Samhain... The time when the veil was thinnest between worlds. Captain Devnaugh struck a match against the wooden railing before bringing it up to light her pipe. She took a few puffs, all while trying to fight a smile that threatened to spread across her face. Soon, she shook out the match, pulled out her pipe, and blew smoke circles into the air. Afterward, she smiled up at the moon that stood out as a bright spot against the inky black sky.
It was also the best time for business. Anyone with sense hired seafarers to protect their villages, but those with actual brains knew that pirates could get the job done better than anyone else. Fishermen could hold their own... maybe, but their vessels weren’t built for combat. Just made no sense. Navymen came at a high price, and their way of doing things just didn’t float well with the captain.
The Navy liked to play by the rules, but only their rules. They cared little for the needs of the oceans; they couldn’t understand the subtle demands. They were businessmen in the end, and they only wanted that which would give them the most bragging rights. “Honour,” sure, but that was just a nice way of talking about their insidiously selfish ways.
Pirates knew that a little bit of superstition went a long way. Giving respect to the ocean paid better dividends than any coin or accolades mankind could offer. Captain Devnaugh took another puff thoughtfully as her ship cut through the nightwaters and drifted into the moonlight. She shuddered as she glided slowly into the radiance. After taking another hit from her pipe, she blew the smoke out of her nose now.
Heavy bootfall sounded behind her, and then a crewmate spoke up. “Captain, we spotted the whirlpool nearby. It looks like it’s just getting started.”
“Excellent.” Devnaugh overturned her pipe into her empty hand. “Let’s make our way over.”
“Aye, aye!”
Her crewmate turned as quickly as they came and began shouting orders. Captain Devnaugh took a few steps to her left, passing smears that were slowly fading into the wood, and slammed her hand down an empty spot on the railing. She dragged her hand backwards quickly, leaving a smoky stripe against the wood. Then, she knocked her pipe against her boot and walked up to the quarterdeck.
The Maiden’s Wail creaked gently as it was guided in a new direction. The masts fluttered in the light breeze, and the noisy churning of the sea became more apparent as they all approached. A fool would fight the sea and her mighty demands; they’d drop anchor to watch the whirlpool from afar. Captain Devnaugh was neither fool nor coward. She guided her crew to slow the approach and nothing else. She put all of her faith into the waters, and she was rewarded when the Maiden’s Wail slowed just outside of the dangerous spiral.
The waters darkened until they were a deep black-blue at the very heart of the whirlpool. The stretched faces within the watery twister were macabre and hypnotising. She leaned into it and stared at the whirlpool for a second, maybe two, before stepping back and calling out:
“Arm yourselves!”
The crew ran below deck. Their voices overlapped as they went to grab their choice of weapons. Even those in the crow’s nest swung down with equal dexterity and recklessness, and they broke into a sprint once they landed. Before long, everyone reemerged with bows and arrows, tethered spears and weighted nets. They brought gags and shackles and moth-eaten rags. Eight people ran back down before hauling up a heavy barrel with swords stabbed through it.
More people shouted, but their voices were more muffled and even further below the ship. Devnaugh stomped her foot to silence them, knowing that it was, perhaps, wouldn’t reach her prisoners but caring little if it did.
The rags were passed around. Those who were brave enough decided to forgo them while other crewmates asked to be blindfolded, hoping that that alone would be enough to hide their fear from what came next. The captain made her way down slowly. She plucked one of the rags to help blindfold one of the archers.
“The key here is faith,” she said, “and that will never change. If your resolve is weak, then you’ll be taken, and that’s one less sorry sod that gets what they deserve. So, be brave, men!”
“Aye, Captain!” cried out the crew in unison.
Captain Devnaugh turned and walked over to the barrel. She kicked it with her foot, and though it didn’t move, the liquid within sloshed about as if they had endured turbulence. When she looked back to the water, those who brought the barrel topside readied their hands over the swords. With everyone in place, the captain began to sing a shanty.
Though there was a common song every pirate of Samhain started off with, the lyrics naturally changed every year over time and on their own. Devnaugh let the words form from the depths of her spirit, and she sang it like a challenge to the sea, to the whirling cacophony of souls in front of their bow. More voices joined in until the entire crew of the Maiden’s Wail was singing with her. Their voices echoed into the far reaches of the night. The captain raised her hands, beckoning for the souls to free themselves, and just as the song ended, the ship began to bob.
The whirlpool spun violently until it dissipated and left the waters shaking. Archers readied their bows, and the spearmen brought up their weapons as well. Those wearing the blindfolds steeled their resolve in one last bid for strength. Captain Devnaugh smelled the change coming like salt in the air. A toothy grin broke out over her face. She took a step for a sword in the barrel and yanked it out, creating an arch of brackish water as she swung upward.
Spirits leapt onto the deck; their bodies were merged with the water, and their faces nightmarish facsimile of actual people. It was easy to cut them down while their bodies weren’t completely formed, but that was a problem that quickly remedied itself. Water became bones that became flesh. Tentacles curled around the railing, and unnaturally long, webbed fingers reached for crewmates.
