Take Heart

“Natalia,” the pirate king weeps. Her hand is limp in his as he lifts it up to his lips, kissing it softly. 

She lies still next to him, like a winter goddess, asleep under rose-gold blankets. There is dried sweat on her brow. The doctor had warned them about sleeping together. 

"You do not flinch when my beard grazes your skin?" His tears drip onto her knuckles. "At last, you do not complain."

He puts her hand down, then caresses her cheek -- black hairs brushed aside. A wild woman tamed.

"At last, you do not complain. My queen."

~ ~ ~

No gale howls across the Baltic sea; the ice-capped waves as still as rocks on a mountain side. 

“You’ve done your life, son,” said Ivanov the Blind, his bird-pecked sockets showing. “When the king returns, justice will be dealt as quickly as it was broken!” 

Yanik swung a club at his head, striking him. Ivanov screeched.

“He cannot move faster than we," he said. "The Hachal’nik is more steadfast than any other vessel he might beget.”

“No!” shouted Ivanov. “Not any…” With his hands he drew a crescent in the air. “The Brigadir…”

Yanik looked at him, only his eyes showing between his fur hat and coat.

“A lion of the sea,” continued Ivanov. “It’s oak as old as Russia itself.” 

His left hand floated up in another crescent. 

“No sail is needed for it to move. Oars on either side propel it through endless tides.” Swimming gestures. “Row, row, row, row…”

“You’re mad, boatswain, and your words are dust,” mocked Yanik. 

Ivanov’s expression collapsed into a dead frown, as he looked Yanik straight in the eye.

“Mad. Mad was you when you took his wife from his bed. Mad was you to bring her upon this ship. Mad was you to make Hell a watery escape!” 

Ivanov screamed! A blood curdling, piercing scream that tarnished his throat from within. His echoes carried over the black sea, and into the fog like a harpy’s song.

Yanik swung his bat at Ivanov, but did so with so much strength, that the force cracked the boatswain's skull, sending brain-licked fragments across the sea-sprayed deck.

The corpse lay bloody and twitching. Other sailors standing nearby stared in silence. 

Yanik cleaned the blood on Ivanov's leg. "Can one of you tell me what distance remains to Turku?” he asked.

As two dragged the corpse away, a third came up to Yanik, saying: “She’s approaching slowly. Even with our three days delay, we should not be at risk of being caught up to, and much less found in the clouds that have hidden us.”

Yanik crossed his arms. “The mad man’s scream could have been heard for a dozen leagues. Mad harpy. If we were at any point to be intercepted by any ship, our chances of making it away would plumet. And in this fog, we would never know if there was another ship until it were on top of us.”

“As you said, Captain, sound carries lightly over these waters. If anyone could hear us, we could surely hear them as well, and all I hear is silence.”

Yanik brought his eyes to the blood-soaked deck, with bubbles both white and red. His heart suffers.

“I will go see the queen now,” he said, and trod towards the Captain’s quarters, behind a black way.

~ ~ ~

Inhale—a blood-freezing air that chokes the lungs. A cooling of the heart to calm his mind. “Where are you, my queen?”

At his behind, two rows of men -- many long haired and barebacked -- turn the oars of the Brigadir counterclockwise in a strained silence. Most of their fingers are stuck to the wooden shafts. Snot hardens on their philtrum. One of them, whose name was Umbar, rolled over to his side from exhaustion and cold, dead.

"My king," said Yan the Sterile, kneeling by Umbar and checking his pulse. "Another has perished. That's the sixth one since we left."

The king glanced over his shoulder. "Call up more hands to replace him."

"You miss my point. We are racing to a destination we do not know we'll find, and there is not enough men aboard this ship to commandeer a replacement. If we are to make it, we should relent."

The king stomped his foot. "We will not relent until my queen is returned to me. And I will not chance a single man involved in her kidnapping to walk on land again. Now heave!"

The ship thrust forward, breaking through a wave, spraying the men aboard.

Yan approached the king at the bow -- a thick black coat hanging down to his iron heeled boots. He leaned in for a whisper.

"My king, do you still ache?"

The king, without turning, grabbed Yan by his scarf.

"No ache is as great as that of my queen's absence." He cast Yan aside.

The doctor started to walk towards the stern where there was a tarp serving as cover. But before he could make it, a ghastly scream cut the monotonous sound of oar-splashing.

"That scream..." said Yan.

