Pieces of Eight - for @worthyobjective

[worthallthis]

It is an accident. A fluke. A freak twist of fate.

The ship they're on gets caught in a storm, blown far off course. The clan can't find them quickly enough. The spells start to erode.

They do as they are programmed to do when the spells start to erode: they slaughter everyone on board in an attempt to get them to turn around. The last one they kill, a young wild mage, in desperation, throws something at them both that leaves them dazed and orderless, surrounded by bodies and one bleeding wild mage who likely won't last very long either.

One is the oldest of the Pieces of Eight the clan sends out on missions of murder. He knows that. He also knows that he loves the other pieces, whether they feel the same about him or not. He knows they're his family, even when he can't remember how they came to join him with the clan. And he knows that he is made for killing.

And now he's staring around him at the deck of the ship, bloody knives in his hands, realizing that that's pretty much all he knows.

"Seven?" he asks uncertainly. He doesn't know if she has another name. He doesn't, just his number, just One. Maybe she doesn't, either.

He wonders suddenly if he knows how to sail a ship.

Comments

[worthyobjective]

Seven did have another name once. Even if he'd known it, she wouldn't have reacted to it, doesn't connect it to herself - it's the name of a small, frightened girl claimed by the clan as one of their blades, the relic of someone else's life.

She jolts as he speaks her name, pulled abruptly out of her confusion. The sailors and passengers hadn't been their targets, why had they--

"We need to change course," she says. She remembers the captain giving that order, moments before Seven had buried a short sword in the woman's throat, for reasons she can't explain. She knows it had been necessary. She just doesn't know why.

[worthallthis]

One has an idea why. A vague idea. The tickling of a memory that something like that had happened before, the bloodshed meant to keep them from falling into enemy hands when they'd been away from the clan for too long. That should have kept driving them back the way they came.

The particulars escape him. It was long ago, and Seven wasn't there, but that part somehow doesn't surprise him.

What does surprise him is that when she says they should change course-- to go back to the clan, he thinks-- he feels no particular need or desire to do so. In fact, the very idea makes him shiver all over, like a horse with a fly on its coat, blood-splashed armor rattling faintly with the motion.

"Can you navigate on the open sea?" he asks. He think he knows how to navigate by the stars, but it's daylight now. He'd have to wait until nightfall to know where the hell they're going.

[worthyobjective]

She hesitates, probing her memory, then nods slowly. Everything around it is a jumble, but she remembers - charts and compasses and lessons in a voice that eludes her.

"I can navigate. But there's only two of us."

And the ship is meant to be run by a much larger crew. They might be able to limp into the port the captain had intended to aim for, but it will be a close thing.

[worthallthis]

Even if they did, they'd wind up having to explain all the bodies. One doesn't like that idea a lot. Even if the ghost of the need for secrecy wasn't still clinging to him a little, he is pretty sure they hang people for murder. Or burn them maybe.

He finds he has no real desire to die, either. Or be confined. That idea also makes him shudder.

They'll figure something out. If she can navigate by day, and he can navigate by night, between the two of them he thinks they can at least manage direction. Maybe not stopping, but direction.

He wipes his sword on one of the bodies, looking almost regretfully down at the wild mage coughing on his own blood, wishing vaguely that they could do something for him but much more invested in keeping him and Seven not imprisoned or hung. "We need maps. To see if there are-- islands. Pirate ports. Somewhere to turn towards that isn't full of kings' guard."

[worthyobjective]

Seven follows his gaze to the mage bleeding out on the deck. After a moment, she steps forward, and runs her sword through his throat, the preternaturally sharp steel parting flesh like water and severing the spinal column on the other side. The mage's eyes widen, and he makes a small, strangled choking sound before the light leaves his eyes.

She knows enough about healing to know even trying to make the man - boy, really, barely even old enough to shave - comfortable is a losing proposition. At least now, he won't die slowly in terror and agony, over the course of hours.

"Captain's quarters," she says. "She'll have maps in there."

[worthallthis]

One nods in approval, and turns away from the massacre to find the captain's cabin at the prow. It's empty, and probably one of the few places on board now that doesn't smell like blood.

Maybe they can throw all the bodies overboard...

There is one map on the table, held down with heavy books at each corner to keep it from rolling up, and more in oiled tubes on a shelf, protected from humidity and sea spray. One looks the open map over, notes the string pinned down on it to mark their intended path, ending in the port city of De Sarc. Their mission was supposed to be there. All One knows now is that they aren't going there, now.

"I can read this, but I don't know where we are on it now," he tells Seven, stepping aside to let her look.