The Mutiny

sgyrThe Mutiny

Bromm IX

The wide expanse of the great blue sea ran unbroken for my miles, save for a solitary brig that plied its surface. Her white sails billowed in the late evening wind, turned a warm orange by the waning rays of the sun. The men on her deck and crawling through her rigging were in a bitter mood, for not an hour past they had seen the end of their latest chase. For three days, they had chased a great dhow west from the coast of Zahir, always staying just in sight of her towering masts, only to see the ship's sails at last vanish over the western horizon.

"Another unsuccessful hunt," the men of the White Shepherd had grumbled, while the thoughts of plunder and glory that had run through their minds faded on the wind. Plans for how to spend their ill-gotten gains dissolved, and men talked no more of the spirits they would drink or the whores they would bed. They grumbled about the gambling parlors that would not see their business, and some of them expected their nights in port would be spent sleeping in dingy flophouses or even the gutter.

The more ungrateful of them cursed their captain, calling him rash, incompetent, and uncaring toward their increasing poverty. The ship's first mate, an ornery dwarf named Urgan, reminded his discontented fellows that their captain had earned his rank through a mutiny, and might be stripped of it the same way. At his constant grumblings, the crew turned their eye upon the door to the captain's cabin.

Within that cabin, the captain lay abed. Bromm was a young man, only recently come into his captaincy, and unworn by age or responsibility. His tall frame hung partially off the bed, his feet dangling, and his wide shoulders left little spare space on the small cot. He ran a hand through his black beard and hair, trying to put aside the frustration of seeing his quarry disappear over the horizon yet again.

In this he was aided by the ministrations of a slave girl, bought in the flesh markets of Zahir shortly before they had set sail. Safira, as the merchant had named her, was a full-bodied girl with large breasts and a plump round ass. She was olive-skinned like so many of the Zahiri and blessed with long, lustrous raven hair interwoven with beads that clacked together as her head moved. Her previous owner had tattooed a verse of Zahiri poetry on her left flank, though Bromm could not read the script and had to take the fast-talking merchant's word for it. By the same token, he had to take the merchant's word that her previous owner had been a wealthy spice merchant until pirates had plundered his ships and driven him to ruin, forcing him to sell off his assets to avoid prosecution for debt. As he lay in bed with the girl, Bromm wondered if any of the ships he had plundered off Zahir had contributed to the merchant's fall.

He turned his mind back to the girl, who was obediently fondling and kissing his cock, her hair beads clacking together. In the week since he had bought her, he had come to regret the impulsive purchase. She had cost him no small amount of loot, something that grew increasingly precious each time he watched another ship evade his little brig. And though she had been sold naked, it was only after he had fucked her several times that he began to see very imperfection on her body. I am better suited to spending a night or two with a whore and moving on, he thought as he watched her big brown nipples sway on her sagging breasts. Despite thinking of her as a girl, she was at least a few years older than him as well. He sighed.

"Get up, girl," he slid himself out from under her and rolled her over onto her stomach. "On your hands and knees," he commanded. She obeyed, bracing herself against the hull and offering her behind to him. Bromm slid his cock inside her warm and wet sex and grabbed her by her ample ass. Safira moaned with pleasure, though he doubted her sincerity. It matters little, he told himself as he fucked. Bromm slapped her ass, the sound of it resounding to his delight in the little cabin. The beads in her hair clacked as she shuddered under each blow of his hips. Bromm looked to the ceiling and closed his eyes, imagining himself fucking her atop a mountain of plunder. In his mind, he looked into her eyes, only to see that she had been joined by a bevy of other whores, fair and dark, blonde and raven-haired. All were beautiful and eager for his touch. This is what I sail for, he told himself, and his cock throbbed for release.

With a groan, he came within her. He then pulled his cock out and unleashed a second spurt of cum on her back. Safira reached back to grab his cock in one soft hand and stroke it. Her touch elicited another half spurt of cum that dribbled forth to spill across her ass. She rolled onto her side and dabbed a delicate, hennaed finger at his cum before turning a pleased smile on him.

Bromm stood panting, his cock hanging limp and dripping before him. His mind went to the future again, and what to do with her. The obvious answer was to sell her again when they made port at Torvuls, though the markets there were always glutted and a woman like her was unlikely to fetch him as much silver as he had paid for her. He knew pirate captains sometimes kept concubines aboard for the entire crew to enjoy, though his crew contained some true rapscallions that he dared not let access to a woman.

