Work Text:
It seemed a miracle the ship was still above the waves. The storm it sailed within was certainly fighting to drag it down to the depths. Many of its crew had already been taken to watery graves, not all unwillingly. Some had been swept overboard, unable to be saved as the rest of the crew struggled to keep their own footing. However, far too many had jumped into the waves willingly, as if entranced by a siren’s call.
It was a haunting sight, one that set the remaining crew on edge. Not a single soul was able to shift the fear of it soon being their turn. Arguments had been made that they should turn back, quickly turning to pleas as the situation grew more desperate. However, the pitch-black clouds stretched further than the horizon in every direction. There was no escaping this storm by fleeing it. They had to fight through.
Despite the pressing need for each and every remaining man to lend their aid, there remained one below deck. In the depths of the cargo hold, wedged between crates to hide himself further. It was all he could do to not shake as he kept grip on a nearly empty bottle of grog.
He would not go back out there, no matter how shameful they would think him when they caught him hiding. He’d rather be a coward than risk becoming something worse.
Redbeard should’ve known there was something wrong right at the beginning of the voyage, before it had even begun. Had he been thinking, he would’ve had a great many questions.
He had mostly tried to ignore his sister’s troubles over the past few months. It had always been difficult to watch her act as Lady Ianite’s messenger. He knew it a great honour to hold the title, one she undoubtedly deserved, but that did not mean he liked the way it had changed her. Hence, he found it easier to mostly mind his own business when they were on shore leave. Still, he would’ve had to be dead, ashes on the wind, to have missed the mounting rumours regarding her.
Months with not a word from Lady Ianite. It’d be concerning at the best of times, but when Dianitees were more and more often attacking their ships, it seemed almost an impossibility that their goddess held no guidance for them. This was the idea that the whispers had latched themselves upon, rumours beginning to do their work, suggesting that Capsize might well be hiding something.
Red didn’t know if he believed them. It wasn’t precisely in character for her to hide anything of importance. Perhaps, though, he should’ve thought on those rumours, held some weariness towards the announcement that Capsize had finally heard word from Lady Ianite and that meant a mission for her crew.
It was an objective so simple: go on a short voyage to find a blacksmith who would… She hadn’t been precisely clear on that. That should’ve been a tip off that something was wrong, that they hadn’t been told what precisely their Lady wanted them to do. As should’ve the amount of supplies they had been loaded up with for such an apparently simple journey.
As everyone had always told him, though, Redbeard had little sense. He’d written off those oddities as him simply reading far too much into things. After all, while it wasn’t as if Capsize was incapable of being tight-lipped when the occasion called for it, she was a good leader. She wouldn’t put her crew in danger without justification.
As for the supplies, they were always abundant when they were doing something for Lady Ianite. Typically not this abundant, but perhaps the generosity was to discourage such a long silence from reoccurring.
So he’d written them both off. What reason was there to believe the worst? That train of thought was why he now found himself in hell.
There was no other way to describe this voyage. This was not the simple journey they had been sold. The seas were wrong; something undeniably alien about them. The storm they had entered was unnatural and unyielding. It was thick enough that it was impossible to tell day from night, though Red was certain they had been battling it for days.
It seemed they may well have sailed right into Davy Jones’ locker. Surely nothing so hellish as this voyage could be happening in the living world. There neither seemed a chance of them making it to their destination nor of safely returning home. Undoubtedly this storm was to be the end of them. Was it any wonder men were jumping overboard?
Though, despite their action being explainable in such extremes, Red held his doubts that the action had been willing. He’d caught sight of a few, caught their eyes before they had made their leaps. They’d had no expressions at all, as if they were dolls rather than men. Yet despite how haunting a sight that had been, it was not the reason for his current cowardice.
If it was just the threat of throwing himself overboard, he could’ve done his duty and been helping above deck as he should. His own life wasn’t worth all that much. His fear was something far worse than the idea of his own watery grave.
It had started around the same time as the men had started jumping, his tangle of frustrated thoughts getting louder. To put it frankly, he was fed up with the captain. With how terrible everything was going, it’d be reasonable to expect her to be a little off kilter, showing some signs of stress. Except she wasn’t.
