.

"I-if you cut the rope... I hope you know that you have no way down!"

Scowling at the obvious statement, she carefully climbed out of safety and on to the wooden beam that held the sails aloft.

"W-what are you doing?!" he gasped.

Sybil ignored him and all the woodlanders' cries as she crouched low and crawled across the horizontal beam. Her claws dug deep in the wood when she looked down, seeing nothing but tiny little specks staring up at her in astonishment. It was at this point that she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears like a frantic war drum while her mind squirmed for an answer.

In all her seasons, there was always some alternative to capture. There was always some step she could take that would lead her elsewhere. But now, she was stuck and it was all thanks to those stupid woodlanders, that arrow wound, and this accursed chunk of wood floating on water.

What to do next?

Her eyes roved around desperately before the next opportunity struck her. In less than a second, she had grabbed a rope with one paw, squeezing it tight as she slashed it.

FWOOM!

The marten yowled in surprise as the sail's free corner suddenly went wild and billowed up against the wind. The force buffeted her tiny frame, hoisting her high into the air so that the momentum sent the knife flying out of her paws. She shut her eyes tight as she felt the world around her spin and swirl uncontrollably, the sudden dip and rise of her stomach telling her that she was plummeting to her death.

Sybil could hear nothing but her own terrified screams and the wind whistling through her ears as her arms remained stretched out above her head, clinging on for dear life. She felt herself suddenly lurch, and then there was a floating sensation in the air as all motion seemed to stop for one split second. She cracked her eyes open, seeing nothing but the blinding blue of the sky before the merciless gravity threw her back down.

The marten was completely helpless as she swung back and forth over and over again like the bob of a pendulum. Suddenly, the pit of her gut told her that there was a twist in direction and-

"OOF!" She gave a sharp gasp of pain as her wounded shoulder collided with something. In an instant, she felt her back crumble as the rope slipped out of her grasp.

And then she was falling... falling...

---

Light.

That was the first thing she noticed. And then...

A bed? No... it was a cot.

It took a surprising amount of effort to prop herself up on her elbows, but she soon collapsed with a pained exhale the instant she put weight on her left arm. She grit her teeth, wondering what in blazes happened this time. Everything seemed to be going wrong for her now with all the injuries and fainting.

Carefully, she rotated her injured arm, relieved to find it was not broken. The marteness plopped her head on her pillow, the past's events slowly becoming more than just a blur.

It might have been better if I just jumped to my death, she thought bitterly. And now what was going to happen? Those woodlanders obviously tried to keep everybeast alive, so what did they want to do with her? Sybil looked around the tiny room, her eyes squinting against the dim light as she recognized nothing but blank walls. And even more, her room was quiet except for the groaning wood of the miserable ship.

Slowly, she shifted each of her limbs, hoping that none of them were in terrible shape. It wasn't until she had moved her right leg that she felt some heavy substance on her ankle and the melancholy jingle of chains.

Now it made sense what they were planning for her- slavery. She clenched the sheets in her claws, suddenly finding them worn blunt from all her harrowing circumstances.

She lifted her paws in front of her eyes, inspecting the damage when she noticed something move in the periphery of her vision. She startled, forcing herself to sit up, her pain forgotten as the door swung open to allow an otter to saunter in, a paw laid proudly on the hilt of a sword. From the set of his shoulders and the fine clothes he wore, she figured that he must've been the one in charge.

"Who are you?" he asked, his nose lifting into the air with distaste. His captive said nothing, preferring to keep the angry silence.

"I said, who are you?" he repeated. "The crew says they'd never seen you before."

"Just a stowaway," she muttered.

"Hm..." he mused. "And where did you get that arrow wound?" He pointed a claw at her shoulder where fresh bandages had been laid.

The thief shrugged, keeping her voice as even as she could. "I was running."

"From what?"

Again she shrugged, preferring not to admit herself as a criminal. "Sir," she began, mentally spitting upon the word, "I'm just a traveler hard on her luck. I just wanted to get to Evnara for a better life away from village thugs that I owe coins to."

She couldn't help but ball her fists as the otter snorted. "Evnara! That place is crawling with filth and disease!" Sybil pursed her lips, not trusting herself to open her mouth and not say anything insulting.

Her interrogator raised a brow. "Didn't you hear? The place was hit hard by a sea storm and a plague has gotten them pretty bad." And despite the grimness of the news, there seemed to be no hint of sorrow or regret in his voice. "Well," the riverdog continued. "It seems that our little attack makes little difference on your trip."

"W-what do you mean by that?"

BOOM BOOM BOOM!

The arrogant woodlander turned back to the door, still wary to keep the marten in his scope of view.

"Dirk! You're needed! There's an uprising among the prisoners!" She heard him curse under his breath as he hurried through the door, slamming it after him. She heard a soft click follow in a few seconds, promising her that escape was futile. She sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted as her head collapsed into a moldy pillow. Letting her wrist rest upon her forehead, Sybil thought her circumstances through one last time.

Yet once again, she had gone unconscious during a wild flight and had found herself in another situation where she had no idea what was to become of her. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. At least now I know where I'm going, though.

Considering that the otter might not have been lying through his teeth the entire time, she would guess that they were still going to Evnara. But why would woodlanders go to a vermin-run island? She doubted that the renowned paradise was really steeped into so much chaos as he had described. It was only the decision a brain-dead fool would make- journeying to a plagued island to see what little treasures they could scrounge up.

But then again, treasures might not be what they were after. They were after slaves.

As shockingly sickening as her revelation should have been, Sybil couldn't help but chuckle to herself. It was just as she thought. These spoiled woodlanders, always complaining about vermin doing this this and that that were just the same as everybeast else in the core. They lead their perfect little lives in their perfect little homes with their perfect little families while they constantly preached of justice.

And now here they were, not in the position to criticize her kind anymore.

It's almost funny, Sybil thought to herself as blackness started growing in from the corners of her vision.