The Athena's Last Hours
Looking at Meela incredulously, Sal struggled to believe that one so young had killed so many. It was shocking, unnatural, and cruel. At least, she had claimed to have killed so many, but Sal was weighed down under the realization that he believed her. Now, after all this, how he wished the ship's saboteurs had been Degby and Lemar. It was easier to attribute such atrocities to men who fit the shoe, as Stall would likely have said. While he had uncovered their plot to steal from the ship's cargo, it had since transpired that this was all they were guilty of. The true identity of the saboteurs was much more sinister.
Aram had seemed such the likeable fellow. He was as close to a friend as Sal had cultivated on board the Athena, the white haired uncle of Meela having been most appreciative of Sal's intervention that first day in the kitchens. But a lesson learned indeed. Evil could steal away into shadows and dark corners, find itself encased in the ones least suspected, biding its time and striking with such surprise and tenacity, that its victims were left speechless and helpless even at the last. That Aram was only half of the saboteur team was all the more painful to accept. The other half of course, was Meela.
There was some solace at least that her participation had been reluctant, though that too managed to inspire Sal's increasing anger even further in that she had in some way been abused. Despite her young age, the girl had been gifted - in this case cursed - with a knack for reimancy. Uncle Aram, as far as Sal could decipher between Meela's sobs and confession, had some kind of hold over the girl, effectively rendering her as slave to his own motives. She had not said it directly, amidst her sobs, but Sal tried to piece the clues together. If he was close to the mark, it sounded like Aram was threatening the girl with the life of a family member, a sibling perhaps?
The confession did not stop there. Aram was in the employ of the other ship, a pirate frigate that looted from the weak using the same method over and over. Each time, Meela was forced to perform her part, while Aram instructed her where to attack with her magic. Using her reimancy, she could cripple ships, bringing down masts or creating weak spots in the hull to slow them down. In the case of the Athena, Aram's plan had been even more dreadful. He was to bring down as much of the crew as possible, by any means, in preparation of being boarded by the other ship.
Captain Stall's men might have fought well enough when the other ship boarded. But against the chaos that Meela could summon, their chances would shrink considerably. Sal's small intervention only days before, when Lemar had tried groping the poor girl, had apparently been enough for her to seek his help again. Understandably, she wanted to be free of Aram, though before now had never suspected anyone could help her. That had been part of the abuse perhaps, the evil man having drilled into her that she could never find salvation or ever be free. Free of her duty that involved killing and destruction. So long had she endured this, that even the prospect of Aram harming a family member seemed not to deter her want of freedom. Well that shyke is just not going to fly, Sal thought murderously.
'Where I come from, people don't stand idly by when a child is in harm's way.' That was one of the first things he had said to Aram. It seemed Meela's uncle needed reminding of that fact. Sal took Meela by the hand and led her quickly up towards the deck. Aram would no doubt be looking for her, ready to resume the attack and begin striking down more than just the mast. Peering out of the hatch that led to the deck, Sal could make no sight of the man. Instead there was the bustling of crewmen as they made ready for the coming attack. The other ship was all but on them, already their crew waving weapons in anticipation of an easy fight. Suddenly Sal found himself dragged up from the hatch, before a rusty looking cutlass was thrust into his hands. The quartermaster stood before him, a row of golden teeth grinning with delight as he motioned to the approaching ship. "Take this, an' thrust it into anyone ya don't recognize! They don't even stand a chance!" With that the quartermaster sauntered off, apparently relishing the chance to spill some blood.
A few spears began to be exchanged as the two vessels drew closer, insults and threats too as men's blood lust began to boil and inflate egos. The other ship might well have wondered why so many still remained on the Athena though. Meela and Aram should have performed their task by now. "Meela! There you are! Where did you go? We have work to do." Sal turned as Aram came running up, one hand palming Meela back behind him while the other gripped the cutlass with white knuckles.
_____"What you've done to the girl... I'm going to kill you." In that instant, despite the anger that was threatening to boil over in Sal's mind, the words he spoke came out as simple fact, like killing Aram was just some task he had to tend to.
As for Aram, he could not mistake Sal's intent for anything but truth. But while his life might have been at stake, he still seemed more focused on Meela, as though completing their task was paramount over everything else. "You fool. What good do you think you can do? Best you stay out of it lad and they might spare you."
