Yoedian Arl

I might have slept longer that last day of my internment and betterment, however one wishes to call it, had it not been for the screaming. It was the screaming which woke me. So haunted a sound, as if the gates of hell had opened and thrust upon us the despair of sin and the betrayal of time. I woke suddenly, so suddenly that I sat up without taking note of the pain, for my body was instead, aflame with fear brought on by the screams. Heart wrenched from my body and leaving me cold, shuddering when it was not cold.

I think I must have gasped, or perhaps cried out. But the sound came to nothing and it was swallowed into the great expanse of those shouts which danced along the masts and yardarms and throughout the ship. Despite the volume, there was nothing in response however. No pounding of feet upon the deck, no calling out in alarums. Nothing, just the screams.

My throat hurt from wanting to shout for help. Still, I could not call out for fear that this was what suited itself to be called normal upon this ship. Had I seen any beyond the captain who was not slave yet? Did I know what guided these men? The principles of their service? The uncertainty of my situation rose in my throat like a long forgotten sob, breaking apart as it left my lips, falling into a harsh bark which wrenched itself into the sudden silence.

If the screams had been awful, the silence was more so. I could not lay back down for my fear that I was not, nor could I be, safe on a cursed journey such as this. Was that scream another life taken because mine had been saved in order to make the provisions last? Which slave was it if so? The one who left every night, the blue eyed creature which had tended me, dumb to anything but his own fury at being replaced?

Tucking my arms around my waist, I attempted to stand then, the decking under my feet cool and renewing to my senses. I could feel the wood on my bare soles, therefore I was at least, awake and not dreaming something fearful. I felt afraid to move, yet some driven curiosity pressed me upwards, wanting to seek out answer to my terrors.

I had not walked more than a half shuffled step when there was a soft rustle in the dark. Instantly aware, I shuddered and drew back. But all I managed was a croaked, "You’re here.." He was always here, how could I have forgotten? "Is someone dead?" I turned toward where he so often sat, but there was no light in this berth and there flowed no light from a moonless sky outside the porthole. "Please, I must know. Someone is .. no, was screaming. Just a moment ago. Is it my imagination? There is so much pain."

How he found me in the dark I cannot say, but he was beside me before I finished my half broken plea and his hands were gentle on my shoulders. He said nothing to me yet there was an easing by that touch. I may have begun to cry, but I know not if I had been doing so all the while or if it had just begun, only that my cheeks were wet when his fingers blindly found the skin there.

He traced the tracks, his fingertips breaking through the lines they’d traced, following them to my jawline and leaving behind warmth. Then with a sigh, so deep in his chest that it broke my heart, his breath touched my skin and I could smell him. He smelled of the sea and of some distant flowery scent that was almost like death, but too pure, so it had to be living. I breathed in his breath as if it would save me, and found to my surprise, that it did indeed, calm my beating pulse. There was not the scent of mankind on his skin and I wondered at it, but not for long. For cool lips pressed to mine, so cool I thought that perhaps it was death which had visited itself upon me and that I was soon for the grave which my darling wife had so recently gone to.

I may have made a gasp, for he plundered the inner recesses of my mouth before I had knowledge of it. And if he had been cool at the lips, he was hot within. I reached up, my hands trying to find his shoulders, to push him away, but he was merely a mass of fabrics and leather, it was impossible to distinguish where limbs began or ended, but I knew the broad plane of his chest through the tatters against my own and I moaned as I found myself relinquish any power I had over my own actions.

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The morning sun woke me that morning, coming through the small port window. I reached up, touching my lips, aware that they burned with a memory that I could just barely recall. Some horror and something delicious dancing behind my skull, waiting only on the correct key to open them. But things were hazy here, with the sunshine making the real world clear for me. I could not say any longer what was when or how or who.