"Yes, that is our boatswain," said the king.

The scream sustained on the air until it came to a sudden halt.

"We are close. Heave!"

~ ~ ~

Like a mountain merging through the fog, the king and his crew could at last lay eyes on the Hachal’nik: a double-decker with 74-guns, optimized for speed over power after being seized from a French convoy and repainted to disappear in the bleak black-and-grey of the Baltic sea. A vessel belonging to the king's own fleet. Stolen.

"Let her drift," called the king.

The Brigadir began to cruise steadily through the waves without the aid of oar power. The small sail, as well, was coiled and tied; afterwhich the mast itself was undone at the base and lowered slowly. For a moment it appeared as if the Brigadir was itself another slab of ice on the frozen sea.

Yan crouched up to the king, and began to analyze the Hachal'nik. Without a looking glass he could not see much. Only that the starboard side of the ship was facing them. Strange, as they were tailing them all this way. 

"Where are the lights?"

A sudden terror struck Yan's heart.

Booming tore the silence as small flames burst throughout the Hachal'nik's side. Cannonballs whizzed through the air.

"Down! Down! Down!" shout the king. 

All at once, a barrage exploded the ice and waves around the Brigadir, and one or two cannonballs crashed through its portside and prow. Wailing and screaming filled the air as spurts of blood and flesh splattered the deck.

"Into the water!" he yelled.

As more cannonballs were fired, the king and those that were free to move jumped head-first over the gunwale and into the icy waters. Another round cut the Brigadir down the middle, sending men and limbs flying, and hastening the doom of the vessel, submerging into the deep.

From beneath the waves, death seemed certain. The dormant bodies sinking. The dark abyss. The muffled splashes, crashings and weepings. Shadows from the deep began to rise. Creatures hungry swam at those struggling to resurface and clenched their mouths around them, throttling them and dragging them down. And as one saw the king, watching these things unfold, it began to swim swiftly towards him -- its jaws widening. But just then, a ghoulish woman, elegant in black, flashed before his eyes, and the sea creature turned away. So did the rest of them.

Breaking through the surface, the king threw himself atop a slab of floating ice. Groaning and shivering, he gazed upon the Brigadir. Nearly vanished. And barely any movement was left that was not inspired by the currents. Lights above Hachal'nik shone fresh. Call-outs and jeering claimed the solemn atmosphere. It seemed then as if they were lowering jolly boats onto the water to scout out the wreckage.

The king, warmed by rage, remained attentive to the point where he saw the men from the Hachal'nik pull up close to him. With harpoons they pocked at the bodies and floating debris. Suddenly, a man splashed out of the water, taking hold of the jolly boat's rim.

"Help me!" he quaked.

The harpooner raised his weapon into the air and stabbed it into the floater's trapezius. With a gurgling breath, he slipped. But another took hold of him, and lifted him onto the boat.

"He's got nothing of value. Throw him back out." And he did so.

Just then, a whisper passed over the king, that reached the scavenger's ear.

"Over there, on the ice."

The king dropped his head, and as the jolly boat approached him, he remained perfectly still. Once they came on top of him, they used their harpoons to drag him into the boat.

"This one appears to have been important. Look at his short hair and long coat. Take what he has off him and throw him overboard."

But before they could lay a finger on him, one of the men said, "Wait! Let us make sure he is dead." 

He pulled a jagged knife. And as he raised it over the king and thrust it down, the king quickly stretched out his hands and seized it. All the men jumped with fear, and in their fright, the king cut the men nearest to him, and ordered the farther two to listen.

"Continue to search as you have so far, but do not kill any living when you see them. You will bring them onboard, and you will let them take your coats and seats. After, you will lie down and remain quiet until we reach your ship. Disobey at any point and I will kill every one of you."

They nodded, and began to row again in the direction the king said. Through blood and splinters they tread. The hull knocking over things they could not see. Clinging to a chunk of mast they gathered three men, which as told, replaced the scavengers' roles and clothes. 

"Don't move," the king repeated.

Upon the tarp, off-set from the wreckage, the doctor in his green coat, struggled to stay afloat. With the weight of him, the tarp caved and filled quickly with water that began to choke him. Swiftly, the king took one of the harpoons and grabbed hold before he could sink, and dragged him up out of the water within the tarp. The others came in with their collected knives and cut away the covering, unveiling the doctor. Once freed, they pulled him on board. He retched on his knees. 

