《Sea of Consequences》


 Chapter 1

    Dymira refused to call out as her body hit the ground. Shadows of approaching guards fell across her as they stopped in front of her to stand and laugh. By the sting on her lip, she could tell that it was bleeding. She dared not move right away; she knew the guards would harass her more if she proved that the blow hadn¡¯t knocked the fight out of her; it had been a hard lesson to learn, and she was only relieved to have learned it before the damage became permanent. She could feel the chill roughness of the hard cobblestone beneath her cheek, and passed the time by following a little ant, carrying a crumb away, with her eyes. She could hear the feet of others moving past her, none of them daring to stop and help her, or even to watch what would happen to her next. Finally she saw the shadows start to recede. When she finally got up, she did it slowly, as if her spirit had been broken. In truth, it was broken, but it only left her with a sharp edge that she would turn on anyone who tried to break her down further.


    As she pulled herself to a fully upright position, fortunately without being knocked down again, she beheld another pair of eyes peering out of a black, curtained litter that was off to the side of the boarding procession. It was hoisted up on poles and held by four especially stoic looking guards. Dymira didn¡¯t know who would merit being carried around on a such a thing, but it piqued her curiosity, what little was left of it. Soon the eyes disappeared from sight as the curtain closed again. With nothing more of note to see, Dymira moved along. Every part of her her seemed to ache, but the only thing to do now was walk; she knew the guards would leap at the chance to knock her, or anyone else, on the ground again. She wasn¡¯t going to give them that chance, if she could help it.


    Finally the procession reached its destination. One by one, the passengers walked up the gangplank onto the ship, the sound echoing from the distance between it and the water below. A single prisoner turned to make a break for it, scrambling away from the plank in almost feverish haste. Two guards went after him, the larger one catching the unfortunate man by the rough collar of his shirt. The prisoner flailed wildly, fingers curling and trying to scratch his way, however futilely, towards freedom. The guard gave him a stern shake.


    ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± the guard demanded, his tone halfway between annoyed and amused.


    ¡°I can¡¯t get on that ship; I can¡¯t,¡± the man wailed. ¡°The ocean is too big; it will swallow us whole!¡± The fear was obvious in his blood shot eyes. Feeling the tension, Dymira held her breath. As this disruption played out, a few other prisoners also made a break for it, but their fates were sealed much more quickly. Several of the guards drew their guns and opened fire. Within seconds, those prisoners lay dead on the ground, the air ringing from the sounds of the guns, heavy with the scent of smoke and blood. Dymira couldn¡¯t turn her head away fast enough; it took every ounce of her will to not scream and draw attention to herself. She cared nothing for them as individuals, but the memory that stirred from the ordeal threatened to overwhelm her.


    ¡°It¡¯s your choice; you can either face the ship, or face the bullet,¡± the guard said, holding the man in such a way that they were face to face.


    ¡°No,¡± interrupted a guard of a higher rank. ¡°That is far too kind.¡± He turned his gun around and struck the man in the back of the head with the blunt end. The prisoner went limp in the guard¡¯s grasp. ¡°He has to live with the consequences of his actions. And be a lesson to the rest of them,¡± he added, waving his hand towards the other prisoners. Dymira kept her eyes averted, schooling her expression to be neutral. It wasn¡¯t a lesson she wanted or needed.


    Once the situation settled, the remaining prisoners were crammed into a small, high security cabin. There were twenty seven of them all total; or that¡¯s how many Dymira managed to count when the guards went down the list to verify which of the prisoners were no longer with them. Besides herself, there were five other women, but this offered her no sense of comfort. She had no desire to interact with any of them. The feeling seemed to be mutual. Four of them were too busy paying attention to the male prisoners to bother with her; a fifth curled up in a ball the moment the ship started to move. Apparently she didn¡¯t have any experience on boats.


