Yoedian Arl

The lack of birds had led me to believe that we were somewhere in crossing between east and western continents. Sea going people had been allowed some trade posts on the western coastline, but for the most part, we had remained where we belonged, in the less developed, more free-minded (though westerners thought it heathen) east. I felt I had enough time to heal and then to learn my "trade," so to speak. It was, however, only the second day that I was in the babe’s book, when the cook came for me.

I had not managed a word from Heero. I was confused as to his silence, for I plainly heard his voice late at night. How could I have slept through the wash of high emotion coming from the pair of them? Often it would interrupt my dreams, giving me nightmares and break my heart. I could not distinguish between the pair of them, which had the most guilt, which the most anger, which the most hatred. And yet, through it all was an almost terrifyingly stubborn love that seemed all the more tragic for being wrapped in the negative air of their love making. That love being the anchor which kept them in this cycle of hatred and fear. I know that Heero was beaten more than once, not just the mark on his face from that first night showed it. He winced when he thought I was not looking and I hadn’t the strength to ask to see the wounds on his body. He hid the slender elvin strength under long pants and long sleeves, the vest he had worn that night of my illness had been replaced. I wondered then, if there had been something recently which had led to a greater violence than had been before. Was it my coming? Would my leaving the babe’s book give him respite from it? And did he even desire it; did he want the broken forgiveness that came from his body being broken?

As well as this, so did the screaming at night continue. The lovers were always gone, parted with Heero asleep in his room while the captain dreamed across the deck, and their sleep was not audibly affected by the howls. I came to fear these times more than anything. Sometimes I was in luck and my sea scented lover would be there. Then I could hear the cries as if from a distance. But often he did not come until after they had silenced. Then, with a soft sound at my window and in the darkness which I could not see in, his arms would encircle me and I’d drown myself into his touch.

I was not a lover of men. I had had opportunity enough as a young man, but while I was not disgusted by such a common practice among my people, I realized early that my heart directed itself to the feminine persons about me and not the masculine. Still, the touch of my lover never seemed to revolt against this in me. He was not human and therefore, not bound by such rules. No - instead he held the sea in his body and when I fell into him, I fell into the embrace of the waves. In his arms, nothing could harm me. Not the pain of the lovers, not the terror of the screamings, not the curse that seemed so much stronger in the dark than in the light. In the arms of the Sea, I was free.

I could not remember past the night’s first kiss on my lips. I know he did not take me, for never was I unclothed nor did I ache. Perhaps it was only that one kiss then, and then dreams. I do not know why I called him "lover" then. It simply seemed the correct name for him. Not once did he speak and never did I see him, yet I came to know his scent as I know the ocean herself. The particular flower and ocean salt of his skin, buried under the tatters of leather and fabric. And always, in that first kiss, I longed to find the sense of his flesh under my fingertips and would search. But it seemed he was nothing more than tatters, brand like fingertips on my own skin, and cold lips with a hot tongue.

I was given one more set of clothing to wash every week so I might change. I spent the first day cleaning the room of bed bugs and my own body of lice that I must have picked up from somewhere. I do not think I could have gotten them from the captain, he did not seem to be a man to accept such things on his person. So I am not sure where they may have come from. Sea water on the old boards and some clumsy cleaning done, I sat in the main quarters and watched Heero. He did not seem to serve any purpose really. Yet he would keep his hands busy nonetheless. At times I saw him mending nets or sails, he carved animals in antler bone I recognized as a rare type from the far eastern lands, coming from a miniature deer like creature found only on the high steppes. He darned socks and would work on copper braces as well as many other simple, hand like duties which any sailor should be capable of doing and which I was not. I asked once, only once, that he might teach me. The glare I was given was so cold I drew back and could not come out of my room until dinner.

Those two days were the longest I’d ever lived until that moment. The boredom was complete yet I dared not leave. I feared the captain more than I feared the silent chill of Heero.

When the door opened and the cook came to me, his being loud, brash, and harsh but ultimately human and untouched by the tragedy which hovered in those rooms, I was relieved to no end.

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"E’ah! Put er theah, will yer!" I deserved another kick from him as I missed again a place upon the floor and forgot to be quicker in taking the kettle off of the fire.