_____"You cannot have her," was Sal's only response, realizing that Aram was nothing without the girl.
This time Aram seemed less than assured. Without Meela or her magic at his command, he had nothing. Alone he was weak and now exposed, just an aging man that could only fire cursing glances towards Sal. His voice was also less than certain as he spat out his words. "You fool. They'll see my work is not done. They'll assume I've failed. You've condemned us all. You've..." A thundering sound cut Aram off abruptly, followed by the pattering of timber that rained down around them. It appeared the other ship had already assumed failure on Aram's part. The man was hurled sideways as the enemy ship tore into the side of the Athena. Long and narrow as it was, the ship was designed with a pointed bow, ideal for ramming, the figurehead on which was a particularly mean looking wolf in mid-pounce.
The unnatural combining of the two decks had descended into a portrait of chaos, like some artist's nightmarish vision depicted in dazzling browns of flying timber and bleeding reds of unfortunate men. Another loud crack to Sal's right muted all sound, save for a distant ringing in his ears. He shook his head, realizing he was laying face down. To accompany the ringing, he could now see black specks floating in front of him, while everything seemed to have slowed somewhat. Shaking his head again, he tried to pull himself up while wondering what had happened, slowly drawing himself onto his hands and knees. He noted Meela huddling herself close by underneath one of the ship's small rowing boats that was suspended above the deck by ropes. "Meela!", he called as he scurried towards her.
The clatter of steel on steel was joined by the crackling of insults and cries of bloody murder, a cacophony of sounds that began to filter into Sal's ears as the ringing subsided. A sailor's body fell before him, limp and unmoving with a telltale patch of crimson signalling his demise. Sal pulled himself to his feet, turning around just in time as a spear threatened to skewer him on the spot. It was all he could do to shift sideways, the spear narrowly missing its mark while the wielder grimaced at his failed attack.
Unarmed himself - who knew where the cutlass had ended up - Sal cursed under his breath while looking around frantically for something to use. While certainly he was not thinking about it now, he might have been pleased to learn that cowardice had remained below deck. For now, self-preservation was the driving force. The spear wielding man had turned and was coming again, a more determined look on his face. Once more Sal dodged to the side, scooting around a crate to create some space between them. Even now, among the nearby fallen bodies, he could not see a weapon to hand. The spear man was coming around for another attack, each one pushing Sal closer to the edge of the ship where he would have no room to maneuver. GIVE ME SOME LUCK WILL YOU, he yelled internally, though to which of the gods he could not say.
TWACK! The sound of frying pan on skull left a most agreeable echo in the air, followed by the crumpling of the spear man who had chosen to see out the rest of the battle in a heap on the deck. Stood there with a satisfied grin on his face was Beldar, the ship's cook. "Never thought you'd be so glad to see another pan, eh?" Sal could only nod his approval, before returning to Meela and scooping her up. Along with Beldar, they made their way to the starboard side of the ship, opposite to where the enemy ship had driven itself in like a giant wooden stake. One loan rowing boat remained over here, dangling over the side precariously with a rather frail looking rope keeping it up. Beldar kicked a safety latch off the hoist controlling the rope, sending the boat into the waiting water with a splash. Sal motioned for Beldar to climb down, dropping Meela into the cook's arms soon after.
Sal was preparing to descend himself. He glanced over the deck quickly to see how the ship's crew were faring. Chaos reigned supreme and it was hard to make out who was winning, if anyone. The ramming had sent the Athena's crew into disarray, but certainly not on the scale that Aram's plan would have done. The attacker's had probably arrived expecting less resistance, but to their credit they were keeping up their end of the battle. He spotted Captain Stall, fighting with the same stern look that he always wore, as though the battle was just another situation for him to look menacing through. But for all his tenacity in defending his ship, Stall had found himself cornered, set upon by three enemies and with no help forthcoming.
"GO! Get out of here. I'll be right behind you," Sal yelled down to Beldar. Right behind them? He wondered if it sounded as stupid as it did in his head, but there was little time to worry about that now.
