The former vestal scrubbed ferociously at the deck, scowling at a particularly dark stain in the wood.
"What did that stain ever do to you?" Ephraim laughed.
"I hate deck duty," she grumbled. She had gotten accustomed to using a deeper voice, and the crew had easily mistaken her for a pubescent boy.
"We all have to take our turn, Mikko," Cord said.
"Piss off," she said. They laughed.She had gotten better at communicating with these ruffians as well.
"Cord!" the captain called from the half deck. Cord waddled away, complaining about his joints and the 'needy captain' under his breath.
"What does the captain want with Cord?" Mikko asked.
"Who knows. Probably some navigation question again. I don't know why the captain insisted on steering, most captains do paperwork below deck for most of the trip," Ephraim said. He scratched at his peeling nose and shrugged. "It's no matter to me, as long as he pays me." Shouting could be heard from the half deck, and Mikko, along with most of the crew, paused to see the cause of the commotion.
"I will throw you overboard!" the captain yelled, the force of his anger shaking his jowls and reddening his face.
"That would be a better fate than going through the Koios Strait! I will not do it!" Cord stormed away, shaking his hands and head, almost as if it were a dance. The men began to whisper. Few who passed through Koios Strait were seen again.
"Men!" the captain called, and activity on the deck stilled. "We are far behind schedule! If we do not take the shortcut through Koios, we profit nothing!" The crew began to call out, some even daring to call mutiny.
"Mutiny if you want!" the captain screamed, spittle flying. "Our employer won't pay for spoiled cargo, and that cargo spoils in a week's time. Even if you kill me, you won't get any money for your trouble." The men quieted, though the tension was still thick. "Koios is survivable if we keep our wits about us. So whaddaya say, men? You wanna get paid?" The crew cheered, although some cries were reluctant. "Jan! Set a course for Koios."
Activity resumed as before. The ocean would not wait for squabbles. Mikko went back to scrubbing, and Ephraim went back to polishing the rail.
"This is no good," Ephraim said, shaking his head. "I've never met anyone who's been through Koios."
"Hopefully it's just a legend," Mikko said. However, she was worried. She had read stories of Koios, of the monsters as big as islands that devoured passing ships, of the sirens lurking below the surface, of the fog that concealed all but the closest objects.
"Merchants pay us to take the long way for a reason," he said, shaking his head. "Better late cargo than lost cargo."
"Maybe if the captain hadn't insisted on steering we wouldn't be off schedule in the first place," she scoffed. Ephraim rolled his eyes and nodded, looking over his shoulder at the stout captain.
The next few days passed in a tense silence. The deck was eerily quiet except for the crew working; the stories and chatter that usually filled the air left a gaping absence. Stories and their usual 'mock trials' were no longer held. If the captain noticed the silence, he did not show it. He was stone-faced at the end of the third day when wisps of fog first appeared alongside the ship.
"Keep yer wits about ya!" he called from the helm. The men had stilled, scanning the fog that had now enveloped them. Mikko heard Ephraim quietly praying by her side.
"I see somethin' portside!" a man dangling off the mainmast called. Mikko didn't know his name, though she had heard some men refer to him as 'spider'. The captain adjusted course accordingly, and a dark rock jutting out of the water passed by the left side of the ship. Mikko watched it disappear back into the fog.
"Do you hear that?" Cord asked.
"Hear what?" Mikko said, straining her ears. The other men had begun to murmur, but the captain stood steadily, keeping his eyes forward.
Then, she heard it. It was a strange sound, clear and silvery, echoing through the fog. It sounded almost like a yell, yet it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.
"Could it be a call for help?" Mikko asked.
"From what?" Ephraim said.
"I . . . " Mikko paused as she watched the men crowd to the rails of the ship. They shuffled to the edge, their eyes glassy and their mouths slack. Even Ephraim left her side and joined the crowd, pushing through to the front of the crowd.
"Ephraim? Ephraim!" she cried. He did not answer. She rushed to the captain, who was still clutching the helm. "Captain, what's happening?"
"Be quiet, boy!" he growled. Sweat was streaming from his temples. "It's only a legend, only a legend . . . "
"What? What legend?" the keening had grown louder, and new pitches had joined it, creating a melody that stole the breath from her. Maybe if she went to the rail, she could hear it better, or at least catch a glimpse at whatever beautiful creature was making such a sound.
"Boy! Stay focused!" the captain said. "I need you to look out for rocks ahead." Mikko blinked and shook her head. Going to the rail in such perilous waters was suicide; even she knew that. She stayed close to the captain, searching the fog for dark shapes. She wanted to go to the rail so badly, but she resisted, keeping her eyes ahead. Her stomach began to hurt and the song grew deafening.
"Ah!" the captain screamed, clutching his ears. The wheel spun wildly, and the ship listed to the side. She heard a few sickening splashes.
"Captain! The wheel!" Mikko cried. Blood began to leak through his fingers, and he fell to his knees. Mikko grabbed the wheel, trying to fight it back to a steady position. She yelled, forcing it still, her arms burning in protest. She gritted her teeth and held it steady. "Please!" she called. Her arms trembled as waves battered the sides of the ship and the current picked up. The sound had reached a fever pitch. Two cliffs emerged from the fog, looming above the ship. "No!" she cried, heaving the wheel against the current. But she was too late.
The ship hit the bottleneck sideways, breaking in half with a deafening crack. Mikko was thrown from the ship, colliding with the water. She was stunned; wreckage fell past her seemingly in slow motion, sinking to the darkness below. The water was a lovely turquoise . . . it reminded her a bit of home . . .
