Chapter 5
Chapter five
James
Ihate that I am helping the crew out now, but like I told myself yesterday I need to play the smart game. Which means I need to make sure I won’t starve, even more so since I have no idea what I am going to be eating when I get to that blasted pirate ship.
They might poison my food. They want to get to Peter, and I have no idea what they are trying to accomplish.
Peter told me Killian hates him for no particular reason, that he just hates fauns. And with how he has been speaking about them, that makes sense. Not to mention the fact that a bunch of pointy-eared pirates do not exactly fit the bill for reasonable, honest people.
I wasn’t lying when I said I needed something to drink and to eat.
I have tried not to stand out. The pirates all seemed to like each other, and they chatted a lot, but nothing relevant.
I’ve been watching where we are going, to either find my way back to the castle, and to Peter.
Or to leave behind some hints as to where I am.
But I have found nothing, so maybe getting the Captain alone will help.
He seems like a man who loves the sound of his own voice.
“You’re still being suspiciously quiet, don’t tell me you really miss that narcissistic goat?” Killian suddenly growls, yanking the rope tied to my middle, probably enjoying the fact he gets to play with me like this. He is the vilest man I have ever encountered.
“Yes, you seaweed-for-brain churl, how the hell do you think I can hunt silver pheasants if I am blabbering like an arrogant puffed up sailor like you. If your stench doesn’t drive them away, your blabbermouth will surely do.
” The moment the words leave my lips in a cold snarl, the coarse rope bites into the skin of my waist. Even with the thin fabric of my tunic between it.
A sharp cold metal point draws blood from my chin, as I am being forced to look up at Killian fucking Hook.
“I know you are not used to getting away with running your filthy mouth like that. You’re used to playing the good boy, right?
Doing as Master tells you to do, all in the hope he will give you some scraps of his attention, so you can nurse yourself to sleep believing it is love,” he snarls, I want to speak up, tell him how fucking wrong he is.
But his hook embeds itself deeper in my chin, drawing more blood now, leaving me afraid of the damage it will do if I speak.
If looks could indeed kill, I would be out of this fucking mess.
If that was the case Killian Hook would be found by his crew foaming at the mouth, suffocated in the hatred of my glare.
But alas, all my gaze does now is annoy him more, anger him more, and I do not care for his feelings.
If I get the chance, I will kill him, and then I will be the one who brings his other hand back to Peter.
But in order for me to do that, I need to survive, I need to keep observing, finding faults in the crew. Finding weaknesses. So I just stand there glaring at him listening to what he is going to say next.
“You’ll behave with me too. I am not promising you false love or even kindness.
I am nothing like that goat,” he growls the last words.
Like water dragging over rough gravel. As if he hates Peter so much that even speaking his name hurts him, “What I offer you in return is survival. I will not hurt you, let you eat and drink plenty. As you wait until your prince comes to your rescue. If he makes it… you’re free to go.
You two won. If he doesn’t, I will let you go free.
But I can only stop my men from making you walk the plank for so long. ”
A lie, that is not how it works here in Silvermist. Just like back on earth.
Men in positions of power control everything.
I have seen it even with Peter. He does not ask his people; he does not deliberate with them.
He commands, he tells, the only difference is that Peter uses his words, his power to do good.
This captain, who is using me as bait, will surely not treat his crew with the same generosity as Peter does his people.
It would have been a chilling thought even if I didn’t know what he was planning to do with me.
He admitted it in his anger, and not only that, but he is also offering me a trade-off, my obedience for relative freedom.
I am not the obedient kind, but the promised relative freedom will give me more opportunities to get out of this mess.
Because I now know I am sure as hell not going to leave hints for Peter to help him find me.
Not now that I know Captain Pestilence’s ploy is to get Peter to come rescue me so he can kill him.
I have no doubt he will come and find me, but giving him hints, speeding up the process, will only be working for the pirates, and I would rather perish than do so.
The best plan for me now is to try to find a way out.
To play along until I can make my escape.
Meet Peter somewhere halfway and leave Killian Hook without leverage over Peter.
“Aye, Captain,” I mutter back, unable to keep the venom out of my voice.
But he would be a moron to think one conversation while he is threatening me will make me suddenly like him.
Not being too docile is actually the smartest move.
“However, I do need you to be quiet for me to be able to find some mist pheasants. I wasn’t lying about that,” I counter the moment the hook is finally withdrawn from my chin.
The wound is neither deep nor particularly painful.
What hurts is my ego, and the pin prick on my chin is a tangible reminder that he got to me. Biting my lip to stop myself from talking back again, I focus on actually getting us some food.
I gather some stones from the forest floor as we walk deeper and deeper into the forest. Hunting with stones seems a bit brutal, because there is a big chance of narrowly missing and just injuring the pheasants, but it is the way of the Faun.
It took me a little while, but I am over it now.
I still remember the first time Peter showed me how to hunt for the pheasants.
“You need to be very quiet now, my sweet boy. The pheasants are easily startled,” Peter whispers as he hands me some large stones he just picked up from the ground.
I am a little unsure what I will do with a handful of rocks, when he told me we would go out to hunt for our own dinner.
Then again, just the concept of hunting for my own dinner, when there are butchers, and farmers amongst not only the faun but the people we trade with too, seems weird to me.