Picking up the now discarded spear by his feet, Sal made a beeline towards Stall, picking his way through the fallen debris and dead bodies. But it was the alive ones that were proving to be a problem, as a throng of crewmen from both sides continued lobbying for supremacy. Two men to his right crashed into him, limbs intertwined as they wrestled over a dagger. Sal was thrown off his feet again, landing harshly just in front of a gaping hole right in front of him. That's new, he thought dizzily, half admiring the recent addition to the deck. Peering down over the edge, he found himself staring straight into the cargo hold, at three crates in particular. If he squinted, he could see where one had had it's lid prized open. Inside that, if he really squinted, he could just make out a selection of familiar looking, barrel shaped caskets, one of which had split open and was now leaking its contents everywhere.
Selbert Jones was supposed to be receiving a variety of fine silks and wool in a few days time. That was until Degby and Lemar had switched them around of course. Switched them with crates containing lamp oil. For a brief second Sal tried to decide which was worth more, the silks or the oil, and which Lemar and Degby were planning to deliver to themselves. But his train of thought was rudely interrupted as he felt a hand grab harshly at his coat. Pulling him over, he locked eyes with one of the men who had knocked him over, realizing it was a man whom he did not recognize. As one hand clutched Sal's jacket, the other was about to bring down the dagger in a stabbing motion.
Sal grabbed the man's arm, the two locked in stalemate as the dagger hovered in the air. With all his strength he tried to repel the attack, but slowly the man atop him seemed to be inching his blade ever closer. It was becoming something of a pattern in Sal's life that in times of dire need like this, his mind began to instinctively draw on other means with which to defend himself. Up and through his arms he could feel the dance of unseen forces play out, the essence of his inner djad flowing to his hands in a charge, where it began to manifest and form into something deadly and fierce. Both men's faces lit up, as the amber glow of flame illuminated them. Sal's hands were wrapped in flames, biting and lashing at the man's arm which offered little resistance to fire. He tried to pull back, to be free of Sal's grip, but now it was the reimancer who had the upper hand, clutching onto that arm with all his might and refusing to let go.
Finally, with the horrid smell of burning flesh filling his nostrils, Sal relinquished his grip, the man atop him scurrying back in retreat, sobbing and clutching his now burnt arm. Sal had come away with a souvenir, a long strip of cloth from the man's jacket that still burned in his hand. Without thinking he tossed the fabric away, immediately realizing his mistake. He watched as the burning piece dropped, wafting slowly in a downwards trajectory like an autumn leaf. It landed gracefully like a butterfly atop one of the caskets in the open crate, before the embers of the burning material spluttered onto the waiting lake of oil. As the whole thing ignited, Sal clambered to his feet, deciding that now was a good time to depart the soon to be burning ship.
Discarding the spear and any thoughts of helping Captain Stall with it, instead he set off towards the side of the ship at a sprint, or at least as fast as his tired and tested body would allow. He seemed home free, until an opposing crewman stepped into view. Sal did not stop to ask what side he was on, instead barging shoulder first into the unsuspecting man and sending him sprawling. The impact had Sal staggering, a few steps from losing his own balance as he careened to the ship's edge. In that last instance, he managed to get his first foot on the side, ready to propel himself over the edge and into the gaping ocean below. Rather there than here, he concluded, hoping that Beldar and Meela were still within reasonable swimming distance. At the last, it felt as though something had given him a helping push. Quite a big one it seemed, as Sal Mander went hurtling off the Athena. The loudest crack he ever heard - rather a crescendo of breaking timber - followed him like a pack of angry wolves barking and snarling behind, while various pieces of debris whizzed past like some demented choreographed act, the debris spinning and pivoting at varying speeds. The Athena's second mast had come crashing down, right next to where Sal had been stood.
Like an insatiable and hungry beast, the ocean swallowed everything up as bits and pieces plummeted into the deep blue. As he came up for air, Sal's head was ringing like tower bells. A plank of wood bobbed in front of him, which he grabbed before sliding into something between semi-consciousness and confusion. He watched the fire emerging from the two ships, crawling up and out of the Athena's hold like some beast that had been hiding there. It's flaming tendrils clutched and grabbed, pulling itself higher and wider until both ships were consumed by it. Before long, they were slowly dragged under the waterline still embracing one another, until any hint or suggestion that they ever existed was gone.
For some reason that eluded him now, Sal could only think of one thing. A certain Mister Selbert Jones would not be getting his silks any time soon.
