She of the Sea

Lulling currents are the only sound for miles, interrupted in intervals by marine life surfacing the water. Some due to their duality for need of both oxygen and the water that they live in. Others simply enjoy the brief release into air before crashing back down to once more disappear into the seemingly endless depths below.

But for a very few, to get a better look at the strange land creature hovering at the edge of their world between water and air. Life and death.

Cracked lips open in a gasp as the body the marine creatures assumed long devoid of life jerks to consciousness. They flush away at this new unknown, as the woman coughs any remaining fluids from her lungs, not yet fully aware of her surroundings. Matted black hair is sludged thick to her face, but she has no thought of it as her fingers come back to life.

The tenuous grip she is already barely keeping on her only support, a simple charred wooden board, begins to slip as her muscles tense and tremble now that she awakens and stirs. She wills the strength in her arms back and scrambles further on her board.

Her memories are faster to return.

She wants to scream.

Hot tears of frustration run down her already burned skin. She does not yet know the extent of the damage to her body but can feel the aches and pains the longer she is conscious.

And she remembers.

Like the blisters and burns that will surely scar the back of her hands and arms, their deeds are forever seared into her memory.

Only blue surrounds her, from every angle she looks. She is caught in a blizzard, but instead of freezing white there is only blue sky and bluer ocean for as far as she can see.

She must not die here.

But as she looks around, dread threatens to halt that thought.

Live. How can she possibly accomplish this as she is?

Numb and burning from the sun’s constant rays, her fingers slip further from her board and she grinds out a broken shriek, her throat too raw to fully carry the sound. Reaching down, she pulls at the ties and clips of her skirt that is generating most of the weight dragging her down, and kicks the loosening fabric away. Her fingers tremble as they work.

Dull, gray eyes watch as the emerald green satin is consumed by the blue depths of the ocean.

Blinking against the sun, and repositioning herself to have a more stable grip on her life-board now that she is awake, the woman brushes soaked strands from her face, grimacing at the muck that comes away.

Some of it she recognizes as dried blood.

Without a cut on her, she knows it isn’t hers.

As she is staring at her hand, pondering the events that led her here, a black spec appears between the cracks of her fingers.

It doesn’t take long for that spec to grow until, steadily, it becomes what she recognizes as a ship. Hope flares in her chest. She doesn’t pretend that the ship is close enough to see her so she doesn’t bother to try catching its attention yet. Instead she wraps her arms tightly around her board and kicks her feet behind her. Battered and screaming from the salt mixing into her burned skin, her legs are slow to obey and the muscles even more rueful to be used, but in the light of being rescued her aches fall to nothing.

Closer and closer that beautiful hull approaches, and with it she pumps her legs faster. The ship is not heading in her direction, so she has to swim at an angle to meet it in time. For a horrifying few minutes she thinks she will miss it. However, when she is close enough that more specs begin appearing on deck, she allows her sore legs to rest, instead raising her arms up to begin waving frantically.

Terror grips her heart when no one reacts, nothing changes. She worries that they will pass her by.

But then she sees a figure pointing.

And she knows she will live.

Ever so slowly, the hull readjusts itself until it is angled directly at her.

Already her mind is pulling away from this terrible day, showing her the future that she will make come to pass. She will take the time on this ship to recover, go back home, and-

Instantly her relief bleeds to fear as the ship approaches and the details of the flag waving high up the mast come into view. Her initial thought is to turn away and flee, but there is no way she can outswim a ship, and by now they are very aware of her presence.

She is left with no choice but to allow the pirates to scoop her up.

Indelicately, having used a net to collect her, they dump her just the same onto the deck. She curls up so as to not risk any bones breaking, but can do nothing to prevent the new scrapes and bruises.

Unsurprisingly, there are only men aboard.

Their gazes openly roam her body, clearly noting her weakened and injured state- the torn dress that reveals her smock underneath.

None dare yet approach her, but they squeeze close just the same. She even thinks she feels at one point a tugging on her hair and swats the grimy hand away. They reek, every one of them, and she sees just by quick glances that none have properly bathed in months. Being pulled from the water puts into even harsher perspective the exhaustion and pain weighing down her body and so she makes no attempt to stand, although raises into a crouch. Her legs tremble with just that effort of keeping her up.

Slowly they close in on her, despite her attempts at pushing the men back and smacking at any that dared touch her. Her voice is raw, but still strong as she curses and spews threats to any who would risk coming too close to her.

A few laugh. A few more strip her down bare with their eyes, their minds already going over the things they could do to her. Bile rises in her throat.

Some stand back, wary but with amusement lining their expressions. Others stare at her with outright hatred. She knew she would be in danger from the moment they saw that she was a woman among very deprived men, but still could not have anticipated the sheen of fear coating her.

Her screams pierce the air as her arms are grabbed from both sides and she is pulled up by rough hands, upsetting the burns with a pain that brings spots to her eyes. She struggles against the brutes, aiming a successful kick at one that provides a brief respite against her tender arm, but he is quickly replaced by another.

This one grins at her, though his eyes coast nowhere near her face.

They haven’t even touched her beyond her arms and still she feels tainted under their scrutiny.