Peter, however, informed me that it is the way of the faun.
That as creatures of nature they still hunt and feed in the old ways.
Without earth’s modern aides, as Peter calls bow and arrows.
It is true I have not seen a single weapon in the castle, even the guards are only armed with a large stick and a wood catapult.
Similar to the one he gave me. Suddenly, it dawns on me how I am supposed to hunt.
“There!” Peter’s whisper is hushed, but I follow his line of sight to see a couple of mist pheasants tottering around in the grass. Scavenging for food by the looks of it.
Peter grabs his catapult, his stone, and with a single flick of his fingers, he lets the stretchy rope go catapulting the stone toward the pheasants in a beautiful arc. His stone hits the target and one of the pheasants dies on impact. It sends the others flying.
“We will need to follow them deeper into the woods, normally one pheasant would feed two people, but I want you to practice, my sweet boy. Besides, you wouldn’t mind having some extra meat for dinner tonight, would you?”
His remark settles on me like honey, smooth and sweet, but sticky, limiting my movements.
I know he means well, that he loves me as I am.
It’s just my own insecurities gnawing at me every time anyone so much as hints at my weight.
I never used to be like that. I have always known I am more filled out than most. I always felt handsome, because of it, not despite.
Ye with how fit he is, and how accommodating, even letting me know of the changes he has to make for me, it makes me insecure.
None of my exes were as good-looking as Peter, and I have not seen an overweight faun. It’s just different circumstances now.
I don’t have a lot of time to think about it, though, because before I know it, we spot more pheasants.
Determined to make Peter proud, I load my catapult, releasing it with a satisfying zing of the elastic rope.
The second the rock hits the pheasant, I feel an overwhelming sense of joy.
Until I see the pheasant flutter its wings. I hurt it, but I did not kill it.
Wordlessly, Peter rushes up to it and puts it out of his misery.
I am still a bit shaken up by it. “Don’t worry ,my love.
You did so good for your first time. I understand like no other that all of this is so new to you.
And I cannot tell you how incredibly proud I am of you.
Not just for hunting your first pheasant.
But for how incredibly you are adjusting to this new life, this new world.
You should be extremely proud of yourself too,” he tells me.
I smile, accepting the feather he offers me, a soft sliver feather from the pheasant I hit.
“A reminder of how far you’ve come, and a token of faith for how much more I know you will grow into the role as my king consort,” Peter adds, he always knows what to say to make me happy.
To make me smile… and I love him for it.
I still carry that feather with me; in fact, I fastened it to my catapult.
Not just a reminder like Peter meant it.
But a reminder to focus and be aware of what I am doing.
A reminder to concentrate to hit the pheasant just right on the first try.
My thumb brushes the feather the second I see some pheasants.
We’ll need more now with eight mouths to feed, me included.
Meaning, we are going to need to follow them for a longer time or hope to find another flock.
I am relieved to notice Captain Hook letting go of the rope to the point where he is barely holding it.
Not moving and not speaking either. The only reaction he has is to raise an eyebrow as he sees me load up the catapult, but I manage to hit not one but two pheasants.
One sitting down and the other as the flock startles and flies away.
“This will feed four people, so we need one and preferably two more,” I explain, waiting for the inevitable mockery or complaining.
But he says nothing, just gathers the pheasants, ties them to his belt and tells me:
“Lead the way.” His voice is flat, like he wants to be everywhere but is here with me instead.
The feeling is mutual. So we just walk in complete silence to the clearing, where I know the pheasants usually scavenge for food.
With any luck, the chaos after hitting the first would leave me with enough time to take out a second one as they are taking flight.
Just like I did the first time. We should also be able to find some root vegetables here.
It won’t be a luxurious meal, but it will be filling.
I just wish I didn’t have to share it with Captain Pointy ear and his crew.
“I get why Peter doesn’t give you a real weapon,” Killian says, as I shoot the fourth mist pheasant.
“A catapult is a real weapon,” I scoff and before I can stop myself, I add: “Men who need bigger weapons are just overcompensating for something else they are lacking.” If he did not understand the meaning behind my words, surely the pointed glare at his crotch should do the trick.
“Says the one who likes a goat dick,” he scoffs back. Annoyance crawls up my back like fire ants. It wasn’t smart to taunt the man kidnapping me, but I hoped to at least annoy him. However, it seems like he is not at all bothered by my suggesting he is overcompensating for something.
“You know what real overcompensating is?” He starts helping me dig out the root vegetables I just found. And while I want to tell him “No, leave me the fuck alone,” that would leave me as the only one working to get us some food, which is the worst-case-scenario.
So, I swallow my words, not reacting to his little jab either. He is either going to mock me or point out one of my flaws. Or more likely Peter’s flaws. He is trying to get under my skin, and I cannot let him.
“We’re back, and the goat’s darling actually managed to get us some food,” Captain Hook tells his rowdy bunch.
He never told me what true overcompensating is.
I bristle at the fake compliment. And the fact that he keeps calling Peter and the other faun, goats.
I don’t know enough about Silvermist and the different species here, but it seems racist to refer to people like they’re just animals.
“Would you look at that… Well done, Sir Forager,” the Pirate I think I remember is called Seviin mocks me as she eagerly takes the pheasants from Killian. Soon, she is barking out commands, and the crew goes to work making food.