(Josie
Sayz: This is a story of mine that I started writing several years ago, and I
finally got around to editing it. It is based off a MERP_UK game that an old
friend and I started working on together. The game got lost very early on and
will never be revived. I originally wrote the story for the old friend that I
was working on the game with, however, as I know he will never get to read it,
as we are no longer friends, I am quite proud of it. I’m finally over the
emotional attachment and am ready to edit my story and share it.
Part 1: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-1-blackout.html
Part
2: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-2-awakening.html
Part
3: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-3-serpents-tongue.html
Part
4: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/11/mf-saviour-of-ships-4-cerulean-eyes.html
Part 5: https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/12/mf-saviour-of-ships-5-pillage-village.html
Part 6 : https://josiesayz.blogspot.com/2021/12/mf-saviour-of-ships-6-arrgh-avast-ye.html?zx=9d74b01bf7d5ab62)
The
Escape
Staring
up at the bow of the Serpent’s Tongue, Peter swallowed, as the narrowing red
eyes of the figurehead beamed down towards him. Its snake-like face hissed a
shudder up his spine. With parted lips, its fangs daggered out, to snap at its
prey. Spikes shot out of its skull and lined the starboard bow. Arched gills
and two webbed fins etched into the wood. “Enough ta scare the skin of even the
bravest of king’s men,” boomed Captain Blagden, from behind him. Peter
shuddered, turning towards the captain. “After you,” he insisted, holding a
hand out, for his first mate to board the ship. Peter nodded.
Upon the Serpent’s Tongue, Captain Blagden led Peter
towards a door at the side of the captain’s cabin. The captain held the door
open, as Peter stepped inside. Arching his head around the room, a bed lay
along the right wall. A stuffed mattress rested upon a wooden plank and a
woollen, pebble-grey blanket with frayed edging lay on top. Opposite, the left
wall was lined with shelves. Two books and an empty, green, glass bottle
decorated the centre shelf. As Peter’s brow furrowed, he twisted himself around
to face Captain Blagden. “It’s all yours,” the captain beamed.
“Mine?” Peter murmured. “But…”
“You’re my first mate now, aye Petey,” the captain told
him with a chuckle. “You get your own cabin.”
“Really?” Peter gasped. “But what about Moritz?” Snarling
his nose, the captain spat at the floor.
“That traitor,” he growled. “Moritz left me for dead. Now
you, Peter… you have the makings of a true hero,” the captain told him with a
nod. “Just be out, on deck, in fifteen,” he warned. “We’ve got some trip ahead
a us.”
Dropping back onto his bed, Peter flicked open one of the
books. A deep, greyed teal, tight cover bound the linen coloured pages
together. Stroking his thumb across the pages, each sheet was blank. ‘Maybe I
could make a journal of my own,’ Peter wondered. Thudding the book onto the
bed, Peter stretched over for the other two objects that rested on his shelves:
the second book and the glass bottle. As with the first book, the bottle was
empty. Wrapped in fishnet knots, the body of the bottle bulged out, like
Brandon’s gut. The neck of the bottle was long and thin, with the rope winding
around to the tip. The ends of the rope were twisted and entwined with each
other, knotted around a cork topper. Yanking the cork out, Peter leant over the
spout and took a sniff. Flopping back, he let out a whooping cough. A stench of
thick, stale cigar smoke, met with warm, sweet cloves and spices, mixed with a
choking whiff of foul breath, clung to the back of his throat. ‘I guess Moritz
had a drinking problem,’ Peter mused. ‘Either that or someone drank my
promotion present… and I’m glad they did.’ Turning to the other book, Peter ran
his hand across the cover. Worn and weathered, the soot-like cover crumbled
under Peter’s touch. Flickering through the pages, sketches of boats, rocks and
mythical creatures covered the insides. ‘Did Moritz draw these?’ Peter wondered,
as the page lay open on a double spread image of three sirens perched upon a
rock. The three creatures had the head and body of a human woman, each with
long flowing locks and wide, beaming eyes, however, their legs appeared joined
together as one. Instead of feet, a long, arch of veins curved out in a fan,
reminding Peter of the tail of a fish.
