A Tale of Ties and Binds - Chapter 20

Chapter 20. A Sacrifice of Scyllas

For Penelope, the small rowboat made land like a sharp pebble finds its way into a sandal; abruptly, unexpectedly and more painfully than would have been preferred. With her hands still bound tightly behind her, she was unable to rub the top of her head where she'd rammed it into one of the seats. Lips still tightly stuffed and cleaved by the flimsy leather rags, she was just as unable to curse her captors for their carelessness.

A pair of the teenage pirates disembarked and dragged the rowboat further ashore before the rest joined them on solid ground. Penelope lost sight and ear of them as they left her alone in the vessel. She juggled with the idea of escape. If she could wriggle her way out of the ropes, she might be able steal the rowboat and make her way back to the The Mermaid's Revenge. But that was a big if. And there was still the matter of Daphne's captivity in a different rowboat. Penelope was increasingly uncomfortable with her helplessness. She could have avoided so many problems in life had she not been so loyal.

Her captors reappeared before too long, carrying their dart blowers and a long wooden stick. Penelope feared they'd hit her over the head with it to knock her out, but that didn't make sense considering their paralysing magic. Instead, the teenage girls dragged her out onto the cool sand, dropping her on her front and knocking the wind out of her. They produced more ropes and added to the already inescapable bonds across her chest and arms.

"Hrmm mrrdy hhrd," Penelope informed them, though they didn't seem to care for her assessment of how well she was already tied even though she was the perfect judge. They continued tugging and looping more ropes around her.

They picked up the long stick and carried it slowly and precisely over Penelope's head. It was then that the captain realised they'd added a series of loops to her chest harness with which to carry her. They bent her legs at the knee and kneaded the pole under the ropes binding her ankles.

Sighing into the sand, Penelope saw the other rowboat bash into the sand several paces down shore. The teenage occupants jumped out, found another pole under the shade of a nearby tree and carried it back to Daphne waiting (no doubt) bound, gagged and furiously struggling. Paralysis must have been a terrible insult for the flame-haired soldier who'd always despised being restrained.

The ropes bit down above and below Penelope's breasts when the two oldest of the youthful pirates hoisted her up, bearing the pole across the shoulders. Her elbows were drawn together painfully tight, but her legs were as comfortable as could be expected in such a situation.

Rocking slowly left and right in tune to the pace of her captors, Penelope admired the shape of the leading girl's arse. She felt a bit odd about it, seeing as how the girl couldn't have been a day over fifteen, but there was no denying the maturity in the roll of the hips or the roundness of the cheeks. And there was little else to look at, hanging face-down as she was. The sand turned to gravel turned to dirt. The shrubbery turned to grass turned to ferns and trees. Her bonds remained the same and the morning shadows led the way deeper into whatever island she'd found herself taken to.

"Hrr r hrm hrrkng mmph?" Penelope asked. It must have been a secret. Or a surprise. Penelope had never been fond of surprises. They never tended to surprise her in a good way. She always liked to be informed of everything, knowing where people were, what they were doing, what they wanted. They couldn't surprise her that way. She could count on one hand (if it wasn't bound behind her back) the number of times a surprise had ended well for her. She'd need to borrow the hands and feet of all her captors to count the times a surprise hadn't.

One thing was certain: whoever her captors were, they could speak. They just didn't want to speak to her. There's no way, Penelope reasoned, they could organise all this without being able to communicate with each other. Perhaps they don't speak Greek, she surmised. But that seemed unlikely too. Everyone speaks Greek. It's the language of trade, and slaves are the foundation of trade. They were taking her for slavery, probably, so they must know Greek. Yes, that's it. They just don't want to speak to me. Penelope felt a sliver of drool drip down her chin and land on a leaf passing below her. They don't want me talking to them either.

Not that there was much to talk about. Penelope had been on the other end of this little arrangement to know never to reveal to the prisoner what was to happen to them. That would spoil the surprise. She couldn't ask them questions she wouldn't answer if she were in their place. Well, she could, but it would be wasted breath. Aside from questions, there wasn't much scenery to discuss. She admired the front girl's arse a little more. There are worse situations to find yourself in, Penelope told herself.

Her neck felt crook by the time the pirates arrived in a ruinous clearing in the forest with old granite columns dotted amongst the remains of an old and forgotten village. Daphne's captors had been tested in their ropework skills and balance by carrying her the distance from beach to clearing. The redhead struggled more than a fish in a net and shook on her pole like a banner in a hurricane. Her captors were in a sweat when they set her down beside Penelope on a soft patch of grass.

"Hr mm mrmkhay?" Penelope asked her companion.