"You are the last one. Now let us go to the Hachal'nik."

But as he said this, one of their hostages staggered onto his feet and threw himself overboard. With muffled cries, he called for help.

Heads from the other jolly boats turned, but saw nothing. And as the straggler strained to cry again, all breath scaped him. A harpoon pierced his back. Under the waves, he vanished.

 ~ ~ ~

"Let us row to land," said one of the the jolly boat survivors. "Reconvene and return when we are stronger, if that is even possible."

"No," said the king. "The plan remains unchanged. Our destination remains the Hachal'nik, where my queen lies docile to these bastard-sons."

Recovered, Yan intervened. "We are but five men remaining. Our bodies creak from the wet and the cold. Aboard that frigate are at least fifty-strong. Even if we make it aboard, we will never make it off."

The king looked past the doctor at the scavengers that lay upon the deck. "Murderers." They looked at him with concern. "You have taken part in an unforgivable act demanded of you by your captain. For this reason, you are murderers in my eyes. But only as long as you associate with your captain. If you instead choose to give me your allegiance and aid me in my endeavor to retaking my ship, you will be forgiven."

"Your ship?" one said.

"Wait," the other cut in. "You are him! The king of pirates, who ran down a French convoy with a full-rigged and left with a frigate and a triple-decker. The former renamed to the Hachal'nik, from Conquérant -- sailed by King Louis XVI."

"He's too small and old," said the first. "If you really are the king of pirates, prove it to us!"

"In the captain's cabin there is a hole carved out of the floor," began the doctor. "There was the French king's throne, gilded gold and seemed with velvet. Alone our king walked inside, and met the eyes of Louis the XVI, and with a swiftness he passed his blade through his heart and the backrest, trapping his body there forever. So he then called his carpenter, removed the throne, and heaved it over the side of the ship into the cold. Keeping nothing for myself."

"He's right," said the second. "I have seen that hole, and heard the stories, though never like this."

The first trembled with sudden terror. "Spare us, king. We will do what we're told, and cut our ties with our former captain."

The king hovered over him. "Tell me everything."

The king with his remnant crew converged with the other jolly boats. They turned on a lantern, but kept their heads down and voices quiet.

Their hostage began: "Of the five boats before us, five men are of the most importance. See in the second boat, there is a man with a 

• Getting a little long and slow again. You can keep it this way, but try speeding things up.

ir enemies as they made their way to the Hachal'nik. Sparking alight their lantern, they emerged from the shadows.

• Their approach to the Hachal'nik, coming up a different route. The others suspect a jolly boat has gone missing.

• Show them picking out the dead from the living, throwing away corpses, looting the Brigadir, and taking with them any living. Their goal is to confirm what kind of ship came at them. Upon seeing it, they can confirm that it was likely the Brigadir.

  • What if they come up to the king and try killing him, but he is then resucitated by spirits? (~X)

• They heard Ivanov's scream, so they know they are approaching quickly. Or maybe they're about to hear him. 

With leather boots he walked on the ice, away from his small ship and crew. All that jingled was tucked in his pockets, and each step fell softer than fire. Through the fog he traversed, and pressed on even after he was newly-coated white, and his beard was soft. He followed a familiar voice, lost to the world. One who shared a mind like his own. 

“Ivanov, your spirit guide me.”

The depths astride of him. A plain of ice beneath. He walked the coast westward, until at last he saw it. His son, “Hachal’nik, you’ve waited for me. And these rats bite at your sides to lead you away. I will kill them, and after, we three will go home. Us and our queen.”

…

Darkness comes, and the men picking away the ice along the trim of the vessel feel their joints stiffen close to immovability.

“Return to the ship! That is all for now!” shout one aboard.

Slowly they began to pack their shovels, pickaxes, hatchets and ropes. In a row on the gangplank, six or more of them passed the crates and tools up; whilst four took charge of running the equipment to them.

Notes:

• Theme: Letting go (till death do us part)

• The king must humble himself to recognize that he must let go, or else he will be cursed for all eternity.

  • He is leaping onto a ship of demons, where he is chasing an illusion. He has to make a decision to let go of Natalia and be saved, or pursue her all the way to his doom.

  • In the end he leaps off the ship into the cold, letting go, and wakes up at his bed, surrounded by his doctor, his son, and his friends. His wife is gone.

    • Story violence with a purpose.