Retuning the books to the shelf, Peter followed the
captain’s orders and returned to the deck. Opening his cabin door, wind lashed
at his cheeks. As the ship dipped port side, Peter staggered forwards. His
stomach spiralled. Stiffening his knees, he caught his balance and arched his
head around, looking for Captain Blagden. “Up here, lad!” called the captain
from the poop deck. Squinting against the wind, Peter nodded. Throwing his arms
to the ratlines, Peter leapt up, swinging his legs onto the deck above him.
“Impressive,” mused Blagden, with a nod. Straightening his back, Peter stood in
salute.
“What are my orders, Captain?” asked Peter.
“At ease,” nodded Blagden. “We wait for the crew to form
on deck,” he told him. “I’ve sent word.” Peter nodded.
While they waited for the crew to gather, on the main deck
and quarter deck, Peter’s stomach churned. Jabbing his fingernails into his
palms, he clenched his fists tight. Swallowing hard, his eyes darted across the
deck, scanning the faces of his crewmen. ‘I’m all alone this time,’ he reminded
himself. ‘I have no Brandon or Sanders for company.’ Allowing himself a deep
exhale, Peter bit his tongue, in hopes of preventing his squeaked sigh from
escaping. As the crew thickened, Peter scanned the crowed. A shudder crept up
his spine, as his eyes locked with Moritz’s. The tanned man’s eyes narrowed,
and his moustache twitched. Snapping his eyes shut, Peter arched his head
towards the ship’s starboard side, as members of the crew lingered in the
gangway.
An earthen, charcoal stench wafted up his nostrils.
Scrunching his nose, he rolled his shoulders. Keeping his eyes alert over the
crew, Peter clenched his fists tighter. ‘I can’t be distracted,’ he scolded
himself. The burning of wood intensified. Pressing a fist to his mouth, he
cleared his throat. “Fire!” yelled a voice from the crow’s nest. Peter’s
stomach sank. “Fire!” repeated the cry. “Cap’in! East, south, east. Back at the
harbour.” Throwing their heads over their shoulders, Peter and Captain Blagden
ran to the back of the stern.
“Shipwreck Cove,” gasped the captain, staring at a raging,
golden glow from the harbour. Clouds of smoke filtered into the air, drifting
out to sea. “Valder,” he growled.
“No!” Peter breathed. His heart crashed into his chest. The
captain’s face met his. Their eyes widened. “No!” Peter cried throwing himself
into the taffrail. “Lela!” he screamed. The thudding inside him grew louder.
Pulse pounded in his ears.
“Peter,” muttered the captain.
“Lela!” he shrieked. Thud-thud. Turning to Captain
Blagden, Peter clawed his hands into the captain’s arm. “Turn the ship around!”
he yelled. “Now!”
“Peter,” sighed Blagden, lowering his head.
“What are you waiting for?!” cried Peter. Thud-thud. His
legs trembled. “Turn the ship around!”
“We’ll never make it back in time,” the captain muttered,
shaking his head.
“But Lela,” he cried. His chest raged faster. His eyes
stung. “And Garrin… and the others!” His heart thudded to his stomach.
“Peter, we can’t,” Captain Blagden mumbled, as he shook
his head. Snarling his nose, Peter daggered his eyes at the captain. Throwing
his head back to the sea, Peter’s chest shook. The drumming inside grew louder.
Louder. Faster. His breaths grew shallow. Curling a hand to his mouth, his
vision blurred. “We’ll never make it back, Peter,” Blagden told him. “They’re
gone.”
“We can try!” he cried, scrunching his face from the
captain. “Just turn the ship around,” he ordered, jabbing a finger towards
Shipwreck Cove.