She was, to Red’s eye, her usual determined self. She had no sign of faltering or hesitation, determined to continue on whatever this mission was. Those back home would call it honourable, would say it showed her worthiness as a captain to not be swayed by even the worst of circumstances. He, however, found it just added onto his frustrations towards her.
How on earth could she be acting like this was any other voyage? Did she not see that her crew was quickly dwindling? Surely she did as she was doing her fair share of labour to make up for the lost hands. Yet still she would not listen to any of them begging her to let them turn back. She was entirely determined to move forward.
He’d seen her when he was soaked through and struggling with the sails, huddling in the doorway towards the ship’s lower decks with Rupert, sheltering from the storm for the briefest time. He could barely see them, only able to because of the orange glow of the lantern held by the undead man, let alone hear them. Still, he watched them pour over one of Capsize’s journals with a compass, clearly checking their heading.
The voice of resentment was louder than it ever had been before. So much hatred directed towards her for leading them on this doomed voyage, for not turning back when any sane captain would. What possible task could be worth all these men lost? Surely nothing but her own ego.
It felt good to have those thoughts, those moments of resentment. Until another set of thoughts joined the mix.
You should gut her for this. She’s led you to your death. Show her to her own.
He may as well have been struck by lightning for how rigid that shot all his muscles. It couldn’t have been his thoughts, but it certainly sounded like his voice. Besides, no other man would’ve dared say such words aloud. The only other place the words could’ve come from was the storm itself. Despite the ridiculousness of that idea, it was the one he had to cling to.
He tried to ignore them, to suppress whatever part of himself could possibly be coming up with those words. The hard labour in the cold rain shouldn’t have left any room for idle thoughts. Yet still, the whispering thoughts came.
You’d be a hero if you ended her. All the men here know she’s crazed. All it’ll take is a swift stab and you’ll finally be out of her shadow.
He couldn’t have truly been having such thoughts. He was annoyed, but he couldn’t really want to kill her. Not his captain. Not his sister.
She’s not really your sister. She hasn’t been since she became the Lady’s puppet. You know the only way to free her from that control.
They never stopped, just getting louder and twisting with more of his genuine jealousies. Worse, he could feel his hand slipping to rest on his cutlass whenever it wasn’t holding something. The fear of becoming one of those emotionless husks washed over him, but not for fear of ending himself. There was a much worse crime he might find himself unknowingly committing.
He’d stumbled below deck in an absolute panic. Exiling himself into isolation where he was sure the captain would not follow until he could banish the whispers from his mind. If anyone even noticed his flight, they made no comment on it nor tried to stop him.
Just one drink, he’d told himself. A bottle of grog to steady his nerves then he could return. They might be running out of the stuff, but who else was going to be reaching for a bottle any time soon?
Course though, he hadn’t returned. He was on his third bottle, which wasn’t nearly as drunk as he’d like. His hand was shaking too much to drown his thoughts completely, fumbling with the corks and threatening to drop the bottle with each sip.
He had no right to remain down here. It was all hands on deck and all those hands were certainly needed. But really who would miss him?
He was not a useful sort when it came to seafaring. All the traits that were admired in sailors were the ones he lacked. He held a position aboard this ship only because Capsize refused to let him go jobless. No one would call him helpful. No doubt they were doing better without him and his mutinous thoughts.
He’d remain here until the storm passed. That was the only way to ensure he didn’t get taken over. Should anyone come and try to force him above deck, he’d confess to what the whispers had tempted him to do. Let him be locked in the brig or run through. Better that than risk the captain.
At least, that was his ambition. However, when he heard the door creak open, he instead shifted further backwards into the shadows. He prayed they wouldn’t find him, but the sobs that he couldn’t stop from wracking his body made that a hollow hope to hold.
“Red?” The uncharacteristically nervous voice of Earl came into the room. Knowing that the one who had entered was his friend was almost enough to coax him out. However, his fear won out, keeping him frozen in the darkness for all the good that did to hide him when he wasn’t silent.
