Stormcallers: Chapter 17

But let it not be said, beloved, that Phalamili Rukiya was now safe. Still they sailed not a full ballast above the depths of the cloud-sea. The storms continued to rise and their final crate of food was almost empty.

When Rukiya and Kerrom left the Captain’s cabin, the first-mate saw what had happened. It was no small thing they had done; A slave girl from Lergos and the mercenary swamp-knight had killed the ship’s captain, and there was no greater crime on the cloud-sea than the murder of a fellow shipmate.

But what mattered crimes on a doomed ship? Leig, once first-mate now captain, demanded Kerrom and Rukiya to be bound and tried by the crew, but the knots were not tight and the glares held no fire. They all would be dead soon enough, lost to the cloud-sea forever more, or so they thought.

They lay the captain to rest, as was the custom, in a thin pine box filled with dirt to wait until their eventual return to land. This was a Erosean tradition, to keep the storms away from the dead until they could be returned to the dirt of their homeland.

Once the prayers were sung and the box was sealed, Captain Leig held the trial. There was little to say, and being a slave Rukiya was not allowed to say anything. Kerrom provided no defense, admitting it was his hands that killed the captain. The vote was taken and the sentence was death.

The sailors all laughed when the word was pronounced. Who among them was not sentenced to death? What mattered the pageantry of justice and revenge when what awaited them all was a cruel and torturous fate?

And so the judgment was delayed as the laughing crew jeered at each other, jabbing fingers and dancing in strange mockeries of their usual duties. All save two. The navigator Atamato and the cook Goduu watched with horror and regret, despair etched in their faces as the gallivanting sailors spun through their bizarre dance.

But what should happen as the crew danced? A cry came up from one of the sailors as they gripped the railing and pointed with open mouth into the distance: “Sail-ta!” And indeed it was a sail, another ship, which would bring the crew of the Prezon rescue from the storms and starvation.

The spell broken, the sailors ran to the edge of the ship and stared into the darkening clouds. Sure enough, the faint light of a ship’s sailing-lamp glinted in the distant clouds, and it was drawing closer.

Fear and hope in equal measure ran across the Prezon’s deck. Had the Erwind vessel descended into the depths to hunt them down? Was their capture a kinder fate than being torn apart by the storms? Rukiya felt no fear. Let the Erwind Dene come, her fate could be no worse.

However, it was not a Dene she saw push free from the clouds but a smaller vessel, narrower with a curved bottom. Nor did this ship fly the Erwind flag, nor any flag as she could see.

This ship brought no salvation to Phalamili nor Kerrom, for it was a ship full of Madrainian Pirates.

Their hold was full from a successful pillage of a distant port, but there was room enough for more; so when the ship’s lookout cried out that another sail was in sight, the Pirate Captain had ordered their ship to sail near, to see who would be so foolish or brave to sail so close to the depths.

As they drew nearer, they saw the Prezon’s flag. Now the Captain was no fool and so he doubted that the Prezon was another pirate ship or privateer flying false colors. He moved his ship closer still and ordered his crew to give the Prezon the Pirate’s Choice.

They pulled out their weapons, and with a thunderclap that shook the ship’s sails the Madrainian Pirates fired a bolt of iron through the air, piercing the Prezon’s canvas balloon. The tear fluttered gently as the storm-breath began to leak into the cloud-sea and the Prezon began to descend into the darkness below.

The Prezon began to panic as the pirates raised the Green Flag of Sanctuary, a promise of safety to all who surrendered. For this is the Pirate’s Choice: a slow descent into the storms, to die in pain and fear, or to give up your ship, valuables, and lives to the Pirate ship.

Had the Pirates but known of the Prezon’s dire straits, they would have spared the cannonshot. The crew had no fight in them, no food in their stomachs and no strength in their hearts. They would have surrendered gladly for a drink of clean water and a crust of real bread.

It was with no shame that Captain Leig directed the crew to fly the white flag of surrender, though he too ordered that the knots binding both Rukiya and Kerrom be tightened, an odd order, Rukiya thought at the time.

But Leig was no fool. He was shrewd and clever, and he had dealt with Madrainians before, both pirates and mercenaries. He had watched Kerrom carefully since he first came aboard with his cargo, and he knew the swamp-knight might be a valuable prize for his kin.