The captain came to see me that day. He was as frightening as he had been the first time, entering as he did in his red doublet and golden shining brass buttons. His violet eyes raked over my half starved body and the slave at my side looked up with what I could sense was a feeling of abject misery. Those prussian depths searching out the violet and not being met, abandoned to the chill of loneliness.

"Well then, my little one," the captain purred as he took the chair vacated by the slave. He had a lechery hanging about him like a stench. His appetite was for blondes today, though it may have been for raven hair or auburn only a day before. "Have you found your tongue? I’ve been told you speak, so will you speak to me?"

"I - I know not what to say…" I stammered and then, in a panic as I remembered the place I was to be harboring, added quickly, "M’lord."

"Ahh… like a bell.." and something pleased him in my voice for he leaned forward and brushed his finger along my lower lip. "Well said, little one. What think you of my ship?"

"M’lord, I have not seen it, but for this room.. I’m sorry, m’lord.." I was unable to decide how to respond, but my every nerve strained for me to lash out at such presumptions upon my person.

He laughed, then with a cocky grin, shrugged. "It is enough. I would have you never see any other room but this one, if it were up to me. Seeing as this is my own personal quarters.." he allowed that to sink in and his grin widened to a devilish appearance at the panic that must have shown upon my face. "Ah, no pleasure given you it seems. Were they rough with you, my little golden bell? Or did they leave you untouched yet? Afraid of the touch of madness brought by taking to bed one of the Sea Folk’s luck?"

Unsure of what to say, I merely stared at him, mute in body and in brain. He thought I had been a slave for pleasure? But then of course. I was dressed well. Or had been, with gold rings upon my fingers and a necklace which I wore still about my neck of amber and silver. I perhaps looked the part of a courtesan for New Hartlin. Respectable, but for the race I carried in my skin, the too pale skin.

"Ah, and none of this m’lord business," he added with a casual wave of his hand. "Yer kin call me Ser as all the rest of’em do, mind?" he leaned in that time and chucked me under the chin, though the gesture turned to a caress. "Still, as we can’t have a new love where there is still an old, you’ll have to remain in the babe’s book."

Now the babe’s book, unlike the captain’s quarters or that of the crew, was a place for the harem of any lords, ladies, or the captain himself, to remain. This might include a single slave as the branded one, bound one to one with a master. Or it could be an entire family that took passage with their master. The idea was that there was no room for slaves to remain with their masters unless they are invited to do so and that neither could they remain with the crew or the passengers as freemen. Therefore, a special holding was put in for them near the galley most often. I knew not who would be there, other than I hoped the slave who I’d seen every evening might be there. Of course, had he been crew, slave or no, he’d be with the crew. There was little distinction between slave and freeman when on the waves and turning the sails and manning the rigging. So I was not surprised and only nodded. "Yes ser. Of course, ser."

He smiled then, widely and I think it might have been a smile more beautiful than any I’d ever seen, had there not been the dangerous glint in the back of his eyes. "Very well. Now, as you know, I must ask. Are you bound to any?"

Bound. Ah, I had been bound to my darling Therese. But no. I shook my head. No longer was I bound. I was free to walk the earth once more. "All died on our ship, I am sure of it," and then for fear of a misstep, added, "ser."

"All but you. I wonder at that. But you haven’t mark to show your intentions as my Heero may have had, were he found floating the sea.." he glanced then to the dark haired boy back of the cabin and the flash of danger in his eyes flared to an inferno of hatred, torment, and despair that left me breathless. What was the curse that held this man and his crew so completely? Had he been the one screaming the midnight hour before? He turned that gaze to me and I shrank back in fear of it. Then his face softened to its regular disdain and he mocked me with another of his smiles, smiles which did not meet with his eyes. "So then, all dead and you still alive, but barely. Heero will take you to the babe’s book and you’ll stay there until you’re fit enough. Then we shall see what skills you have. Manned a boat before, have you? Ever?"

