A Wytch, if she is one worth her salt, is in essence always alone, whether she be surrounded by people or not. We stand on the precipice, one foot in the world of form and the other outside of it. Not so very long ago, however, I had set my sights on finding my old paramour, Douglas. In the course of events, I was able to connnect with his niece, Morgan Adams, who was a great Captain in her own right. It was upon her kindness that I found myself thrust. It was at this time, over dinner in her cabin that I was asked to recount this very question.
Morgan indicated a seat next to hers that was to the right of the head of the table where she sat indicating me to sit. She grabbed a tankard from the sideboard, barely leaning back to get it, and began to pour me some of the rum from the bottle on the table. She slid it across the heavy wood table to me, and for a long moment she studied my face, particularly my eyes.
“So tell me,” Morgan said after a long silence, “Why is it that you’re seeking to find my Uncle Douglas….that is if ye don’t mind me asking. ”
“No, I donna mind, ” I said taking the rum and took a long sip. The warming liquid was dark, good, and was not the swill that they served in most of the bars in Tortuga and Port Royale. T’was obvious that Morgan Adams and her crewe had taste as well as skill. She had discovered the secrets of successful pyracy and it was obvious that the aptitude toward the ‘sweet trade’ ran in the family.
“Many a year ago, he saved my life, and for o’er three years after that he and I were together.”
“How did ye separate then?” she asked.
“T’was my turn to save his life, Morgan.” I said, “and t’is a very long story.”
Morgan lifted the bottle and poured a bit more in her tankard and then into mine.
“The bottle is still near full, Miss Fanny,” she said, “and we have a bit of time till we get to Barbados, so I am curious as well as anxious to hear more about it.”
“I’faith, where to begin?” I said, taking a sip of the sweet, sharp amber liquid in my tankard, “Douglas found me in Tortuga to be burned at the stake, for Wytchery of course. We did our pirating together and that was a fine thing. For three, almost four years we were inseparable – until one day we pulled into a port, where we met up with one of your Uncle’s old friends. He’s called Hector the Horrible in some places, other pirates call him ‘the Beast’ or ‘The Great Barbarian’. Whate’er he is called, he is a horrible man. I knewe the moment I set my eyes upon him that Douglas’ friend was no friend at all, but to our faces he was charming enough. He was tall with red flaming hair and beard and by all rights, I suppose some woulde have call’t him handsome. But when Douglas had gone to tend to something and left me in the care of his ‘friend’ Hector, he pulled me aside, and said he had never laide eyes on my like before. ‘Come away with me’, he begged, ‘I will showe you places that you have ne’er seen before and I will prove to ye that I am a greater pirate than e’er Dawg Brown could be! Heare me, Fanny Fae, he said, and I shall make ye a pirate queen in yer own right!’ ”
“I see, Morgan said quietly, “and a’course you did’na go with him?”
“Not willingly, no. I forced myself not to laugh in his face,” I continued, ” and I politely refused him, explaining that my course was set, but he was insistent. ‘I will have ye, A Wytch, if she is one worth her salt, is in essence always alone, whether she be surrounded by people or not. We stand on the precipice, one foot in the world of form and the other outside of it. Not so very long ago, however, I had set my sights on finding my old paramour, Douglas. In the course of events, I was able to connect with his niece, Morgan Adams, who was a great Captain in her own right. It was upon her kindness that I found myself thrust. It was at this time, over dinner in her cabin that I was asked to recount this very question.
Morgan indicated a seat next to hers that was to the right of the head of the table where she sat indicating me to sit. She grabbed a tankard from the sideboard, barely leaning back to get it, and began to pour me some of the rum from the bottle on the table. She slid it across the heavy wood table to me, and for a long moment she studied my face, particularly my eyes.
“So tell me,” Morgan said after a long silence, “Why is it that you’re seeking to find my Uncle Douglas….that is if ye don’t mind me asking. ”
“No, I donna mind, ” I said taking the rum and took a long sip. The warming liquid was dark, good, and was not the swill that they served in most of the bars in Tortuga and Port Royale. T’was obvious that Morgan Adams and her crew had taste as well as skill. She had discovered the secrets of successful pyracy and it was obvious that the aptitude toward the ‘sweet trade’ ran in the family.
“Many a year ago, he saved my life, and for o’er three years after that he and I were together.”
“How did ye separate then?” she asked.
“T’was my turn to save his life, Morgan.” I said, “and t’is a very long story.”
Morgan lifted the bottle and poured a bit more in her tankard and then into mine.
“The bottle is still near full, Miss Fanny,” she said, “and we have a bit of time till we get to Barbados, so I am curious as well as anxious to hear more about it.”
“I’faith, where to begin?” I said, taking a sip of the sweet, sharp amber liquid in my tankard, “Douglas found me in Tortuga to be burned at the stake, for Wytchery of course. We did our pirating together and that was a fine thing. For three, almost four years we were inseparable – until one day we pulled into a port, where we met up with one of your Uncle’s old friends. He’s called Hector the Horrible in some places, other pirates call him ‘the Beast’ or ‘The Great Barbarian’. Whate’er he is called, he is a horrible man. I knew the moment I set my eyes upon him that Douglas’ friend was no friend at all, but to our faces he was charming enough. He was tall with red flaming hair and beard and by all rights, I suppose some would have called him handsome. But when Douglas had gone to tend to something and left me in the care of his ‘friend’ Hector, he pulled me aside, and said he had never laid eyes on my like before. ‘Come away with me’, he begged, ‘I will show you places that you have ne’er seen before and I will prove to ye that I am a greater pirate than e’er Dawg Brown could be! Hear me, Fanny Fae, he said, and I shall make ye a pirate queen in yer own right!’ ”
“I see, Morgan said quietly, “and a’course you did’na go with him?”
“Not willingly, no. I forced myself not to laugh in his face,” I continued, ” and I politely refused him, explaining that my course was set, but he was insistent. ‘I will have ye, Fanny Fae’, he nearly hissed at me, ‘and I mean to do it whether you choose to be at my side or not! If ye do not have a mind to come with me then I would sooner kill Dawg Brown, and ye will fall into my hand like a jewel! ”
“And the way that his words were spoken, it ran like an ice wind through my heart, for I knew that Hector the Horrible meant every word of his threat. I was of course going to go warn Douglas of the treachery of his so-called friend, but before I could make any move to express what I had heard and seen to your Uncle, Hector, that Barbarian slapped me in irons. He threw me into a place among the storehouses along the docks. I was stashed where Douglas could’na find me, and Hector told him that I had run off. I tried to cry out, but I was where I could not be heard, and Douglas went his way, convinced, I am sure, that I had abandoned him. I ne’er at that time got the chance to tell him that I was carrying his child, his son. I am sure that Hector told Douglas how I had ran off.”” I fought the rising pain that wrapped its way around my chest for the remembering. I took a long swig of the rum that was in my tankard now, and Morgan, poured yet more from the bottle into it.
“It was as if Hector had thrust a dagger into my heart” I said, “I had neér felt more alone than at any other time in my life.”
Muse: Fanny Fae
Fandom: Original Fiction / Folklore / Mythology
Word Count: 935
Crossposted to
Fanny Fae 