“Peter,” Blagden whispered, placing a hand upon his first
mate’s shoulder. “This hurts me too,” he confessed, with a shaking voice. “Lela
was like a daughter to me.” Peter sniffed. Pulse pounded at his temple. “But we
can’t,” Blagden told him, as his voice croaked. Peter clasped a hand to his
mouth. A squeak escaped him. “That is exactly what King Valder wants. By the
time we get back… it’ll be too late,” the captain continued. Peter jerked his
shoulder away from the captain. The thudding in his chest intensified. “The
fire will have taken them,” swallowed the captain. “King Valder will declare
mutiny and kill us all. It’s my fault,” Blagden muttered. “King Valder’s doing
this to make me prove my loyalty to him.” Peter’s eyebrows sloped. His bottom
lip dropped. His stomach knotted. “I’m sorry Peter,” croaked the captain,
through sparkling eyes. “I really am. I wish there was something we could do,
but there isn’t.” Peter’s chest shook. He squeaked a breath. “They’ll be dead
before we get back… and do you really want to risk the lives of all these men?”
Captain Blagden asked Peter, arching an arm towards the bodies of men standing
about the deck. “For nothing. Just to make yourself angry and get killed by the
king.” Blagden drooped his shoulders with a sigh, as Peter raised his
shoulders, arching a hump in his back. “Peter… I’m doing the right thing,”
Blagden whispered, returning his hand to Peter’s shoulders. Jerking his body to
the right, Peter shook off Blagden’s touch. He hardened his stare at the
flames. His heart raged against his ribcage. His stomach swirled. A lump lodged
in his throat. Squinting his eyes, Peter forced a swallow. His eyes stung. His
vision blurred. His cheeks burnt under the salty liquid seeping from his
sockets.
Turning back to the crew the captain ordered, “Keep
sailing.” Peter’s heart panged.
“Lela!” he yelled, throwing himself against the taffrail.
Collapsing against the wooden beam, Peter flopped onto his back and slid to the
floor. Daggering his left hand against the collar of his jacket, Peter hooked
his fingers underneath the cord around his neck. Sliding his hand towards his
chest, he gripped the cluster of shells tight. “Lela,” his whimpered. A vein
bulged from his hand. His chest trembled. Clawing his right hand through his
hair, he murmured her name once more.
“Give me five minutes,” he heard Captain Blagden announce
to the crew. Footsteps neared him. Crouching beside Peter, Captain Blagden took
grip of the boy’s shoulder again. “Take five minutes t’ compose yourself,” he
sniffed. Flickering his eyes to the captain’s, Peter’s stomach spiralled at the
captain’s sparkling waterline. The raging inside of him slowed. He seeped a
shaking breath. “Then we’ll address the crew, alright?” asked Blagden. Wiping a
hand across his face, Peter scrunched his eyes tight. Sniffing, he nodded.
“Atta boy,” whispered the captain. Nodding, he squeezed Peter’s knee, before
rising and turning towards the portside gunwale. Peter squeaked a sniff, as the
stinging returned to his eyes.
*
Sailing
throughout the day and night, no one aboard the ship spoke of the incident back
on the island. At supper, neither Captain Blagden nor Peter muttered a word to
one another. Lying on his bed, Peter gazed at the wall. Slumped on his left
side, Peter stroked a thumb across the cluster of shells Lela had given him.
Closing his eyes, he shuddered an inhale. Her porcelain skin. Her soft blue
eyes. Her copper locks. Her beaming smile. Sniffing, Peter held his breath.
“She’s gone,” he whispered. The Charleston crew. Brandon. Sanders. Captain
Halaken, Lawson and Hughes; they were all gone too. The innkeeper, Garrin. The
other waitresses, Berth, Mora and Alesea. Gone. His intestines spiralled into
knots. With a sniff, he clenched his eyes tight. Gripping his talisman, he
shuffled himself up to sit. ‘It’s up to me,’ he told himself. ‘I have to stop
Valder, get back to Castellus and tell King Charleston.’ Swiping the deep teal
book from shelf, Peter set about locating a quill and inkpot. ‘I need to keep a
journal, like Halaken,’ he decided. ‘I need to make a note of everything and
hope I can get King Charleston to send help.’
*
As
the sun reached the horizon of their second day at sea, Captain Blagden called
for all men on deck. Scraping his right hand through his hair, Peter sighed.
Staring down at the pages in front of him, he had already scribbled his way
through a quarter of the blank book he had discovered on his bookshelf. Hiding
a quill and inkpot under his pillow, Peter slid his journal underneath his mattress.
