Chapter 0
The ocean has always been calming to him. When he was younger, everyone seemed to look at him as though they were waiting for something, before quickly glancing away so as to not seem obvious. But when he joined the crew of The ‘Ceptor, it was nothing like that. Sure he had enough self awareness to recognize that he didn’t fully fit in, but his eccentricities were more expected than estranging. Now, he was part of the crew, and the idealized image of the ship had faded into the harsher, but more appreciated, reality.
Contrary to what he had always imagined as a child, naval battles weren’t full of cannonballs flying everywhere, smoke and fire, and loud screams. At least, it didn’t if everything went according to plan, which it usually did. In fact, at the moment it was currently almost oppressively silent, as everyone slipped into the positions and roles that had been waiting for them, like the coats and hats that had been hung on hooks by the door in his childhood. There was the murmur of people confirming details and bearings, but for the most part everyone knew what they were doing and stuck to it.
The only disruption to this was expected—the sole cannon shot had been fired just seconds ago. The ship that they were approaching had quickly begun to slow, wanting to minimize damage that they couldn’t repair. Or maybe they were counting on the fact that once the pirates got close enough they would see the sigil of one of the major lords of the city of Castmalldun on the flag and decide it wasn’t worth the risk. That seemed likely. He smiles at the idea. He has nearly the best eyes on the ship, and his ability to identify their flag from a distance was one of the main reasons they had targeted them in the first place.
They pull up alongside the larger ship, and he slips behind a crate placed near the edge of the deck, far enough away from the gangplank that he won’t be noticed. Growing up, he had never thought much about how much he wanted to be noticed. Granted, some kinds of attention had always rubbed him the wrong way, like when adults would ruffle his hair and comment on how pretty he looked, but he never really thought that there was too much or too little until the sudden change forced it to the forefront of his mind. Members of the crew bustle by, not sparing him a second glance. If one was standing on the other ship, they wouldn’t be able to see him at all, even if they knew where to look. Now it’s part of his role to play, to be acutely aware of such things.
Focus, Adam. He looks up, and sees that the gangplank has been set down, the boarding party already passed over. He turns towards them, recognizable even from a distance by the vibrant slices of red across their vests and shirts, and lets his eyes shift to the people they are approaching. The other ship appears to have put together a small group to lead negotiation attempts. Good. He can see them begin to talk, but they’re too far away for him to make out any details. He isn’t really listening anyway, just scanning the other ship for anything out of the ordinary.
A powerful wave of nostalgia hits him as he sees a young girl—no older than twelve, he would guess—peak over the railing, wonder and worry telegraphed in her every move. A smile slips onto his face, and for a second he nearly forgets to stay hidden, the urge to pop up and wave at another young, friendly face near overwhelming. But that’s not me anymore. He remembers, and her hair returns to a smooth, wavy, black instead of a projection of his straight, plain brown. Her coat and hat fade from crisp blue to faded, travel-worn green.
He jerks his head away, and closes his eyes. A faint tone, pained, barely above a whisper, resonates in his ear,“If any of us could do it all, I figured it would be you. So easily distracted, but never by nothing.” The wind ruffles his hair, and the memory nearly blows away, but a sharp, wet, inhale snaps it back in place. The hand that had been placed comfortingly on his shoulder spasms and slips off. “I’m sorry that I can’t teach you more.”
Focus, Adam.
A fleeting feeling raising the hairs on the back of his neck before the ship settles again.
He opens his eyes, and the world shifts.
A quick glance at the party receiving his crewmates shows the man in the front now has hair made of waves, the brine evaporating before it can reach his peers. Before Adam’s eyes, he has also gained a scar, faded by time, which winds down his face before curling around his neck. Their Captain. Behind him, the woman who had previously been slouched and covered in a wind beaten cloak was now resplendent in a deep green gown. Her hair had been put into an elaborate updo, one that seemed as though it should topple at the slightest breeze. But what drew his eyes most was her face. What had previously been plain skin was now covered by layers upon layers of vibrant makeup—so many that her eyes appeared to retreat into her head, and her jaw droops under the weight. Probably the Lady being transported. He glances away. Interesting, vivid, but not the goal. There’s no one glowing, no one staring at the Lady’s face, no one flinching from the extra source of sea spray.
So it’s going to be a hunt. He grins, and begins to weave. First, he makes a fly. Nothing large, nothing that could lead them to his hiding place, but it darts in front of the faces of all the crew members and people on deck that he can see. Annoying enough that it should be noticed. No reaction. And so he focuses, and makes a thousand more, so many that they fuse into each other, wings frozen as they join into heads, bulging eyes merging into outstretched legs, on and on until they form a blanket, covering the other ship. It shouldn’t be able to stay aloft, but it does.
The young girl screams, and the beginnings of the negotiations snap to a close as everyone turns to look at her. She opens her mouth, and in the same moment he swings out from behind the crate and balances his rifle on his knee. He blinks, his vision now clear, and fires, disrupting the staged silence again.
The girl never begins to speak. Her cap flutters to the ground as her legs fold under her and she collapses, boneless, to the ground, as a puddle of blood begins to seep into the paneling below.
“I assume that was you gettin’ ‘em, right Kid?” his captain calls out, turning towards his hiding place.
He sets the gun down and nods, stepping clearly into view. “Fairly certain that’s the only one they’ve got.”
“Please,” the Lady cuts in, fear thick in her voice. She turns, angling herself to look smaller, maybe more naive, maybe more alluring. He can’t tell, all he can see is her face as it looked in the Aether. He thinks he might pity her.