His thinking was interrupted by a heavy blow to the door. Bromm turned with a start, and Safira grabbed at the bedsheets to cover herself. The door was struck again and the simple lock splintered. Bromm darted across the cabin for his sword. The door crashed open and there was Urgan, a pistol leveled at Bromm in one hand as the other readied a broad-bladed messer. Behind him clusted a dozen other members of the crew.

Bromm paused, the pommel of his sheathed saber in one hand. He was naked, surprised and nearly unarmed.

"Let it fall," the dwarf growled. Behind him, his fellow mutineers readied weapons from sabers to clubs, and Bromm dejectedly removed his hand from his sword. "Come along," the dwarf bid with a wave of his pistol. Still naked, Bromm sullenly followed him out onto the deck.

There waited his four friends and closest supporters on the crew; Tahavi, Sahat, Imre, and Pyet. All four of them were surrounded against the gunwale by a mob of angry sailors, unarmed and mostly undressed. Urgan shoved Bromm from behind and he staggered across the deck to join them. The dwarf stood before the crowd now, his messer laid across his shoulder and his pistol thrust through his wide leather waistband. Bromm looked to his friends, who all returned his look with defeated apology.

But one of them was missing. Lukodo, the most recent addition to their little group was nowhere to be seen. Did they kill him below? Bromm wondered. Or has he sided against me and now hides to keep his betrayal hidden?

One of Urgan's cohorts emerged from the cabin, leading the still naked Safira by the arm and carrying Bromm's saber in his other hand. He handed both to Urgan, who smiled with amusement at the blade. Safira he pulled close, wrapping a thick, hairy arm around her waist, unheeding of Bromm's cum still on her round ass. The other men gathered on the deck lavished her with hungry stares, awaiting the distribution of spoils that would come. She kept her eyes to the deck, only briefly raising them to meet Bromm's sad gaze. The dwarf reached up to pinch her breast, then guffawed. His fellows joined in.

"This one was always a waste of silver," he bellowed, "But a waste of your silver, Bromm!" he and the mutineers roared with laughter. "Now, she belongs to us!"

"What is the meaning of this, Urgan?!" Bromm snapped, his anger coming hot to him. "You think you'd make a better captain?"

"Aye!" the dwarf roared back, his sadistic triumph turning quickly to rage. "You're a damned fool boy, and I never should have let you put on the captain's hat in the first place! You've gotten my friends killed, let countless treasures slip through our fingers, and had us run out of every port from Zahir to Saeclar!"

"That's a bloody lie and you know it!" Bromm shot back. "We're hunted in three ports, and one of them was because you killed a man!"

"He was a cheat, and if you had told as much to the magistrate, we'd still be welcome there!"

"So you mean to take my ship?!"

"My ship! I was the one who took it over in the first place, and now I've done so again. So over the gunwale with you, I'll not be having you and your lickspittles fouling up my ship any more than you already have."

Bromm turned and looked out to sea. The sun had fallen below the horizon in the west, leaving only an inky black expanse that ran forever in all directions. He swallowed hard.

"Give me a boat," he said softly. The dwarf snorted.

"This is a small ship, Bromm. I've only so many boats. Worry not, land isn't so far away."

"We'll drown!" Bromm protested. He turned back to the mutineers. "I won't go down into Tarnilaen's clutches. Chain us up and let us off in port instead. We won't fight it, you got us fair and square. I promise."

"Fair? Was it fair of you when you took this ship in the dead of night? I won't give you the chance. Over the edge you go."

"Be reasonable, Urgan! You know what happens to those who drown at sea!"

"Aye, I do."

"Then shoot us. Give us a proper burial ashore. Just don't leave us die as restless spirits."

"I won't waste good money on burying rats like you."

"Then at least let my friends go," Bromm pleaded. "They only followed my orders. Leave me to drown in Tarnilaen's clutches. But take them to a safe port. Sell them as slaves, if you wish. But don't leave them to drown in the middle of the sea."

"Either you go over now," Urgan snarled, his eyes narrowing, "Or we break your arms and legs, then toss you over. But I'm not wasting another night's rations on keeping you alive or a bit of coin on burying you. What'll it be?"

