//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: Holy Land 
// by BlndDog 
//------------------------------//

	Thirty foot waves battered the Spectre. The line extended into the mist, and creaked whenever its angle changed; it was caught on something substantial, but no one at deck level had yet seen what it was.

“Keep at it,” Captain Winter Oat said as he passed the reel crew. “How much more?”

“One hundred feet, sir,” said Gingersnap when another knot reached the spool. “This wind is driving us too fast. We let out a lot of line to catch… whatever this is.”

The rest of the haul consisted of netting and wooden deck boards. The wrecked ship had been dark blue; that was all they could glean so far. When the first crate was spotted three hours ago the pilot had been concerned about reefs, but that possibility was immediately ruled out. They had been through this patch of water twice before without incident.

The captain patted Gingersnap's shoulder and sat down behind the spool. He had brought up a crossbow and ten bolts from the armory. He drew the bow now, his eyes staring down the tow line into the mist.

“I see it,” Ensign Sorrel called.

Gingersnap released the long arm of the spool. It immediately swung up, lifting him off the deck by the chin and dropping him just in time to bash in his skull as it came around. Fortunately the three other ponies on the team managed to catch the arm before all their progress over the past ten minutes could be lost.

It was a thick log twenty feet long, painted black and ragged on both ends; a piece of a small mast or a large boom. The rope was caught around its centre, its hooked end forming a loop in a way that could not have occurred by accident.

The captain approached the gunwales with his crossbow ready. He squinted at the log for some time, his hoof caressing the trigger.

A loud crack rang through the waterlogged air. A few sailors jumped at the sound, and the colt beside the mid mast ducked.

The captain sighed and fired.

The log screamed.

When it was within twenty feet of the Spectre's starboard side, other sailors came over with fenders and more ropes. Ten earth ponies hauled the log on board with four pulleys. Water and blood dripped from its end as it dangled over the deck, and from it dangled something else.

His greyish-blue jumpsuit had made him nearly invisible against the water. The earth pony was good-looking as far as sailors went. His brown mane was short and slightly curled, and his beard was not wild like a pirate’s. His eyes, now half-closed, looked faded from years under a harsh sun. The crossbow bolt passed through his right foreleg, pinning him to the log. The sailors lowered their tow gently so as not to crush him.

“Stay away from him!” the captain ordered, shooing away the gathering crowd. He lifted the survivor's chin and stared into his face for a long second. Then he set him down gingerly and turned to his crew. “You two! Take him to sickbay, and don’t leave him unguarded!”

Gingersnap sat down beside the giant spool and massaged his head while the rest of the team struggled with tarps in the driving wind. Two ponies held the barely-conscious prisoner while the bolt was cut. He only grunted feebly as they freed him. Gingersnap caught a whiff of blood when he passed by, and that sent him over the edge. He stumbled towards the starboard side, but did not reach it in time.


#


There was no window in the infirmary, and the lamps had glazed shields, providing even, warm lighting. Equipment could be hung on sturdy hooks from the beams overhead. The furnace burned quiet and smokeless thanks to oversized vents.

Gingersnap wished the room would stop moving. A sailor since thirteen, he was no stranger to rough seas, but still it did not go well with a concussion. Doctor Sweetwater had spent half an hour pushing various parts of his head before declaring that his skull was intact. Now he lay on one of the six flat beds in the infirmary, feeling nauseous and tired but unable to fall asleep.

The stallion he had helped fish out earlier was fast asleep two beds down. His jumpsuit had been removed, replaced with a dry wool blanket. His hoof was neatly bandaged and splinted. Two ponies were sitting around him like guard dogs; Gingersnap couldn’t see them, but he knew they had not left. Shackles linked both his rear legs to load-bearing ribs of the hull, and he even wore a chain on his neck. He didn’t look dangerous enough to warrant it, but then Gingersnap didn’t know who he was; didn't know for sure, at any rate.

Gingersnap must have dozed off, because he did not notice Captain Winter Oat coming in. It was only when the captain was screaming in agony that the room around him was suddenly thrown into motion.

To Gingersnap it seemed three new ponies had materialized in the room, pulling on the chain around the prisoner’s neck, while two others had his shoulders. The one on the right side of the bed was fumbling with a large iron hook.

A moment later the prisoner fell backwards with blood pouring from his nose. The captain collapsed onto an empty bed, clutching his throat and gasping for breath.

Gingersnap blinked a long blink. When he opened my eyes again the infirmary was empty.