Looking at Meela incredulously, Sal struggled to believe that one so young had killed so many. It was shocking, unnatural, and cruel. At least, she had claimed to have killed so many, but Sal was weighed down under the realization that he believed her. Now, after all this, how he wished the ship's saboteurs had been Degby and Lemar. It was easier to attribute such atrocities to men who fit the shoe, as Stall would likely have said. While he had uncovered their plot to steal from the ship's cargo, it had since transpired that this was all they were guilty of. The true identity of the saboteurs was much more sinister.
Aram had seemed such the likeable fellow. He was as close to a friend as Sal had cultivated on board the Athena, the white haired uncle of Meela having been most appreciative of Sal's intervention that first day in the kitchens. But a lesson learned indeed. Evil could steal away into shadows and dark corners, find itself encased in the ones least suspected, biding its time and striking with such surprise and tenacity, that its victims were left speechless and helpless even at the last. That Aram was only half of the saboteur team was all the more painful to accept. The other half of course, was Meela.
There was some solace at least that her participation had been reluctant, though that too managed to inspire Sal's increasing anger even further in that she had in some way been abused. Despite her young age, the girl had been gifted - in this case cursed - with a knack for reimancy. Uncle Aram, as far as Sal could decipher between Meela's sobs and confession, had some kind of hold over the girl, effectively rendering her as slave to his own motives. She had not said it directly, amidst her sobs, but Sal tried to piece the clues together. If he was close to the mark, it sounded like Aram was threatening the girl with the life of a family member, a sibling perhaps?
The confession did not stop there. Aram was in the employ of the other ship, a pirate frigate that looted from the weak using the same method over and over. Each time, Meela was forced to perform her part, while Aram instructed her where to attack with her magic. Using her reimancy, she could cripple ships, bringing down masts or creating weak spots in the hull to slow them down. In the case of the Athena, Aram's plan had been even more dreadful. He was to bring down as much of the crew as possible, by any means, in preparation of being boarded by the other ship.
Captain Stall's men might have fought well enough when the other ship boarded. But against the chaos that Meela could summon, their chances would shrink considerably. Sal's small intervention only days before, when Lemar had tried groping the poor girl, had apparently been enough for her to seek his help again. Understandably, she wanted to be free of Aram, though before now had never suspected anyone could help her. That had been part of the abuse perhaps, the evil man having drilled into her that she could never find salvation or ever be free. Free of her duty that involved killing and destruction. So long had she endured this, that even the prospect of Aram harming a family member seemed not to deter her want of freedom. Well that shyke is just not going to fly, Sal thought murderously.
'Where I come from, people don't stand idly by when a child is in harm's way.' That was one of the first things he had said to Aram. It seemed Meela's uncle needed reminding of that fact. Sal took Meela by the hand and led her quickly up towards the deck. Aram would no doubt be looking for her, ready to resume the attack and begin striking down more than just the mast. Peering out of the hatch that led to the deck, Sal could make no sight of the man. Instead there was the bustling of crewmen as they made ready for the coming attack. The other ship was all but on them, already their crew waving weapons in anticipation of an easy fight. Suddenly Sal found himself dragged up from the hatch, before a rusty looking cutlass was thrust into his hands. The quartermaster stood before him, a row of golden teeth grinning with delight as he motioned to the approaching ship. "Take this, an' thrust it into anyone ya don't recognize! They don't even stand a chance!" With that the quartermaster sauntered off, apparently relishing the chance to spill some blood.
A few spears began to be exchanged as the two vessels drew closer, insults and threats too as men's blood lust began to boil and inflate egos. The other ship might well have wondered why so many still remained on the Athena though. Meela and Aram should have performed their task by now. "Meela! There you are! Where did you go? We have work to do." Sal turned as Aram came running up, one hand palming Meela back behind him while the other gripped the cutlass with white knuckles.
_____"What you've done to the girl... I'm going to kill you." In that instant, despite the anger that was threatening to boil over in Sal's mind, the words he spoke came out as simple fact, like killing Aram was just some task he had to tend to.
As for Aram, he could not mistake Sal's intent for anything but truth. But while his life might have been at stake, he still seemed more focused on Meela, as though completing their task was paramount over everything else. "You fool. What good do you think you can do? Best you stay out of it lad and they might spare you."
