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Daiya inhaled deeply and leapt off the skiff and clumsily hit the water headfirst. The shock forced the air from her lungs. She heard gurgling, and bubbles swarmed around her body as she sank toward the sandy bottom. She had escaped her captors, but she had misjudged the depth of the water, the distance to shore, and the weight of her manacles. She sank quickly leaving the world yards above her.
She heard panicked shouts from above, then a splash as someone joined her in the water. She glanced toward the surface.
Through a cloud of bubbles and the murky water she saw the silhouette of the skiff, along with the figure of one of her captors. He maneuvered to face the bottom, and then he swam toward her with powerful strokes of his hands. He was at much at home in the water as Daiya was in the desert sands of her homeland. She had only seconds before he reached her. Worse, she felt as if her lungs were about to burst, and the icy waters numbed her, seducing her into unconsciousness.
As she lay on her side on the bottom, with her hands locked in chains behind her back and her hair undulating above her, she decided she did not wish to be recaptured. She closed her eyes and brought to mind the words of a prayer. Then she opened her mouth and inhaled the water. Strong arms gripped her. With a kick of both feet, the man reversed direction and yanked her toward the surface like a piece of baggage. She felt an explosion of pain in her lungs, but then she found her head lifted above water in the crook of the man's muscled arm. She heard the bawdy remarks of another man on the skiff, along with the captain, who barked orders she could not interpret.
A moment later two men hoisted her onto the skiff. The boat tipped, almost sinking below the waterline, when her burly rescuer heaved himself up alongside her. The men deposited her in the stern. She lay awkwardly across one of the planks that served as benches on the skiff. She coughed up a mouthful of water and gasped for air. Her cheek rested on the damp bench, while her hair dripped over the side. She was deathly cold, and the tattered homespun dress she wore offered her no comfort. It scarcely hid the curves of her body, but days ago she had dismissed any pretense of modesty.
"What the hell were you thinking?" one of her captors asked. "She's gotta be insane," her rescuer said emphatically.
His voice was deep and his face must have hovered a few inches from hers, because she could hear his labored breath. She knew they were buccaneers, and they had brought her across a gigantic oasis for sale to an unknown connoisseur for enslavement or sacrifice. Neither fate tantalized her, so on the voyage she had taken every opportunity for escape or suicide.
"You should teach her a lesson," another voice said suggestively.
"I already have," the captain said.
The men laughed.
Daiya calmly turned her head, and opened her eyes. She brushed a wet lock of hair of the field of her vision.
She saw the burly buccaneer sitting before her on the nearest bench, offering a facade of concern. He wore a red bandana drawn tight over his bald head, much like a gentleman in her homeland wore a keffiyeh. His vest and trousers were soaked, so they clung to his body. He sported a sword belt with a scabbard that housed a curved blade, and Daiya could see the pommel of a dagger protruding from the top of one boot. He also bore a tattoo of a spider in black on his left cheek that reminded her of the marks that covered her body. She did not understand the significance, but she knew the bastard as Spider.
”How is she?" the captain asked.
Spider turned to face his companions. "She'll live. I hope she's worth the trouble."
The pirate in the middle, now busy pumping the oars, shrugged with his eyes.
"She is," the captain affirmed. "You'll see."
Daiya looked toward him, her expression murderous.
The men had spoken the word "stoker" when they demanded his attention, so she assumed that was his name. To her, he appeared too well groomed and cultured to be a buccaneer. He remained clean-shaven, and he bore not a single callous or scar on his sunburned body. He dressed in a pair of black pants and a white shirt with short sleeves that revealed the mark of her of her teeth on his forearm. Besides depriving a village somewhere of an idiot, he did not know how to handle a prisoner. Worse, his carriage suggested he carried the blade at his waist as an affectation. She believed that if she could free herself and lay a hand the weapon, she would soon be a free woman.
Not far beyond Stoker loomed a large island. A few yards ahead of the bow the aquamarine waters submitted to a crescent harbor of yellow-brown sand. A few specks sparkled like jewels in the midday light. Further inland, amidst a sea of wild grass, Daiya observed an octet of megaliths. They stood in a circle around what looked like an altar cut from the timber of the island. And beyond that lay a dark forest that followed the rise of a hill. She thought she saw the parapet of a tower in the distance above the trees.
They had arrived at what the men called Lapis Island. The captain turned and stared toward the destination. He cupped his handover his eyes to block the glare of the sun as it hovered in the azure skies. Satisfied by whatever he had seen, he rose and stepped from the boat. He sank to his waist while sand stirred in the crystal waters, and a few tiny sea creatures skittered from his boots as he splashed toward shore.