Stepping out on deck, the wind whistled at his ears. As
Peter strode out to the gunwale, his eyes darted across the sky. Thick,
pewtery, purple clouds lined the horizon. Towards the bow, the last glint of
light buried itself beyond the Langti lands. Lowering his lids, Peter seeped in
the salty air. His heart leapt at the lashing current. Waves splashed up,
against the hull. Peter’s stomach whirlpooled. A hand appeared at his left
shoulder. His heart flopped through his torso. Arching his head over his
shoulder, Peter’s eyes widened. “We’re almost there,” spoke a voice at his ear.
Relaxing his back, Peter nodded. Leading Peter towards the crowd of crewmen,
Captain Blagden gripped a hand to the black bandana at his head, as the gusts
grew to gales. “Men,” bellowed Blagden, as the wind dragged his voice portside.
“We approach Sirená Pectram,” he told them. Standing alongside the captain,
Peter watched, as men’s eyes widened, mouths dropped, and words were muttered
amongst them. Running a hand across the back of his neck, Peter jabbed his
nails into his skin, as Captain Blagden continued.
“I know many of you have heard the stories,” spoke the
captain. “Stories of sirens – beautiful creatures of the sea, with voices of
angels, bodies of mermaids, luring sailors, like ourselves, to their deaths… crashing
ships into rocks, splitting boats in two.” Peter’s heart thudded. He stared, as
men shivered, ducked their heads and others hid behind fellow pirates. “These
stories, I can confirm, are indeed true,” warned Blagden. Shifting his eyes to
the captain, Peter’s stomach twisted and swirled into knots. Gasps broke out
over the crew. “Why am I telling you this, you may wonder,” boomed Blagden.
“Well, it is for good measure. Within the hour, we shall be sailing through the
home of the sirens, Sirená Pectram. And every man is t’ be on his best
behaviour,” he warned, throwing a hand to his hilt. Swiping his sword from its
sheath, he jabbed the point out at his men. “If any one a yer even thinks about
talking to one of them… your throats mine,” he threatened with wide eyes.
Sliding his fingers along the cord around his neck, Peter shuddered. Many men
staggered back, sunk their shoulders and averted their eyes from the captain.
“While we’re in their waters, you
keep yer heads down ‘n’ yer lips hatched or you’ll get the lot of us killed,”
Blagden barked. “Sirens may be creatures of beauty, but they’re the deadliest
curse to men at sea.”
Silence swept over the ship, as the crew dispersed.
Leaping down from the forecastle deck, Captain Blagden flipped up the collar of
his jacket. Joining the captain at the head of the ship, Peter rested a foot
against the bow sprit. With his knee bent, he lent his elbow against it, as the
Serpent’s Tongue swept towards the ‘s’ shaped rock. “How do you know they’ll
let us through?” asked Peter, as a spray of water flickered onto the back of
his neck. With a shudder, Peter rolled his head from his left shoulder, across
his back and around to his right.
“Yer have to give ‘em what they want,” Captain Blagden
told him, pressing his hands to his hips.
“And what might that be?” asked Peter.
“We’ll find out when we get there,” the captain replied,
watching over the sea.
The clouds bubbled darker. The sun sank beneath the
horizon. Holding his left palm out, facing the sky, a droplet of water splashed
against Peter’s skin. Punching his fists into his pockets, Peter hunched his
shoulders, stiffening his back. A female voice drifted into his ears. A soft
melody brushed over him. His skin prickled. Leaping up the steps to the
forecastle deck, Captain Blagden cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled,
“Steady ‘er Cormic. Sirená Pectram’s dead ahead.” The helmsman nodded. As the
ship slowed, Captain Blagden returned to the head of the ship. “Ignore their
singing,” growled the captain, as Peter’s eyes wandered. Shuddering, Peter
threw his attention to the captain. “The sirens want you t’ listen. They want
to entrance you, manipulate you, seduce you. They want you to fall for them,” Blagden
warned his first mate. “Then they pounce,”
he hissed. “And you’re dead.” Swallowing, Peter gripped a hand to his seashell
pendant, at his neck.