The newcomer was lured deeper into the cargo hold by the sobbing. The lantern he held gave him a glowing ring of orange light to find his way, but it was nowhere near enough of a guide without the noise. Not that the noise was the easiest to follow. It bounced around the room, off crates and walls, echoing as if it came from everywhere. Still, there was only so much room to search.
Eventually, he came to the crates that his friend was hiding between. Despite the couple of empty bottles rolling on the planks and the haunted look upon his friend’s face, Earl found himself filled with relief.
“Red. Thank the heavens,” He breathed as all the worst possibilities were proven false. He had so feared the idea of his friend being gone that even seeing him in this sorry a state was a joy. He reached down a hand, intending to pull the shaking man to his feet. “When I couldn’t see you up on deck, I feared you’d jumped overboard.”
“It might’ve been better if I had,” Red replied, ignoring the offered aid to remain on the floor. His survival did not deserve to be seen as a blessing. It was his own cowardice that meant he was avoiding the fate traitors deserved.
The relief that Earl had held quickly drained upon hearing his friend’s words. He carefully placed the lantern upon a crate and lowered himself to also be sat, so he was properly facing Red.
His face was red, but not the rosiness that came from drink. This was the bloodshot look of a man who had been sobbing for hours.
Earl swallowed.
“This storm, I know it seems unending, but it’ll break like any other,” He attempted to comfort.
Red was not the youngest member of the crew. That honour went to the captain herself, who he was the elder of if only by a few minutes. He was, however, the least experienced in terms of seafaring. It was all Earl could hope that his reaction came from having not experienced any similar sort of storm before.
“Perhaps it will,” Red said, though he couldn’t believe the notion at all. He couldn’t imagine this a natural phenomenon that would cease before it claimed them all.
That and with the whispers he had heard, the idea of this being a regular storm scared him more than the alternative. “But I fear the whispers I’ve been hearing will not end with it.”
“Whispers?” Earl questioned, fear growing in his heart. He had heard similar complaints of impossible whispers being heard. All of them had by men who no longer stood among them. “You’ve heard the waves’ calls?”
Red shook his head, but his state was such that no relief could be born from that. He knew that saying what he had heard was as much a death sentence, no different than if he had jumped, but what choice did he have other than confessing to stop his friend from dragging him back above?
“They tell me to end this by slaying the captain,” He watched Earl’s face turn from concern to horror. This was not something he should confess to, not if he was in his right mind. It was the worst kind of traitor he could be, but that was precisely why he had to. “They come disguised as my own thoughts, trying to trick me into action, but I know they aren’t. I know that I don’t want to…”
His being collapsed into sobs, horrible shame overwhelming him. Why had he been targeted like this? Why couldn’t he have been manipulated in the same way as those already lost?
“I know I am shameful. I find myself jealous of Capsize and the respect she has far more than I should. But I am not a mutineer. I swear on Mabel’s soul, goddess rest it.”
He couldn’t stop himself from breaking, his sobs consuming so much of his breath that it threatened to make him vomit. He couldn’t go back out into that storm. He couldn’t for a moment risk his blade being sullied with his sister’s blood.
Earl sat shellshocked, frozen and unsure of what action to take. He knew what he was supposed to do with men that made such confessions. Kill the rot before it can consume the ship. Had he been facing any other man making this same confession, he wouldn’t have hesitated.
He couldn’t though, not Red. He couldn’t kill the man he’d known since they were both boys. Especially not when he was sobbing, swearing that he had no intention on acting on these thoughts invading his mind.
Even if he somehow had the nerve – what would happen afterwards? Surely none would believe him that the captain’s own brother had turned mutineer. She certainly wouldn’t.
This was a trap, designed for them all to fall into.
“This be Dianite’s work,” He breathed, sure of the manipulations being the devil’s doing. He was trying to stop them from fulfilling whatever mission Lady Ianite had requested of them. When the storm had not ended them, he had sent these manipulations to attempt to end them in a far worse tragedy.