    Dymira settled herself into a corner and closed her eyes. The motion of the boat was oddly comforting, rather than making her ill, despite the fact she¡¯d never been on a ship in her life. She leaned against the wall and tried to forget where she was. After a while, she gave up. She couldn¡¯t forget that she was on a ship destined for a deserted island. She couldn¡¯t forget that all the passengers were guilty of some crime, herself included. She couldn¡¯t forget the guards who enjoyed being cruel to someone, just because that person had dared to break the law. Any law. Even though her imaginings were futile, Dymira kept her eyes closed. She hated looking at the other prisoners. Instead of feeling a connection or desire for unity with them, all she felt was a cold disdain along with a distaste for seeing her lack of freedom reflected by the other convicts. Most of her life she had held a disdain for criminals; she had considered herself a ¡®normal¡¯, law-abiding citizen. But when push came to shove, she chose family over the law, and failing to legally justify her actions, had earned herself a one-way ticket to prison.


    Except the ticket wasn¡¯t truly one way. Natural disaster had destroyed one of the kingdom¡¯s largest prisons. This created a hole in the system; there were more prisoners than prisons to store them in. And the makers and enforces of the law couldn¡¯t abide setting any of the criminals free. So another solution was sought. Those below a certain ¡®threat¡¯ grade were rounded up, bound securely, and transported to the coast, where they spent five days being held, examined, and questioned in small, crude cells. After that, they were lined up and forced onto this ship. It was balking at the sight of the huge vessel that had given the guard an excuse to backhand her, interpreting her lack of movement as defiance, rather than awe and curiosity. Or perhaps he simply hadn¡¯t cared. Either way, Dymira chided herself for not knowing better, for providing any reason for the guards to take note of her.


    ¡°Hey, your Highness,¡± sneered a voice from across the room. Dymira didn¡¯t need to open her eyes to know who was speaking. And, since he wasn¡¯t one of the guards, she kept her eyes firmly shut. ¡°Care to join the rest of us.¡± Apparently Egaire, the owner of the voice, couldn¡¯t take a hint. This time Dymira¡¯s eyes snapped open. If he was that eager to talk to her, then she couldn¡¯t trust his attention would stop at just speaking to her. While she knew him by his reputation as a particularly brutish thug, she couldn¡¯t honestly recall if he was specifically known for attacking women or not. Either way, it was best not to anger him too much. While the guards would eventually stop him, hopefully short of her death, there was no guarantee they would do so quickly enough to spare her long lasting damage. She was even considering answering him, but she never got the chance.


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    ¡°Yes, dearie, I know we¡¯re not perfect, but surely you can tolerate us for a little while,¡± spoke up the woman currently leaning against Egaire. One of his arms was looped casually around her shoulder. Dymira found the smug smile on her face more irritating than the words she just spoke. The woman, Allery, was a prostitute. All the women on board, apart from Dymira herself, had been convicted on that same charge, though some of them had a few other charges added to their convictions. Dymira had no desire to associate with any of them; her upbringing had seen to it that her internal narrative cast such women as a lost cause.


    ¡°I¡¯ll pass,¡± Dymira said quietly, her tone carefully polite, her expression neutral. This politeness only served to anger the other woman, and sensing the shift in emotion, Egaire stepped forward, his fist raised to strike, or at the very least threaten, Dymira. Nothing came of it, however, as the voice of the guards cut across the beginnings of the dispute.


    ¡°Everyone out on deck; you have work to do.¡± The gruff order wasn¡¯t contested, and the prisoners filed out silently. Still, the look Allery gave her as she walked by told her that the conversation was merely on pause; it wasn¡¯t over yet. The line out of the room was orderly. Some of the convicts were clearly sea-sick, and the rocking of the boat left them with no desire to fight. Others were more deeply sick from long years in captivity and living off of poor rations. A few, like Dymira, had only recently gained the dubious status of convicts and hadn¡¯t been beaten down enough to lose all their vitality. And some, like Egaire, would scratch out a living no matter where they were, no matter the cost. Among all of them, however, was a certain desperation. At least, on land, there was a hope of escape. But, even if they managed to elude the guards here, the only place to go was the watery depths. For now, getting along was preferable to the certainty of drowning to death.


    Once in place, the prisoners were divided up into work crews and assigned various tasks across the ship. Dymira listened carefully for her name, only to hear she was part of the scrubbing crew. Her only response was to press her lips together in dismay. The sailors, not associated with the guards, eyed them with scrutiny, but didn¡¯t protest. After all, it was their ship and they had to work and live on it practically full time. They weren¡¯t going to let a bunch of untrained convicts damage the vessel. When it came time to actually put the convicts to work, the sailors were the ones to itemize what needed to be done, and how to do it. The guards frequently bristled, but their boss kept them in line. All around, no one was particularly happy with the arrangement, but most of them were reluctant to be the first one to cause any conflict.