Spider and the second buccaneer soon joined him. The burly one grabbed a knob of wood on the point of the bow and hauled the skiff inland. A minute later the keel scraped across sand. They beached the vessel.
Stoker took another few steps along the shore, the bent to wipe some sand from his boots. Spider arched his back and flexed his muscles with a satisfied sigh. The oarsman stood obliviously near the bow of the skiff as he glanced toward the megaliths. The surf crashed and foamed around his ankles.
Daiya sat upright. Blood oozed over her manacles, fresh from cuts caused by her recent attempts to free her hands. She tensed her muscles and balled her hands into fists as she steeled herself. She felt a rush of adrenaline and sensed an opportunity.
"Stoker?" the oarsman asked. "Where's the wizard…"
He never had a chance to finish his question. Daiya stood, sprinted across the benches on the skiff, and then leapt onto the beach. Her chains rattled as she bolted across the sand leaving a trail of footprints behind her.
"Not again!" Spider swore as he started after her.
"She never gives up," the captain said, his tone appreciative. "I think I'm in love.
"The oarsman grunted in agreement.
Daiya ran swiftly.
The wind whistled in her ears as her ragged dress billowed behind her. A few birds feasting in the sands took to the air as she approached. She threaded through them, exhaling sharply every time she planted a foot in the sands.
Lacking any other destination, she angled toward the circle of stones and the forest. Soon, as she neared the megaliths she dared glance over her shoulder and saw Spider gaining ground as he sped after her, the man was adept on land as in the seas. In the distance, she heard the frenetic, bemused shouts of the captain and the oarsman to whom the chase was sport.
Daiya glanced back just before slamming against a megalith. Her shoulder exploded in pain, and she spun awkwardly into the wild grass. The world spun around her, and blood dripped into her eyes. She struggled to remain conscious.
Then she heard a deep, sibilant voice.
"Where do you think you are going?"
She looked up just as someone reached down and hoisted her to her feet. She struggled, but his grip proved as unyielding as a blacksmith's vise, and his touch seared the skin on her forearm. She moaned in agony in the stranger's grip. She had heard tales of a sensation called freezing, a result of exposure in the snowy lands of the West, but she had never had the displeasure of experiencing it. Worse, the stranger hoisted herin the air with one hand. That is when Daiya caught the faint but nauseating smell of death.
“What's your hurry, my dear?" the stranger said gripping her arm tighter. The pain shot though her shoulder almost blinding her.
Through a haze of pain she saw a black robed figure so black it appeared to be formed from ink. The mantle shroud his entire body, and she saw but a void under the cowl, as if he were composed of solid shadow.
He studied her as he held her aloft. His hands appeared emaciated, almost skeletal, but it was not comprised of bone. His stark white fingers rippled in the light like the surface of the ocean behind her. She had never encountered such a creature, but legend told her she faced a malevolent spirit, a wraith.
She whimpered, fearing she faced death itself.
"What the hell are you?" Spider growled.
The wraith hissed in annoyance, then released Daiya who crumpled into the wild grass at his feet. The motion brought pain anew from her arm, where the creature had touched her with his icy grip. The skin there had blistered and turned white. The wound followed the shape of the wraith's hands.
"Welcome to my island," the wraith announced. He raised one of his shadowy hands in welcome. The sleeve of his robe revealed more of his featureless bony skin. "I am pleased you have finally arrived. I was hoping I would not have to kill you."
The captain and the oarsman soon joined Spider, but all three kept a respectable distance from the wraith. They stood in a line a few yards away from the circle of megaliths, while the creature remained in the shadow of one of the stones.
Daiya lay in the wild grass inside the ring, at the wraith's jackbooted feet. A few crawling insects slithered over her skin and through her hair, and one perched obliviously on her forehead. She ignored them, and in her terror concentrated on the wraith.
Good afternoon...ah...how should I address you?" the captain asked the wraith.
Daiya heard the scrape of steel on leather. Spider had unsheathed his cutlass.
"My name is not important." The creature hissed as he glided deeper into the shadows.
"Oh, of course," Stoker stammered. "We brought what you asked."
"Yes. But she is damaged," The wraith spoke without emotion. "Where are the others?"
"Others?" Stoker dared to questions
"Yes,” The wraith slithered. “Her sisters... I believe there were five."
"We had to kill them. They would not leave Osirus's side,” Stoker countered. “And they would not yield. I've never encountered women like them before. They were almost feral. They slaughtered a dozen of my men and I'm beginning to understand your interest in them. I'm afraid…" he said, pausing, as if for emphasis. "my costs have doubled."
