Sneak Preview: Dreaming Deep in the Night Sky (From Chapter 6)

 The progress so far on this story is already available for my Patreon supporters to read. For everyone else, it will get published ... eventually. This is an extremely long, Lovecraft-inspired epic about how Princess Luna got her cutie mark, her dreamwalking powers, and her connection with the moon.

There's a short preview after the beak!

I never did get to sleep. Before I even got close, the noises began. And they're still going now.

 

The wooden planking groans, pulleys squeak as ropes are pulled through them too fast, boxes or barrels thunk down onto the deck above our heads, and everywhere there are footsteps – great big, heavy ones and the pitter-patter of tiny ones. Voices called back and forth, too, constantly yelling to each other from the top of the ship or from the dock. I think I've heard Beauford's precise diction here and there a few times, though the voices are too muffled for me to make out what they're saying.

 

I've contented myself to resting against the rough wood floor and cuddling up against Mister Kittles for now, while I wait to see what will happen to us. Nothing good, probably. I do not want to be used as these pirates' secret weapon, not even if Mister Kittles says I should. If I do what they want, they'll probably end up making me burn innocent traders alive just to make the pirates' job of stealing stuff easier. And then they'll make me do it again, and again. It will never stop as long as I'm useful to them.

 

Cringing, I roll to my side, trying to get comfortable on the hard floor. ... But if I don't do what they want... Well, I have no idea what they'll do with me – what they'll do to me, or what they might do to Mister Kittles. They know that he's my friend, and I have a sickly certainty that the only reason that both of us are here is so they can threaten to hurt him if I don't do what they want me to. Even if I overcome that ... what use do they have for us if I won't be a weapon for them? The very best I can hope for is that they'd abandon us somewhere, or sell us off as slaves. There really was no hope, no hope at all.

 

I breathe a deep sigh, trying to resign myself to my fate, to accept it ... but I just can't, not really. Something in me wants to keep struggling, to keep fighting, even when I already know it's useless. Maybe that's why I can't sleep.

 

Commotion down here on the lower deck makes me sit up sharply, turning to see what's going on.

 

It's two of the hairy, big-armed things. What did Mister Kittles call them, trapes? They're carefully hauling a huge box down into the lower hold, and from the looks of the way they're struggling, it must be really heavy. Neither of them are Beauford – he has a distinctive pattern of white stripes on his arms that make it look like he's wearing sleeves, but these two have different markings. One has a big white 'V' on his chest, and the other has random white dots all over his black body.

 

Once they get the box down the narrow stairwell, they shove it to the side and hurry back up. They didn't say a word to me, but I saw them sneaking glances – they must be curious about the newcomers on the ship ... I wonder how much they've been told about Mister Kittles and me. Do they know I'm supposed to be a weapon?