"Sorry, ser!" and I scrambled for the table, then ducked out of the way of another kick before returning to scrubbing.

"Shore.. sorri’e sez.. allis sorri.." and the man turned to his work, snorting and wiping his nose on his apron. He was a large man, greater than any I’d ever seen in width, though not in height. His name was, I suppose, "Cook" for that was what all called him. And if he had any other name I never knew it.

Those first days were painful lessons. I burned almost every fingertip in the galley fire. Not that I could tell the burns from the blisters on my hands from the scrubbing. I did it all, except for delivering foods to the captain, that was the cook’s job. I even was responsible for ensuring that the men in the brig (we had three, initially) were fed and watered. Two of them were easy enough. They were down there as a reminder against drunken brawling and only there two days past my beginning.

The other, however, was a far different story.

I still lived in the babe’s book until I had proven myself, I was told, and shown myself to be worthy of being called crew. So I was not privy to the talk that might have cleared up his ailment. He had been below a very, long time, this I could tell. Perhaps almost the entire voyage. His skin was pale from lack of sun and his eyes pulled closed every time I opened the brig and descended.

The first time I came to him, he stunk and looked as if he had not had a bath in weeks. His feces, rank around his feet, burned his skin and I could tell the pain was insufferable. Yet he was kept standing, bound to the wall for his entire internment. I think he must have slept somehow in those chains, but I’m not certain how he managed.

It was the despair and hopelessness that reeked far worse than his scent and I feared him at first, going to the others and feeding them but leaving him til the last. He had to be fed by hand, food forced down his throat as the cook proceeded to show me, by opening his unwilling but weak jaws and pouring gruel and mashed meat paste down his gullet, then holding his mouth closed as he struggled against you to spit it back out. Half of it perhaps he ate, the rest escaped down his chin.

Unsure of how to proceed on the following day, I threw a pail of water over his body and using my scrub brush as gently as I was able, cleansed his body. With the waterlogged clothing clinging to him, he was but skin and bones and I feared that one day I would be not feeding a man, but carrying his body to the edge and throwing it overboard. The cook answered none of my questions and I asked only a few. A kick of two and I could ask nothing more. I had had enough of the bruises he gave me when I displeased him.

Thus, it came about that I met with the first mate. I did not know it at the time. And he was no longer the first mate, for Theo Matterus was now first mate in his stead. But he had been. And somehow, I was sure of it, he was involved in the great curse which held this ship. A curse, I believed, would keep us from port if it was not put to rest.

So, I talked to him. As I forced food down his throat. I spoke as I cleaned him though it was by my own crude methods. And as I dried him and as he was the only one down there, I talked to him during those few times I had to my own self. None came to the brig and it was quiet and safe.

"Well now," I laughed softly, coming down that sixth day, my arms full of the regular gruel and a piece of rough pork I had snitched from my own plate. It was warm though and I drew myself up to him. He never looked into my eyes, his own seemed blind, yet I knew they could not be. "And how are you? They were kind to me today. I only was kicked four times. I think I am getting better suited to this life, even though my fingers are still aching. Who would have known that such a simple thing as taking a pot off of a spit could burn one so easily? But I did, like I promised you, bring something more substantial. I am not sure if you can eat it, but you have teeth and they seem in good working order, so I think you might be able to." I smiled at him and he did not look at me.

"I think, if I put it on your tongue, you can either chew it or simply swallow it. I’ll bite it off into pieces for you, if you wish. I - " I hesitated at the spike of anger my simple suggestion had thrown sour into the air. "Ah.. I’m.. sorry. No, all of it then? You are right. You are not a child.."

He never spoke so I did not fear being found out as one who could read others so well, and he was not an idiot, yet he had none to talk to besides me and I prattled on. So I was shocked when his eyes sought mine then and his brow furrowed. Mouth opening slowly he tasted his lips as one does when preparing a life changing speech. His breathing rose and I held mine, eyes wide on his.

Silence. Why did regret wash over me like that? I sighed and picked up the bowl. "I’m sorry, maybe I read too much into it. I will give it to you as soon as we finish the bowl. Will you help today or must I force you again?" I could not help but look at him and have tears in my eyes. What pain! And he stared at me now and his own gaze was as cold as Heero’s, as feral as the captain’s.