“They won’t fool me, Captain,” Peter nodded. “I know where
my heart lies.” Prodding the corner of his mouth up, the captain bowed his head
to Peter.
The sea’s song grew louder. The voices whirled around
them. Soft, sweet sounds circled through their ears, embraced their bodies and
squeezed at their hearts. “Straighten your back, Petey,” the captain ordered. “An’
look lively. We need t’ make a good impression.” Swallowing, Peter’s intestines
swirled. Placing one foot beside the other, Peter straightened his back,
stiffening both arms to his sides.
A distant rumbling vibrated at their feet. Waves lashed
over the beak of the boat. An angel chorus swirled through their souls. The
drumming in Peter’s chest fastened. Pulse pounded at his temple. Rocks of
earthen clay surrounded them. Sweat dripped from Captain Blagden’s brow. The
largest of the rocks peaked upon their bow sprit. As the captain held a hand up
to the helmsman, Peter’s eyes widened. Starboard side, three women perched upon
the largest of the rocks. Their hypnotic melody silenced, as the Serpent’s
Tongue pulled up alongside them. Scales of deep turquoise, sea teal and vibrant
violets clung to their breasts and dowsed their lower fish-tailed legs. The
centre siren lent forwards, with big, juniper eyes and long caramel curved
locks. Her scales were a deep sea-green turquoise. The creature to her left had
darker, tanned skin. Her walnut eyes matched her hair, that spiralled down her
arms. Her dark peacock-sea-blue scales slithered into the ocean. The creature
to her right bore silvery sleek hair, that clung to her skin, along her left
side. Her vibrant, violet scales shimmered in the moonlight, making her
complexion shine a ghostly pearl-white. ‘Just like the picture,’ Peter gawked,
as his lips parted. Sniffing, he clamped his mouth shut, straightened his back
and balled his hands into fists at his sides.
“And what brings you
here, Adrikins?” sang the centre siren, twirling a finger around the end of her
caramel curls. Peter’s brow puckered. The other two sirens leant forwards,
pressing their palms against their scaled tails and hummed, with wide eyes.
“Business Coralina,” Blagden nodded, looping his arms
behind his back. Drooping their shoulders, the sirens sighed. Gripping his left
wrist with his right hand, the captain added, “King Valder sent me.”
“Ooooh,” they sighed in unison, lowering their heads. The
silver-haired creature let out a hiss, splashing her tail at the sea.
“And who’s your handsome,
little friend?” asked the siren on Coralina’s left, with a head of dark curls.
As a smile stretched across her face, Peter’s eyes widened. He pressed his
tongue against the roof of his mouth and swallowed.
“My new second is of no importance to you,” barked
Brandon. Daggering her brow, the dark-haired siren scrunched her nose at the
captain and folded her arms with a huff.
Sliding off the rock, the leader of the group pressed
herself up against the side of the ship. Hooking her arms over the gunwale, she
tilted her head up towards the captain. “So, what are you here for, Adrikins?”
she asked, with a soft sigh. Leaning towards the captain, the scales of her
breasts scraped over the rim of the ship, as she stroked a hand out towards
Blagden. The lashing waters eased. The surface of the sea bobbed, as it did
back at the silence of the harbour. Stepping towards the taffrail, Captain
Blagden arched his back towards her.
“The king requests us access to Moonrock Island,” Blagden
whispered.
“Ha!” spat the siren, leaning away from him. “Why can’t he
do the dirty work himself?” she fulminated, with her hands at her hips.
“You would rather he here?” frowned the captain. Straightening
his back, Blagden took a step back from the creature.
“Of course not,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “It’s just
not fair,” she pouted. “You should be king, Adrikins… not that stupid,
pig-headed Valder.”
“Ssshh,” hissed the captain. “You don’t know if King
Valder has spies among my lot,” he warned her. Crouching to her side, he added,
“I’d hate for your pretty, little face to take a beating.”
“Aaaw,” she blushed. “He’ll never get a hold of me,
sweetie.”
“And no more Adrikins, okay?” he added, brushing a hand
across her cheek. “Not while I’m on business,” he muttered, prodding his head
towards Peter, at his left.
