Bastard's Beginning

Chapter One

The waves heaved and so did Morgause. As the ship plunged and rose, her chamber pot was clutched with white knuckles, her skin clammy and her eyes closed. Concerns for her daughter occasionally crossed her mind, only to vanish with the next surge of nausea. Taking gleeful advantage of her mother's indisposition, the wild child was up on the deck, hair whipping with the winds and green eyes shining.

The Valeria was a ship built for speed. Powered by sails, oars and inhabited by a small crew of forty. The bow held it's figurehead. A naked woman was carved into ebony stained wood. Her hair curled and foamed over her shoulders and breasts like a collection of snakes, her hands tangled amidst them as if she would like nothing better than to rip it from her scalp.

It was a figure that disturbed adults and children alike. The fine lines of her face twisted into a mask of indescribable agony, brutal scars where her eyes had been gouged out. It was a sight that had sent a chill through Mordred, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Her own eyes had traced the seamless merging of slender torso into scales. Intricately carved, the mermaid's tail fused her to the vessel, preventing her escape and binding her forever to her jail.

Mordred had taken to the life of a sailor with relish. A polite conversation with the captain and numerous ship workers had yielded an outfit of worn clothes befitting the adventurer she imagined herself to be. An oversized linen shirt, battered leather jerkin, her own play trousers cut raggedly to the knee and a pair of boots, once belonging to the cabin boy, laced as tightly as she could pull them. A hat completed the shabby outfit, tipped low over her forehead to protect her fair skin from the sun.

In her sparse moments of lucidity, Morgause had bemoaned the state of the girl, demanding she return to the proper clothing of her rank. To which Mordred had replied cheekily, that should she ruin such fine clothing with sea spray and the usual wear and tear that comes with the territory of being captain's assistant?

Morgause had been too weak to answer the child's retort. So Mordred spent the past fifteen days learning how to be a proper sailor. The dread she had felt at leaving her beloved Avalon had soon been washed away with the excitement of sea fare. The crew were all too willing accomplices. She bounded across the deck, skillfully ducking and dodging the crew members as they went about their tasks.

The girl's quarry waited at their arranged meeting place, the weak wash of evening sun falling over the various ropes by his seat. "What are we doing first?" She began immediately, sitting at the first mate's feet and crossing her legs eagerly. "Knots." Bryok grunted, passing her a heavy stretch of rope before taking his own. He adjusted her grip gently. "Makes it easier like this."

Mordred nodded, memorising the new position of her hands. "I didn't think knots would be an important thing to learn." She said, watching as his fingers began to move, slowing so she could see each coil of rope as he wove the first knot.

"Very important," Bryok rasped. Two loops rested in his palms.

"What knot is that?" She asked.

He ran his fingers along it. "Handcuff." He muttered. "Hold out your hands." Mordred obeyed instantly, fascinated as he slipped it over her wrists and adjusted the loops until she was trapped, unable to move her arms apart.

She giggled, her eyes lighting up. "Can anyone get out of these?" Bryok shook his head.

"I'm going to do this to Gareth." Mordred declared, watching as he began to loosen the rope once again.

Bryok raised a brow. "He's my brother," She explained. "He's bigger than me so he always wins when we play knights. I'm going to tie him up like this. And then he will have to beg me to let him go."

Mordred began trying to mimic his previous movements with her own rope, scowling with concentration and aided by calloused fingers occasionally demonstrating once again how to tie the correct way. Soon, the lesson came to an end as the first mate returned to his official duties, leaving his pupil practising the knots she'd been taught with intense focus.

However, as night fell, Mordred took to her favourite perch. Legs slid through one of the gaps in the wooden safety bar, perched high in the crow's nest. Sea and ship far below her with the captain beside her. Her eyes turned to observe him. Captain Eirnin had a face that could haunt any child's dreams. Grizzled, grey haired, thin lips peeled back from his crooked teeth into a snarl that could rival a wolf's bared fangs. Yet he sat with her now. Eyes as blue as the waves that sparkle in the morning sun, mouth upturned in that subtle way of his.

Mordred leaned her head against his shoulder, the rough weave of his tunic comforting against her cheek and his gravelly voice filling her ears. "I knew a mermaid once." He murmured, gaze fixated on the endless shift of ocean below them. Eirnin noticed the slight quiver of the girl's body and tucked her closer to his side.

"As a boy, I knew my fate lay with the sea. The moment my boot met deck, I knew the shifting tides and the feel of my own ship on water would entrance me in ways no woman could ever hope to be able to match. So I suppose it came as no surprise to me that the mate most fitting to me was born in the depths of the ocean, belonged to it as much as I felt I did." Eirnin's voice became rougher, thickened with longing.

"Aye, she was a sight to behold. Hair the colour of snow." Grief flickered across his face, something so sharp and vivid, Mordred's breath caught in her throat. "I remember how dark her eyes were. Such beautiful eyes."

"What was her name?" Mordred murmured sleepily.

His eyes turned wistfully to the bow of the ship. "Valeria."

Mordred stirred. "Like the figurehead? Was that what she looked like?" She whispered, her gaze following his as the pair watched the slender shoulders and the ripples of hair tumbling down her back.

Eirnin's lips tightened. "Yes. Exactly like the figurehead."

The child mulled over this newest revelation. She wondered what that was like, to have someone love you as much as the captain loved his Valeria. Able to know you so well they could carve your likeness into wood. "Why are her eyes like that? And her face?" Mordred hesitated, nestling further into his warmth. "She looks like someone really hurt her."

She felt the quiver of his body against hers, heard his breathing speed up as his grip tightened on her. "They did." He managed to choke out. "My people. Punished the both of us for daring to fall in love with someone outside of what was expected of us."

Eirnin's eyes, as tumultuous as the ocean itself, grew glossy. "I carved her out of wood when I first met her. I never wanted to forget what she looked like. How wild and strong. They took her eyes first. Made me watch as she screamed. Took her tail and laughed as they threw it overboard. I held her as her blood soaked over the deck of this very ship. Then they left. She begged me to make it stop." His eyes closed, tears trickling down his cheeks to disappear into his beard.

"So I did." Eirnin drew a deep breath. "Her people came for what was left of her when the sun rose. And when I looked at the figurehead, her face had changed. My own punishment. To see her face like this for the rest of my life. For bringing this agony upon her, for being part of the people who had broken the only woman I've ever loved."

Similar tears dampened Mordred's lashes. She wondered how people could be so cruel, so utterly monstrous. Eirnin tilted his head down to stare into her eyes. "They will expect the worst of you, little one." His eyes gentled as Mordred felt her heart begin to race. "You are a bastard and they will never allow you to forget it. Any mistake you make will be judged twice as hard as a child born of legitimacy. Never forget that the people who smile at you will just as easily hurt you in ways you never would imagine possible."