Feeding that day was harder than usual. Between my tears and his overly stubborn nature, more so that day than any other before, it took me a half of an hour before the bowl was empty and all that was left was the cold piece of pork. I was breathing heavily as I pulled open his mouth one last time and while his tongue feebly fought the intrusion of my fingers, thrust the meat in and stepped back.

I expected him to spit it out. I waited for it, wanting to pluck it from the ground so rats would not find it and him. Not that there were rats, but it was a thought nonetheless. He glared at me and then, suddenly, his sight turned inward.

He did not spit it out, but left it, cloying on his tongue. And I left him, unsure if he’d choke on it or eat it. But the next day, I brought more of my dinner. And I ate some of his gruel to make up for it. It was terrible stuff, yet he needed the food I was certain. I do not know why I felt so, but he had to have some decency done him, trussed as he was like nothing more than an animal. Or worse, a monster.

"It’s warm still," I smiled at him and his eyes found mine and I sobbed inside from the hurt in that gaze. Why so much pain here? I wished for my lover then, that kiss of the sea which could cleanse me of the hurt I carried from these encounters. I surely would have gone mad without his attendance every evening. "If you will promise to not fight me on the gruel, I’ll give you one piece now and the other after." I held my breath, he considered and stared.

Then, wonders, his slight nod. I let my breath out, not knowing I had held it and with a firm nod of my own, came forward and gave him the meat first. He made a soft groan, as if he were dying then and there and I feared for him. But he began to chew the food and on his face was something that was an excruciating joy borne of excruciating suffering. And when it came time to eat from the bowl, he took it all, not fighting me once. We finished with the other meat, cold, but still palatable.

Done so quickly, I stood at a loss and then sighed, leaning back against the wall. "I could go back up, but it’s only been a few minutes. They would wonder why I fed you so quickly and would maybe think I had eaten it myself. I did eat some of it actually," I confessed to him and laughed in a soft, unobtrusive way at his disgust. "Yes, it was terrible. But the meat you ate was my dinner and I needed something, so I traded. Do you mind? I will trade you as long as I have this duty." My smile was careful but he did nothing in return so I nodded. "Okay then, it’s a deal. You didn’t scowl at me, so I’m taking that as a yes. Or maybe it’s simply a do as you will, in which case, I’ll continue to share my food with you."

Frowning, I looked down at the bowl and chewed on the inside of my lip. "I wonder… what it is they’ve thought you have done. Because I don’t think you have. You don’t… seem bad.." I glanced up at him in question and found him staring at me as if I were the monster and not he. Then the pain was back, wafting in on the air and surrounding us until I could hardly breathe and I had to struggle backwards, half stumbling over myself. I climbed out of there, gulping in air as I came free of the fog below. But not before I had seen his eyes shut tightly and a tear escape. The shame of that tear splashed into the rest and it was only an added burden. Ten times greater than the anger and the hatred, causing a rift of greater hopelessness.

As I sat on the deck, the empty bowl in my hands, gasping for air, I noticed eyes on me. Turning to look around, I found the sailor, the one who had caught my hen, staring at me. Though I could only see one of his eyes and from the distance it was dark, not green, still I knew that both of his eyes could see me. He stared long and then turned to his work, freeing me from the idiocy that a single look of his could put me into.

The next day went far more well, and I did not speak to the prisoner of his reasons for the chains for I had been beaten that day and did not have the strength to take on his pain when it filled the room. I could have fainted and I did not think could have been the best of moves on my part. But, by week’s end, my beatings were but once every other day, and I averaged only one kick before lunch and only sometimes one after. Heero had ignored me every day I remained with him. The evening visits remained on all parts, both that of the captain and that of the Sea. I was sharing half of my dinner with the man below decks and I had learned his name. Wufei.. Wufei Chang. He was a Southerner as well and noble born I think, for his hair was too long to have been shorn even at the beginning of the voyage. He did not tell me this. Theo the first mate did. And he also let slide that he was the replacement and that Wufei was better off dead than what was in store for him upon reaching home port.