Blackness was closing around her when she felt something grip her arms. They groped her chest, pulling at her shirt and the cloth that bound her breasts. She made a feeble attempt to swat at them, but she was losing consciousness fast. She heard a clicking, and then she felt herself moving, much too quickly, and then suddenly she could hear the crashing waves, feel the cold air whip across her face. She gasped and coughed, and she felt herself being carried away; or was the current pulling her away? She should swim. . . but she was so tired . . .
When she woke next, she was prostrate on a flat, dark gray rock. The waves were crashing around her, sea spray showering her with each crash. She sat up slowly, gingerly feeling her head and limbs for wounds. Her fiery hair was unbound, falling nearly to her waist. She had been deprived of her top and her bind, leaving her breasts and stomach exposed to the cold air. There was a small pile of fish next to her. They reeked, but her stomach ached in a way it never had; she carefully picked up one of them, and it promptly slid out of her hands back onto the rock. She sighed.
The water was a deep blue, and though the sea was rough and the sky stormy there was no fog. She didn't think she was in the Koios Strait anymore. She tried to remember how she got here. Could she have floated here? It seemed impossible.
Land was nowhere in sight. She was on the biggest of a smattering of rocks, with the ocean expanding to the horizon in every direction. But to the east . . . it couldn't be . . .
She stood up, ignoring the dizziness and waving her arms frantically. She shouted nonsense at the top of her lungs, her voice hoarse. And finally, the blessed ship turned in her direction.
It was a modest but sturdy craft, clearly some sort of trading ship. She kept up her antics until the ship was looming above her, and she sank to her knees, nearly crying with relief. A rowboat plunked into the water and approached her rock.
"Please! Help me, my ship -- it crashed --" she cried. It was only as the men pulled up to her rock that she realized she was a half-dressed woman about to be taken aboard a ship of entirely men.
"Look what we have here! The One God has blessed us!" a gap-toothed man at the prow said. Some of the men looked fearful, murmuring prayers and averting their eyes. Others raked her form greedily. She fought the urge to cover herself and stood with as much dignity as she could muster.
"We shouldn't take a woman on board. It's bad luck," one man protested.
"I'm sure the captain could find a use for her," the gap-toothed man said with a smirk. Some of the men chuckled, and two steadied the boat while the gap-toothed man roughly pulled her into the boat, pushing her down onto the rotting seat. She let them. She kept her shoulders slumped, her head down, but through the corners of her eyes she carefully observed each man as the dinghy fought the waves to get back to the ship.
Once the dinghy was hauled up the side, they gripped her arms once again and threw her onto the deck. The men jeered and gasped.
"A woman!" the broad man crowed, planting his boot inches from her face.
"We weren't sure what you wanted to do with her, captain," the gap-toothed man said, "so we brought her back for you."
"Thank you, lads," the captain said. His voice was deep and theatrical, the words drawn out and the vowels exaggerated.
A man shuffled out of the crowd. "Sir, a woman on the ship is bad luck. She shouldn't be here."
"C'mon, captain, let us have some fun!" another called. Some cheered, but most stayed silent.
"A woman on a ship never did any good," a different voice protested. The captain tilted his head.
"I couldn't agree more, gentleman. Though a woman has her . . . perks, we can't risk it. Bad luck is all they bring on a ship. Why, I knew a captain . . . "
As the captain launched into his story, she quickly realized what her fate was to be.
"I challenge you."
The captain paused. "She speaks! Excuse me, milady, what was it you said?" She cleared her throat, hoping it would come out less hoarse this time.
"I challenge you."
"To a duel?" he asked. The crew laughed nervously.
"A woman can't challenge!" a man called out. But she knew she had him. He couldn't turn down a challenge, much less from a woman, without looking weak.
"If you're going to kill me anyway at least let me fight for my life," she pleaded. The captain looked at his crew, then exhaled.
"Very well. A duel, then." The men cheered. It had been a long time since they'd had such entertainment. "Your weapon of choice, milady?"
"A sword."
One of the sailors stepped from the crowd with a rusty, dinged blade. She tossed it up lightly, letting it fall to the deck as though she had fumbled it. The crew laughed, but now she knew that the blade was unbalanced.
The men formed a more uniform circle around her and the captain. The captain unsheathed a wicked blade, its hilt winking menacingly as he turned it in the sunlight. They stood back to back, walked five paces each, and turned.
"Best of luck, milady," the captain said, dipping his head.
She smiled. "Best of luck to you."
The captain came in fast, putting her on her heels as she adjusted to the blade. He swiped left, narrowly missing her flank, and she parried, attempting to gain more ground. The captain swung quickly and precisely, each move aimed for a vital organ or large blood vessel. She rolled, dodged and blocked, avoiding his blade as she studied his movements. She guessed he had been in the military. He was skilled, but his moves were patterned and predictable; he wasn't an artist with the blade. Not like she was.
She backed up, giving herself room to take a few deep breaths. They circled each other, triumph bright in his eyes.
She stepped forward, striking fast and smooth, easily dodging his counter strikes. The captain frowned, and she saw fear trickle into his eyes. She pressed her advantage, swinging right, left, duck, jab, block, swing-
Thunk.
The blade connected with the side of his neck, blood spilling thickly. The captain pawed at the wound, his face crumpling into confusion as he fell to the deck. The men were silent. The only sound was her panting. Finally, she turned from the captain and looked to the crew.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," she began, meeting each man's eyes, "but it would seem that I am your captain now." No one replied. "Well? Am I wrong?" she boomed.
"No captain!" the men shouted back. She nodded, and walked back to the captain and bereaved him of his blade. She admired it for a moment.
"Clean this up," she said.
"Aye, captain!" the crew replied.
"And someone get me a shirt!"