She is not left to struggle long as the two that grabbed her stand to attention at an unseen queue she is too distracted to notice. The crowd parts- just enough- to allow through a bearded man with broad shoulders. Unlike the dirtied rags the rest of the crew wears, this man is draped in a red fine tailored coat lined with gold. A matching hat with a feather- that was once another color but is now stained black- dons the man’s head. Unlike the unkempt state of beards some of the others wore, his is clearly groomed and, in another circumstance, the pirate captain may have even been considered handsome.

Still, her silver eyes glint as she sports a venomous glare at the man.

She speaks first.

“If any of your men touch me, they will die.”

Anger is the expected response to a wounded woman threatening a pirate lord.

However, this is not the man’s reaction. A booming laugh resounds and he grins wickedly at her, “What a temper you’ve got. I like that.” He waves an arm as he turns to his crew, “Would anyone like to take the lady up on her offer?”

They absolutely do, and it does not go unnoticed by anyone when their new prize tenses and struggles against the two men holding her back. Once more that fear rears its hooves into her gut, and it is all she can do not to gag at the idea of what would happen should she fail to protect herself.

As she is now, she knows it to be an absolute.

Still, none dare step closer, and she realizes very quickly why.

The captain approaches, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he takes her in. “What is your name, pretty one?” he asks, that grin still across his lips.

She has already been claimed by this man.

When she refuses to answer, he strikes the back of his hand across her cheek. “I could let you whore yourself out to the rest of them, but I figured a lady like you deserves better. Am I wrong about that?” As he speaks he leans down to her, fingering the damp hair at her neck. She knows he calls her a lady by the ruined remains of her dress.

Not all can afford this fabric.

She glares at him still, knowing that her words of plea would mean nothing but more amusement for these men. Lifting her chin, she sneers at this captain and does not give her name.

The playful mask slips from his face. “Hold her still,” he commands and closes the distance between them in two strides.

Without warning he rips her skirt up with one hand, his other grabbing tightly her jaw. A soft grunt of pain is all she can manage. She cannot fight, cannot move, and feels her stomach roll in nausea as the captain pulls his manhood out in front of the crew without shame, ready for her.

She refuses to cry.

Looks him straight in the eyes and allows her body to go slack at his approach.

She is resigned.

He knows this, and it takes all of her will not to scream as his free hand pries her legs apart. His coarse hands burn her skin worse than the fire she has just barely survived.

That disgusting hardened flesh is inches from her entrance as he moves into place.

And so does she, the moment the pressure on one of her arms eases up. She rips her arm away, taking only a brief second to send her elbow straight back into the nose of one of her captors. Before the captain can react, she snaps her head forward into his nose and thrusts her hand for the dagger at his waist, unsheathing it and plunging it into his chest without hesitation.

It is over within mere seconds.

The slice of blade to bone can be heard across the deck as her stolen weapon marks true to the captain’s heart. His eyes widen on her. Though his mouth is agape no words come forth, his breath hot on her neck.

So she speaks instead. “You shouldn’t have mistaken me for a lady.” With a twist the dagger is ripped free. The man is dead before his body drops at her feet.

For tense moments after this she holds the dagger up and out, a threat to anyone should they attempt to approach, and places a worn boot on top of the body. When they hesitate, she straightens and points the blade down to it. “I am your captain now,” she states, and when none respond her steel eyes narrow on them. “Is there one who wishes to challenge me?”

Two charge first. It is neither of the men who had first grabbed her, but she is ready nonetheless. The first man to reach her is wide with heavy steps. He could crush her easily with his fists alone, wielding an axe larger than her head. The other man hangs back, and as the larger pirate swings she is almost foolish enough to step out and expose herself.

The second man’s pistol glints in the sun and she spins behind her first opponent just as the bullet smashes into the deck inches from her. She hears the distant curse.

Now he must reload.

The axe careens at her neck once more and just in time she ducks, jumping forward to close the distance. Her dagger is too short to pierce this man’s heart, but his neck, even corded with muscles as it is, proves no match. Warm blood sprays her as she rips the blade free.

This time when he swings it’s sloppy and without force. She grabs his wrist and twists out, causing the weapon to drop. A choked grunt escapes the man as she uses both palms to push him back.

His body stumbles once, twice, before the man falls listlessly to his back. Without checking if he is dead she is running forward towards the second man.

The weapon is reloaded.

He aims.

The shot rings in her ears, and though she cannot see it she knows the bullet has hit by the fire that surfaces on her side. Her momentum keeps her going, and without much struggle the second man meets her blade the same way his captain had. Swiftly she stands and checks her side where new blood has begun soaking the fabric of her torso. But there is no hole, and once she sees that the wound is a mere scratch of luck, she turns her bloodied blade at the rest of the crew.

Fear has now replaced some of that hatred.

“Anyone else?” She snarls.

Her question goes unanswered for some time, and as she begins to think she must kill her way to safety once more, one man lowers himself with a sharp, “No, Captain.”

He must hold some respect with the crew as, not a second later, more follow him until all kneel before her, chanting her new title. The two who were holding her have fanned out. The one she had hit kneels with a lowered head, one hand catching the blood still pouring from his nose.

The other, the one that had so openly leered at her, stands off with a sinister glare.

She kills him without another thought.

In looking back to the rest of the crew, of whom watch wide eyed and still with hatred, she says darkly, “A warning to any who think to touch me again.”

She looks at the one clutching his nose as she says it.

“Yes, Captain,” the voices ring out in trained unison.

She smiles.

She has survived.

And she will have her vengeance.

~~-~~