Posted by Leif G.S. in Fantasy, Flash Fiction, The Wicked Cat Series, The World of Niris (Manuscript World) | 4 Comments
Pirate Fantasy Flash Fiction: The Wicked Cat (Confrontation)
The 20th entry in the Pirate Fantasy Flash Fiction series The Wicked Cat and the last of the Crysilia Mini-arc. This time around, we get deep in Bluefeather’s skull and see what’s in there. I hope you all enjoy this little ride and I am amazed this has gone on for 5 months. It’s all due to you all loving these characters so much. Thanks!
Bluefeather wove through the tree tops as he tried to avoid the swarm behind him. He switched directions, ascended through the canopy into the open air and then dipped back through the branches again. Some Crysilia behind him lost the trail, dispersing the moment they crested in the sunlight. He stole a moment’s glance to see less than a handful of bugs were following him. He didn’t care; the only one that scared him was the one containing King Crammith’s soul. He knew it was the King once it recognized him in the cage, he could feel the rage radiating from the glowing jade stone jutting from its backside. He had to get away; he needed to escape the vengeful ghosts on his tail. He wanted to find his ship and disappear. He never asked to be a macaw. He wanted to what was best for his King.
He burst through the canopy once more, cresting over a grove of tall Southern date trees. He winged his way toward a small grove behind it, an unnatural selection of Drekmöhrg furs and pines. He reached an apex in his flight path and dove toward the needles. He blinked as the world raced toward him. The colors were streaking by so fast.
He remembers running through the wilderness as natives chase him. He stumbled across them when he was exiled. They noticed him from his time spent as a slaver. He tried to apologize. He struggled to speak their language. The chief picked his black spear from the ground and shouted a challenge. The tribe charged after him. He tripped over a limb during his escape. He crawled through the forest. He remembered a small grove of Drek pines. He could taste the crisp scent in his mouth. He kept crawling.
His body slammed through the canopy; hitting limbs, cones, and needles as he tumbled through to hit a large branch. He slid across the large limb and hit muzzle covered beak first against the massive tree trunk. He stopped as his wings draped over the edge and dangled. He could feel consciousness dance with him as a coy lover might. He heard a buzzing in his head. He groaned. He wanted to say something. The musky leather restraint prevented it. Something hissed behind him. The clicking of serrated pincers confirmed his fears. He managed to rise to his clawed feet and pressed his back against the Drek pine as the bug hissed once more. The crystalline wings clattered against the fist sized jewel body. He turned his head. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to cry out.
He hears footsteps racing by. The strange language they speak is tough for him to understand other than bits and pieces. He knows they want him dead. They call him ‘The Gallows Terror’. He never hung a slave in his life. He befriended many. He changed his ways. Why couldn’t they understand that? He was a hero, a captain in the greatest navy assembled. He swears to himself. He was once a hero. Now he’s cowering for his life.
The Crysilia hisses once more as it skitters closer. He spots another branch nearby. The Crysilia notices as well. It spread its crystalline wings and hovered between the expanses. He swore through the muzzle. He imagined what it would be as a bug. No worse than a bird losing his mind. Three centuries of searching and hunting for the illusive treasure and it is stolen by a vengeful gnat. He wanted to weep.
The clattering of wings stopped. He turned his head in time to see another macaw, a real macaw, race by and capture the thing in its beak. The bird winged its way through the canopy and across the sky. He sighed and grunted as he remembered the muzzle. He hopped across the large branch and dipped his head low enough for the strap to catch on a sturdy sprig. He pulled hard against the buckle as he used one claw to try to break through the leather. He cursed the ancient Carnova leatherworking skills passed through slave trades. They made good leather restraints.
He buckle snapped with a gentle ping. He tumbled backward and fell over the edge. He tumbled toward the ground as branches as nettles whipped his feathered body. He angled himself toward a clear patch and stretched his wings. He flapped with all his might. The ground raced toward him too fast. He struggled to keep him composure. His falling became flying as he streaked across the forest floor. He used his momentum to punch through the grove and wing over the bay. He turned his head to spot the Last Hope sitting in the harbor. He spiraled as he tried to assess who was on board. As he adjusted his angle to land on the ship, he watched it shimmer and evaporate before his eyes.
He flew toward a large group of Olysp fruit trees. He landed and closed his eyes. “Curse ye luck, boyo. Ye will be a bird the rest of ye days. Ye’ll be retreatin’ to the Queen’s Isle and live the rest of ye life as a mindless bird. Ye can be leavin’ the traitorous wenches behind, they- Squawk!” He used his wing to cover his head in shame as his body convulsed. He wept. He was losing himself.
The sun melted in the azure sky, allowing the larger of the two moons to crest over the horizon. He stopped weeping and watched the blushing sky dissolve into darkness. The moon shimmered off the bay, causing glints to catch his eyes. The bay was a clear emerald along the sands and a dull sapphire as it fed from the sea. He sighed and stretched his wings. He shook his body and ruffled his feathers. He decided to sleep where he perched. As he looked for a comfortable spot to rest, a gigantic shape on the sea captured his attention. His heart raced. He felt his tongue swell. He craned his neck as he blinked disbelieving eyes. “Nay, it cannae be. It is. The Last Hope!”
He flew from the trees and pushed his body as hard as it could handle as he raced toward the ship. He would land on the ship. If it were another illusion, he would drown his troubles. The world would speak of LaCramoix with whispered curses and as threats to their crew. They would carry on without him. He knew this. The blue streak of his body whisked over the ocean. He saw the ship. He could taste the rotting planks and musty sails. He could see the rusting bulkheads and tarnished brass figurehead of the twin angels cradling a large bell at the fore, their wings stretched along the sides.
He adjusted his angle and landed on the fore deck. More that he tumbled when he was over the deck. His body rolled and skidded to a stop as his foot touched the rail overlooking the main deck. He scrambled to hide behind barrels as zombified creatures groaned and shuffled past him. He exhales as he brought his hands to his face and wiped his brow. He blinked. He looked at his hands as if he were a babe realizing he had hands. He restrained a giggle as he left a smile break his parched lips. “Captain LaCramoix returns to this world once more. I shall make you pay for your foul acts of necromancy, Ualda.”
If you enjoyed this piece and are new to the series, please click on the link below to start from the beginning. Thanks for the interest and I hope you enjoyed the piece!
HA! So I see we’re in for a few more confrontations down the road, or over the wave, as it were. I like all the snippets of Bluefeather’s flashbacks, though I suppose we’ll have to stop calling him Bluefeather now. And I hope you bring back the other mage for some back-up, because I’m thinking this Ualda will be no pushiover. Great stuff LV.
hedgewitch recently posted..The Paladin
Well, he will always be Bluefeather even if he has a human body. That is the point, he can be human on the deck but you bet he will be a bird when he leaves. I am sure there will be other conditions that will reveal themselves as the story goes on. And Ualda is different than Unne, though they are both imposing in their own rights. Thanks for the read, glad you enjoyed it HW
This is a tale not worth telling – the little feathered rat deserves his fate. My story is riddled with adventure and magic! Woven by the glittering threads of the sea gods!
Blue Feather totally kicked ASS in this one – I love a good chase, and being muzzled while chased by possessed killer bugs (for a parrot) has to be horrific. This was worth the wait – nice job buddy!
Hey Fodd – what up?!