Samuel

He was riding Cole in the dark of night. The horse shied as thunder struck and water rained down on them. Sam had no idea where he was going. A wave of nausea washed over him. The stallion pitched again tossing Samuel sideways. The jolt forced his eyes opened. Piercing pain ripped at his wrists and shot along his arms and into his shoulders. A raging headache raked his skull and tore through his brain. He wasn't riding Cole. He wasn't in a thunderstorm. He wasn't able to move his arms. He could not see. Darkness governed, as Samuel was tossed again, and landed violently against the surface he was up against. Nausea caught him once more.

Samuel projectile vomited. The stench caused him to retch again. He gasped for air as bile dribbled down his chin. He had to focus on what was happening. The pain in his head was blinding. He wondered if he was sightless, and was now in purgatory. As his stomach emptied more of its contents, Sam's bowel and bladder followed its course. Obscurity took him deep into the depths of perdition.

A skinny green-eyed child held her hand out towards him. "Are you an angel, sir?" Her eyes grew larger until they consumed the rest of her face. Her hand turned into a claw. She pointed her bony gnarled finger at him and laughed. "Goodbye Earl of Fucking Irvine."

George Somersby's face loomed in front of him. Samuel's mouth filled with water. He felt like he was drowning, and gasped for breath as another cold splash gushed over him.

"Wake up ya filthy bastard!"

Sam spluttered and opened his eyes. The light, was like a hot rod, scorching his brain. He slammed his eyelids closed.

"Wake up!" Another bucket full of salty water splashed his face. "You've shit, pissed and puked everywhere you slimy cunt."

Samuel dragged in a breath of air. He tried to move his hand to his face, to wipe the salt from his eyes, but his arms were pinned above his head. He eased his lids opened.

"About fucking time." A bald bony man crouched in front of him, an empty bucket in his hand. "Welcome to your new life, Me Lord." He laughed showing rotten teeth, and then took a knife from his back pocket, and cut the rope that held Sam's hands tied above his head. The jolt of his arms dropping caused pain to shoot across his shoulders and up the back of his neck.

"Where am I?" Samuel gasped. Though his arms were free his hands were still tied together. He lifted them and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Ah..." The man laughed again. "You is on the good ship Hade, Me Lord, headed to Algiers and Morocco."

"Why...?" Sam struggled to speak. He licked his parched lips. "Water...." His mouth was so dry that his tongue felt like fur. The pain in his head throbbed and made his ears hum.

"What's that Me Lord? Why are ye on the ship or why water." The man sneered. "Ye'll get on just fine in North Africa, cause they can't speak proper English either."

"I. Need. Water."

"Ye'll get it when I'm ready."

"Banuff!" A silhouette blocked the light, and then moved so the shaft of sunlight blinded Samuel again. "Get him water!"

"Yes em, Capin." The sailor bounced to attention and darted for the hatch. This new man crouched in front of Samuel.

"Are you really an earl?" He hung his hands between his knees and ran his eyes over Samuel. "I think I'll make good money when I get you to the markets in Casbah. Even if you're not an earl I'll tell them you are. You have that certain look, that makes it believable." He squeezed Sam's bicep. "You have good muscle. Perhaps a Turk will buy you and put you to the oar." He gripped Samuel's chin, lifted his head and laughed. "Though by your face, I think a pasha might make you his bagnard and hammer his cock up your arse."

Sam tried to get his head around what was being said. Instead, though the pain was real, the words struck him as preposterous. "How did I get here?"

"A gentleman needed to be rid of you. Apparently, you raped his wife. He thinks hanging is too good for the likes of you." He laughed. "Torture and slavery struck him as being the better punishment."

"It's a lie!" This was real. Sam tried to get to his feet. The sudden movement caused the pain in his head to hammer him back against the hull of the ship. "He. He murdered my father."

"Ah... yes, he said you'd make up some story. Your cunning won't work on me."

Sam went to speak again, but was punched in the diaphragm. All air left his lungs. The pain tore through his body. He rasped and tried to take in air.

The captain stood and pulled on the rope that bound Samuel's wrists and jerked his arms above his head. "I'll hear no more of your bullshit, son. Don't worry. The air will come to you." He yanked on Samuel's arms again. "My name is Captain Lios and you'll give me the respect I deserve, while you're on board my ship. Any trouble and I'll have the cat-o'-nine-tails kissing your back. You understand me, lad?"

Samuel stilled his mind, clamped his teeth together, and drew in air through his nose as he stared at the captain. His next lungful of air was less painful. Heat burnt in his gut. He had never been one to act rashly. He eased in more air, never taking his eyes from the man in front of him. Captain Lios would keep. For now, he needed to survive. George Somersby was a dead man breathing.

Noise came from behind them. Banuff climbed down the ladder with a bucket of fresh water. The captain turned to him. "Give him a drink. Make him clean up his filth, and then throw him in with the rest of them. I want this one's hands left tied." Lios looked back at the young man. His face had changed from a frightened boys to a stalwart man's the moment he'd hit him. Something about his eyes unsettled Lios. Devil's eyes if he'd ever seen them. As black as sin. He climbed the ladder and ran his fingers over the Gris-gris, which hung around his neck. Something didn't feel right. A sense, that he'd need the voodoo amulet to ward off evil, washed over him. He'd need to have the ship cleansed of the shaitan, that this prisoner emitted, when he unloaded his cargo of European slaves in Algiers.

Big changes ahead for Samuel. I hope he survives.

Shaitan - the Devil or an evil spirit - an evilly , , or person or animal.

Also spelled Sheitan, Arabic Shayṭān, in Islāmic myth, an unbelieving class of jinn (spirits)

It is also the name of Iblīs, the devil, when he is performing demonic acts.

Pasha - a man of high rank or office  in Turkey or northern Africa

Bagnard - Prisoner.

Photo taken from DevianArt