Bromm was at a loss, but then he at last spied Lukodo. He was on the far side of the crowd, standing on the opposite gunwale, judging by his sudden height. He raised a barrel over his head and pointed behind him. Bromm gave him what he hoped was a subtle nod, then turned to his other friends.

"What do you say? Should we take our chances with the sea?" four heads nodded in solemn agreement. "Very well, Urgan. But know this: whether we live or die, you will be a hunted and haunted man. You will never rest easy again, for I will be out for my revenge."

The dwarf cracked an easy smile and gave Safira a slap on her ass. "I expect to rest well tonight. In your bed that is now my bed, and after fucking the mind out of this wench! And I'm finished, she'll belong to the crew!"

The crew sent up a roar, fists pumping in excitement. Through it all, Bromm saw Lukodo lower a barrel into the water. The other man gave him an apologetic shrug.

"No sense wasting anymore time," Bromm said to his friends. "Time to go."

Sahat was the first to climb up onto the gunwale, and Bromm sighed. He and his friends were leaping into the mouth of the abyss, and despite his outward bravado, he despaired that they would ever see land again. Sahat stepped off the edge and a great splash followed. Imre was next.

As his friends went over the rail and into the black sea, Bromm turned to face Urgan once more.

"Farewell, Urgan. We will meet again."

"Die screaming, you filthy sea rat," Urgan replied.

Gritting his teeth, Bromm grabbed the ratlines and pulled himself up onto the gunwale. The dark waters below beckoned to him, eager to swallow him up in their unfathomable depths. He inhaled and closed his eyes.

The drop was short, and he plunged into the icy waters. Their frigid grip closed in about his naked body, threatening to haul him down to the bottom. But Bromm fought their grasp and, with a great gasp, pulled his head above water again. He shook like a wet dog, his feet treading water beneath him as he gulped at the ocean air. He squinted in the waning light, looking for his friends. Four heads bobbed in the sea, marking the trail that the ship had taken as they reluctantly disembarked. Bromm pulled himself through the water toward his friends.

"The ship is ours, lads!" He heard Urgan roar as the White Shepherd retreated into the darkness. "It's time to celebrate, so get those cocks out!"

"Treacherous snake," Bromm hissed, his teeth chattering in the cold waters. "When I find him again, I'll take his cock for his crimes."

The five of them gathered in the water, all wet, cold, and angry, though only Bromm was naked.

"Well, this is a fine mess," Sahat grumbled as they converged. "No land in sight, either."

"Look for the barrel," Bromm called. "Lukodo threw us a barrel."

"Mighty generous of him," Imre fumed as they looked about. Tahavi spotted the barrel floating on gentle waves and called it out. The five of them swam toward it as best they could. "He couldn't have warned us instead?" Imre went on.

"He didn't know," Pyet countered. "We were in the galley when they came for me. They ignored him, but he was as surprised as I was."

"He didn't defend you?" Bromm asked.

"There were seven of them, all armed with pistols and knives. We'd have been killed."

"Might be better than drowning out here," Sahat grumbled.

"We won't get a proper burial anyway," Bromm replied. "They'd throw any corpses overboard to feed the fish."

"We're just as likely to drown out here unburied. At least being killed aboard would get it over with."

"You know what happens to the unburied," Bromm called. "They are denied the afterlife, and those at sea must suffer in Tarnilaen's clutches until the end of the world. Any chance at survival is better than that."

The barrel bobbed before them, and Bromm caught it in one hand. He pulled himself half onto it and turned toward his friends, kicking himself back toward the weaker swimmers. Soon enough, they all had grabbed onto it, giving them a respite from constantly treading water. In the distance, the last lights of the White Shepherd faded into the night.

"Now what?" Tahavi wondered. "We hope this thing carries us to land before we starve?"

"It won't be lack of food that does us in," Sahat grumbled. "It'll be the sun and thirst."

"If the seawolves don't get us first," Pyet muttered, his eye on the inky blackness that surrounded them. "Or worse."

"We'll survive," Bromm told them. "We just have to have some faith."

"How about a prayer, then?" Imre suggested. "Apliss, Goddess of Fortune, spare us this fate a treacherous dwarf has inflicted on us."

"Aye," Bromm joined in, "If you deliver us from this cruel death, we promise to each sacrifice an ox when we make it back to shore."

