Hell on the Water
Colm was happy. It was a strange and wonderful feeling that he was not used to. As he thought about it, the last time he had been happy was decades ago, before the savannah he grew up on was known as the Badlands. He was not a native from there; his family had moved Northwest from the coast of the Semme. His father, mother, brothers and cousins. It was such a long time that he forgot their faces, but he could remember their smiles and the sound of their laughter.
That bliss came to a fiery end at the hands of an Apelburgian raiding party. The new emperor had decided that peace was not conducive. Emperor Berun had ordered indiscriminate attacks on Nuru. Not pitched battles per se, but little skirmishes to wear Nuru down. Colm's family were just nameless casualties.
He had cursed his weakness and vowed to become stronger that nobody might push him over. He started by leading a mutiny on a small trading ship. He sold the wares and bought himself a galley. It was at this time that he stopped shaving. His beard grew into a great black bush that was hard to maintain. He started using one side of a tilapia's ribcage as a comb. As a result, men referred to him as Fishbone. The name became so widespread to the point that few knew his real name anymore.
Fishbone amassed a pirate fleet, the likes of which had never been seen before. He finally became strong. A lot of people wanted him dead, however. Powerful people at that. Thus Fishbone had spent most of his life hiding, sleeping with one eye open. During this fugitive's existence, he made friends, who crossed the threshold into family. Others revered him like a hero of legend, others saw him as a father figure. Fishbone wanted to protect them, which meant he had to become stronger still. He hired several mages to tutor him in the arts. He even recruited some into his ranks.
In his pursuit of strength, Fishbone united the Badlands under his name. Now he was tired of living on the run. He decided to put down some roots. Eventually, Emperor Berun would launch a serious campaign into Nuru, so the Badlands were out of the question. King Guitart of the Semme was consolidating his military strength, so the South was also not an option. In the end, there was only one real choice, Nuru. The emirate was embroiled in a nasty civil war. Probably a result of decades of land raids by Apelburg, and now Fishbone's escapades. Nuru would emerge on the other side of the conflict much weaker than before. There was not much the new emir would be able to do if Fishbone forcefully settled there.
In the end, he had chosen Mandera; an insulated port city that had not seen war in centuries. Fishbone had gathered his fleet, and they were ready to move out the next day. That was the reason he was so happy tonight. He sat in his darkened cabin sipping rum with a massive grin on his face as he allowed himself to fantasize about the future. Things were going well for him and his.
"Fuck!" Basq had accidentally nicked himself when he was shaving. He squinted into his hand mirror as he saw a drop of blood swelling. He would be fine, he had definitely been through worse. Still, it was an opportunity to seek Greenhair out; she could heal him with her magic. It was a trivial matter to be fair, but in reality, Basq wanted to bed her. Maybe the wine had loosened her up.
He went into the sleeping deck where most of the crew slept in a barrack-like arrangement. He scanned the faces for Greenhair but he could not see her. He strolled over to where he had seen her last. A group of men were chatting animatedly around a jug of rum. They straightened a little when they saw him. Basq smiled to put them at ease, then announced his intentions. "Have any of you seen the Greenhair? My bed needs a little warming up."
They took his meaning and laughed. "Good luck with that sir. She said she would go up for some air, so I guess she's in that nest thingy," one of the men answered helpfully.
Basq took his leave of them and climbed up to the top deck. The night was cooler than usual. It was difficult to see in the starlight but Basq knew the ship like the back of his hand. The Sangua was surrounded on all sides by many ships; Fishbone's fleet. The top deck was deserted, only the ships on the edges of the formation posted sentries. Basq reached the base of the tallest mast and called out. "Oi! Greenhair!"
No response. Maybe she was asleep. Basq clambered up the rope ladder to the crow's nest high above deck. He frowned when he found nothing, not so much as a strand of hair. Basq was mildly worried about where she could be. He was certain that she was not with the rest of the crew. And if she had gone down to the decks that were out of bounds the guard would have promptly notified him. After all, she hadn't built the kind of trust that warranted favours just yet. Basq leaned over the railing as he thought about Nue.
Come to think of it, he didn't know much at all. When Basq had told her about his past Greenhair hadn't given her story, kind of rude in retrospect. All he knew was that she was a mage who had escaped King Guitart's draft and fled north to make a dirty fortune. How exactly had she evaded that? The authorities would take her as a deserter so how exactly had she made it so far without at least dying her hair? Basq made a mental note to ask her about it later.
Basq pushed those thoughts aside and started imagining better things. More specifically, Nue, naked, in his bed. A pleasant warmth grew in his crotch at the picture in his mind. Suddenly, a pillar of flame fell from the sky to his right. Other pillars descended to the original's left and right. Basq had been drinking, but not enough to hallucinate this. He rubbed at his eyes and there were even more pillars of flame. They formed a line and were sweeping across the fleet. Basq felt his heart drop to his stomach. He opened his mouth to scream a warning but his throat felt like it was clamped shut.
Under the barrage, Fishbone's ships burst into flame. Death was not instant for the unfortunate sailors. As the fires engulfed them they screamed as loud as they could. It was a futile exercise as the heat got into their lungs and burned from the inside. The water in their bodies evaporated and their limbs contorted into unnatural shapes. The dark tranquil night was now lit up and filled with the sound of despair.
The commotion broke Fishbone from his reverie. He had no idea what was going on. Emerging from the luxuries of his cabin Fishbone was met with pandemonium; seasoned sailors running around like headless chicken. It was not hard to see why. The night should have been dark with no moonlight. However the sky to port was bright as day. Fishbone was not one to panic. He was scared though, fear kept people alive. He could count six columns of flame. Dragons? He could not hear any roars or beating of wings. Not to mention the way the columns were moving was far too unnatural for wild beasts.