Lowering her sight to the ship’s wooden frame, Coralina
pouted, jabbing her elbows over the wooden wall. “So, what’s your fee?” she
sighed.
“I was thinking a pretty jewel for my even prettier
jewel,” beamed the captain, stroking a hand down her cheek. Slipping a hand
into his inner jacket pocket, Captain Blagden pulled out a small, palm sized
cloth bag. Tipping the contents out into his left hand, a clear, jagged gem
gleamed under her radiant skin.
“Oooow,” she sang with wide eyes. “It is nice… but the girls want a treat too,” she declared. “Isn’t that
right, Brimlae, Nanami?” Coralina asked, arching her head over her shoulder.
Shuffling towards the brim of the rock, the two other
sirens nodded. “Can’t we have this little, cutie?” asked the tanned siren with
a head full of dark curled, as she pointed a finger at Peter. Feeling his
cheeks tingle, Peter swallowed hard, taking a step back.
“Nah,” shrugged the silvery siren. “Too much baggage,” she
told them, as she gazed at the cluster of shells poking out from Peter’s shirt.
“Where’s your old first mate?” she asked, turning to Captain Blagden. “We’d
love to play with him.”
“Moritz?” frowned Blagden. The silver maiden nodded.
“Done,” announced the captain with a nod. “The jewel and Moritz… and you will
let us pass?”
Twisting around to her siren sisters, Coralina awaited
their approval. Brimlae and Nanami nodded at her. Swivelling back to Blagden,
the right corner of Coralina’s mouth prodded up. “Deal Adrean,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
“And you will ensure our safe passing?” he asked. “No
funny business.”
“That’s a big ask, you know,” Coralina teased, circling a
droplet of water on the taffrail with her finger. “Do I have word from my favourite captain that there will be no
foul play from your crew? No advances. No whistling. Just listening to our
singing.”
“You have my word,” Blagden nodded. “If any men are to go
against you, you may swipe them from my crew and punish them, as you see fit,”
he told her. “Just do not harm me or my ship.” Leaning her folded arms over the
gunwale, Coralina stretched her head up towards the captain’s.
“You drive a hard bargain,” she mused pursing her lips.
“There’s still one last thing to settle your fee,” she warned. Pushing her
chest out, Coralina curled a finger towards herself. Her smile stretched.
Blagden leant towards her. Grabbing the chest of his jacket, Coralina yanked
him towards her. Gasping, Peter staggered forwards, throwing a hand out to his
captain. Planting her lips against the pirate’s, the siren hummed. With closed
eyes, she wrapped an arm around the back of the captain’s neck. Blagden hummed
against her. As her lips left the captain’s, she whispered, “You have my word.”
Straightening his back, Blagden turned to Peter, cleared
his throat and barked, “Go grab Moritz.” Eyes wide, Peter nodded. Swallowing, Peter
raced up onto the quarter deck and began his search.
*
Having
passed Sirená Pectram, the Serpent’s Tongue edged through the waters towards
Moonrock Island. Clouds thickened. The sky darkened. Distant rumbling grew
louder. Waves lashed up the hull. The ship swerved starboard. Staggering across
the deck, Peter grabbed out for the ratlines. They tipped back portside.
Throwing a hand to his mouth, Peter’s vision blurred. His stomach spiralled.
“Land ho!” called a voice from the crow’s nest. “Moonrock Island dead ahead.”
“Weigh anchor!” roared Blagden, jabbing a finger towards
the members of the crew mopping at the forecastle deck. “Petey, t’ the row
boat,” Blagden ordered, throwing his head towards his first mate. As Peter
nodded, the captain added, “It’s j’st you an’ me. Don’t forget the shovels.” As
Peter scrambled through the pirates, collecting the shovels, his heart rammed
against his ribcage. Kicking the cabin door closed behind him, Peter ducked
under two pirates running across the main deck, yanking at the fore stays rope
on the main course sail. “Nice ‘n’ tight,” Peter heard the captain bark at them.
“I thought the sirens promised a safe trip!” yelled Peter
towards the captain, as he stumbled past him.
“They can’t control the weather,” Blagden bellowed back.
