Page 5 of Valka

But there was no splash, at least Delia didn’t think there was a splash. It was hard to tell with the sound of the waves crashing against the ship. Delia waited a few more moments, gathering her nerve to do exactly what she’d told Louise to do. But then the scream followed by the shrill peal of a huge raptor had her wondering if she’d been wrong to encourage any of them to leave the hold. Perhaps Patricia had been correct. She knew suddenly that perhaps she’d made the wrong decision, given the wrong advice, when she saw the bird Louise had been hiding from grasping Louise carefully within its grip as she screamed and beat against its talons. The huge raptor was unfazed as it issuedits shrill, perhaps victorious call and very carefully and slowly flew toward the distant shore.

“What are they doing with them?” Ridley asked.

“I don’t want to think about it. I just sent all these women to their deaths. A horrible death.”

Ridley watched as the beast shifted Louise within its grasp to try to hold her more securely, then climbed a little higher while continuing on toward shore.

“I’m not so sure.”

Delia hovered inside the hold, standing on the ladder with Ridley at her back, thinking the man insane. Surely they were to be some meal for the creatures’ young if they were being carried toward land.

Delia closed her eyes and allowed the tears to fall for the first time since being kidnapped and chained in the hold of this godforsaken ship.

“I don’t think they’re going to hurt them.”

“Why? Are the beasts friends of yours?” Delia snapped irritatedly.

“No, but when they took the captain and some of the others, they began to eat them right away. Shaking them about like a dog who’s caught a squirrel, then tearing their flesh and eating them in mid air before circling back for another. It carefully carried her. Adjusting her to make sure that she was safer, even. It’s not eating her.”

“Not at the moment!”

“You have to live to fight another day, right?” he asked. “Isn’t that what you said? Get out of this miserable hold and concede what we have to in order to survive?”

Delia glared at him, irritated he was throwing her own words back at her.

“Their behavior is completely different than before. If nothing else, they’re not eating them right away. Maybe you can get away later?”

“Maybe. As long as you’re alive, you have a chance,” she said.

The ship creaked, shifting its position and listing just a bit more than before.

Delia screamed and clung to the ladder with her one good arm.

Ridley pressed himself against her, holding her tightly to the ladder, then he realized if the ship was settling further into the water, preparing to go down, the beasts most likely had temporarily taken flight from wherever they clung to the masts and any other parts of the deck they clung to, to avoid the ship shifting beneath them.

“Now! Go now!” he shouted, shoving her up and out of the hold.

Delia had no choice but to start running toward the side of the ship. But due to the angle, she began to slide feet first across the deck toward the railing.

“Try to fit yourself through an opening in the railing,” Ridley shouted from behind her.

Delia only had one hand to scrabble with and did her best to turn her body through one of the openings in the railing as she approached it, and luckily managed to do just that.

She hit the frigid water with a splash, plunging deep beneath the surface, but only had a few seconds to worry about the ship possibly falling over on top of her, before she felt something encircle her and she was brought toward the surface, then up and out of the water.

The large wings of the creature holding her within its grasp, flapped lazily as it flew through the remainder of the storm on its way to deliver her to wherever it was intent on going. It hadoutwitted her, apparently. And wasted no time when she made herself seen, plunging into the water after her.

Delia scoured the ocean below, searching for any sign of anyone who might have managed to get away and was still making their way toward the shoreline. She gave that up almost immediately, other than a cursory glance here and there. Whitecaps and dark waters were all she could make out. Not even a moon was out tonight to cast a reflection. She looked up at the raptor whose talon she now grasped reflexively, and noticed not only that it had an injured leg it kept close to its body much like she did her own arm, but realized just how monstrous the creature was. It was not the size of two men, it was at least the size of three. Had it wanted her dead, she would be. It was only slightly encouraging, and greatly disturbing, that it had other plans for her.

Delia could have screamed hysterically and beat against the beast, but it wouldn’t have done her any good. She had no chance of winning her freedom at this particular point in time. Instead, she sat calmly within its grasp, her good hand holding onto its talon for stability, her bad arm cradled against her chest. She split her time between examining the raptor for any weaknesses while at the same time looking out over the darkened ocean and upcoming shoreline, trying to find anything to mark her way. She planned to escape, and she’d need to know how to find her way when she did. As it happened, she cast a glance back at the ship just as it turned completely onto its side in the stormy night waters, and sent up a prayer for the young man who’d done his best to try to save her. “May you rest in peace, young man,” she whispered.

~~~

Standing on a cliff far above the shoreline, a lone figure stood watching the attack taking place in waters just off the coastline. He was an imposing male, standing six-and-a-half feet tall. The dull olive-green tone of his flesh was riddled with darker scars that seemed to cover most of his body, face and arms. The scars themselves puckered and rose just far enough above the rare patches of undamaged skin to appear painful. His long, tangled, black hair was braided in rows running front to back, and then spilling down his back where his braids were left completely ignored to do whatever they would. Around his waist he wore a roughly shaped breech cloth of fur, held in place with a length of leather wrapped haphazardly about his hips. His feet, planted firmly on the cliff’s well worn ledge, were wide and flat from a lifetime of swiftly carrying him barefoot toward whatever he happened to be running to. It was always toward something, never away from. In his hand he held a single, magnificent battle-axe. Despite his rough, primitive, oft-injured, aged appearance, the battle-axe appeared to be almost pristine. The raindrops of the storm glinting off its razor sharp blade and even dripping from the pointed pick opposite it as he held it relaxedly at his side. It was a part of him, just as his own hands were, and he never, ever took a step in any direction without it.

He watched the skaevin, the huge predatory birds, attacking the ship, and was proud his own skaevin wasn’t among the convocation of birds out near the floundering vessel. He’d freed the creature long ago when it became clear there would be no more battles to win. From time to time it still ventured near enough to see if he was alive. He always shared his food with it so that it knew it was still welcome, but he no longer pressed it into service of any type. There were no more battles to need him for, and he refused to use the animal to raid sinking ships. And that thought reminded him of his tribe down on the shoreline waiting to see what the attack would get them. He lifted his full upperlip, better displaying his protruding lower tusks, snarling at the raiding party standing on the shoreline far beneath him. They were laughing and making bets on what their skaevin would bring them from the slowly sinking ship. He stood above them, looking down on them with disdain. They were not honorable. He refused to be a party to their scavenging despite the fact they were of his own tribe. Scavenging was not an honorable way to survive. War parties did not send their skaevin to attack a target and wait within the safety of their own stronghold for delivery of whatever prizes the skaevin had plundered to be delivered. An honorable warrior went out and took what he wanted. He fought for possession of whatever it was that caught his attention, whatever would serve him well, and he made it his.

He looked down on the males again, who waited excitedly for their skaevin to return and drop whatever they’d brought back to them into their hands. “Disgust,” he declared, stepping closer to the cliff’s edge to spit down at them.

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