"That does not concern me,” The wraith hissed. “This one is spirited and will suffice."
Daiya glanced up as the wraith reached inside the breast of his robe and withdrew a black silk pouch. He stretched out his hand and held it in his palm, jingling the coins. Stoker hesitated, eyeing the prize with undisclosed avarice, while Spider tensed and readied his weapon, as if he feared the wraith would burst upon him.
Daiya clenched her jaw in anger. She was being sold like livestock to an evil spirit, who rather than force himself upon her, she imagined the creature would suck the life from her like marrow from bone.
Stoker accepted the payment. He immediately opened the bag and emptied the contents into his palm. Spider and the oarsmen forgot their fear and focused on the reward. A few coins slipped through Stoker's fingers and disappeared into the wild grass.
"There's almost twice as much here as you offered," he said, smiling a toothless grin
"That does not concern me. Take it and go, now," the wraith demanded.
Stoker bowed his head.
"Was no pleasure doing business with you,” Stoker mumbled as he turned and ever so slightly gave the other buccaneers a glance and a nod. “However, there is something else I be needing from you…”
With that he turned and drew his dagger. Daiya noticed the dagger shone with a dim, white light as though enchanted. Spider and the other buccaneer drew their swords as well and preceded to attack the wraith. The wraith howled and glid deeper into the shadows of the megaliths.
Stoker charged the wraith and slipped his dagger between the folds of the ink, black robes, The wraith howled again from pain as Spider slashed across the wrist of the foul creature, slicing the withered hand free.
Daiya backed slowly from the action toward the light of the beach hoping not to draw attention to herself. The battle continued, the wraith slashing with it’s one hand, while the men continued their assault. Daiya reached the beach, and stood, grabbing her shoulder as she winced in pain. She could hear the battle behind her and knew this was her only chance.
She dashed back down the beach toward the skiff that was so conveniently left for her use.
Once the skiff was out in open water, Daiya decided it was time to look at her shoulder and arm. As she pulled her dress from her shoulder, she noticed a slight cut, and much bruising, otherwise, her shoulder seemed to work fine and nothing seemed broken.
Where the wraith had grabbed her was a different story. The skin was black and as she poked it noticed that it didn’t hurt, although the edges were extremely painful. She searched the skiff for a water barrel, and upon finding it, tore a strip of her dress off, soaked it in the water and cleaned the wound. Immediately, the wound harden and an eschar formed. Daiya continued to clean the wound, and then wrapped it with clean cloth from her dress.
She drank some of the water, and decided she should ration it as much as possible since she was unsure where she was and how long she would call the skiff home. The skiff’s locker had some hard tack and salted fish that could probably last her a couple of weeks if it had too… other than that, she was going to need to rely on her wits and cunning to survive.
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Daiya woke with the sun blazing in her face. She had enough hard tack for a day, possibly two… but it didn’t matter, her water supply was all but gone and still no land in sight. She sighed as she rolled onto her side.
“Maybe it would have been better to die on the island,” she said to herself. “That would have been less painful.”
Daiya closed her eyes and fell back asleep.
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Daiya slowly opened her eyes.
It was night and the unfamiliar stars twinkled at her, as if to soothe her for her eternal sleep. Her every bone was sore and tired and her shoulder and arm throbbed. She didn’t know how much longer she could take the pain and misery of this skiff. It’s up and down motion on the waves had stopped making her sick some time ago, and she felt as though she had grown so accustomed to the motion that she no longer sense it.
She began thinking back to the days before being captured. How long ago was it? She couldn’t remember, losing track of the time. Daiya had been a Royal Guard for Queen Osirus of Neb, the Right-Hand of Solusek Ro, Mother of Neb and Seer of the Desert. She was a warrior, bred and born to the role she performed. Her sisters, all slain in battle was a fate her kind prayed for, not this tedious, mind numbing death.
She couldn’t die. Not like this, not…
Daiya jumped as small, nimble fingers ran across her stomach. She sat up and stared at the smallest of rodents, who in turn, stared back. The creature was busily munching away on what appeared to be a napple nut. The small rodent appeared to be similar to a desert mouse, of which she knew, but had shorter ears and a naked tail.
It dawned on Daiya just then that this creature had not been on the skiff unless it was hiding somewhere. Surely she would have seen it before now. Slowly Daiya lifted herself from the footdeck of the skiff to an oarsman seat and looked out.
The skiff had gently run aground an island.
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