I also learned that home port was the far north-eastern island, a land named Ulica, and one island from my home. There was a possibility I might be recognized upon Ulica and returned home.

Tro, the other sailor, often was busy above decks and he, I saw often, though he rarely looked at me. I was given care of the chickens as well and this I enjoyed very much. Though it was in the line of sight of the captain and I was unsure if I liked that very much.

Some days after receiving the hen duty, I stopped a moment at the turn of the wind while finishing with spreading grain for the birds. Straightening, I stared out to the horizon, noting the dark clouds there. Storm. Close as well, by the way it looked.

I was counting seconds at a flash of lightening when I focused my eyes and found a single green orb looking at me from not too far away. As was my custom, I froze and he frowned. His mouth moved, he was speaking, yet he never spoke very loud and I could not hear him, nor did I have wits to read what was on those lips.

I had spent every moment I had opportunity to, watching Tro. I learned nothing of him by the watching but that he was silent and he had an uncanny ability to man the rigging, climb to the crow’s nest, and that he was always busy. Ah, yes - and that the men listened to him. Even Theo. It was as if he held them as spellbound as he held me. And now he was speaking to me, and I could not hear him. I rallied my mind around the movement of his mouth and focused hard.

I think he might have said something like "Look away" or "Go away.." but I did not have time to ask. A hard hand clapped on my shoulder and I almost fell under it.

"Well, cabin boy.." the sneer in that beautiful voice behind me left my knees shaking like water. The captain turned me to face him so he might look me over. His smile was the same predatory grin I knew well. "Time to earn your keep boy. If you are good, we’ll let you keep to the crew. If not, then you and I have a different deal to make.." I shrank back, for the words fit him in a disjointed manner, laid upon him like spider legs, not settling right. It was this that made him so frightening. He might have been mad, perhaps, and this is what made him so horrible to me. But there were many madmen on this trip I had found.

"S-s-ser?" I stammered, staring up at him.

"Earn your keep, boy!" he laughed and jerked his head upwards. "Sails need taking in. Jib most importantly and first. Best be getting to it. Draw it up and tie it down.." He grinned and turning me again, slapped my back end in a way that made my blood run ice, and shoved me toward the rigging.

I had no idea how to do this. And by some miracle, I managed to climb to where I knew the fore sail or jib, to be. Another man was up there and he grunted angrily at me for taking up too much space. Still, it was a two man job and I watched him and the others in the other sails as they drew up the sails and tied them off. A pull of the right rope (finding the right rope) and then looping another around the sail while swinging legs on either side of the arm.

I struggled but the sailor did his half and directed me to finish mine. It was, he said, the way of things, for rope monkeys. And I must learn it.

So I did. I worked hard upon them. The last gave me the most trouble. I had begun from the outside and worked inward and by this time, had a bunching in the sail I think I might have not had if I’d begun from the center. I could not seem to get it folded correctly so that I might get the rope about it.

Leaning over on my stomach, I had the rope about it and had almost looped it but lost it. Then in a fit of upset and frustration, I looped my leg to one side and leaned dangerously far to the right, so that I leaned half on the cupped sail.

The storm came on us then. It was a ton of weight slamming into the sail and pitching me off, into space, leaving sail and rigging behind.

I would have fallen to my death no doubt, but that I was flung backwards and hit the next run of ropes. My body twisted and I fell, one leg caught in and some rope knotted around my neck. I worked at the rope while hooking my elbow in the edge of another guide rope so that I would not fall and strangle.

I would have managed well enough, but for a slap in my face, hard enough to make me see stars. I feared the captain had come to beat me even as I lay struggling to free myself. But the clap of sail after showed me quickly enough that it was far worse. For some of the beginning ties I had done were simple knots and did not hold, but came loose and the half of the jib, with one other tie breaking, was kicked back and lashed at me with it’s edge.

Fighting this way for a hold with the force of wind and the jib attacking my body was breaking me quickly. I screamed, looking down. Below me, the captain stood, his hand raised as he looked up, but there was no mercy on his face. This was my mistake and thus my fight. But it was a fight I was going to lose. I knew this and I think he did as well. He hated me then. He did not always hate me. But that moment, he hated me. And the hatred swam over my vision and I almost swooned.