“Give us all the supplies that you could possibly live without, any cargo that you’re transporting, and the key to the captain here’s log, and we won’t kill you,” his captain calls. The planks below where the girl once stood are soaked through, and blood begins to seep through the cracks. He checks, and the lady’s face looks the same, but her eyes seem clearer, more present. Adam smiles.
Contrary to what he had always imagined as a child, naval battles weren’t full of cannonballs flying everywhere, smoke and fire, and loud screams. At least, it didn’t if everything went according to plan, which it usually did. In fact, at the moment it was currently almost oppressively silent, as everyone slipped into the positions and roles that had been waiting for them, like the coats and hats that had been hung on hooks by the door in his childhood. There was the murmur of people confirming details and bearings, but for the most part everyone knew what they were doing and stuck to it.
The only disruption to this was expected—the sole cannon shot had been fired just seconds ago. The ship that they were approaching had quickly begun to slow, wanting to minimize damage that they couldn’t repair. Or maybe they were counting on the fact that once the pirates got close enough they would see the sigil of one of the major lords of the city of Castmalldun on the flag and decide it wasn’t worth the risk. That seemed likely. He smiles at the idea. He has nearly the best eyes on the ship, and his ability to identify their flag from a distance was one of the main reasons they had targeted them in the first place.
They pull up alongside the larger ship, and he slips behind a crate placed near the edge of the deck, far enough away from the gangplank that he won’t be noticed. Growing up, he had never thought much about how much he wanted to be noticed. Granted, some kinds of attention had always rubbed him the wrong way, like when adults would ruffle his hair and comment on how pretty he looked, but he never really thought that there was too much or too little until the sudden change forced it to the forefront of his mind. Members of the crew bustle by, not sparing him a second glance. If one was standing on the other ship, they wouldn’t be able to see him at all, even if they knew where to look. Now it’s part of his role to play, to be acutely aware of such things.
Focus, Adam. He looks up, and sees that the gangplank has been set down, the boarding party already passed over. He turns towards them, recognizable even from a distance by the vibrant slices of red across their vests and shirts, and lets his eyes shift to the people they are approaching. The other ship appears to have put together a small group to lead negotiation attempts. Good. He can see them begin to talk, but they’re too far away for him to make out any details. He isn’t really listening anyway, just scanning the other ship for anything out of the ordinary.
A powerful wave of nostalgia hits him as he sees a young girl—no older than twelve, he would guess—peak over the railing, wonder and worry telegraphed in her every move. A smile slips onto his face, and for a second he nearly forgets to stay hidden, the urge to pop up and wave at another young, friendly face near overwhelming. But that’s not me anymore. He remembers, and her hair returns to a smooth, wavy, black instead of a projection of his straight, plain brown. Her coat and hat fade from crisp blue to faded, travel-worn green.
He jerks his head away, and closes his eyes. A faint tone, pained, barely above a whisper, resonates in his ear,“If any of us could do it all, I figured it would be you. So easily distracted, but never by nothing.” The wind ruffles his hair, and the memory nearly blows away, but a sharp, wet, inhale snaps it back in place. The hand that had been placed comfortingly on his shoulder spasms and slips off. “I’m sorry that I can’t teach you more.”
Focus, Adam.
A fleeting feeling raising the hairs on the back of his neck before the ship settles again.
He opens his eyes, and the world shifts.
A quick glance at the party receiving his crewmates shows the man in the front now has hair made of waves, the brine evaporating before it can reach his peers. Before Adam’s eyes, he has also gained a scar, faded by time, which winds down his face before curling around his neck. Their Captain. Behind him, the woman who had previously been slouched and covered in a wind beaten cloak was now resplendent in a deep green gown. Her hair had been put into an elaborate updo, one that seemed as though it should topple at the slightest breeze. But what drew his eyes most was her face. What had previously been plain skin was now covered by layers upon layers of vibrant makeup—so many that her eyes appeared to retreat into her head, and her jaw droops under the weight. Probably the Lady being transported. He glances away. Interesting, vivid, but not the goal. There’s no one glowing, no one staring at the Lady’s face, no one flinching from the extra source of sea spray.
So it’s going to be a hunt. He grins, and begins to weave. First, he makes a fly. Nothing large, nothing that could lead them to his hiding place, but it darts in front of the faces of all the crew members and people on deck that he can see. Annoying enough that it should be noticed. No reaction. And so he focuses, and makes a thousand more, so many that they fuse into each other, wings frozen as they join into heads, bulging eyes merging into outstretched legs, on and on until they form a blanket, covering the other ship. It shouldn’t be able to stay aloft, but it does.
The young girl screams, and the beginnings of the negotiations snap to a close as everyone turns to look at her. She opens her mouth, and in the same moment he swings out from behind the crate and balances his rifle on his knee. He blinks, his vision now clear, and fires, disrupting the staged silence again.
The girl never begins to speak. Her cap flutters to the ground as her legs fold under her and she collapses, boneless, to the ground, as a puddle of blood begins to seep into the paneling below.
“I assume that was you gettin’ ‘em, right Kid?” his captain calls out, turning towards his hiding place.
He sets the gun down and nods, stepping clearly into view. “Fairly certain that’s the only one they’ve got.”
“Please,” the Lady cuts in, fear thick in her voice. She turns, angling herself to look smaller, maybe more naive, maybe more alluring. He can’t tell, all he can see is her face as it looked in the Aether. He thinks he might pity her.
“Give us all the supplies that you could possibly live without, any cargo that you’re transporting, and the key to the captain here’s log, and we won’t kill you,” his captain calls. The planks below where the girl once stood are soaked through, and blood begins to seep through the cracks. He checks, and the lady’s face looks the same, but her eyes seem clearer, more present. Adam smiles.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Unlike many of my stories, this one actually continues, in Chapter 1 (linked here)
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