    As soon as the prisoners were set up and taught their jobs well enough to function without constant reminders, an uneasy quiet settled over the crew and passengers. The salty smell in the air, and the rocking of the boat didn¡¯t do well with many prisoners, and even some of the guards looked a bit green; most of them had never been on an ocean voyage before. Dymira managed to keep herself from getting sick, but she didn¡¯t like the smell of the boat any more than the next person. The creak of the wood kept the hair standing on the back of her neck, yet the sound of the waves slapping against the sides sounded oddly pleasant to her. She worked quietly, her head bent over her task as she scrubbed along the grain of the wood, keeping the strokes methodical and even. Her way of working was less about diligence and more born of a desire to avoid the notice of the guards or the other prisoners. She had no particular opinion of the sailors, but she also didn¡¯t want to give them a reason to take note of her either.


    Even though the work was hard, there was something therapeutic about it. Especially when a nice breeze came off the ocean and wafted across her back, easing the sweat that had started to accumulate. It was much more pleasant to work on the open deck than it was inside the dark, dank confines of the prison. Yet, at the same time, the open air that symbolized freedom was merely a tease. In many ways the boat was a more effective prison than the jail had been. There was nowhere to escape to other than death by drowning. And between the guards and the sailors, there were too many people to fight if the prisoners wanted to make a grab for the ship itself. Not to mention the fact that it was unlikely the prisoners would be able to bring the ship safely to port; she doubted any prisoners with a history of piracy would have been allowed on board.


    After an hour, the breeze was no longer offering any solace. Instead of lifting the sweat gently from her back, it was just making her feel a chill, the clammy sensation of her shirt sticking to her skin exacerbating the aches her muscles were starting to feel. She hadn¡¯t been in prison long enough to fully acclimate to the rough work; her job before her incarceration had not been menial labor, though she certainly hadn¡¯t been high enough class to avoid it entirely in her day to day life. With every push and pull of the brush, she could feel her back protesting, ripples of pain radiating from her spine. The silent tears she shed, and the sweat from her work, both trickled down her face, stinging the spot where she had cut her lip earlier in the fall, pain compounding on pain. But made no sounds; any sign of weakness would be exploited, turned into fodder against her by guards and fellow prisoners alike. She kept herself with her head bowed; all anyone would see was a prisoner hard at work.


    Finally, with a muted cry of relief, she finished her task. Standing, she turned around and looked at the expanse of deck before her, clean as it could be considering the stains that had accumulated over the years. Dropping the brush in the bucket of soapy water gave her a grim sense of satisfaction and a weary sort of pride in a task well done. The feeling was short lived. As she was daring to stretch out her cramped muscles, she saw a group approaching her. It was Egaire and two of his close followers. Each of them had a prostitute on his arm; apparently fraternizing with other prisoners wasn¡¯t a punishable offense her. Five of them were smoking, leaving Dymira wondering where they had managed to acquire the cigarettes. The sixth was the prostitute that had been curled up in a ball earlier, and she was still looking quite unwell. Her breaths were shallow, and it was more than likely she didn¡¯t want to inhale anything deeply, cigarette smoke or otherwise.


    Dymira watched them warily, the tension causing her body to protest. She didn¡¯t want to deal with a confrontation. She started to relax a little as the group continued walking by, not saying a word to her. She had almost believed she was in the clear when they paused at the end of her section. With clearly communicated deliberation, they each dropped the remains of their cigarettes on the newly cleaned deck. Dymira held in a sob.


    ¡°Ooops,¡± said Egaire, unconvincingly, letting out a blunted laugh.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t mean to,¡± chimed in Allery, her laugh a high-pitched contrast to the one that came before. The others laughed as well, all except for the one prostitute who looked decidedly ill. But when Egaire realized that she wasn¡¯t laughing, he roughly elbowed her in the ribs, causing her to become sick all over the deck, making the discarded cigarettes a moot point. The group then walked off again, still laughing, though they were half dragging the sick prostitute. Fighting back tears, and a swell of nausea, Dymira got back to work again. She tried not to wonder if Egaire had hurt the woman specifically to produce this effect, or if it had just been bad luck.

