Way Hey and Up She Rises

The blinding agony in my throat makes me want to scream. I try to but I choke on the cold air. I need… I need to breathe in.

I gasp and try to sit up. The world spins around me and I fall back with a thud. It hurts to open my eyes, the light is too painful. It doesn’t stop me. There’s lots of reds and golds and grey. Why is it grey? Is that the sky? I pat the floor and it crunches. How did I get to the floor? That doesn’t matter. Groaning, I roll over and stumble to my feet, nearly going head long into a tree but I manage to catch myself. The colours of red and gold dance in the wind. Beautiful.

My throat still hurts. A sharp searing pain, one that I know. I know I know. How do I know?

I look at myself. My stained red clothes match the forest and I’m wet, covered in my own blood. My throat hurts to touch. It’s been slit. I died.

Frantic, my head whips around to see if the murderer is still around but it makes me dizzy and I feel myself wobbling more. To stable myself, I cling onto the tree. He has to be nearby, I’m never dead for long.

There’s a man a carriage - my carriage. That’s right, I drove here. Is he my driver? Is he George? I push off from the tree and stumble to the over. My feet trip up, I face plant the floor, gaze my hands. I look down and see George on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. He isn’t breathing.

My heart races with rage and the dizziness disappears as the world around me sharpens. I liked George, he was a good man to chat with and funny. Why was he taken from me?

“Oi!” I shout as I get up. My voice is hoarse and scratchy - having it slit does that to someone.

The man’s head snaps round and he freezes, the look of fear glosses over his eyes. I should be dead. “I-I-I killed you!”

“And yet here I am.” Taking advantage of the moment, I get close, right in his face so I can take his sword from his belt and hold it to his throat. I don’t like killing. In fact, I don’t kill. But my blood is boiling, he killed an old friend of mine, what am I supposed to do? In this world, it’s an eye for an eye, right? I should avenge my friend.

“Give me your clothes,” I order. I can’t kill him but I can take his clothes. George would want me to look good for Iris. Make a good first impression again since it was left so bitterly. The robber’s own clothes are fancy and black. Well fancy for a highwayman, he might have stolen them from a noble.

“What?”

“Give me your clothes,” I repeat. “You attacked me and killed my driver, this is the least you could do.” I press the sword into his chest, slightly annoyed that I didn’t bring weapons with me. It’s to be expected, I suppose.

The highwayman sighs and strips. I avert my eyes to give him some sort of privacy. He shoves his clothes into my arms and he shivers in the cold. I should give him something back however if he wanted kindness, he shouldn’t have tried to rob me or stab me and my driver. He should be happy I didn’t kill him.

“Thank you,” I smile brightly at him and climb into the driver’s seat, clothes and sword in hand. I drop the clothes beside me and pick up the reins. “Giddy-up!” The horse moves forward and pulls the carriage along the road.

Once it’s just me and the forest, I let the horse follow the path as I change my clothes, using the dirty ones to clean the blood off me. The highwayman’s clothes a little big on me but they are better than nothing and they hide my form much better.

When I finish changing, I relax in the saddle and enjoy my view as we go through the forest. The sky outside is overcast and leaves are falling like a gentle golden rain. There’s a hint of wild spring onion in the air, something I don’t get from the sea. A nice, pleasant change but I still prefer the salt air. With winter on the horizon, I need to be out at sea soon and into the warmer waters before the weather in the north becomes too dangerous to sail in. I don’t fancy being stuck in England until the winter rolls in.

About an hour later, I stand in front of her in the Langdon Manor. I expected her to be angry at me, but not to look at me like that. The furrowed brow, tilting her head down to glance at me with pity in her eyes. Iris has changed a lot since I last saw her. But not in the ways I imagined. She should’ve been older, a level maturity should have settled in her face and maybe a few greying hairs in the golden locks.

Instead she holds herself with more prestige, more importance. As if the world is balancing on her head. She doesn’t look much older, if anything I think she got younger and her eyes have turned brown.

“I’m really sorry sir, but my mother is dead.”

My heart drops like a stone and I step back to sit on the overstuffed blue armchair. Immortality is a curse because I missed her. I stare down at the wooden floor that rocks violently like a ship caught in a storm created by Thor. Because of my selfish actions, I missed her. My eyes well up so I wipe them away. I’ll never get to see that smile again. Or hear that laugh. I’d never get to poke her awake in the morning again. Her face would light up for a second as she giggles and then she’d scowl. Poke her enough and she’d drag herself and that wild golden mane out of bed to start getting ready for the day. Poke her too much however, and I’d have to duck out of the way of a flying pillow.

I can never wake her again.

“I missed the funeral, didn’t I?” I ask. It’s the first thing that comes to mind because there’s not like there’s a handbook on what to say in certain situations. If there was, I can’t read it anyway.

She gives a small chuckle and glances at me. “Most normal people say their condolences and apologies for my loss.”