"An ox!" cried Sahat. "Or a hundred oxen! Name your price, goddess, and I will meet it."

"Anything is better than going unburied," Pyet muttered. "I'll give you two oxen!"

"Two oxen and a graven plate," offered Tahavi, "if you deliver my friends and I to safe harbors."

They promised all that they could think to the gods. First to Apliss, Goddess of Fortune, then to Eldrin, God of Winds, Enki, God of Fate, and lastly to Azlit, Goddess of Storms. The last one they prayed to was Tarnilaen, Great and Terrible Lord of the Deep. It was his grip they feared most, for he was lord over all the black depths of the seas. But despite the promises of animal sacrifices, graven plaques, gold, jewels, and services on behalf of the gods, there was no response. Bromm spent the night looking down at the water, expecting any moment to see a seawolf coming to grab his leg in its jaws and haul him down. The seas grew darker as the night grew older, and they floated helplessly on the barrel until dawn.

The dawn was a welcome reprieve from the darkness, but it brought them no hope. Neither land nor ship broke the endless blue plain around them, and soon enough the sun began to wear on their backs. Bromm and Imre were still naked above the waist, and even the others' shirts were soon insufficient protection against the relentless sun. They took to letting go of the barrel and submerging themselves beneath the water for a brief respite, though each time Bromm did, he feared he would be too far from the barrel when he came up again.

His arms ached from holding on, his legs ached from treading water, and his back burned in the sun. He was hungry and thirsty, twice grabbing fruitlessly at fish that passed nearby the barrel in desperate search of sustenance. The sun and wind wore away at him, all the while with no hope on the horizon.

Their mood turned even more sour near the end of the day, as a rain squall blew up over the horizon, headed straight for them. With aching legs, they tried to steer the barrel out of its path, but the dark clouds bore down on them quickly. Rain lashed their backs in what would otherwise have been a pleasant relief from the sun. But the surging winds carried them up on swelling waves, soon to come crashing down into the deep troughs. The darkness closed in about them again, broken only by jagged bolts of lightning that split the night sky.

"Hold on!" Sahat cried over the storm, his voice dry and cracking. Bromm clung tighter to their barrel, though his arms burned with exhaustion and the heat of the sun. They rose higher on another swell and Bromm looked down toward the trough, dreading the descent. A bolt of lightning pierced the gloom, and Bromm thought he could hear laughter through the storm. Urgan is watching us drown, he thought bitterly.

The wave ebbed, and they hurtled down into its trough. They came to a crashing halt with enough force to wrest the barrel from Bromm's grasp. He tore Imre from it as well, and they went plunging into the water. He surfaced for a brief moment, long enough to hear his friends call out to him, then was buried by another wave. Desperately, he fought his way back to the surface and looked wildly around. All was dark, but another bolt of lightning illuminated the sea long enough for him to spot his friends again. Imre was battling his wave through the waves to reach the barrel, while Sahat held out a hand and tried to steer it closer. Bromm hauled himself through the water toward them, his arms burning with each stroke.

Imre reached the others and hauled himself onto the barrel, where they held him there to recover his strength. A rising wave carried Bromm away, only to slam him back down into the sea. The barrel remained out of reach. Feeling that he was swimming his last, Bromm started the journey to his friends all over again. He heard them calling through the storm, arms outstretched and pleading. Every movement set his arms afire again, and Bromm felt himself merely crawling toward them. Yet they grew steadily closer, driven together by the efforts of both sides.

Sahat's hand stretched out toward him, slick with rain and seawater. Bromm grabbed at it, his head falling beneath the rising waves as fatigue clutched at him again. He missed the hand, and his strength faded. Despair pulled him below.

Another bolt of lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the shapes of his friends and that blessed barrel. With a final surge, he hurtled upward until he broke the surface. A hand grabbed him by the shoulder, and then another. He was pulled closer until he felt the barrel against his back. Exhausted, Bromm lay himself against Imre atop the barrel, staring up into the driving rain.

"I made it," he cried into the storm, his chest heaving and his legs aching in pain. He made to raise his arms in triumph, but they were too heavy. Sahat clapped him on the stomach in relief, and Bromm doubled over in response. His friends laughed and hauled him back up before he slid away into the sea. Supported by his friends, he stopped his kicking and lay there, too exhausted to move as he stared up at the black sky.