"No ser," I had to admit and looked down. "I.. I did merely scripting, ser. And managing of houses.." for it was true, this was the life of many nobility. Yet there were enough slaves too who were needed in helping for it, so it seemed a fit occupation to give myself and I needn’t lie about myself either.

"Ah, so a silver handed one, let me see your fingers.." and without waiting, he took my hands in his, roughly enough to almost wrench my arms from my sockets. Would this man take me for a lover I would have bruises I was certain of it. He opened my fingers and stared down at the soft pads and with a derisive snort, let me snatch them back again and hold them to my breast bone. "Worthless hands they are. But we’ll make them of good strength soon enough. When you are well enough, you will begin by cleaning the galley. You will follow orders by any on board, except for the slave who attends you. And this includes all others. They work their way as will you. And when time is right, you will be moved to the crew bunker. Unless you would prefer a different arrangement?" I swear that he may have become a great cat as I’d seen of the upper north then, prowling toward me, his eyes as hungry as the tongue that snaked out and wet his red lips. I knew what he spoke of and pulled away in fright. "You think the galley would be easier?" he laughed a short bark then.

"I.. I do not think so, ser. But… but I’m not taken up with such things, ser. I’m sorry, ser. I’d rather the hard work and I will not disappoint, ser." I feared him, his touch. I feared the hatred I saw burning in his eyes as he spoke of his pleasure. I was certain it would not be a kind thing to undergo and felt that by all means, I’d be safer in spirit and in body should I remain as far from him as I was able.

He sat back with a soft exhalation of breath and perhaps something like respect floated across his look, but if it were something like that, it was a fleeting song that died quickly. "No.." he answered harshly. "No, you won’t. For if you do, you’ll simply take on a new job. Ones who cannot do the lowest, more menial of tasks are but fish food or receptacles for pleasure. It is all they are fit for." And I could hear in his voice how neither held much more worth than the ground and water we floated over. I looked past him then, at the pale face of the slave who stood at the back of the cabin, his eyes down but face expressionless. How had he managed to show his lack of worth? He was tattooed, so that had to have meant something, had it not? I turned from him, but just as I did so, he raised his hand and brushed his finger across his lower lip and I noticed that on bringing his hand away, he had wiped off blood from his lower lip which he had bit into. So, no expression, but he was far from heartless, this doomed soul.

I merely nodded to the captain, with a low murmur of "yes, ser" before he stood and left, the slave beside the door not moving, not even flinching as his captain passed him. I stared at the southern boy and was unsure.

"Heero, that is your name is it?" I said it quietly, gently. He was a mystery that I wanted desperately to solve. He did not look at me, nor move for some time. Then in silence, he straightened and lifting bright, deeply blue eyes to me, gave me such a glare that I was certain the captain may have quailed himself had the full force of that look ever been directed toward him. "I.. I beg your pardon. It is just you have never spoke and I was so glad to hear you have a name.." my voice died. I looked away, still stammering and clutching at the cloth about me.

He clothed me that day. My skin was well accustomed to it now, the burn had mostly moved off of my skin though there were some patches where it had gone in deeply and we had to put a salve upon it to keep the senses deadened or they might make me cry out every move I had to make. I was given clothing that was almost too big for my emaciated body. I would fill them out soon enough though, I was certain.

When we emerged upon deck, my eyes burned from the sudden glare. It truly was darker and cooler below deck and my face protested the heat upon it’s surface. I stumbled back and almost fell but for the strong arm of Heero’s hand on my elbow. The slave was uncommonly strong. It only left more mystery to befuddle me. Why was it that the captain saw him as no more than a whore? Even with the binding tattoo on his breast?

I smiled at the back of Heero’s head for he’d already begun to walk again, leaving me to stagger behind.

Crossing the deck of that great ship was an adventure in and of itself. The deck was busier than ever I’d seen. But looking upwards, I could see why, for the fo’cstle was split along its length and sails showed themselves to be in tatters. That rain so many days before. It must have been the end of a great storm. And considering how a storm that could have done such damage to a ship, I realized that had they not plucked me out of the water, I would have drowned. Thus there was plenty of work in repairing and maintaining the deck.