The faces of the nightmares fashioned themselves into likenesses that were far more uncanny, but the captain was familiar with all of them by now. The sirens now fully fleshed out became mockeries of loved ones; their haunting voices sung various promises and missives, but thankfully, most of them were being knocked down. When they were shackled or otherwise restrained, their sweet voices became harsh and venomous; they screeched off-key and hurled curses and insults. Gags were used until there were no more, and weighted nets were thrown to grab sirens before they could retreat into the ocean to heal themselves. Only one of her crewmates fell with a bloodcurdling scream when the fear became too much. Two sirens swarmed upon them, but the creatures were soon wrangled before they could devour the corpse whole.
Devnaugh and several others brandished the swords slickened by the old blood within the barrel. She led the way and killed spirits that didn’t speak to her. The ones that gazed at her with fear instead of hatred were spirits with nothing left behind; they were about to lose their final tether to this world without a chance to revive, and they lost their heads easily. One raised its voice to a pitch that almost disorientating. Its final song shocked the mighty captain down to her core.
With a shudder, Devnaugh chuckled as she raised her sword high. “You’ll do nicely.” She swung the blade down and cleaved the creature’s head. The boat bobbed again, and the sea stirred beneath them. The Maiden’s Wail pulled forward an inch and then settled before the whirlpool began to churn again.
“We’ve got time. Get things ready.”
Those who were in fine enough shape hustled down to grab buckets from below deck. Others could move but were shaken moved to push the body of their fallen comrade to the bow of the ship. Someone retrieved a sheet as old as the moth-eaten rags and covered the body with it. This would be protection enough until they could properly dispose of the body. Captain Devnaugh tipped her head. She assumed they’d be able to split their numbers before the night was out, depending on how strong everyone else stayed.
With cleaning implements in hand, the cleaning crew threw their buckets overboard, filled them with nightwater, and yanked them up by their ropes. Siren blood floated oddly in the water like oil with the same type of sheen, but it was easy to pick up. The removed heads were gathered up, and Devnaugh did the honours of opening the barrel. The stench from within was foul, and even the swordsmen she fought with still recoiled at the smell. Thankfully, they were quick to drop the siren heads within so that the barrel could be recapped. They stabbed their swords into the cursed waters, and Devnaugh dusted off her hands.
“Bring one of the village prisoners up. We’ll start the feeding.”
Her stern-faced quartermaster pulled back from the railings and gave a quick nod. “On it, Captain.” And then, she went down into the brig.
There was enough profanity and stomping and screeching to fill the spaces where the earlier singing hadn’t. Captain Devnaugh rolled her eyes as the man made such a production. When he was thrown onto the deck, he growled like a beast himself, and the captain kicked him in the ribs for good measure.
“Quiet, you. If you didn’t want this, y’should’ve taught twice before being such a prick.”
“Fuck you, Devnaugh,” he spat acidicly. He raised his head to glare up at her hatefully. “One day, it’ll be you fed to the sharks like chum.”
“Aww, what an honour.” She knelt down to wrench his head towards the sirens, who she called out to. “Say. Any one of you recognise him?”
At first, here was nothing, but one of the sirens rolled their head lazily in her direction before recognition ignited like a flame. The creature huffed through its nose, quickly becoming more and more incensed until it was thrashing in its restraints. The crewmates scrambled to free it, but the siren’s bloodlust took over with intense compulsion. It ruined one of Devnaugh’s shackles and nearly clawed out the eyes of one of her gunhands as it scrambled for the man.
He kicked and screamed, demanding that Devnaugh— that anyone— saved him, but no one heeded its calls. As the siren scrambled, its monstrous nature blended with its mimicked humanity before crashing upon him like the tides. It surrounded him like muck and algae, and as it fed, Devnaugh and a couple of deckhands quickly shuffled them both off the port side. The quartermaster ducked down into the brig to grab another prisoner.
“Bring me—” The captain stood upright and looked around for her right hand before realising what happened. “Ah. Already on it, good girl.” She wiped the sludge on her pants and quickly looked around for rope. “You all handle the rest. I need to mount my treasure.”
There were a rally of agreements as well as more swearing and begging as another pitiful was soul was brought topside. She found a usable rope and then climbed the bow to showcase the screaming siren’s head. She smiled with satisfaction before making herself comfortable on the bowsprit. She watched as the whirlpool slowly kicked up momentum. How many more villages would hire her to protect her from their kin? How many Samhains would she survive before she too was overwhelmed?
Captain Devnaugh tilted her head slightly and then looked back to the starboard railing where her newest handprint was left. The faded marks looked glossy in the moonlight, and seeing them made her smile. Each one marked a year, and they became deeper with each Samhain voyage she made. She had already pierced many veils, and if these marks were any indication, she would have many, many more souls to contend with in the future.
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