 Chapter 2

    Dymira was still cleaning when a guard came by for inspection.  By this time, the sun had already set, and the chill air was creeping into her already aching muscles.  She said nothing; she knew it would do no good to say anything about Egaire.  If the guards didn¡¯t see an action, it didn¡¯t happen according to them.  They only put a stop to any fighting or harassment among the prisoners if they personally witnessed it.  This wasn¡¯t any sort of benevolence on their part; they just wanted to do all the harassing themselves.  It was about control and the rights of the law.  And perhaps that was the thing that hurt the most: it wasn¡¯t the captivity, it was how she was treated during the captivity.


    ¡°Answer me, lazy wench!¡±  The guard¡¯s voice was loud and sudden.  Dazed, Dymira shook herself out of her thoughts.  She could only assume from his words that the guard had asked her a question, but she couldn¡¯t sort out what it was.  Before she could formulate the words to tell him this, the guard slapped his hand across the side of her face.  She choked back the cries that threatened to come out.  Stubbornness settled into her mind.  She clamped her mouth shut and refused to speak, even though it would be in her best interest to.


    ¡°Since you won¡¯t answer me, you can stay out here for the rest of the evening!  This place had better be spotless though, or you¡¯ll stay under the waves for the rest of your life,¡± threatened the guard.  Dymira suspected his threats weren¡¯t empty; if he wished to toss her overboard it was unlikely anyone would stop him.  She had already seen how ruthlessly they dealt with the few men who had tried to escape during the boarding process.  The guard turned away and stomped off; Dymira winced at every print his boots left behind.  Feeling defeated, she returned to work, already regretting her silence; she should have known better.


    It seemed to take her forever to finish a second time, and the sun had set by the time Dymira could consider her task finished.  Although it was less work, the lack of a proper meal or rest was wearing on her.  Exhausted, it was a struggle to pull herself to a standing position and tossed the soapy remnants of the water out of the bucket and into the ocean, letting the waves dilute it into nothingness.  She didn¡¯t have enough energy to do more than lean limply against the rail and look down at the night-blackened waters.  Now that she wasn¡¯t working anymore, the chill was hitting her hard, and she huddled, shivering, in place.  A ghostly reflection of the moon shimmered alongside the boat as it moved through the ocean.  It almost looked more welcoming than the deck she was on.  The thought occurred to her that she could save the guard the trouble of tossing her overboard by jumping now.  But she dismissed the thought almost as soon as it breached her mind.  If they were going to get rid of her, they¡¯d have to work for it.  Dymira closed her eyes and sighed.


    ¡°Do you happen to let everyone treat you this way?¡± asked a soft, cultured voice from behind Dymira.  No other voice on board so far had sounded anything like this one. But more than the tone of the voice, the words didn¡¯t match the attitude of anyone she had interacted with.  Not the sailors, not the guards, and certainly not the prisoners.  The calmness and hint of concern were¡­ refreshing.  Intrigued, she turned around, wanting to match a face with the speaker.


    Physically the man was not impressive, possessing neither height nor girth in noticeable quantities.  Yet he wasn¡¯t particularly short or slender either.  Rather he fit in a comfortable middle-ground that would have left him unnoticeable within a crowd.  At least from behind.  His dark hair was combed back neatly in no particular style.  The moonlight let her see that his skin was fair.  In the darkness it was hard to tell, but she suspected his eyes were blue.  As for his age, all she could tell was that he wasn¡¯t overly young or old, but most likely older than herself.  The expression on his face was hard to read, but the way he held his hands behind his back, leaned forward slightly, and tilted his head to the side gave the impression that he was awaiting her answer.  Unlike the guard from earlier, she felt inclined to respond.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± she asked, the question coming out rather than a response.  Her curiosity outweighed her interest in actually answering the question.


    ¡°My name is Morkyn,¡± he responded, eyebrows going up a trifle.


    ¡°Are you one of the guards?¡±  It seemed an unlikely answer, but Dymira wanted to be absolutely certain.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Are you a prisoner then?¡±


    ¡°In a sense,¡± the man answered after a barely perceptible pause.  ¡°But you haven¡¯t answered my question yet.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have much choice in the matter; I can¡¯t fight them,¡± Dymira said, turning away to stare at the water again.


