The Rubedo

A Short Story

Mar 04, 2025

Mutiny rarely happens to those who expect it. It’s rooted out at the faintest whisper. The naïve hear too late. Those who do suspect it, more often than not, are guilty of the whispered suspicions. Words are the first weapons used, unsheathed in the shadows, piercing eager ears. The poisoned tip distorts with each utterance, like a foul concoction. Its potency grows unchecked until words will no longer suffice.

For the lone survivor of The Rubedo, the origin of such a betrayal could be any number of things: the ship’s entrapment in this realm, dwindling supplies, the rescue of another stranded vessel’s crew, further dwindling provisions, the ship’s mage driven mad, or a clash of personalities—two captains on one ship—a formula for disaster.

The sea stretched out like a purple satin sheet, smooth and unbroken, a perfect mirror to the persistent, mauve night sky. Curious stars glinted above and below. The moon hung so low it threatened to merge with its reflection. The air was thick with the scent of salt and something more elusive, a hint of the arcane that clung to the ship like a shroud. The only sound was the click of heels on the tarnished deck, long since dried out from the spilled confluence of wills. Sails and rigging hung still. The foreign sea, as thick as it was, refused to lap at the Rubedo’s sides. Even the chittering of rodents was absent, having been consumed some time ago.

Despite the lack of wind, she pulled the furs draped over her shoulders close to her chest, an affectation of the previous captain, and gazed at the edge of reality. Her weighted breath marked the passage of time.

The sky tore with a shrieking howl.

A burst of sunlight swept over her, casting long shadows. The corners of her mouth tightened. She turned and raised her hand over squinted eyes. A swath of blue painted the horizon. Leaping over crumpled forms, she dashed across the deck towards the source. She stood at the bow, eyes narrowed against the dim light, as the wound in the sky healed. A ripple disturbed the edge of this world.

Another ship, breaching into this forsaken realm. Her heart quickened, but her face remained a mask of calm. Stepping up to one of the lifeless bodies that littered the deck, she retrieved a spyglass from a fallen sailor's hand.

She saw the galleon in the distance through the chipped lens, its sails slack. A figure stood at the helm, gesturing sharply to the crew. The deck began to swarm with activity.

Oars extended out and plunged into the viscous sea.

Turning on her heel, she crossed the deck and descended into the captain's cabin. The air was thick with the scent of old blood and arcane herbs. The captain lay sprawled on the floor, knife in the back, his first mate, run through with a sabre, slumped against the opposite wall. She flipped the captain on his back with a practised ease and drew the knife from his back. With a swift motion, she took a small vial from a pouch on her belt and wiped the rusty edge along the glass rim. Then she pricked her own finger and tossed the blade. With practised patience, she held the squeezed cut over the vial, allowing a crimson droplet to mix and dilute as she shook it.

Embers of green flashed in the mixture. Once satisfied that the task was complete, she raised the vial and swallowed half the liquid. A bitter aftertaste clung to the back of her throat. She licked her cracked lips.

Bending down, she tipped the rest of the potion into the captain’s gaping mouth. Every cell in her body began to vibrate. She threw her head back as the familiar sensation washed over her, a blend of euphoria and agony. She doubled over in pain and watched as the captain’s body blurred and contorted in a ghastly, twisted mass.

Silence bathed the cabin. The pain was gone.

He straightened.

He shrugged off the furs from his shoulders, picked up the captain’s hat and placed it on his head.

Returning to the deck, he found the other ship had drawn closer. He raised his hat high in the air and waved. Shouts and heaving lines were tossed from the new ship. The gap closed between the two ships. Voices raised in panic became clearer.

He climbed aboard the new arrival.

Sailors scurried in every direction as the captain's commands cut through the chaos. The crew responded with shouts of their own, while a robed man unleashed a torrent of curses. The man revealed himself to be a mage and yelled rituals and spells. All muted and echoed at the same time as if it was distant, detached. The mage’s eyes froze in some sudden realisation.

Several sailors struggled to restrain the frenzied mage, attempting to bind him to the foremast. With a final, desperate effort, the mage broke free, fought his way to the railing, and leapt overboard. His incoherent ravings were garbled, then silenced as he seeped into the purple ocean.

He smiled and licked a gold-capped tooth, an affectation from the previous captain, and gazed upon the faces of the crew. Fear, mistrust and a hint of desperation.

Yes, he thought, mutiny rarely happens to those who expect it.

End

Campbell, He Wrote

Discussion about this post