The pirates boarded by throwing grappling hooks and ropes across to the Prezon. When the ropes were fixed, a swarm of men every inch as tall and as broad as Kerrom climbed across, giant swords and axes in hand. Two men, lither than the rest, climbed the rigging and masts to the balloon, and set about repairing the hole with a large canvas patch. In minutes, the slow descent was halted.

The other pirates spread out, grabbing rifles and swords from the weak and hungry sailors. They shouted at each other in a strange language, and brought the few remaining crates from below decks. Within a quarter hour, the pirates had gathered all the chests from the crew quarters, every crate from the hold, and all of the tools from the navigation room. Everything was piled on the deck. The crew of the Prezon was arranged in a line, all save Kerrom and Rukiya, whose hands were still bound. They stood with the crates and cargo, the spoils of the villain’s piracy.

There they all stood, like soldiers before their king. One of the pirates, who moved with the calm dignity of a captain, stepped to Kerrom’s side. He grabbed Kerrom’s face, turning it this way and that. A moment of inspection longer, and he tore open Kerrom’s shirt, revealing a large black tattoo on his left breast. “Sephehar!” he cried out, for this tattoo was the mark of the Sephehar, and it was this mark that Leig had recognized.

At the cry of the pirate captain, the other pirates fell on Kerrom like a pack of wolves, striking him with the hilts of their swords, kicking him in the stomach, beating him with their fists and feet until he collapsed to the ground, covering his head with his arms.

The pirates shouted and laughed, but not laughs of pleasure or mockery; they were hateful laughs, cruel and spiteful, full of the joy at seeing Kerrom’s blood spray across the deck. For this was what the mark of the Sephehar meant, that its wearer could be beaten and the abuser suffer no punishment. It was a cruel name, given only to a specific few, those who betrayed their honor to keep their souls. Rukiya did not know the story of the Sephehar and their broken vow to the King of Terras Bastion, Lord of all Madrain. She did not know of the lost legion who defied their King’s bloody command and became Liege-less mercenaries, sell-swords, and bandits, rather than monsters.

What Rukiya knew was that bound though she was, she could not bear to see such brutal cruelty and not act to spare her friend, who had saved her life at the risk of his own. She leapt into the fray, kicking and biting as best she could with her hands tied. Alas, it was to no avail. The Madrainians were stronger and sent her to the deck with a single blow. A single hand gripped her by the throat and lifted her up, throwing her against the railing and bending her backwards over the edge of the ship.

She didn’t scream as she stared up into the clouds, feeling the wind rush about past her head. She didn’t make a sound as the distant peels of thunder far beneath her growled hungrily. She struggled against the man’s grasp about her neck, uncaring of the fact that the slightest whim of the pirate was all that stood between her and eternal descent.

There was a shout, and the pain in her back eased. She was thrown back onto the ship’s deck seconds before a hand gripped her collar and dragged her upright, throwing her into the few remaining crates of cargo.

There she gasped, catching her breath as she leaned against the three remaining crates on the Prezon. Remember, they had not finished unloading their cargo on the docks of Herathia, and these three crates remained, one full of spoiled meat, one with a roll of cloth.

It was the third crate that was important, for it was the last crate of the seven that Kerrom had been hired to protect. On the docks of Erosea, he had been purchased to ensure that every crate would reach Herathia without trouble. Poor Kerrom, that he did not know what lay inside, nor to what purpose it would be put.

But learn he did, for when the pirate captain pried open this crate, a glittering caught every eye. Black as night and shiny as ice, the crate was full of strange metal bars packed with straw.

Even though the metal was strange, it was still a paltry haul, not befitting a smuggler’s hold. The Pirate Captain knew his king would not be pleased with such meager offerings, and so he turned to Leig, his face hiding his deep fury.

“You are the captain?” he asked in thickly accented Oman.

“I am.” Leig’s voice held no fire, no Erosean pride. Rukiya had never expected to hear such defeat from an Erosean before, and now that she had, she found herself terrified.

“You are not an Erwind vessel,” the pirate bared his teeth.

