Swashbuckling in the Dark

Chapter Eleven

I was in world of pain. Darkness enshrouded me. Pain was my only companion. I was alone. The sensation of drowning returned, and suddenly there was color again. The infinite blackness was replaced by blue. It crushed me, dragging me deeper and deeper. I thrashed about, thinking I was really drowning in the ocean. I was saved when the hallucination of endless leagues of water weighing down on me faded, to be replaced by the darkness.

There was a snapping sound; my body became paralyzed with fear. I remembered the sound of the whip. I screamed as I felt it rake across my back, leaving a deep red welt among dozens of others. He didn’t let up, continuing to lay the whip across my bare back, ignoring my screams of pain.

“Pathetic,” he muttered.

I was taken aback. He never spoke to me. He always remained silent. It made my screams louder.

“Zaina!”

I was jerked harshly back to reality. I realized I’d been screaming here, too. My surroundings slowly imposed themselves on me, reminding me where I was. Kaspar was prodding the wound on my leg; it looked terrible. He reached for a vial of something, and poured it into the cut. I screamed. Someone was holding me down, preventing me from escaping. I continued to cry out, begging them to release me. I wanted to run. I wanted to get away.

“Zaina!”

Someone called my name again. Deliriously, my head whipped to the side, meeting Dark’s eyes. He looked like he was in as much pain as I was. His hand secured my leg. His knuckles stood out stark and white against his skin. Kaspar fervently tried to stitch me up again. I could feel the needle piercing me and pulling my skin together. It felt unnatural. I looked up to see Sykes hovering over me, holding me down. His face was grim, but determined. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t break his grip. Kaspar poured more of the liquid from the vial on me. My voice failed me as I thrashed against the hands that held me. The pain made me black out again.

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When I awakened again, the agony had deadened to an uncomfortable throb. The room was empty; I was lying on Dark’s bunk again in the captain’s cabin. My throat was so, so dry. I craved water, no longer fearing that it would swallow me.

The pain had lessened, but I could still not escape. My stone limbs chained me in place, leaving me no refuge from the nightmares that continued to torment me as I slept. Nightmares of him. His voice was the worst part. It was so empty. It slipped, hollow, from his lips and into my dreaming mind. It harmonized with the sound of the funeral toll, echoing relentlessly and softly booming.

The sound of the bell continued in the back of my mind. I lost track of time. I wasn’t sure how long I lay there recovering. That was one thing about being bedridden. One could never be sure how much time had been lost. The other thing, ironically, was the time it granted for being alone with my thoughts. In the solitude, I could do almost nothing but think; to mull over the last few days. It let me look at the situation with a clear head. It was a welcome relief to be free of my turbulent emotions for a while. From this state, I could sort through them more carefully and perhaps ease the chaos in my heart.

However, in my present state, I couldn’t put the knowledge I had garnered to good use. Looking so deeply into my own soul in those quiet moments of consciousness had abated the pain. It had given me a small relief from the nightmares of my past. It had also brought me a new burden, though. A burden of guilt.

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The salty breeze had become warmer as the Executioner neared Caribbean waters. The wind dashed about, as furious as ever, welcoming the sailors as it eased the discomfort of the hot sun. Marianne stood at the bow, the gales whistling through loose strands of hair and playfully tossing them in her eyes. She reached a hand up to push away them away, smiling fondly out at the sea.