The boat dipped starboard again. Skidding into the gunwale, Peter winced, as he
dropped to the floor. Arching over the side of the ship, a wave washed over
them, dragging the ship deeper towards the sea. Lunging forward, Peter heaved a
whooping cough, as the water washed over him.
“I thought they can control the sea,” Peter called over to
the captain, as he hauled the shovels into the row boat.
“Yer right,” Blagden muttered, clasping an arm to Peter’s
shoulder. “Something’s not right.”
Cranking the row boat down, towards the sea, Peter
listened over the captain’s instruction to his crew. “While Petey an’ I are
gone,” boomed the captain. “I’m leavin’ Bigby in charge,” he told them. Handing
over a tangle of ropes, knotted with sharp shades, to the bulging pirate,
Captain Blagden announced, “Any one a yer who steps outta line gets forty
lashes, yer hear?” Grunts and grumbled voices murmured over the roaring sea.
“The cat o’ nine tails will whip ‘em into shape,” muttered Blagden to Bigby,
with a nod. Tossing the rope ladder overboard, Peter and the captain began
their descent. “No one touches the helm until I return!” growled the captain,
stabbing his finger up the hull at Bigby. With a mumbled agreeance and a bumble
of nodding heads, the captain snarled at his crew, as he clambered into the
rowboat. Grabbing hold of an oar, Captain Blagden jabbed it up, towards his
men. “An’ if you anger the sirens,” he bellowed up to them. “Yer as good as
dead.”
*
Cupping
his hands together, Peter splashed water over the side of the rowboat. “We’re
sinking,” grumbled the captain, as another wave washed over them. Peter’s heart
panged at his chest. The sea-level sloshed over them. Pinching his eyes tight,
Peter held his breath.
“What do we do?” Peter cried, as their boat filled with
sea. Wind scratched at their skin. Clawing at the seaweed on his jacket,
Captain Blagden threw his head towards Moonrock Island. Scrunching his face,
the wind howled in his ears. Waves sloshed up his back.
“Keep rowing,” the captain roared. As the sea seeped
through his clothes and into his skin, Blagden shuddered. “It’s not much
further.” Lunging forward, Peter plunged his oar into the sea. Scraping his
arms back, he lifted his paddle and dove it into the sea again. Gritting his
teeth, Peter seeped in a breath, as the gas stench of the rotten egg swept out
of the seaweed and up his nostrils. His insides churned. Doubling over, Peter
felt the acid in his stomach bubble up his throat. “Keep rowing,” yelled the
captain, as Peter’s eyelids flickered. Forcing a swallow, Peter jabber his oar
into the sea and dragged it behind him.
‘Dip and pull,’ he told himself in motion. His back
straightened. ‘Dip and pull,’ he repeated, clearing his mind from the seaweed
stench and daggering waves. ‘Dip and pull.’
Scraping up along the shadowed, charcoal-coloured dirt
patch, Peter staggered out of the boat. Collapsing to his knees, he jabbed a
shovel into the ground. Leaning against the shovel’s stem, Peter’s lungs
heaved. His sodden clothes hung from his frame. His teeth chattered against the
wind, as the chill swept up his body. Stumbling alongside him, Captain Blagden
lunged forward, spluttering. Patting his leader on the back, Peter pressed a
hand into the shovel and clambered to his feet. “Is this it?” Peter asked
looking around. The island stood no longer than ten of Peter’s stretched paces.
Scratching a hand to his head, Peter shuffled towards the seven jagged rocks
that outlined the curve of the island’s opposite end.
“You see the seven stones, don’t ya?” shrugged Captain
Blagden, as he appeared at Peter’s side.
“So?” muttered Peter.
“So,” Blagden boomed. Wind howled at their right. Peter
shuddered. Throwing his arms out, Peter steadied his balance. Seeping a breath
through gritted teeth, he stiffened his shoulder blades and hunched his back.
“Seven stones,” the captain yelled, pointing over at the rocked structure a few
paces ahead of them. “Seven pieces of the moonstone.”
“So, what do we do?” asked Peter, as an overhead cloud
pierced. Thundering from the sky, rain thudded to the ground at their feet.