Confident in this conclusion, Earl took a hold of Red’s arm. His friend flinched, looking towards him with the fear of a condemned man. “I’m going to take you to the brig, Red. Just until the storm breaks to make sure you can’t act upon these manipulations. Then after we can explain this to the captain. She’ll understand, I’m sure she will.”
Red nodded, though he sincerely disbelieved his comfort. The captain was swift and ruthless. No doubt she would cut him down when she heard of his weakness. He was fine with that though. That would be a deserving fate for him.
Red allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The only resistance he gave was unintentional from how his body was still shaking. However, the two men didn’t make it a step before a great noise stopped them in place.
It could’ve only been a wave, nothing else made a sound like that. But with the volume of it and the way it shook the ship, it must’ve been bigger than the ship itself.
The two stood frozen, waiting for the water to break through the hull and consume them. Surely this was the end for them.
The shaking stopped, no water leaking through to the cargo hold. For the first time in days, everything was still and quiet. There weren’t the extreme rocks of the ship from rough waves nor the endless noise of the storm.
“The storm’s broken?” Earl muttered in utter disbelief. He had known it would eventually, but for it to happen so suddenly didn’t make any sort of sense. What other explanation was there though? That they were dead, taken to calmer seas to complete their final journey? That thought seemed somehow harder to believe.
The two remained motionless, scared that moving might break whatever reality they found themselves within and bring the storm right back. Yet the moment stretched and the storm made no sign of returning. The silence, however, didn’t remain.
It was barely audible from how far above them it was, but with no other noise it broke through to the cargo hold. A distant but clear wail.
Both men began rushing upwards, the wail only growing louder. It sounded a banshee, a horrible knell of grief, made all the worst by the only person it could possibly be coming from.
They burst onto the deck to be met with an impossible sight. The storm had indeed broken. The midday sun shined down on them. A gentle breeze pushed through the sails. The only sign there had been a storm at all was the drenched state of the ship.
It should’ve been a miraculous sight, but instead it was a horror. Near the entire deck was empty. What should’ve been a space full of men celebrating that the worst had passed was instead occupied by only two – both of whom looked harrowed by whatever force they had just witnessed.
The captain was the source of the wailing, a guttural noise of horror unlike any she had let out before. She looked as green as her youth would suggest, no trance of her typical poise.
Rupert was harder to read for expressions, especially when he was not faced towards them. He stood silent, all his focus apparently on keeping the captain upright. Still, he didn’t look himself.
Earl took a hesitant step forward, making more progress than Red who was completely frozen at the sight.
“Captain?” He called out, silencing her. For a few brief moments, there was nought but stillness and the wind.
“Capsize?” Red took a shaky step forward, putting himself next to Earl.
Slowly, the captain turned around, just as shaky as her brother. She froze once more at the sight of them. She stood there blinking as if she didn’t think them real.
She started into movement all at once. She ripped away from Rupert, sprinting across the deck towards the only other souls left on board. She nearly tripped in her clumsy, stumbling movement, but didn’t stop until she had her arms thrown around Redbeard, holding him tightly as if he might disappear at any moment.
She sobbed into his shoulder, rambling incoherently. He held her just as tightly, doing all he could not to shake.
This wasn’t how she was meant to act. She barely acted like this at home. She’d never dream of doing so on the ship where she was supposed to hold a level of professionalism. But who was there left to hold professionalism for?
They remained like that for an age, the only movement at all being Rupert joining them at this end of the ship. The four souls left on a now far too empty ship all together. Red almost could’ve been convinced that the horrors were over.
When their hug broke apart, he found the nerve to ask perhaps the most pressing question there was.
“Why are we doing this, Ize? What does Lady Ianite need that’s worth all this?” The terror laced into his voice. He couldn’t fathom why their goddess would send them through this hell.
Capsize unsuccessfully stifled a sob. She looked tinier than she had in years.
“Dianite’s imprisoned her,” Was all she managed before erupting into sobs once more.
It was as if the entire world broke in an instant. Being stabbed would’ve been less of a shock to the system. Red waited for some announcement of this being a sick joke. None came, just the wind and the captain’s sobs.
The horror had barely begun.