“If I said that, would you feel any better about your loss?” I really need to learn when to stop talking or have my mouth permanently sewn shut.

She shakes her head slowly me, “No, I haven’t before. I don’t see why your words of comfort should now.”

“Well then.” I smile at her. “I’m not going to apologise for something that wasn’t my fault.” I have to stop talking and say something else. Anything at all. “Did she pass on peacefully?” I hate to think that she’s died slowly and in a lot of pain.

“She did, yes.”

We both sit in the silence, neither of us knowing what to say. I tap my feet and look at my hands, not wanting to leave but at the same time I wish that I was anywhere but here. The clock ticks away on the mantle and underneath the fire crackles and pops, giving the room a warm and welcoming glow, despite the blue walls and curtains. The room feels too big, too empty. Helena stares out of the window. I think it’s because she doesn’t want to be rude and ask me to leave her house.

“May I ask who you are?”

I jump a little at her voice. She’s looking me up and down, tilting her head as she tries to suss it out. I remain silent for a second, hoping she’d give me her conclusions.

“I’ve never seen you before and you’re too young to be a suitor of hers. Before she met my father of course.”

I bite down on the corners of my mouth to stifle a knowing smirk. Scrat would laugh at the idea that I’m too young to be someone’s lover. If I remember correctly, the issue was that I was too old but I can see the confusion. I aged well, if at all.

There’s no point in explaining everything to her, I doubt that I’d ever see her again so I might as well lie about who I am. “My father was Captain Rhodes, I’m his son.” That doesn’t fit right but I don’t want to explain that bullshit right now either. “My father, before he passed away, spoke often about Iris Campbell. He loved her before she married William Langdon.”

She gives me the same pitying expression. “I’m-”

“Sorry for my loss?” I cut her off with a smirk.

The girl smirks back, showing dimples. It’s similar to her mother when she has caught me out on something. “I was going to say that I’m Helena Langdon.”

Ah, so the bastard is still alive then. I hoped he died early on, before Iris got pregnant. But no, she had to start a family with the git. Although I can’t really say anything, I left her behind because I had to.

My options weren’t exactly easy. If Iris stayed on my ship, she’d have been free from everything. No one would’ve told what to say or wear and to smile when she felt like she couldn’t. None of that bullshit. However, sailing under the flags of a pirate would’ve disgraced her and she’d have been hung for the crime of being free. If not, then the cost of that freedom is her dying a lot younger. I had a knack for finding trouble and she had a knack for following me into it.

If she went back on land, she’d have to marry. Her father arranged for her to marry Lord Langdon but she ran off, wanting to be free. I made the hard choice of bringing her back because she needed to live long. The happiness would come, she’d learned to love him after some time. I couldn’t see her again afterwards. It was too unbearable for the both us so I had to leave for good. We ended tears. Scrat came to visit and he told me nothing, knowing that I wouldn’t like to know if she was happy or sad. I regret that. I wish I had saw her at least once more, even if we couldn’t be together.

“My mother left something for your father, I think. It’s in the study if you want them,” Helena says, snapping me back to reality.

She stands up and watches me, expecting me to follow her. I don’t think many have told her no or she’s used to men following her around like love sick puppies. Unfortunately for her, I couldn’t be less interested in her. The importance she places on herself is off putting. Iris never got those sort of ideas in her head. She didn’t think she was noticeable but I couldn’t take my eyes off her until I had to leave. This arrogance might have been the work of Lord Langdon, he was always unbearable like that.

Nonetheless, I stand up to follow her out of the drawing room and place my hat back on my head. Helena leads me through a labyrinth of corridors, each of them luxuriously decorated with hand crafted tapestries and paintings of relatives that are long dead. There’s a hint of rose in the air but no flowers.

The staff stand straight and fall silent, stopping whatever chore and fun they might have been having as we walk past them. Helena ignores them but I tilt my hat off to them. The floors are clean and there isn’t a speck of dust to be seen on the ornaments, of course I’m going to give a small compliment to their hard work. When we leave them, they start laughing and giggling again. I’d rather be talking to them than follow Helena in this wretched silence. At least they seem to be having fun.

“Do you have any siblings?” I ask, trying to break the awkward tension.

She nods, “My older brother is away at school. He’s terribly bright. His twin sister is married to a Duke heir up north, I don’t get to see either of them much. My younger sisters died during infancy.”

Is it a good idea to point out the amount of loss she has in her life? I don’t think so, I don’t want to have to deal with her crying. But there’s nothing much to say about it as we’ve already established that giving my condolences doesn’t make anyone feel better.

“Where is your father?” I hope he isn’t around.

“He’s away on business. I don’t know where or what business before you ask,” she snaps a little.

I let out a small sigh of relief. Lord Langdon would recognise me in a heartbeat and possibly have me arrested for privacy or for stealing something. Not that I would steal from him. He has something I definitely would steal, the silverware mainly. The china plates wouldn’t survive the journey across the sea. But there’s nothing unique or rare, at least not on display, that interests me. I also don’t want to steal from him because I want to prove him wrong. I am not a petty thief. Our history is a little rocky, to say the least.