Hands grasped me an hour, ten minutes, a moment later. I’m not sure how long I held on. The rain had begun cold and hard. I managed only to keep from falling and suspending myself by the neck on the rigging line. Hands grabbed my collar and hauled me up until my torso was caught under the arms along a rope.

"Hold onto that.." an unfamiliar voice commanded in a way that I could do nothing but follow. Then hands worked at undoing knots and in a moment I was free. My savior had situated himself between me and the sail and was taking the hits of the full sail’s end on his back. Then with a grunt I was dragged upwards and the voice gave me resolve once more. "We must get the jib up. Come with me."

I followed the figure, my mind blind to it, not recognizing yet recognizing him, and crossing rigging, we were able to make it to the next line by using a small double tie rope between the pair, like a frightening bridge where one’s feet are on one rope and one’s hands are on the other. A sideways ladder with rungs too far apart to walk on, but close enough to keep the ropes from stretching so far from one another that using them in tandem would be impossible.

Upon the jib, we caught a line and I was handed rope at the center. "Fold it this way!" came the call and I watched his hands and followed the direction. I think I realized then, seeing through the rain the whipping dark hair, that my savior was my roommate as well. The man of the babe’s book commanded me in a stern but calm voice; I felt safe even though were did this in the midst of a gale. Below us, when I chanced to look, the other men were moving quickly around. Battening down hatches and covering the coop, lashing down barrels and free cargo. Some manned ropes while the captain was working with Theo at the wheel.

I learned the ties then, and I learned the folds, for he would not let me do it wrong, but instructed me at every action. He noticed when my hands became too cold and taught me to put them in my arm pits to warm them. And he also touched my arm and gave me a look when my strength was gone, and I knew I’d be okay.

When we came down, he was close enough that had I fallen, he’d have caught me easily. And touching the deck of the ship, I collapsed, only to be gathered in arms and carried out of the rain.

"Put him in his room," was that soft command and I looked out of the comforting arms to watch Heero lean against a chair and slide to a seated position on it, his head falling into his hands Then I glanced up and found with a sudden thrill, that it was the green eyed sailor. The one I watched so often.

"And Trowa," came the soft, calm voice from the main room as he had almost carried me into my room. "Come back out. We must talk."

Trowa, a full name this time? aided me in getting out of my wet clothes and laid me down into bed. He touched my shoulder and I curled around his forearm, afraid to be left even then.

Sitting beside me, he smoothed my hair and smiled in a way that I thought had to be rare, so rare that perhaps it was even made up on the spot. And his voice, soft as the whisper yet more clear than I’d ever heard it, eased me. "You must dry. He will be coming for you soon. And then you must be ready to work. No one is free for sleep on a night like this. No one is ever free."

And then he was gone.

And I was left with questions. Heero, the one who had no duties, was not seen as anything but a whore for the captain, had shown himself to be far more capable than most. And yet he was relegated to this beautiful cage. Why? And the mystery of that green eyed man. Speaking to me as he did. He seemed to know the inner rooms of the cursed voyage and he said nothing. Was I the only one who knew nothing? And Heero! He knew Trowa, yet I had never seen them speak.

I did not fall asleep that night. Nor did I hear screams for I was in the midst of the gale too many times, coming in only to dry myself and warm myself. And I was not visited by the calming Sea, for the raging ocean was at her best and my window was closed. Heero remained in his rooms and the rest of us worked when we were not before the galley fire, our coats steaming off the water that had wicked out of the wool, cups of hot ale in our hands, warming our palms. And the storm continued on for the night and half the next day before she left us. With it’s leaving, many of us crawled back into our bed and I dreamt of sea water and hot fingertips. But they did not cleanse me for they were only dreams and not reality.


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((Haywire: I think it is fairly obvious to all how much I adore your reviews. You are just amazingly awesome! And I swear, this does get better... I've got almsot ten chapters of this done and heaven knows when it will be done. It's fully 14 chapters (including an epilogue and with some work on my part to add the NC 17 portion I hadn't put in it originally) so hopefully it won't be much longer before it's fully finished. Yay! Until then, you're awesome and you know I adore just the fact you're willing to put yourself through torture and read it all. *L* Thank you, thank you! ))