The Gloomcatcher

10: Pirates From the South

    Silly wench.

    She then began sobbing loudly, echos now becoming screeches as she wailed and wailed and the wisps of gloom grew bigger and bigger and then it touched the stone she held.

    "Catch the gloom," she whispered and as if the piece of rock heard her, the grey poof of smokes were beginning to be sucked inside the small stone.

    "You fooled me!" cried the wraith. "You, gloomcatchers are bloody cunning—"

    The last bit of her essence was sucked in and the stone wriggled in her hand unstably, projecting itself high, ricocheting off the foremast and disguising itself in the dark.

    Crouching she looked around the dark for the wraith stone, pushing her hand in the nook and crannies hopelessly but the night loomed ominously without a trace of light of the moon which was now hidden behind the clouds.

    Neriath cussed internally. "Where the hell did it go?"

    "Were you looking for this?" She heard Orephnil speak from behind her and in a trice, she spun around only to find him holding the wraith stone, settled stationary on the big palm of his hand.

    She snatched it instinctively. "Yes. Thank you."

    How long had he been standing here? Did he see me?

    "You're strange, Neriath," he said as she pulled out her burlap sack and kept the piece of rock inside. "So very confusing for me. You possess a strange hobby of collecting stones. You are cold—"

    "Thank you for the compliment," honeyed sarcasm looped her tongue.

    "—sorry, I didn't mean to say it that way but your nature," he babbled, apologising, "it seems cold and distant and yet you hid the girl. Why are you helping her? Why take the risk?" Genuine curiosity held his blue eyes.

    "You know, prince—"

    "That I'm no longer. Orephnil is just fine."

    "Well, Orephnil, you had once asked me where I was from."

    "Yes, I did."

    "You were right," she sighed, "I'm not from Meinoris. I was born in Tohan, in the mightiest kingdom of all in Tethoris. And do you know how I reached the West?"

    His eyes enlarged, reflecting both shock and a deep-seated curiosity and he merely shook his head to the sides. His lips parted in astonishment, and he hung onto her words with eager anticipation.

    "Just like Eril." Neriath had not forgotten her childhood, the hardships she went through after her family died and she survived alone. "I hid inside a ship until I was caught and thrown in the Farim Ocean."

    "What happened then? You're clearly alive," he inquired, his voice laced with a mixture of fascination and empathy. "How come cold did not kill you?" His blue eyes were searching her face for the untold story that lay beneath the surface.

    Neriath, aware of the impact of her revelation, held his gaze for a moment, her own emotions flickering between vulnerability and the desire to keep her past guarded but then she replied:

    "Well, it's a secret, one that I might consider sharing with you some other time," she teased, offering him a sly smile and a wink, leaving a hint of mystery lingering in the air.

    "Hey, what's that?" The helmsman shouted, bringing their attention.

    Neriath looked around and saw shadows of two ships with large sails advancing towards them. Litted lanterns were hung around and tiny men were scrambling on the deck. The clouds moved and the moonlight fell on the ships, their rugged, dark sails came into view, the cannons came out of the gunports. When light shone on the bowsprit, she saw a man standing with a sword hurtled in the air, violently shaking it as he yelled, and though no words reached her ears, she could still feel his scream splitting the air in half.

    "They're coming from South," Orephnil muttered.

    Pirates.

    "Rise the Captain!"

    Neriath ran towards the quaterdeck and grabbed the first cabin crew she saw and told him to wake Captain Flinn. Covier Synth arrived, scuttling his feet towards the commotion as he shuffled his robes.

    "What you smegheads be doing in this cold night?"

    "Pirates!"

    There was no mistake. She was certain the moment she saw those red flags painted with black, a skull of man with two crossed swords beneath. Those were the signature symbols of pirates coming from the South, from the Twin Sister Islands.

    "Pirates? Where are they?" A man gave Covier a spyglass and he looked into it, standing at the quaterdeck.

    He grumbled, "Nosdor, burn the devils!"

    "Synth, let me have a look," the Captain had arrived and he took the charge after examining the pirate ships. Rage seemed to have settled inside him.

    "Tell them to blow out the torches!" Neriath instructed.

    They had to blend in the dark as quick as possible.

    "And why should I listen to you, girl?" he sneered, "turn away the ship!"

    The Captain was a numbskull but it wasn't the time to quarrel. If the pirates raided their ship, none would make it alive out of here. She had enough of his bullshit. She pulled out the dagger tied at her thigh and pushed it closer to his neck and threatened, "tell them to blow out the torches now!"

    "Drop that knife or you die, minx!" Cried the first mate.

    "Alright, alright, little man, enough of your bellyaching." Orephnil had taken a hold of him.

    "Let me go, you smeghead!"

    She pushed Captain Flinn so his back dug into the wooden capping of the ship. "I'm telling you how we can survive this. The sky is dark," she gestured up at the moon which hid behind the clouds again as if playing hide and seek. "With no light, they wouldn't be able to spot us! Tell them now!"

    "Blow ..." The captain muttered, his voice seemed to have died in his throat and blood drained from his face but he gulped and hollered, "blow out the bloody torches! Hurry, hurry, you fools, quick or I'm dead!"

    As soon as the torches were out, she let go of the poor man who adjusted his clothes and put on his corduroy hat, shuffling at the helmsman's call. Neriath followed him up to the helm.

    "The pirate ships aren't following us anymore."

    Captain Flinn pulled out his spyglass, doubt in his voice, "they're retreating South."

    "Why are they retreating South again?"

    Orephnil had asked but before someone could address his concern, a loud cry from the starboard side of the ship shook them to their bones.

    "There's a storm coming our way!"

    Neriath whirled around almost instantly and saw the looming doom before her. The ocean's corpse-quiet surface was rippled by a winnowing wind that fermented and sighed. Like a wraith's sorrow, the rain gushed towards her. Silver streaks of lights illuminated the outlines of the dark clouds that obscured the moon. It was almost as if the God of the Ocean, Osiris, was sending his wrath to the deniers and infidels. The Palinurus heaved and tossed in the rising swell and she gripped the cap rail with her naked fingers. Men began to scramble on the deck like frantic deers. Screams and shouts resonated in her ears.

    "Nosdor, protect us," someone murmured beside her.

    Eril. Her thoughts arrayed towards the young girl. Neriath caught a hold of Orephnil's forearm. He was swaying with the ominous motion of the ship, pale-skinned and brown soaked mops on his head now seemed dark.

    "Eril! Where's Eril?"

    Lightning thundered over the undead patters of rain as the ship danced, unbalanced like a rock on the edge of a cliff, waiting its impending fate.