A picture says a thousand words. Write them.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a
metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about
this picture.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your
block!
“Alanna!” her father shouted.
“Incoming!”
“I KNOW!” she shouted at him
before she muttered under her breath, “You can hear the thing coming a mile
away.” The airship was running hard and loud; if necessary they could be almost
silent.
Smaller airships were sent to the
other platform; theirs was for larger ones but there were few of them these
days because of the war and how dangerous the skies were now. She knew this
ship. It was the Bennu and she knew the captain of this one, too. Cheeky
bugger. Always flirted with her. Offered to fly her away from all this; as if
she could ever leave? Her father depended on her.
“Alanna?” a voice called from the
rigging over the side as the airship approached.
“Evelyn?” She was the second in
command of the ship.
“You got a first aid kit? Our
supplies are depleted.”
She caught the mooring rope and
tied the airship off. The rear line was in her father’s capable hands. “Hang
on.” She ran to grab the first aid kit before she clambered up the rope that
was dropped over the side and aboard the ship. Normally she would have asked
permission first, but she was in a hurry today.
“Who’s hurt?” She almost didn’t
want to ask.
“It’s Peter. Gut wound.” She
paused as she swung down to the deck. “It’s bad and we don’t have time to wait
around for him to heal.”
They had already dragged him out
of the cabin. He lay on the deck looking smaller than he usually did. She
rushed over and leaned into his face. When he didn’t acknowledge her, she knew
he was very ill.
She hurried over to the side and
looked for her father. He was negotiating the mooring fee with the purser. With
some kind of extra sense, he glanced towards her. His face asked the question.
“H-he’s hurt,” she said.
Her father patted the shoulder of
the purser and moved quickly towards her. “What do you want to do?” He looked
up at her, trusting in her decision.
“Can he stay here?”
He sighed. They both knew what
harbouring a fugitive meant. “Evelyn?” he asked.
“We can be back in three weeks.”
“He’ll die being out of the air
for three weeks,” Alanna said.
“He’s close enough to the sky,
here.” Evelyn jigged her head at the windmill sails. “Almost there.”
“E-evie?” Peter croaked. Alanna
thought he was mostly unconscious. He was just raving. She put her hand on his
forehead. He was fevered.
“I know,” Evelyn said. She looked
just as concerned as Alanna did.
“Get him inside,” her father
said. Crew leapt to help carry him.
She stripped him down, bathed
him, and blanched at the scars on his wiry body. His shirt stuck to the angry
wound. She cleaned it and stitched it while he was passed out and then painted
it in honey, just as her mother had taught her.
It looked like a sword slash to
her; across the stomach. He was lucky to be alive and not holding his spilled
guts in his hands. She covered it with a clean bandage and mopped his brow with
cool water infused with herbs. Her stash would need replenishing. She had tried
to grow them in tubs on the platform but the weather was too erratic.
She fed him broth when he could
manage to swallow it.
On the third day his fever broke
and he fell into a much more restful sleep. She felt confident enough to leave
him alone and check in on her father.
“I got young Tim to help out.”
“The boy from the village?”
“Yes.”
“He doesn’t know we have a
guest?”
“No, he believes you have taken
to your bed.”
“It is occupied.”
“Yes.” He frowned. He still
wasn’t happy about it. “Is he ...?”
“He’s on the mend. Asleep now.”
“Good. The sooner we see the
Bennu’s sails, the better.”
She didn’t agree. She wasn’t sure
what to hope for.
That night, as she fed him his
broth, his grey eyes were heavy upon her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She fed him another
spoonful.
“Liar.”
Silence.
“I can feed myself, you know.”
“I know.”
“But I like you to do it.” He
almost had his rascally gleam back.
The next mouthful, he licked the
spoon. His tongue darting out of his mouth to touch it.
“Stop it,” she groused at him.
“Tell me.”
“I’m worried.”
“Ask me anything. I’ll be honest
with you.”
“Evelyn?”
“My half sister.”
“Oh.” And after she had thought
for some seconds. “Oh.”
“Honest,” he repeated.
“Right. Thank you.”
A spoonful.
“The war?”
“We are not winning... but we are
not losing, either.”
“Stalemate?”
“Yes.”
“What will change that?”
“I am not sure.”
Another spoonful. He studied her.
The next spoonful, he touched her
arm; brushing his fingers very gently down her skin.
She sighed.
“Alanna,” he whispered.
“Don’t. You’ll just heal and
leave.”
“Come with me.”
“I can’t.”
“You could if you wanted to.”
“As what?”
“My wife, if you wished it. My
partner if you do not.”
“You mean that?”
“Honestly.”
“I am no airman.”
“You could be; you are halfway
there.”
She chuckled. “That’s what Evie
said.”
“Please, Alanna. I can’t make you
co-captain, that’s up to the crew, but you could be my partner in other ways.”
“You’d share your spoils with
me?”
His face twisted. “Yes,” he
chewed out.
She smiled at him. He was a
pirate at heart.
“Because I adore you,” he added.
“It kills me every time I fly away and leave you. All the treasures in the world
mean nothing compared to you.”
“You really mean that.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Oh, but I did. Just not out
loud.”
She thought about it. He always
had gifts for her. Silk scarves from far off lands, perfumes from the Orient,
small carved animals that he swore he had seen running below the airship. Even
the honey she had slathered on his wound had been a gift from him.
He seemed to understand that she
wasn’t completely convinced. “I nearly died. I don’t want to waste another day
doing what is seemly; I want to do what is right.”
He reached out and took the bowl
out of her hand.
She still held the spoon. She
clung to it.
“Alanna?” he whispered. “I need
an answer.”
“Now?”
He tried to sit up and groaned
with the effort.
“Stop it! You’ll rip the
stitches.”
“After you put so much effort
into stitching me up.”
“Yes, so don’t wreck it.”
He fell back on the pillows,
breathing hard with the effort.
She touched his face; her hand
cradling in against his jaw. He leaned into her hand. His eyes... they were
pleading with her.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He smiled at her but he was so
exhausted, he passed out.
She pulled the blanket up and
tucked it in around him, brushing his hair out of his face. He was still a
rascal and a pirate, but he was her pirate. She knew that now.
~~~~
© AM Gray 2013