_____"You cannot have her," was Sal's only response, realizing that Aram was nothing without the girl.
This time Aram seemed less than assured. Without Meela or her magic at his command, he had nothing. Alone he was weak and now exposed, just an aging man that could only fire cursing glances towards Sal. His voice was also less than certain as he spat out his words. "You fool. They'll see my work is not done. They'll assume I've failed. You've condemned us all. You've..." A thundering sound cut Aram off abruptly, followed by the pattering of timber that rained down around them. It appeared the other ship had already assumed failure on Aram's part. The man was hurled sideways as the enemy ship tore into the side of the Athena. Long and narrow as it was, the ship was designed with a pointed bow, ideal for ramming, the figurehead on which was a particularly mean looking wolf in mid-pounce.
The unnatural combining of the two decks had descended into a portrait of chaos, like some artist's nightmarish vision depicted in dazzling browns of flying timber and bleeding reds of unfortunate men. Another loud crack to Sal's right muted all sound, save for a distant ringing in his ears. He shook his head, realizing he was laying face down. To accompany the ringing, he could now see black specks floating in front of him, while everything seemed to have slowed somewhat. Shaking his head again, he tried to pull himself up while wondering what had happened, slowly drawing himself onto his hands and knees. He noted Meela huddling herself close by underneath one of the ship's small rowing boats that was suspended above the deck by ropes. "Meela!", he called as he scurried towards her.
The clatter of steel on steel was joined by the crackling of insults and cries of bloody murder, a cacophony of sounds that began to filter into Sal's ears as the ringing subsided. A sailor's body fell before him, limp and unmoving with a telltale patch of crimson signalling his demise. Sal pulled himself to his feet, turning around just in time as a spear threatened to skewer him on the spot. It was all he could do to shift sideways, the spear narrowly missing its mark while the wielder grimaced at his failed attack.
Unarmed himself - who knew where the cutlass had ended up - Sal cursed under his breath while looking around frantically for something to use. While certainly he was not thinking about it now, he might have been pleased to learn that cowardice had remained below deck. For now, self-preservation was the driving force. The spear wielding man had turned and was coming again, a more determined look on his face. Once more Sal dodged to the side, scooting around a crate to create some space between them. Even now, among the nearby fallen bodies, he could not see a weapon to hand. The spear man was coming around for another attack, each one pushing Sal closer to the edge of the ship where he would have no room to maneuver. GIVE ME SOME LUCK WILL YOU, he yelled internally, though to which of the gods he could not say.
TWACK! The sound of frying pan on skull left a most agreeable echo in the air, followed by the crumpling of the spear man who had chosen to see out the rest of the battle in a heap on the deck. Stood there with a satisfied grin on his face was Beldar, the ship's cook. "Never thought you'd be so glad to see another pan, eh?" Sal could only nod his approval, before returning to Meela and scooping her up. Along with Beldar, they made their way to the starboard side of the ship, opposite to where the enemy ship had driven itself in like a giant wooden stake. One loan rowing boat remained over here, dangling over the side precariously with a rather frail looking rope keeping it up. Beldar kicked a safety latch off the hoist controlling the rope, sending the boat into the waiting water with a splash. Sal motioned for Beldar to climb down, dropping Meela into the cook's arms soon after.
Sal was preparing to descend himself. He glanced over the deck quickly to see how the ship's crew were faring. Chaos reigned supreme and it was hard to make out who was winning, if anyone. The ramming had sent the Athena's crew into disarray, but certainly not on the scale that Aram's plan would have done. The attacker's had probably arrived expecting less resistance, but to their credit they were keeping up their end of the battle. He spotted Captain Stall, fighting with the same stern look that he always wore, as though the battle was just another situation for him to look menacing through. But for all his tenacity in defending his ship, Stall had found himself cornered, set upon by three enemies and with no help forthcoming.
"GO! Get out of here. I'll be right behind you," Sal yelled down to Beldar. Right behind them? He wondered if it sounded as stupid as it did in his head, but there was little time to worry about that now.