    ¡°There are more of them than there are of you.  Fighting them would be unwise,¡± he agreed.  ¡°And you don¡¯t seem to belong here; what did you do to get sent away like this?¡±  Dymira flinched at the question, even though she had been wondering the exact same thing about him.  She had never been able to suppress that reaction whenever the subject of her crime came up.  She felt no real guilt for what she had done, but the memory was still a painful one.


    Dymira had always been close with her older brother, despite the years between them.  Or, perhaps, because of them.  She had been so young when their parents died, that most of her memories were tied to him, not them.  He practically raised her, carefully shielding her from the fact that he had turned to crime to support her.  She never suspected a thing.  Eventually she grew old enough to work as well, but by then, he was in too deep.  The team of thieves he had fallen in with refused to let him back out.  And so it had only been a matter of time before her brother was caught in the act.  Fearing the consequences of disobeying the law, he naturally ran, returning home.


    When the officers tracked down where he lived, it was Dymira who answered the knock on the door.  Seeing the officers wasn¡¯t immediately alarming for her; she had no reason then to fear the law.  But they were too quick to announce their reason for being there: the intent to bring her brother to justice.  It hadn¡¯t been her intention to stall them, but she couldn¡¯t believe their reason for being there, so she questioned them.  This only served to anger them, so the order was given to break and and take him out.  Sensing the latent threat in the words, Dymira called out for her brother to run.  Then, fearing the results, she followed the officers as they marched around to the back of the house to stop a potential escape.  Her brother was already running, so one of the men lifted a gun to fire.  Without thinking about any other consequences, Dymira tackled him.  She wasn¡¯t strong enough to take him down, but it was enough to force his shot to go astray.


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    It was all in vain though.  The officer she had ¡®assaulted¡¯ cuffed her head and pushed her to the ground before binding her.  While he was dealing with her, he was shouting at the others to stop her brother, dead or alive.  Dymira never saw exactly what happened, but the shots fired, the screams, and the report of the fugitive being declared dead told the story well enough.  No, she felt no guilt for trying to stop the officer; her only guilt came from failing to keep her brother alive.  But, just as it was now, so it was then: there were too many of them for her to fight.


    ¡°I interfered with an officer on duty,¡± she admitted quietly, although she had told this to no other prisoner.  ¡°He was trying to shoot down my brother.¡±  Her words caught in her throat, but she was able to push them through.


    ¡°Ah, I see,¡± Morkyn said, the softness of his voice soothing the rawness that had caused her to flinch moments before.  Taking a few breaths to steady herself, Dymira turned back to face the man.


    ¡°Why haven¡¯t I seen you before?¡± Dymira asked him.  ¡°I¡¯m sure I would have noticed you among the rest of the people on this floating piece of misery.¡±


    ¡°I prefer the quiet of the night.¡±  Morkyn stepped up to stand beside Dymira, placing both his hands on the rail as he looked out over the ocean.  ¡°But I believe you have seen me before, though I don¡¯t blame you for not recognizing me.  Our eyes met briefly as you were boarding.¡±  Ah!  So he was the person inside the litter.  That was one mystery solved for Dymira.  But she felt a surge of resentment.  If he was a prisoner, as he implied, why did he get special treatment while she was stuck doing hard labor?  Tensing, she shifted her gaze towards the horizon.  ¡°Don¡¯t be shy; speak your mind,¡± prompted Morkyn.  ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Why should you be treated better than the rest of us?¡± demanded Dymira.  It occurred to her that the question might be a trap, but her resentment had been building for some time now, and it was too hard to rein it in once an opportunity to release it was presented.  She only hoped that she wouldn¡¯t regret it.


    ¡°Because I am here for a different reason.  I boarded this ship by choice, although there was a lot of pressure for me to do so.  There are those who feel threatened by me, and are very pleased at being able to send me away to someplace they are certain I will never return from.  But since they had no ability to force me to board, it had to be on my terms.¡±  The explanation was giving with great patience, though Morkyn owed her nothing.  It wasn¡¯t enough to wash away her anger, but it redirected it away from him specifically.