His fleet had been caught unawares. Desperate to escape, the crews of various ships unfurled their sails to get away. The effort was messy and uncoordinated, resulting in several ships ramming others. The deck below his feet lurched as his own ship was rammed at the side. "Captain! We're taking in water!" somebody shouted at him, he did not know who, not that it mattered anyway. His mind kicked into autopilot. He barked out commands, but he couldn't really hear what he was saying. He was preoccupied with a feeling that his death was near. He pushed aside those ominous thoughts and concentrated. The captain felt the mad ebb and flow of the waters around him. In his mind's eye he could see where the water was getting into his ship from, and he pushed it out. It took a lot of effort, but years at sea trained him to multitask.
After a few moments of chaos the fleet began to move in a general forward direction. Roughly half of the assembled fleet had been consumed by the fires. Thinking on his feet, the Pirate King realized this catastrophic loss was because they were all bunched up. "Scatter!" He screamed, and somebody on the next ship relayed the order to the next ship. They wouldn't be able to pull off the maneuver until the outermost ships branched out. They were still heading directly forward. The ships on his portside were clustered tightly together as they tried to outrun the fires.
The situation was bad, but it was about to get worse. Six, no, seven more columns of fire fell from the sky directly in front of them. Fishbone realized they had been corralled like a school of fish to their mass deaths. The captains of his various ships turned hard to starboard. It was chaos again. His ship was rammed again. He could not keep out the water from the bowels of his ship any more. He felt his head pounding from concentration. It was all for nothing; he knew he would die today, so he let go. They began taking in water, and fast. He would not make it out of here with his ship. If he ordered his men to abandon ship they would be torn to pieces by all the other ships surrounding them. Fishbone cursed silently. It was a mistake for the admiral of a fleet to position himself in the center of the fleet.
"Get everyone to the top deck!" He was going to die. What was that story about a captain asking for brown pants? "If ye have final prayers, now's as good a time as any." He pulled out a bottle of rum from his boot and took a long swig. The crew looked at each other forlorn as they neared death. Some hugged their knees, others talked loudly to themselves, most embraced each other a final time.
At first, he thought it was the alcohol. He shook his head and squinted at the columns again. He could see dark figures over the flames. Mages. He should have known. The only nation powerful enough to field this type of coordinated assault was probably the Semme. He cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed at the top of his lungs in Semmoise. "Peace! Parley!" The middle column of flame dissipated, but the other six plowed on. Fishbone and his crew would be spared apparently.
A dark silhouette came into view. It was a young woman, probably in her late teens or early twenties. Her pale face looked like it was a porcelain carving, and in the light of the fires around Fishbone could see her hair was a mottled red and white. The Pirate Admiral took the initiative: "My name be Fishbone, admiral of this fleet. Call off your mages and we can speak like adults. You and I can come to an arrangement."
The girl floated daintily above deck. Somebody loosed an arrow. It bounced harmlessly off her chest. "And what could you possibly offer me?"
"I can make you rich beyo-"
"I am not some petty mercenary for hire." Fishbone had thought as much. The girl was adept enough to make her skin impervious to steel, she must be older than she looks; consequently also brainwashed to blind loyalty to the king of The Semme. That said, Fishbone knew his value as a hostage.
"Apologies, I meant no offense." He took off his cap. "I assume King Guitart finally sent someone to deal with us. I can see that I am beaten. Before I surrender, may I ask you some questions."
"Three questions, no more."
"Only three?"
"Yes, and that was the first. Better make the other two count." All around them, men were being burned to death.
"What is your name?" He wanted to remember her name. No one held a grudge like Pirate King Fishbone.
"Romane Montrouge de Verry." Fishbone couldn't place where he had heard that surname before. It didn't matter though as he etched Romane's name into the blackest part of his heart.
"We were careful not to be found, yet you found us the very day the fleet gathered. Was it a spy? If so, who was it?"
Romane frowned. "An extra question… but I'll indulge you. We ran across the Sangua Carne on our first day here. During a storm, a well placed gale knocked off their spotter to his death. When they came ashore, I sent Nue. I knew you were wary of spies so I sent in the person who was most like a spy, so that you might think it too obvious and allow her to join. I was right." That Greenhair on Ramon's ship. There were not enough expletives in the world to express how the captain was feeling. "A few hours ago she came back and relayed all your plans, your numbers, your formation, and most importantly your location."
Fishbone kept his face a stony mask. "I see. Well, me and my crew surrender to you, Lady Romane." On cue, the captain and the crew knelt on the dirty wood planks. Fishbone undid his sword belt and extricated the fish skeleton from his beard. It's eye sockets had been filled with gleaming rubies. He lowered his head and offered his saber and the fish skeleton to Romane. The girl landed softly and picked them up and examined them lazily. Fishbone had felt her hands, soft like velvet. "Take me to your king and I am sure he will have a nice reward for you." He looked up and smiled his brightest smile at her.
"Unfortunately, I have no need for prisoners." Fishbone's vision went white, as he felt a pain so unimaginable his brain had trouble processing it. After that, nothing.
Romane and her soldiers regrouped in the sky above the carnage they had created. The water was filled with burning ships and floating bodies. There were some survivors trying to swim away but there were not many. The night was mostly silent. Romane scanned the faces of the soldiers under her. They were all steely eyed and stone faced. Tonight was the first night they had taken lives, but they did not show it. Romane herself felt nothing even after she blew up a ship full of defenceless men who had surrendered. She nodded at Acridie. "Report."
"Only three ships managed to successfully escape. The rest are destroyed or damaged beyond repair. A successful sortie, Captain."
"Excellent work everybody, we did good today. Now then let's head back; I don't want to spend another minute in the armpit of the world.