It was unclear if Daphne understood or just guessed the question, but she nodded her head. The ropes were double wrapped around her chest and she was bound to the pole at her ankles, knees, thighs and elbows. She'd given her captors a test like no other, that much was certain. She was unharmed elsewise, and that's what mattered.

The teenage girls had clumped together several paces away from their captives. They huddled closely together, shoulder-to-shoulder, periodically peering around to spy on their pole-bound prisoners. They giggled a lot too. They're all just like every other teenage girl, Penelope mused as she bit down on the sodden leather rag in her mouth. She didn't want to have to fight them, young as they were. Bind them, gag them, absolutely. Revenge seemed to be the major theme in her life the past year or so. It wouldn't do to abandon what could be a personal tradition. But hurt them, absolutely not. She'd been their age once as well, sprinting across the fields of Messapia, cracking a whip in one hand, impatiently fiddling with ropes in the other... following orders.

But whose orders are these girls following? Their own, or someone else's?

Penelope was knocked on her side by Daphne. "Hrrmph?" Penelope asked. But the wriggly redhead wasn't trying to get attention. She was trying roll herself onto her back, made difficult with her firm pair of breasts keeping her stabilised flat on her stomach.

"H rrrk!" Daphne growled in reply, still trying to topple over.

H rrrk? Despite the many times she'd been gagged, or had to communicate with gagged captives, gagtalk was still a language Penelope hadn't fully grasped. Like the dialects of the barbarians varied from place to place, the language of gagtalk seemed to change depending on the type of gag. H rrrk. A ... something.

Daphne wasted no time trying to explain. She threw her shoulders and head to the right, the left, the right again and the left again. Her breasts compressed against the ground with each heave and her red hair flailed from side to side like a flame in the wind.

A rock! That's what she's trying to reach! If she could grab a rock sharp enough to slice the ropes, we can escape. Penelope couldn't see past her own shoulders so was blind to the geology beside her, but she gave it a try. Twisting herself as much as the tight ropes would allow, she threw her left into the air, gaining little more than a finger's width off the ground. She followed through her momentum and did the same the same to her right.

The teenage girls were either oblivious to the attempt or knowledgeable to the plan and just as knowing of its imminent failure. They tied knots like experienced sailors and knew how to keep their captives bound still to poles, so the former was as likely as the latter.

Regardless, Penelope and Daphne persisted in their struggle. Left and right, left and right. The captain was tied less strictly, but the companion was an expert struggler. She'd been working her way in and out of bondage her entire life.

And then Daphne reached the apex of her momentum, balancing on the side of her shoulder. "Hhmph," she sighed, exhausted and flushed, before tipping onto her back. She squirmed with her hands fiddling below, squinting at the sky above but with her mind focused on the shapes and the textures against her fingers.

Then there was a roar.

It was not feminine.

It barely sounded human.

Like thunder in a tempest, it echoed through the forest, carrying a message of hunger and 'run'. The teenage captors jumped at the shock and some of the younger ones squealed.

"Mmmmphh!" Penelope screamed into her gag. She didn't need to form words, only convey the need to get her to safety. A wild animal would take care of a bound and gagged captive in a very permanent way.

But the pirate girls did not release their captives when they returned. They also didn't pick them up and start carrying them somewhere safe. Instead, they lifted up the front of the pole above their captives' heads and dug the other end into the ground, impaling the wooden staff and leaving Penelope and Daphne standing bound and gagged and on display for whatever beast made that disheartening roar.

A series of bad words made their way through Penelope's mind. This was not how she wanted it to end. She'd always pictured a nice sunny day in a green field surrounded by daughters and granddaughters, not being eaten before her thirtieth birthday. She grumbled miserably as the teenage girls sprinted into the forest, in the opposite direction.

Alone and helpless, bound to poles, gagged in silence, and smelling of fear, the rightful Matriarch of the Household of the Scylla and her loyal friend and companion made peace with their goddesses, knowing they would soon be joining them.

The rumbling roar grew louder, clearer. Closer. Birds on the edge of the clearing took to flight. Branches shook. Leaves rustled. A paced thudding vibrated through the soil. A shadow stirred in the darkness of the forest beyond. Larger than any wolf, wider than even a bear.

Penelope could hear her heart pounding inside her chest, like the drums of war in the heat of battle. Her skin felt hot and cold, her brow dripping sweat. She barely noticed her legs trembling. She'd never been so frightened.

And then the beast emerged from the shadows of the canopy, and Penelope's fear reached uncharted heights. Another bad surprise to add to the count.

It walked on its hind legs, tall as two houses and thicker-chested than any tree. Hands to crush the sun, feet to squish the moon, and a pair of beady little eyes so close together they seemed as one, set below a thick and overarching brow. It roared again, less intimidating and more...

... disappointed.

Continued in Chapter 21