Row Toward Impending Danger

The sea brine stung Leo’s eyes as the boatmaster shouted his order.

“Row!”

Leo pulled hard on the long oar with callused hands. He heaved a heavy, misted breath against the winter cold, his back aching, his arms aching, his head dripping with sweat despite the consummate chill.

His slave brand, as it often did, still burned even two years after having it seared into his neck.

“Row!”

The command came again as the oar swung back around, and Leo pulled once more. With each pull of the oar, he exhaled. With recovery, he inhaled. In, out. Breathe, pull.

“Row!”

A sharp crack of a whip accompanied the boatmaster’s order, as one of the shiphands dealt out punishment to one of Leo’s fellow slaves. Whether the poor fellow had earned this lashing or not, Leo neither knew nor cared. He’d gained his own share of scars across his back in the two years since he’d entered this personal hell, and he knew Boatmaster Uric to be a capricious, petty man.

“Row!”

He kept his eyes forward, drilling a hole in the head of the man ahead of him. An old-timer, with a shaggy beard and salt-crusted hair, by the name of Skrag. His bare naked back bore even more scars that Leo’s, taking on the appearance of corrugated leather more than skin.

Like Leo, he wore a set of chained manacles on his wrists and a pair of shackles on his legs. Their extra weight made it impossible to escape by swimming, and made the act of rowing that much more laborious.

Even after years and years aboard these merchant vessels, the intensity of their work still winded and exhausted a veteran like Skrag.

“Row!”

That was what Leo had to look forward to. Years and years wasted aboard this miserable prison of a ship, breaking his body over and over again until the fates took him. Rowing back and forth along the coasts of Khrueshma, following routes with winds unfavorable to sail-driven craft.

He was only twenty-two years old, but he already felt older. Far, far older.

“You look angry,” said a new voice. Feminine, one he recognized.

“Row!”

He pulled with all his strength and spared a glance to his left.

Seated primly upon the thick wooden rail of the ship, unfettered by chain and unbothered by spray, was a young woman. Or, at least, she appeared to be a young woman.

Why do you torment me, spirit? Leo thought.

“Row!”

The woman’s skin was sun-kissed, and her hair white as bone. She wore a loose, flowing, golden robe around her slender figure, and her lips were drawn into a playful grin, one that reached her night-colored eyes.

She was also invisible, as far as Leo could tell, to everyone else aboard the ship.

“Row!”

“Giving me the silent treatment again?” she chided him. “A girl could start thinking you were giving her the cold shoulder.”

Leo held his tongue. The first time he’d seen her, his reaction had earned him a dozen lashings and reduced gruel ration. In the months that followed, he’d grown accustomed to her presence, but never did he feel assured by it.

“Row!”

She put her hands on her hips and pouted at him. “If you keep ignoring me, I’ll just leave.”

Leo considered as he heaved the oar once again. Did he want that? For her to go?

She was beautiful, but so were sirens. For all he knew, the spirit was planning to murder him and eat his corpse—or wear it.

“Row!”

It seemed the spirit had grown tired of his silence. “Fine, I guess I’ll go find some other poor sap to bother.”

Leo rowed the oar, and on the exhale, he breathed, “No… Don’t…”

“Row!”

The spirit paused. He caught the gleam in her eye and forced his gaze forward once more. True, this wily spirit would likely lead him to his demise. But how much worse could that be than—

Another crack of the whip, and a shiphand’s victim cried out in pain.

—than this?

“Row!”

“What… Do… You… Want?” Leo gasped through clenched teeth, keeping his voice low so that other slaves aboard the ship could not hear him.

The spirit seemed to think about that for a moment, before saying with a hint of glee, “Nothing.”

Leo growled, and in his frustration, he pulled the oar ahead of rhythm.

“Row!”

The punishment was immediate. A swift crack of the whip against his back. It stung, not as badly as the first time he’d experienced it, but he knew there would be a new scar added to his collection. A new wound to heal. A new reminder of his bondage.

It would complement his neck brand nicely.

Leo breathed through the pain and waited for the next repetition—

“Row!”

—before he pulled in time once again. No shiphand’s whip found him this time, as Leo had quickly corrected his mistake.

The spirit laid along the rail, lowering her head to be level with his. Her hair dangled down beside him, her night-colored eyes looking upon him with a hint of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, so that only he could hear. Except, he was the only one who could hear her anyway, so why bother? “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Row!”

“But I really don’t want anything from you. Rather, I’m here to help you, and to warn you.”

“Row!”

Leo didn’t respond. He pulled with all his might, putting his growing rage into keeping the ship moving forward.

Damnable spirit.

When he didn’t respond to her entreatment, she pushed up and knelt upon the rail.

“Leo, listen to me,” she said, her voice quiet yet piercing.

He jerked his head at her, missing the order to—

“Row!”

He barely even flinched when the whip cracked across his back again.

This was the first time she had addressed him by name. Something in her countenance had shifted, and her whole demeanor became grave.

The boatmaster himself came over with whip in hand. “Row, damn you! Row!”

Crack, crack, crack.

Each lash of the boatmaster’s whip split skin and poured blood down on the bench where Leo sat, but he paid them no heed.

With eyes fixed on the horizon, the spirit spoke. “Danger is coming, Leo. When it arrives, I will help you. Seek the boatmaster’s cabin, and I will deliver him into your hands. Do not delay, or you will die.”

The boatmaster’s whip cracked across Leo’s forehead, and a river of blood came streaming down over his face.

He closed his eyes against the blood and began rowing once more. The boatmaster gave him several more cracks of the whip across his back for good measure, but Leo did not miss anymore calls to row.

When at last he blinked his eyes open through the blood, he saw that the spirit was gone, vanished without a trace.

Her words clung to him. “Danger is coming.”

“Row!”