Dead-or-Alive

-Chapter 2.2-

-Chapter 2.2 🌊 The Life of a Buccaneer-

He snapped out of whatever trance held him and gestured to a door at the back of the ship, below the helm. Sybil gawked when she stepped through the threshold. She honestly did not expect anything on this ship to look so nice. A lush red carpet was spread on the floor and on top of it, in the middle of the room, sat a dark cherry oak table. Sybil edged closer to see what Thatcher had placed on top and was struck in awe by a chartered map of the world and a bronze compass. She'd heard what Ato looked like before, but it was like trying to fit uneven puzzle pieces together inside her head. It never worked out well. Until now, she had never realized how big Ato was and how drastic the difference was between Fuegir and the other continents. Eterhul was the smallest by far. It was dead center in the middle of the world and looked like a spiral. From all the books she'd read, it was supposed to be the most prosperous and chose to remain detached from the rest of the world. She didn't understand why.

Thatcher throwing open red curtains at the back of the room drew her attention away. The windows had gold rims and a seagull flapped by, pausing momentarily to lock eyes with Sybil. Jumping in alarm, Sybil headed over to look at his bookcase on the right wall. No books would give her a beady eyed stare. Thatcher saw the interaction and chuckled, taking a seat at his desk under the back windows. "Do you read?" he inquired, studying her as she flipped through the one journal he'd picked up on the crews' last chase. He hadn't had the opportunity to look at that one yet.

Nodding, she seemed captivated by something in the journal, but put it back on his shelf nevertheless. "My father made sure I knew how to read and write long before anything else. At first, he started with Firlana, but then he had me study the main language of each continent, excluding Eterhul. He preached that knowledge is power and I know it to be true. The more you know, the more you have to use to your advantage."

Her words perplexed him. "Didn't you say your father was a miner? How does he know all of those languages?" 

"His father before him was a scholar in Fuegir. One of the best I'm told. He was raised to be a scholar too, but he didn't want that life. Shortly after reaching adulthood, he traveled to Fuegoryth to research the volcanoes like most scholars do at one point or another. There he met my mother and they fell in love. He decided not to return home because he knew his father would never understand and his mother had passed away years prior. Taking a job in the local mine, he started a family. I asked him once if he ever regretted it because there is no fame in being a miner compared to the glory some scholars obtain, but he told me no. Not a day passed that he wasn't happy with my mother and I."

Tears formed in her eyes remembering her father and his soothing words. He always knew what to say. If he had chosen to become a scholar, she knew he would've been the best. "He sounds like a good man. There are less and less of those these days."

"There are no truer words than those."

A comfortable silence filled his quarters and Sybil found herself unable to resist asking him a question she had wondered ever since he agreed to let her join his crew, "Why did you let me join? I know my father had some part in it, but I am still a woman. Your men could mutiny if the truth ever got out."

He shifted uneasily. "I lost my family when I was a boy. A little while after it happened, a Captain found me and let me join the ranks. I started out as a gunner and worked my way up, when one day he passed away and I became Captain. Difference between us is your father is still out there somewhere. I couldn't take away anyone's opportunity to see their family again. Some lines ye just don't cross."

"You'd even risk Aguadon's wrath?"

Smiling cheekily, he shrugged. "I thought ye don't believe in that stuff."

"I don't, but you do."

Standing up from his leather chair, he grabbed a quill, a pot of ink, and paper, clearly wanting a change in topic. "Ye say ye remember the flag of the pirates who took your father? The flag of a pirate ship is unique. It is a symbol of pride, so everyone knows who they are and what deeds they've done. Draw it the best ye can."

"I don't know what it looked like for certain. I could only get little tidbits from the miners, but it may not be enough for an accurate picture."

"If it is distinct and recognizable it won't have to be accurate. Any detail is detail enough," he promised, but it still didn't convince Sybil.

This had been her sole source of optimism ever since that day. To have it ripped away would be unbearable. "It is okay Sybil. I've seen many a ship. Draw it."

Taking the quill, she dipped it in the ink and began drawing the flag the best she could. Sybil had only what the other miners had told her to go off, so she tried to make the information worthwhile. The one thing she knew was the skull and cross bone design. The flag itself was black, making the red dye stand out. In the skull's mouth was a blue dragon corrupt in every way. At each end of the crossbones was a symbol. These she wasn't definite on, but seeing as she had little to go on she might as well draw them. On the top left, an hourglass, to the right, a dagger, below, a bottle of rum, and on the bottom left, a spiral. There were words above the design, but none of the men knew what they said.

For ages, she had tried to decipher the flag assuming it had meaning to it, but in the end, she realized it didn't mean much. A blue dragon for Aguadon, an hourglass for time, a dagger for battle, and rum for jubilance. The only thing that perturbed her was the spiral. She could connect it to Eterhul, but that didn't make any sense. No outsider had stepped foot in Eterhul for as long as Sybil could remember. Besides the forgotten continent, the spiral could stand for spirit, the element the dragon represented. It was ironic considering she was taught spirit embodied all the things that are good and pirates stand for everything that's not. Clenching the quill, Sybil tried not to dwell on it.

Once she was finished and satisfied with her depiction of the flag, she handed it over to Thatcher. "That is all I have to go off. You are spoken about in all four corners of the world; please tell me you've seen it," she begged, knowing if he hadn't then that was it.

Examining her mediocre drawing, his face paled. "Begad...You must be mistaken."

"You've seen this before?"

"I'll never forget. She is the foulest insult to Aguadon this world may ever know."

"Who is she?"

"The ship, Dragyn, and all those that sail on her. They have no sense and are only good for shark bait. The day another pirate told me over a bottle of rum that she'd sunk was the happiest day of my life. The dragons sung that night, I'm sure of it."

"I don't understand. How do you know the pirates? Who are they? Who is the Captain? Why did they take my father?" she started spouting questions without taking a breath in between. She had to know what he knew. She had to.

Crumbling the paper in his hand, he threw it against the floor. "Damn them to the tides! I'll take their heads as wall decorations and paint my sails with their blood!" he roared, punching the table.

The corner broke off and the compass fell on the splinters. Had the carpet not been there it would've broken, sending shards of glass in every direction.

A pirate Sybil hadn't seen before slammed the door open and froze upon seeing his captain in such a tumultuous state. "Cap, what happened?" he bid, preparing to seize Rowland had he any part in the Captain's distress.

Collecting himself as well as he could have given the circumstances, Thatcher gave the pirate a weary look. "Quinton, find Matthias. There's trouble brewing if it's not already knocking at our sails."