I stopped suddenly, caught by the wicker cage at the edge of the poop deck. The hen. Was she in there? Did she sound out? Without thinking of what I was doing, I floundered my way across the fifteen feet separating myself and the cage and came to my knees before it, staring at the chickens and rooster within. Twelve of them… no.. thirteen. They were all greys and blacks and whites and browns. But the deep reddish color I longed for was missing to my sight. Ah.. they’d eaten her. Poor creature. She’d survived for so long. Not that she would have lived much longer. And had there been a choice between her life and mine, I might have thrown her to the sharks. But she still had been the only living companion I my trial and I felt a loss in my spirit at not finding her there.

A heavy foot upon the decking made me turn to look. There at my side was a large black boot, and following the length of leg upwards, I found myself looking into eyes as distant as the clouds, though the dark green of troubled waters, yet without even the emotion the ocean may hold in its angriest of moments. Here there was nothing. The one eye reflected the sky, serving to turn it a silver, while the other hid under a great dangle of hair for the man’s forelock hung before him and had I not been looking upwards, I may have only been able to meet one eye.

My breath held, I stared, entranced. While the sea bound peoples are not against various genders, we have found that often we lean one direction or the other. Yet here, I found something that was beyond beautiful. His distance made it easier to regard him as such. As if he were a sculpture or a painting of a man, depicted against the horizon of sea and blue. Lapis under a wash of amethyst. He did not move and neither had I the ability to. Time had simply stood still. He was, frankly, something so distinctly beautiful in ways I couldn’t begin to describe. He was wildness, feral power, the sea at rest and again in her power. He had about him an air of only the most established of sea men, as if he had saltwater for blood, could speak the fish into his nets, would read the winds and know the songs of the stars. Where the captain had pomp and pride, this man simply was. And as one sits watching the waves slam against the cliffs and wishes to be one with the birds dancing above it’s surface, I wanted nothing more than to be near him and watch him in that moment.

I may have remained like that, staring into those far off eyes, sightless in a way, as if they could see me, but saw nothing, like one sees the air or the wind. But something brushed against me and I gasped, pulling back and away and losing my balance. Falling toward the chicken cage I made no sound other than the sharp scuttle of my heels on the deck, when a hand shot out and grasped my arm. He was bending over me, his hand tightly upon mine to where it later showed by way of a bruise, and his voice was low, almost a whisper, though very audible and I was split in two as if the words themselves were anvil and hammer. "One must have a care where he walks on this ship.." and I knew he was not speaking of my slip.

He righted me and I looked to the side, finding in delight that it was the hen who had come up alongside me. She pecked at the ground near the cage and the green eyed man let me go then reached for her. His hands were long, slender, and strong. They shone brown under the sun and they smoothed her feathers before running under her croup and legs and lifting her. She flapped once, twice, then settled and stared at him with a curious eye, making a soft burbling noise of a hen in contentment. Then he lifted the cage top and placed her in.

"Tro?" the captain’s direction came down and the man stood, one visible eye regarding his captain. "How goes the mast mending? Need we one of our poles?"

The man at my said did not speak but his head shake was enough for the captain and the braided man turned, stumping back to other work, mainly consisting of shouting out orders at present and later it seemed, leaning over a map upon a table. As I watched the captain, a gentler, though far more iron hand reached and took my arm, lifting me effortlessly.

"Support him," came the tearing hoarse voice from back of me and I found that it was Heero holding me up. I was far more exhausted than I had thought and the sailor named Tro was right in that I needed the support. I leaned heavily on Heero’s helping hand, yet could not help but watch the other man stalk away. He was wide as all of them were. His hair shorne. Was it he who had come to my room? But then no, for as I looked about I found that most of the men were short of hair. A ship of slaves? And many wore clothing far more tattered, though none as tattered as the man of sea salt and inhuman sweat that had visited me.

