CHAPTER 1: CAPTIVE'S DESIRE

THERE WERE SOME PIRATES THAT HAD JUST SAILED UP THE COAST from where they had raided the city of Dosher, plundering and killing as they went—they took many slaves and valuables from the markets and docks. What’s more, they had succeeded in breaching the sultan’s palace.

Now, the sultan was not unaccustomed to sea raiders. However, that they had been so successful was a concern that revealed their ability, for the sultan, was normally well acquainted in dealing with such similar attacks, and indeed most of them were altogether prevented before they ever began.

These pirates were different. They were more tenacious, violent, full of greed and lust. They had no gotten away with only valuables, but took prisoners that would no doubt be sold as slaves. Though these pirates were a force to be reckoned with, even they had not been expecting the swift rejoinder by which the sultan and his officers had responded. Men had poured from the barracks to quickly ward away the pirates, and if possible, kill them. The fighting was fierce and bloody. Perhaps the pirates would not have taken such a hostage as they did, had their circumstanced not been so dire a thing; that hostage being the very daughter of the sultan. Her name was Darya Al Renfusa, and except for that they then held her as their prisoner, the sultan would have run those foolish pirates down and killed them to a man.

Unfortunately, forced to break off his pursuit, for their leader, the man at the head of the raid that is, threatened to kill the beautiful princess if the sultan did not desist his attack. Against his better judgment, he acquiesced to the advice of his officers. Days passed, which turned to weeks, and then months. The sultan eventually, after receiving no new word from his spies and search parties, was forced to give up all hope for Darya. Broken and disillusioned, his rule began to wither, but that is a story for another time and place.

This is an altogether different telling, though it does concern the sultan’s daughter, and more specifically a young man called Haroob, for they were both aboard the pirate vessel. They sailed far, raiding merchant ships and making port whenever it was safe to do so, whereupon the pirates offloaded their wares among their allies who no doubt fenced them in various places. Little time was given for the men to carouse among the ports, as the pirate captain’s greed was insatiable and they soon set out again while the weather was good enough for taking other vessels at sea.

A long stretch of sailing went by where few ports of safe entry were located. The pirate captain—Farra Daloo was his name—and his crew, were wanted in many jurisdictions by many leaders, and so he and his crew were eventually forced to stop along a straight of unknown islands to provision the ship by means of the wilds. Except their stop in particular was called out by Farra Daloo himself, for he saw something through his spyglass.

“Ruins,” he said.

“A temple?” asked his second.

He nodded with a grunt.

“Treasure, could be thereabouts.”

Farra Daloo, while a pirate, was also a merchant, a slaver, and an adventurer of some notoriety, and ever was his eye trained to see the unlikely ruin or sacred temple—this one hidden among the thick jungles of the island that teemed with breath and life.

A shiver ran down the backs of the men as they looked on, muttering about curses and wild beasts that could devour a man as soon as look at him.

Now, about another matter; the beautiful princess, Darya Al Renfusa, was worth a lot of gold, especially for purposes of ransom, however it seemed the pirate captain had decided, against the outrage of his crew, to keep her for himself. Ever is the conduct of such types, and while at see it soon passed that Haroob and Darya became friends. This was possible only due to his young age, for had any of the other men gotten close to the girl, Farra Daloo would have cut off their heads with his own scimitar—which of course he did on one occasion amidst a scuffle on the decks amidships one night. There had been muffled shouts, and by the time Haroob had made it to the deck, he had found the men standing about in a circle, the body, silhouetted in the dark night lying with its severed head some paces adjacent to such a degree that bodes ill for most men.

Fortunately Darya did not see the incident take place, and indeed Haroob had actively prevented her witnessing it—however she did hear talk of it among the crew, whispers and eyes cast sullenly toward the captain, of whom they believed he treated them unfairly by not dividing the spoils of their raiding in fairness. Little did Farra Daloo know, but his men were muttering dangerous things behind his back.

Mutinous things.

Now as the sun was setting, Darya came out into the open bedecked in voluminous sheer fabric, a thing that had taken some months for her to get used to, but being the concubine of the captain, who seemed to simultaneously enjoy parading her to the crew at every opportunity, and cloistering her in his stateroom, had eventually accepted her destiny, of which was still uncertain.

Some of the men were still casting lots to decide whether the captain would tire of her and eventually ransom her, or keep her. Some of the fools, thought Haroob, are still hopeful he will give her to him. Shaking his head, the cabin boy felt a deep pity for the poor girl.

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“Haroob,” called Darya from the deck in her soft silky voice. Heads turned, as they always were when she made her presence known. “Have we stopped?”

With a glance to shore, Haroob nodded. “Yes.” Had she been one of the crew, he might have flicked his wrist and asked the sailor if he had eyes. While young and far less aggressive than any of the other men onboard, Haroob was somewhat of the pirate captain’s pet, a butler, and a trusted confidant—and certainly charged with looking after his bed slave’s wellbeing, though unsaid, both he and the captain were well understood that this unspoken responsibility lay with him.

“I do not see a port,” said Darya as she glanced across the darkening waters, her shoulders limned in the orange light of the setting sun. Her heart lurched. Captain Farra Daloo was a volatile man, his moods unpredictable, his actions sometimes even more so.