    ¡°I suppose that makes sense,¡± she admitted slowly.  She might have felt bad for him if she didn¡¯t already feel worse for herself.  But at least he wasn¡¯t someone who was determined to antagonize her.  Both of them fell silent, watching the moon¡¯s reflection on the water together.  Dymira became so lost in thought she didn¡¯t realize when Morkyn left her.  Carefully she curled up into a ball in a corner that sheltered her somewhat from the wind.  She wasn¡¯t comfortable enough to fall into a true sleep, but she managed to doze in and out, conserving what strength she could.


    ¡°Get up!¡±


    Dymira gasped for air as she felt a booted foot kick her in the ribs.  Her eyes opened quickly and she struggled to make her eyes focus on the blurry shape that slowly coalesced into the form of a guard.  Once she managed to see him clearly, she stood up immediately, not wanting to encourage him to kick her a second time; once was enough.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she mumbled, bowing her head in the appearance of contrition.  It wasn¡¯t the guard from last night, but she guessed he must have been told she¡¯d be here.  If this one wasn¡¯t already set against her, maybe she could make it back inside for breakfast.


    ¡°At least the deck is cleaned; I was told to give you a severe thrashing if it wasn¡¯t,¡± the guard said, his tone flat, not giving away whether he was looking forward to delivering such a punishment or not.  The previous guard had threatened to toss her overboard, but she supposed that passing the instruction along to another guard might have been frowned upon.  ¡°Since the job was done, you can join the others,¡± he said, pushing Dymira¡¯s back as she started to walk.  While it wasn¡¯t exactly gentle, it also wasn¡¯t forceful enough to carry the intent of knocking her down.  Dymira said nothing as he pushed her along the deck and into the room where the prisoners were kept.


    Dymira sighed as she heard the door shut behind her.  She finally got a good look at the room; she had been too preoccupied before to really take in the details.  It wasn¡¯t much to look at, being filled with a lot of the supplies for their destination.  Piles of wood planks were used as makeshift benches, while folded piles of linen were claimed as beds.  There were many numbered, sealed crates that people used as chairs or tables.  While there was some relief to be out of the wind from the deck, she wasn¡¯t looking forward to dealing with the other prisoners again, especially those who seemed to ally themselves with Egaire.  But, at least she might have a chance to warm up a little.


    To her surprise there was no harassment, no snide remarks.  At first, this felt like a much needed reprieve.  She was sore, tired, and not really in the mood to deal with altercations.  She found a nice little corner to curl up in and worked on regaining some of the rest she had lost over her evening out on the deck.  While she never quite managed to fall into a full sleep, she felt somewhat rejuvenated by the time the call for breakfast happened.


    The fare wasn¡¯t much, but the sailors ate quite heartily.  One of the guards complained, being used to having his own meals back home.  The sailors looked between each other, and then laughed.


    ¡°Just wait till it¡¯s down to hardtack and fish stew,¡± one of the sailors told him.  ¡°Fresh food don¡¯t last too long out at sea.  So we enjoy what we get, when we get it.  By the time we get to the next port on the way, you¡¯ll know it too.¡±


    ¡°Besides, we ain¡¯t your wife, or your mom.  If you wanted to keep getting fat off home cooked meals, you should have stayed on the shore.  Going to sea, it builds character, yeah!¡±


    The guard grumbled to himself, and a few prisoners joined in the sailors for laughing.  But he caught their eye, the malevolence in them clear: he couldn¡¯t do a damned thing about the sailors for laughing, but he wasn¡¯t going to let the convicts get away with it.  The sounds from the prisoners quickly died away, but the sailors only laughed harder.  They didn¡¯t care about the prisoners any more than the rest of the cargo they were carrying.  They were all just part of the job.


    Dymira appreciated the neutrality.  It would have been better to have allies, but she had no expectations that anyone would stick their neck out for her, or any of the other prisoners.  They didn¡¯t know her story, and it would only be asking for trouble to confide in them.  As long as they got the ship safely to its destination, that was all she could ask for.  And if the food wasn¡¯t great, it didn¡¯t matter much either.  So far it wasn¡¯t any worse than it was in prison.  Perhaps the best part was that she was left blissfully alone while she ate her meager meal.