Heero aided me in walking to the back of the boat and there, through a door to the right of the crew’s entrance. The babe’s book.

It was lavish. I gasped upon entering. For a slave whom had nothing but the captains derision, this room held more beautiful things and more finery than any other room I’d ever seen on a ship. It rivaled rooms in my father’s house, even. Velvet and gold, silver and paintings of oil, water color. Yet it was not garish. There was only enough, and more too, that showed serviceability. The room was not a lounging room, but one meant to be used. And beyond it, three other small cabins. I was led to one which was strangely plain after the main cabin. And there, I fell into a tick bedding covered with linen and wool and fell directly to sleep.

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I woke that night in the dark once more, though evening lights shone dimly enough for me to make out the doorway beyond. Enough to know that none were awake. Behind the wall by my right shoulder I could hear songs sung lightly, I must have been close to the crew’s rooms there. And out in the main of the room a soft rustling, a scuffle.

Then a moan. I shot up. The curse again? Standing, I made my way to the bedroom door and let it open. In the main of the room there was two single candles lit, and by their light little was visible. Yet enough I could see. The gleam of skin, so pale that it gleamed, and the sweat upon it. At first I thought it was someone in pain, but a motion and the rhythm I quickly figured out my mistake. A soft gasp and a cry of pain and desire made my mouth go dry. I could not see them distinctly and the avenue of light on their bodies made it difficult to see. I wonder that I didn’t close the door immediately as I should have. But no, I stood, frozen once more, at something that tainted the air with a tragedy that left my heart in shattered pieces on the floor of my soul. Why did it seem so sad? This tender, silent love making?

I noted then, the long snake of hair down the back of the more visible plane of skin and I must have made a soft sound. While the captain did not hear me, the light flashed in a pair of cobalt darkness and I saw the hatred and humiliation, could feel it coming at me in waves when Heero turned his head to stare at me. He held my gaze and I could not run, though I wanted desperately to do so. Then he blinked and inclined his head so that the candle beyond them could play favor to his profile and there, lifted up his mouth to attempt to steal a kiss from the man taking him. A sob broke from the captain and he raised his hand, crashing it across Heero’s cheek and sending his slave’s head back painfully.

I drew back with a wince. Whatever the interplay was here, I felt like I saw too much, felt too much. The door swung shut as if of it’s own volition and I heard the lock turn slowly enough to not distract the lovers on the other side of the door.

Then I knew he was there. I could sense the sea around me and it washed into the pain that had flooded into my from the other room. I sobbed in relief and fell against him, not knowing why, but sensing that here, for this moment, I might forget. His cool lips taking mine, his fingers like brands, running lines down the muscle of my neck, thumbs kneading my jawline and into my hair. He was tender as the waves are tender. And I shuddered as I tasted him, as if he were something far more clean, as if he had never tasted food, but ate the salt air and drank bird song. He was not human, my ocean borne lover and I did not notice until morning light, that the window had been open and that a small scrap of red satin, faded and caught on the small sill, almost too small to have allowed a human in, fluttered with the incoming breeze.

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((Well now, chapter two. I’m still somewhat in the dark, but they’ve decided to tell me a few of the ideas. Wufei is here, somewhere, but he’s yet to put in his appearance. And I’m sorry to say I couldn’t keep my promise of showing the first mate yet. Or introducing him. I have a few candidates vying for the position at present and they’re not allowing me the choice. I’m sure they’ll have it figured out by next chapter (gotta love the way the characters just run the show sometimes)
Feel free to review it, eh? Am I harping? Augh! Just do. Or I’ll be going under my own steam and I’m not sure I’m all that good at going under my own steam after a bit. And who he heck is screaming????? Oddly enough, I think I’ve got most of the story figured out. So things will be okay from here on out!))