The captain’s agile footsteps scrabbled over the deck above and the princess turned with a mild fright inside her breast. “Water,” snapped Farra Daloo as he glanced down at her. “We need water. Do not trouble yourself with these concerns. Go back inside and forget the task I set to these louts.”

As the men narrowed their eyes imperceptibly, their teeth gritted and their pride –like whipped dogs—wounded, Darya chose not to hurry to his demand, a thing that always set Haroob on edge. Captain Farra Daloo was not a man to be tested. “Do not worry,” said Haroob to her. He smiled wanly to reassure Darya. “Everything is well. Do as the captain has said.”

“Oh!” she gasped. “The forests…”

“What of them?” asked Haroob, confused. “Are you well?”

“I am,” said Darya. “It is just… I have never seen the jungles before,” and it was true, for the princess had lived the majority of her life sheltered with in the cool confines of her father’s rich palace of white marble and gilded furniture, and now aboard the ship. After her abduction, her world had become smaller in size by measurable degrees, and though she, by Haroob’s reckoning, despite her adjustment to her circumstances, was beginning to wilt, like a plant growing in too small a vase, or perhaps a wild bird, trapped in a cage. It cannot be said that the young Haroob was good with metaphors, as the princess had ever been a bird in a cage, her confines had simply changed, even if by drastic measures.

While the captain barked orders to his second, who then relayed them to the rest of the crew, both the cabin boy and the princess turned their heads, their careful awareness of the captain’s temper alert and watchful. Finally Haroob turned to her. “Please go inside,” he said, feeling a sense of worry and guilt as the princess’ eyes became downcast.

If only she could be free to simply join the crew on their adventures, it would do her so much good. Putting a smile upon his face, Haroob reassured her that he would talk to the captain and her countenance instantly brightened, and he reminded her that only if she were an obedient woman would he consider taking Haroob’s advice.

“Yes!” she exclaimed in an excited whisper. “Yes—you are right. Thank you, Haroob.” She touched his arm and with a final nod from the cabin boy, she turned and went back inside, her heart racing with excitement at the prospect of being allowed to go ashore.

The men grunted and heaved as they brought the skiffs to bare so the men could row ashore. “Captain,” said Haroob, “may I speak with you?”

Farra Daloo strapped his sword belt on. “Arm yourself, boy—we go ashore.” He then called to his second to lead the expedition that would go in search for water. The captain then thrust a sword belt to Haroob—his very own equipment that he lent the boy. Taking it, Haroob synched the leather band around his waist and made certain that his scimitar was secure in the black and silver scabbard.

The captain lurched to the rowboats that were now floating against the ship’s hull. He climbed after several of the men, his pantaloons fluttering in the breeze as his knives clattered against the small pieces of armor on various parts of his body.

“Captain,” Haroob called, chasing the man down. He, by the thrust of the other crew members, was forced to climb down the rigging after their distractible leader among the boats.

“Look at it!” cried Farra Daloo as he stood in the boat and spread his arms. “Teeming with life and water.”

“And treasure!” shouted one of the men.

“And treasure!” echoed the captain.

Haroob could not help but feel a sense of excitement, his heart racing as the men scrambled to lower the other boats, many of them scrabbling to get in the very same boat as he and the captain.

Meanwhile Princess Darya watched from the stateroom windows as the rowboats swept out into the dark waters to make way for the shore. At their head was the captain, standing tall, powerful and commanding, her master and her slaver ravenous for adventure and treasure and wealth.

Heart shuttering, she watched as her chance to go ashore quickly sank like an anchor. Ever was the captain’s temper a thing that frightened her, and much of the crew besides, and yet she did something incredibly impulsive—or perhaps foolish.

A pair of Farra Daloo’s breaches had caught her eye, and finding the courage, she found Haroob’s cabin where he kept his clothes, for the cabin boy was the only member of the screw who wore clothing that would possibly suit her size, and throwing off her diaphanous robes she quickly found that she and her friend were of a suitable size.

Smiling to herself, her heart racing, Darya bedecked herself in Haroob’s spare pantaloons, tunic and vest. To conceal herself as a man, she took one of his turbans and wrapped it around her ample bosom, while taking yet another, for what man had only one turban? and quickly wrapped it around her head and chin.

Why have I never done this before? she wondered, almost aloud as her lips moved with the unspoken words upon her lips. I could have escaped in this manner, and realizing that taking up in this disguise now would seriously harm any other chances at later doing it again, she found that she did not care.

Every single day the princess lamented her fate, wondered after her mother and her father, and wished for escape. And yet a lethargy to her need had slowly come over her. She found, even of the most brusque of the men, that she found admirable qualities, if even only that they had shared a bit of their admiration for her beauty. Every time a raid happened, her heart went on edge, both out of fear, but also from hope. Would Haroob help me escape? she wondered.

If it was so that he could be counted upon by the princess, that chance would all but be gone if she now took her chance to go to shore with the men and was discovered.

Racing out onto the decks, she quickly armed herself with a scimitar like the others and found her way onto one of the skiffs departing after the captain’s own boat. If the men aboard caught her, the would either be too sympathetic to reveal her indiscretion, or too afraid that the men were witless enough to allow her to get this far, the latter of which being the stronger draw, it can be assured, for the wrath of Farra Daloo was no think ever to trifle with.