Helena opens the door to the study and we step inside. Bookshelves reach the ceiling and cover every inch of the wall possible. Very few have something over than books sat on them and instead have antiques from forgotten lands and ages. In the centre of the room is a writing desk, still littered with pages and half written letters. The fire hasn’t been lit, neither has any candles, so the room sits gloomy and cold. There isn’t any clutter shoved between books, no secrets being guarded by the pages. My idea of hell if you ask me. There’s too many books.

“My mother’s study. She was determined to have her own place for reading.”

Iris is a masochist, it’s been confirmed. Or rather she was. What woman would put herself through the torture of reading? One who isn’t allowed to read and one who went on grand adventures I suppose.

While Helena finds a key, I look at some of the shelves to see if there’s any momentos from my time with Iris. There’s a handful of norse runes that have been laid out ready for a reading from our time trying to find that damned wish ring and a small flower pot depicting Greek God of love, Eros. The flowers in the pot died long ago, someone has neglected their task of watering them, but still there is a heavy scent of forget-me-nots.

Helena opens a drawer and I stand in the middle of the room, tapping my feet as I wait. Do I take my hat off? I’m in the mind of a dead person, it only seems polite. What about my boots? I don’t want to ruin the blue and white rug.

Helena stands up and hands me a wooden box before I can even think of an answer to that question. I put my hat back on my head to take it, faltering a little at the weight of it.

Is Iris’s head in there?

No, of course not. Most sane people wouldn’t cut off the head of their mother and present it to an absolute stranger, I’m the insane one for thinking it.

The box is beautiful, engraved with roses because Iris says that roses, while beautiful have a thorn to defend themselves. The wood is rich and red, but smells like forget-me-not perfume has been spilled onto it. There’s a lock on the front but I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea where the key is. I would pick it, if I actually wanted to open it. God knows what she could’ve left me.

I smile at Helena, noticing that she’s looking and waiting for me to open it. “Thank you, I’ll look at it later on my ship,” I lie.

She simply nods. “Your father was mentioned in my mother’s diaries when she was about my age. She left them to me, I’ve been reading them. He sounded extraordinary.”

I stare her for a moment, not quite believing what I heard. I know I’m extraordinary, I’m Captain A. Rhodes of The Star Catcher, discoverer on the worlds. Iris knows that I am from our short time together discovering the worlds. But Helena just called a pirate amazing when most of her status wants us hanged.

However I’m not going to pass up a moment to be a little cocky. “Aye, that he was.”

“The adventures they went on were… impossible.” There’s a look in her eye that I know well. The slight thirst for adventure is all told with a gleam. “Do you do similar things?”

“Aye…” I say slowly. Where is this going? Is she going to ask for me to take her on an adventure to some place exotic? I hope not, I haven’t got any place to be after this. I was supposed to meet Iris again to catch up on the missing years and wait for something to come to me. It always does or I wake up in the morning after a night of drinking in the middle of the ocean with a new travel companion who wanted to go see Denmark or someplace far away from here.

“That’s marvelous!” Helena claps. She definitely wants something. “When will you be going?”

“Two days?” I have no idea why I’m being honest. Maybe she’ll want to meet up and talk about our “parents’” adventures. I could make a new friend in this town, even if she’s related to that Langdon git.

But she’s going to ask if she can come with me to wherever I’m heading to next. I can feel it in my gut. Instead she smiles at me. “Then safe journey Captain.”

I blink, not at all expecting that from her. Perhaps that was just general talking more than anything else and I looked for something that wasn’t there because we’ve ran out of things to talk about because as far as she’s aware, I never met Iris. Plus, this box is getting really heavy to hold, it’s hurting my wrists and fingers.

“Am I supposed to show myself out?” I ask, hoping that I don’t have to navigate my way through this maze of a house. I wasn’t paying attention at all to the layout as I was lead into different rooms.

Helena nods and tugs on the butler bell. We both stand in yet more silence until a maid comes to the room. Helena quietly asks her to show me the way out and the young girl bows her head at me, a little nervous. I didn’t know I was that attractive to make a woman shy, but I’m not complaining. If things were different, I might have paid her a compliment or two to get her to blush, but today is too much of a sad day to flirt.

We get to the door and I bow my head at the maid. “I’d take my hat off you, but…” I say, glancing down at my full hands and laughing a little.

“There’s no need to, sir.”

I press my lips together at ‘sir’. It doesn’t sit quite right. I smile. “Well, thank you all the same.”

She opens the door for me and closes it behind me when I step out. The outside is cold, the sky is grey. I didn’t notice on my way in but all of the flowers that bloomed during the summer are dying and the garden feels empty without that splash of colour. I kick the fallen orange leaves about as I head over to my carriage. I hand the wooden box to the driver and climb. As we set off to the port, I let out a sigh.

Time to get pissed.