Dead-or-Alive

-Chapter 6.2-

-Chapter 6.2 🌊 FIRE-

Gripping the hilt of her scimitar instinctively, Sybil tensed, not finding the comfort she sought after. How was she to fight off trained soldiers? The capital ordered every merchant ship to carry a battalion of guards to account for the growing number of pirates in the past decade. Of course, poverty was also rapidly rising, so it was not something every ship could afford or even wanted to spend coin on. Most sailors ended up hiring cheap mercenaries with no regard for human life to pass inspection. "Are ye okay with this Sybil? The win would boost morale, no doubt, but it would do ye no good to die," Thatcher whispered, eyeing her trembling hand.

The rosy blush that usually warmed her cheeks had faded into a ghastly shade of white, matching her equally pale lips. Her blue eyes, as wide as the brilliantly lit moons, were locked on the ship, more specifically the ant-sized silhouettes on board. The shadows grew more lifelike and intimidating with each passing second as their ship neared Thatcher's. "Sybil...?" he whispered again, cautious no one heard him say her name, but his voice was lost on her.

She knew the men could use this victory to rid them of any anxiety they might still have. After hearing of the loss they suffered, just days before she joined their ranks, she knew none were mentally fit for the fight she was dragging them into. That defeat had sent panic from the hull to the mast like none the Captain had ever seen. News of her father and Red Jack sent them spiraling further into lunacy. The pirates would still do their duties and push through life like they hadn't a care in the world, but when they thought no one was watching their eyes brimmed with tears and sorrow haunted their features. They were dead inside, but too afraid to do anything about it. She knew the feeling well. "Sybil," he spoke up again, roughly shaking her shoulders when her complexion turned the slightest shade of blue.

Snapping out of her trance, she nodded, gulping down her fear. "Aye Cap, I'm golden. Do me a favor though, and make sure I don't die? I don't know if I trust my skills just yet."

He laughed and removed his hands that still lingered on her shoulders. "I suppose I could manage that. Promise not to run your sword through me chest?"

It was her turn to laugh and she nodded once again. "I suppose I could manage that," she mimicked, the tremor in her hand gone.

Backing away from the railing, Thatcher sprinted below deck, most likely to give the crew a surprise awakening. She heard them fumble around, but it wasn't accompanied by her usual smile. Perhaps it was her exhaustion or fear or some other emotion she couldn't distinguish from the others, but engaging in a scuffle in the blackest of night did not seem the wisest.

Groggy pirates weaseled their way up through the hatch and upon seeing the ashen sails in the distance grinned, some with less teeth to show than others. "Are ye scurvy dogs ready?" Thatcher hollered, his glee as present as ever.

His excitement was contagious and the men, as if driven by instinct, flocked to their positions. Sybil having not moved a single inch felt out of place. She wandered over to the Captain and cocked her head. "Where do you want me, Cap?"

"If ye don't wish to die, I'd suggest ye stick with me. It's the most interesting part anyways," he boasted, eager to swing from the ropes and slice open the enemy's chest.

Her eyes narrowed and she frowned. "I may not be the best nor the most confident, but I don't need someone hovering over my shoulder. Give me an actual task. Let me help."

"You can help by not dying."

Sybil gritted her teeth before the thought occurred to her. "Do I hear a hint of worry in your voice, Nathaniel?" she taunted, testing her boundaries.

Thatcher's jaw clenched at the sound of his first name, but it lasted only a mere moment. Other than the subtle twitch of his jaw, he showed no other signs of letting it get to him, but by the dragons it did. "Worry? For a landlubber? A girl no less? You're clearly mistaken lassie. Ye see, I don't need you skewering me crew into kebabs. If you have an issue, that's not me problem, but me men dying is. I'm not changing my mind."

Flaring her button nose, Sybil trailed behind Thatcher more than tempted to turn him into a kebab. She sighed for the trillionth time that week and settled for skewering a heartless mercenary instead. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to find an opening and take it. They were ruthless. They would kill her. There was nothing to hesitate over and more importantly nothing to regret. Her resolve strengthened, but it did nothing to untangle the knots twisting in her stomach. Was killing truly necessary? No, she couldn't think that way. No doubts and no regrets.

The Captain stood at the helm beside the new helmsman he had promoted after Leo left. Vincent was his name? Pausing momentarily, he scrutinized the man and it was as if Ato had spoken to him. His name was Winston, most definitely. "Chase the ship cautiously, until we can get a better view of her. We need to know her size and what she is carrying."

"Carrying, Captain?"

"Aye, Winston. She could be carrying hardly any mercenaries and ammunition, or she could be carrying an army. It all depends on her cargo."

Sybil looked critically at Winston, dubious of his experience. Here she thought she was oblivious to pirate jargon, but that was a simple one. Maybe she was finally learning something. Scoffing, Sybil found it difficult to believe she had learned anything. The Captain wasn't exactly the best teacher, attacking her out of nowhere and what not. She mused it over in her head, still sour over how easily he had defeated and humiliated her.

Thatcher saw Sybil gnawing at her bottom lip and shook his head. It was a terrible habit. Part of him wondered how she even still had lips with how often she nibbled at them, but it did make her easier to read. He often found himself muling over what went on inside that head of hers. At least now he knew she was bothered. "Are you sure you're okay Rowland? You're free to sit this one out."

Winston raised his brows, shocked by the offer. Apparently, the Captain wasn't that courteous with others. That only irked her more. Was he anxious to keep her out of battle because she was a girl? Was that it? Was he a sexist pig like the rest? She would show him. "Nay. I'm more than willing to serve my part, excited even. How are you Captain? Do you wish to sit this one out?"

She would've liked to go on to comment about his old age, even though he was no more than two years her senior, but Matthias interrupted, "Captain, it appears the merchant ship has noticed our sails and sped up. I would recommend changing the sails after this encounter as we journey into more crowded waters and the threat of being recognized and pursued increases," Thatcher nodded his agreement and Matthias continued, "Shall we advance and fire our warning shot? Good chance they'll surrender."

"Nay Matthias, no warning shot. I do believe I speak for all of us when I say we're aching for a good bloodbath."

He nodded and went back to report to the others, who cheered upon hearing the news. Sybil was not nearly as enthusiastic. Bloodbath? A surrender may not be the most ostentatious victory, but a victory all the same. Was killing truly necessary? She pondered the same question she contemplated earlier, only now with the knowledge it wasn't. Sybil stared at Thatcher with new eyes. Sad, disappointed eyes. So, this was what being a pirate really was, not the sham she'd been living the past couple of days. Her heart panged in her chest at the sudden realization she had been thrilled at overtaking the ship when she thought of the mercenaries, but the merchants and crew were innocent. She sickened herself. Pirates sickened her. She genuinely was becoming one of them and dishonoring her family. Even the thought of rescuing her father wasn't enough to wipe away her shame.