Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Jonathan Michael (red novels .txt) 📖

that stole a couple knuckles from his left hand—what stories he must have. Though, with his connection to the Advocate and his firm religious views, I wouldn’t doubt he’s as soft as a pincushion on the inside.

I return to the captain’s quarters as requested and knock on the door. No answer. Maybe he expected me sooner. My duties have kept me busy past second meal, and he didn’t say anything when I saw him on the deck last, but I don’t know. I knock again and still no response. Hesitantly, I push the door in. He’s not about his cabin, and the place is cluttered with parchment, ink, and portraits strewn about his desk and the floor just below. I step inside to tidy up the mess as I wait. The portraits are of his family, I presume—a wife and two beautiful daughters, who both appear to have children of their own. Without touching anything on his desk, I take a long glance at the parchment. They’re love letters. Several passionate love letters that were written many seasons ago if the dates are accurate. Signed Your Adoring Husband, Fika. But they sit right on top like he had just been reading them.

Hmm…love letters written to his wife but in his possession. Maybe he never gave them to her. Maybe he never had the courage to unravel his emotional side to his wife—or anyone else for that matter. He’s an iron barrel filled with gooey, sappy matter just like the rest of us. I’d never dare ask him the truth of it, though. The consequences, I fear, would be more than I’d like to endure.

I’m sure the captain is busy assisting his crew rig the booms, preparing for the day’s catch. He doesn’t return before I finish tidying up, so I leave his quarters for fear he will think me a snoop. To stay busy until he ventures back, I return to swabbing the deck outside his quarters.

While being dutiful scrubbing the deck, without warning, I fall headfirst into a bucket of fishhooks. My face, my ears, my lips all endure immediate stings. I assume my daunting clumsiness is the cause until I am lifted and dunked into a second bucket. The stings I suffer from the first enhance tenfold in the second bucket, but the pain disappears almost immediately. Excruciating pain, nonetheless. And as quick as it lasts, it causes me to open wide and inhale in a panic. A thick, chowder-like liquid fills my mouth. I’m pulled from the dense liquid. I cough violently, spewing a thick pasty substance with an extremely salty, dry sensation consuming my mouth.

Momentarily, I think I’m clear from the torture, but then a third bucket envelops my head. An even thicker sticky substance covers me to the brow, leaving my nose free to inhale the vomit flowing from my mouth. I am quickly pulled from the third bucket and, again, dunked into yet another. This last one is not filled with anything liquid or sharp. It feels as though it’s an empty pail.

My legs are released, and I topple over with my face wedged in the bucket. I lie still, frail, hopeless, waiting for more suffering. And then more vomit explodes from within me. Salty liquid and stomach acids pool on the deck in front of me. The stench is horrific. Suddenly, the sweet flavor of honey touches the edge of my lips to ease the nastiness.

“I suppose…” I cough heavily and cannot find any more clairvoyant words. “I… sup… flog…” My mouth is too dry for my tongue to work properly. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and my lips smack together as I open and close them.

“Shiner… Cudgel… Chunk!” A familiar voice yells out. “Dammit, men! I figured you’d give him a simple flogging and be done with it! You fools should know better. This isn’t another crew member for you to welcome with your moronic initiation submersion. He’s a guest. A guest of Advocate Gunther’s and a guest of mine. He pays his toll by cleaning up after you halfwits. I’d be better off with apes manning my vessel.” He pauses and tilts his head. “Or would it be aping my vessel?” He shakes his head. “With that said…Elder, you have more scrubbing to do. Looks like an ass violently sprayed its leavings all over. Get back to it! All of you!”

The captain removes the bucket from my head and pulls me up by the collar of my tunic. He hands me the mop.

“But… What…” I can’t seem to find the words as I stare wide-eyed. At least my tongue is back to working.

The three fishermen leave me to my duties, hooting with laughter as they head below deck to get their final meal of the day. A meal I personally helped prepare by scrubbing the dishes they’ll be eating on. Warmth spreads across my face, not from the heat of the evening or the agony of the pain, but from absolute embarrassment, humiliation, and anger. I kick the bucket closest to me. White feathers explode from it, coating the deck. Curses spill from my mouth involuntarily.

I clench the mop with both fists as hard as I can and accept the task at hand. It’s not like I have anywhere to storm off to. I’m on a damned boat in the middle of the damned Scarlet Delta.

I drop the mop to the deck and merely slop the mess back and forth. The last bucket was obviously filled with feathers and the third with honey. I peer into the second pail, and its filled with a sludgy, pale solution. I dip two fingers in and lick it. Salt. Maybe a bit of cream and water too. But mostly salt. Enough salt to make it as thick as chowder. I spit on the deck, disgusted, as the overexposure to the taste makes me gag. I draw back