“No. We sail under orders of the Riverfall Trading Company.” For this is what smuggling was, in those days. Competitors to Erwind created guilds and companies of their own. Now, there was a large bounty on smugglers ships, as Erwind demanded their competition swept from the cloud-sea, but Leig was a clever man, and he knew no Madrainian Pirate would risk Erwind’s ire for the sake of an Erwind promise.

“This is everything?” The Captain nudged the crates with his foot. “You travel the cloud-sea with so little?” He spat on the pile, glaring at Captain Festan with a look as placid and inscrutable as Kerrom’s.

Leig told his captor the truth, that they had been at cloud-sea for longer than they had planned, and had not resupplied before running from Erwind. After explaining their predicament, he offered to trade.

“Ha!” the pirate laughed without smiling. “Trade? You are storm-blown, maas. It would be a mercy to throw you over the side of your ship.”

“Your people’s mercy to those who surrender is well known,” Leig spoke quickly. “You fly the green flag of sanctuary, and honor its meaning. In return, you take what you wish. Let us give you something valuable in return for allowing us to live. Take the swamp-knight and do as you wish with him. We have no need of him. Take too the girl; she can be sold for a good price in Erosea, or Herathia. Or take her for yourself.”

This was clever of Leig, for the people of Madrain do not fear the storms as do the people of Erosea, or the Fellowship of the Light. No island hangs lower in the cloud-sea than Madrain, and the storms are totems of strength. Their legends of magic are of great power and prosperity, sorcerers who summon demons and furies from beyond the cloud-sea. To no other people are the storm’s blessings given, and so they had no fear of the people of Lergos. Indeed, the people of Madrain knew the people of Lergos only as valuable slaves.

But still the pirate was suspicious. He stared at Rukiya, his eyes cold. “You dress her in men’s clothing. It is not fit for a woman to dress as a man, nor a man to dress as a woman.”

“A necessity, due to our lack of alternatives,” Leig licked his lips. “Please, take her, the rest of our cargo, and our ship. In return, we ask only to go free.”

Now it is important for you to know, dearest beloved, that Rukiya fought back. She did not bow her head and let the world wash over her like a helpless child. She fought back when she was grabbed by the pirates and dragged onto their ship. She bit and kicked and screamed though her hands were tied, but the pirates were strong, and many, and she was tired, frightened, and alone.

The pirates punished her for fighting back. With firm hands they gripped her arms, and took her below decks and to the center of the ship, where the main mast — as big around as a tree-trunk — stood. There they held her while the captain, with his stoic and heartless eyes, approached with the clanking of metal chains accompanying his every step.

Though she struggled, she could not stop them pulling back her arms and pressing them against the mast. They wrapped the iron chains around her chest and arms, holding her fast. The links cut into her clothing, pulling her shoulders to the wood and gripping her hips so she couldn’t move a muscle.

Then, the captain approached once more with a leather strap and wooden rod. With one hand, he pulled Rukiya’s head away from the mast, and fit the leather strap behind it, bending it around to the front of her face, where the wooden rod was waiting.

“Open,” he said.

Rukiya did not want to open her mouth. She did not want to be trapped to the mast, bound with iron for who knew how long. If she was to be punished, let them punish her, but she would not take part.

But what purpose would her stubbornness serve in the end? She was struck again and again, until she could not stop them opening her mouth. The wooden rod was shoved between her teeth, far back into her mouth until her cheeks hurt. The leather strap was tied to both ends and tightened until the rod pressed against her back teeth, sending stabbing pain through her jaw.

She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t struggle or protest. She was helpless, bound and gagged below decks. They left her alone there, with nothing but the whispers of the storms to keep her company.

And whisper they did, calling her a stupid girl, weak and afraid. The people of Lergos were primitives, they said, with weak bodies and weak magic. She was small. Her people were small. These were the whispers of the storm, and they tormented her for the entire voyage.

How long was the journey? She could not tell. She was fed once a day, released from the gag only long enough to drink and eat her meager rations before having her mouth forced open again. The wooden bit cut into her cheek. It was difficult for her to breathe, her face contorted into a grimacing smile. Her shoulders shook with pain, twisted behind her as they were with her chest thrust forward from the mast.

And so she lived like this, if living it could be called, until the pirate vessel reached the Land in the Depths, the Spiteful Jungle, Stormwrack, the Perfumed Isle, the Island of Madrain.