Picking up the now discarded spear by his feet, Sal made a beeline towards Stall, picking his way through the fallen debris and dead bodies. But it was the alive ones that were proving to be a problem, as a throng of crewmen from both sides continued lobbying for supremacy. Two men to his right crashed into him, limbs intertwined as they wrestled over a dagger. Sal was thrown off his feet again, landing harshly just in front of a gaping hole right in front of him. That's new, he thought dizzily, half admiring the recent addition to the deck. Peering down over the edge, he found himself staring straight into the cargo hold, at three crates in particular. If he squinted, he could see where one had had it's lid prized open. Inside that, if he really squinted, he could just make out a selection of familiar looking, barrel shaped caskets, one of which had split open and was now leaking its contents everywhere.
Selbert Jones was supposed to be receiving a variety of fine silks and wool in a few days time. That was until Degby and Lemar had switched them around of course. Switched them with crates containing lamp oil. For a brief second Sal tried to decide which was worth more, the silks or the oil, and which Lemar and Degby were planning to deliver to themselves. But his train of thought was rudely interrupted as he felt a hand grab harshly at his coat. Pulling him over, he locked eyes with one of the men who had knocked him over, realizing it was a man whom he did not recognize. As one hand clutched Sal's jacket, the other was about to bring down the dagger in a stabbing motion.
Sal grabbed the man's arm, the two locked in stalemate as the dagger hovered in the air. With all his strength he tried to repel the attack, but slowly the man atop him seemed to be inching his blade ever closer. It was becoming something of a pattern in Sal's life that in times of dire need like this, his mind began to instinctively draw on other means with which to defend himself. Up and through his arms he could feel the dance of unseen forces play out, the essence of his inner djad flowing to his hands in a charge, where it began to manifest and form into something deadly and fierce. Both men's faces lit up, as the amber glow of flame illuminated them. Sal's hands were wrapped in flames, biting and lashing at the man's arm which offered little resistance to fire. He tried to pull back, to be free of Sal's grip, but now it was the reimancer who had the upper hand, clutching onto that arm with all his might and refusing to let go.
Finally, with the horrid smell of burning flesh filling his nostrils, Sal relinquished his grip, the man atop him scurrying back in retreat, sobbing and clutching his now burnt arm. Sal had come away with a souvenir, a long strip of cloth from the man's jacket that still burned in his hand. Without thinking he tossed the fabric away, immediately realizing his mistake. He watched as the burning piece dropped, wafting slowly in a downwards trajectory like an autumn leaf. It landed gracefully like a butterfly atop one of the caskets in the open crate, before the embers of the burning material spluttered onto the waiting lake of oil. As the whole thing ignited, Sal clambered to his feet, deciding that now was a good time to depart the soon to be burning ship.
Discarding the spear and any thoughts of helping Captain Stall with it, instead he set off towards the side of the ship at a sprint, or at least as fast as his tired and tested body would allow. He seemed home free, until an opposing crewman stepped into view. Sal did not stop to ask what side he was on, instead barging shoulder first into the unsuspecting man and sending him sprawling. The impact had Sal staggering, a few steps from losing his own balance as he careened to the ship's edge. In that last instance, he managed to get his first foot on the side, ready to propel himself over the edge and into the gaping ocean below. Rather there than here, he concluded, hoping that Beldar and Meela were still within reasonable swimming distance. At the last, it felt as though something had given him a helping push. Quite a big one it seemed, as Sal Mander went hurtling off the Athena. The loudest crack he ever heard - rather a crescendo of breaking timber - followed him like a pack of angry wolves barking and snarling behind, while various pieces of debris whizzed past like some demented choreographed act, the debris spinning and pivoting at varying speeds. The Athena's second mast had come crashing down, right next to where Sal had been stood.
Like an insatiable and hungry beast, the ocean swallowed everything up as bits and pieces plummeted into the deep blue. As he came up for air, Sal's head was ringing like tower bells. A plank of wood bobbed in front of him, which he grabbed before sliding into something between semi-consciousness and confusion. He watched the fire emerging from the two ships, crawling up and out of the Athena's hold like some beast that had been hiding there. It's flaming tendrils clutched and grabbed, pulling itself higher and wider until both ships were consumed by it. Before long, they were slowly dragged under the waterline still embracing one another, until any hint or suggestion that they ever existed was gone.
For some reason that eluded him now, Sal could only think of one thing. A certain Mister Selbert Jones would not be getting his silks any time soon.
