Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

13 - Chapter XIII: Song on the Ship

Nine hours later.

The woman blinked, opening her eyes slowly. She heard water. It was the hull of a ship, the air cold, muggy, smelling of fish and tar. It was a slow river settling in its course on the other side of thick planks. Steps moving without voices. Her mouth opened, a soundless cry as the heaviness in her head fell away. Her cheeks were bruised, red and tender as if someone had strapped her with a rotting seal carcass. Hell...

...her face was on fire.

She had been left on the bottom bunk, covered by a thin sheet, a flat pillow beneath her head. It was like being in a coffin. Her hand reached out, banging too soon against the siding, drawing blood, splinters in her knuckles. Groaning, she rolled onto her side. There was hardly any space to move, small light flickering from a brass oil-lamp, but most of the cabin, dark and miserable in its lighting. There was a very plain wooden desk cramped in the corner, a bevy of papers strewn across it and a brown bottle near the edge. The dark lycan was seated on the chair, his elbow on the table and his boot resting on two leather bags. He had a knife in his hand, carving something. A piece of wood. Raze. His name was Raze.

She was going to be sick.

"Please..." Gripping the corner of the bed, she sat up as far she was able. Bucket. She needed a bucket. "...lycan, I need to..."

Too late.

Whatever had been in her stomach was...rancid. A pool of black blood slipping and sliding from her mouth as the ship moved, an island of clots pouring into the centre. The smell grew worse. Staring at the floor, she swallowed and then wiped her mouth against her sleeve. In front of her, she heard the chair scraping against the floorboards, the lycan standing up. She flinched. The little she remembered of last night... drinking blood, speaking gibberish...someone covering her head. She remembered what Lucian had said. "...you will not be killed for having a backbone." In spite of that, someone had...hit her across the face. Staring at her own vomit, backbone did not seem relevant anymore. She was a prisoner. She was alone. She was tired. She was past crying. Was he going to hit her now?

Instead, she heard the sound of fabric tearing. In the next moment, a dingy old rag landed directly beneath her gaze, slopping into the centre of the rancid blood. She looked up to see the lycan retaking his seat, resuming his post, elbow on the desk, wood carving in hand. He did not say a word, but she understood.

Clean it up.

Better than getting her face broken in. Resigned to the task, she crept off the bed and onto her knees, using the rag to swab up the blood. It was a disgusting mess, the rag turning black before she was half-finished. Her fingers were turning black and bloody as well. She was not afraid of hard labour. Chores as a child...it was like scraping hides without water.

She let the rag fall.

"I need water."

The lycan did not look up from his carving.

So close to the floor, she could feel sweat on her forehead. The smell was revolting. Using the clean part of her arm, she wiped her forehead. She was just pushing blood around at this point. He had given her the rag, why not the water? "Lycan...I am asking you...may I have water?"

"Raaze..." Above her, a sleepy, cantankerous voice suddenly piped from the upper bunk. Lucian. She did not need to see him to know that he had been there the entire time, watching her vomit, watching her clean up her own mess, watching this entire spectacle without a word. His orders were in...English. She only understood one word...water. She could not make out the rest. At least that did not matter. She did not need to understand his language...the English...to know what he was saying. Water. Smell. Revolting. Something along that track. Obediently, the dark lycan placed his carving on the table and then strode to the door. His neck was very stiff.