Short Story: The Black Day

The ship groans as it glances a current, causing your hammock to pitch. Habit makes you tap the map tucked into the chest pocket of your cloak. It’s safely hidden away.

“Take the first shift.” Pentra says between bites. Crumbs from stale bread fleck her mouth and you resist the urge to swipe them away with a thumb. “You’ve been up the last three nights.”

“I’m fine, really.” To sleep is to be vulnerable and you’ve learned that vulnerability ends in death. But your eyes already begin to drift. Something about Pen makes you believe that you can yield this one thing. You’re safe.

“Rest. We make land tomorrow. I’ll wake you in a few.”

Planetary bodies hang ripe through the ocean of stars blanketed against an eternal night. You barely nod before the ship’s rhythmic undulations pull you into oblivion.

#

“Solice.” Pen rips you from sleep, shaking your shoulder. The quiet strain in her voice launches you on your feet, dagger drawn in a motion.

“What is it?”

“It’s the crew.” Fear-blown pupils consume her face. “They’ve docked.”

Your eyes rake her for injury and your breathing slows a pace when you find none. Then you scan the skies, judging your position amongst the stars. “We’re early?” No, there’s still hours until we reach the Outer Limit.

She shakes her head, arms folded protectively over her middle.

“I’ll go talk to them. You stay here.”

Pen grabs your arm.

“Stay.” You take both her shoulders, bending to stare down into sable eyes. “If this goes badly, I want you to run. Take one of the schooners and get the hells out of here.”

Her hand grips your elbow–heat leaching into your pores despite the layers of clothes.

“I’m going with you.”

#

It seems the entire crew is gathered on aft deck, waiting.

“What is this?” You push through dense bodies toward the captain.

“It’s a fucking mutiny, you sniveling pissant.”

A sailor spits at your feet. Ignoring the disrespect, you turn to Pen, hoping she’s found somewhere to hide. But she isn’t among the crew drawing in on you. Good.

“I paid you to do a job. You won’t get the other half until it’s finished.” You force your voice to low, controlled boredom.

“You high demon’s don’t seem to hear too well.” Grim, the ship’s captain 

Laughter ripples through the swelling crowd.

“We don’t give a damn about your coin. We’re after something much sweeter.”

You turn as if to leave, but pivot at the last minute and throw your weight into a punch. You connect with…air. And your body sails right past the captain. Fighting has never been your strong suit. You’d always preferred books and secret treasures. You land with a bone-crushing thud on the deck.

Then they are on you. Booted feet smash into your skull and white bursts through your vision like starlight breaking night.

The attacks continue until you can no longer fold around your organs. Copper coats your tongue.

“Enough. I said to scare him.”

They stop. Blessed reprieve allows you to draw a stuttering breath. On your back, you look up into the infinite night and Pen’s soft face cuts into your line of sight.

A mask of apathy slams over her features. Nothing left of the woman you knew–the woman you are breaking for.

She fishes your cloak and snatches the map from your inner pocket. Shock and pain have rendered you motionless

“Captain, what’s the next course?” Grim, the man you’ve looked to for command all these weeks stares straight at Pen.

Your breath seizes. Everything in you breaks. Infinitesimal fissures spiderweb a ragged path through your heart.

The fragile trust you’d garnered is smothered in an instant
“Tie him,” she says.

“Why?” Your voice cracks, rough with emotion.

“Because you are a treasure beyond anything we could have hoped.” She stares down at the unrolled map, starlight flecking her dark eyes. “You think because we are low breeds that we wouldn’t recognize you–that we Lesser Demons wouldn’t know you are the scion to Clan Alerwis.” 

Her gaze never leaves the map. You don’t if she is talking about the treasure hidden within that scroll clutched tight in her fist or you, and the sum she mistakenly believes your father will pay for your safe return. Either way, the betrayal aches worse than the blows you’ve taken this day–scars that won’t easily heal. 

The ship lurches, charting a new course. Rough hands haul your bloody ass off the deck. 

Pen finally looks up as two men steer you toward the hold. You want to say something. Anything. But your throat is welled shut with emotion. She stalks toward you, her heels clicking against wood, the only sound. She reaches up. Tucks a lock of your dark curls behind your ear. A motion she has mirrored countless times. Even now, that tender touch makes your stomach knot. 

“Lock him up, Grim,” she says.