“Do?” frowned Blagden. Grabbing a shovel, he raised it
above his head. “We dig.”
“The whole island?” Peter screeched. Arching a hand over
his brow, Peter squinted towards the captain.
“At the centre stone,” bellowed Blagden, as a crackle of
lightning spiked down, inches from their feet. Leaping back, Peter snapped his
eyes shut. Shuddering, the first mate reopened his eyes at the sight of Captain
Blagden jabbing a shovel into the ground.
A cantankerous rumble roared above them. Snarling his
nose, Peter dove his arms forwards. Flinging the shovel over his shoulder, he
jabbed it forwards once more. Rain drummed against his skin, rattling his
bones. Dragging his right arm across his forehead, he swept the dripping fringe
from his eyes. Shuddering against the gusts, Peter held his breath, as he lunged
his shovel forwards. Alongside him, Captain Blagden grunted into another dive
with his spade. Lightning sparked above. Seeping a breath, Peter shuddered.
Thunder crackled, as lightning spat at them. Swallowing, Peter flung his force
into his shovelling. Splashing up his shins, water began to rise. Soil mound
upon the surface above, as their tunnelling deepened. “Aren’t we too deep to
climb back out?” yelled Peter over another tremble of thunder.
“Nonsense,” roared Captain Blagden. “We must keep digging.”
“We’re six feet down,” Peter argued. “The rain’s filling
up. If we dig much more, we’ll drown in here.”
“You want to face the wrath of King Valder?” the captain
asked Peter.
“It’s either that or die down here,” Peter growled, as he
slammed his shovel into the ground. Clank! Gasping, Peter and the captain’s
eyes widened. Turning to each other, their snarled expressions lifted.
“Dig,” cried Blagden.
“Dig Peter. Dig!” After swinging his spade several times
to fling away the soil, Peter scrapped the edge of the blade against the
metallic surface that he had clanged upon.
Crouching, Captain Blagden scrambled his hands across the
dirt, in desperation to free their finding. As the two rattled the casing from
left to right, it wriggled free from its incarceration. Slumping it up against
his torso, a wooden crate, with metallic edging, rested between Blagden’s
forearms. “How do we open it?” asked Peter.
“Chuck it up there and I’ll shoot it,” ordered Blagden.
Taking grip of the chest, Peter grunted, before muttering,
“You can’t, Captain. Your powder’s wet. You can’t fire a shot.”
“Blast it!” Blagden cursed. “We’ll j’st have t’ smash it,”
he growled. Groaning, Peter heaved the chest over his head. As it grazed
against the edges of ground level, Peter pressed all of his weight up, onto his
toes. Squinting his eyes tight, he strained his arms, stretching his stomach. A
pain stab through his left shin. As the chest slid along the ground, the weight
lifted from Peter’s arms. Flopping back onto his heels, Peter sighed. “Help me
up,” barked the captain. “Crouch down. Give me a boost.” Squatting, Peter
cupped his hands over his knee and squinted his eyes, awaiting the captain’s
weight. Thud. Sodden mud squelched into his palms. A groan escaped Peter, as he
gritted his teeth, heaving Blagden up. His biceps trembled. Flailing his arms
about, Captain Blagden threw his weight into the body of their hole. With a war
cry, he heaved himself up. Scrambling to his feel, the captain kicked clumped
of mud down, onto his first mate. Peter flinched and cursed under his breath,
as he flicked the sodden dirt clumps from his skin.
With the captain on ground, Peter turned to scramble up
the side of the pit. Sliding his shoes against the wall of their hole, Peter
struggled to gain grip. His hands squelched into the mud. His fingers scratched
up the side of the pit, desperate to locate a groove, to heave his weight onto.
He inched towards the ground. His left hand slipped. His heart thudded to his
stomach. Wailing backwards, a hand gripped his wrist. Gasping, Peter threw his
head up. With Captain Blagden’s help, Peter scrambled up the hole and back onto
the ground. His heart hammered in his ribcage. His vision swirled. Shuffling,
following by a loud click sounded in front of him. Captain Blagden had swiped
his pistol from its holster and aimed the firearm at the chest on the ground.
Gasping, Peter staggered back. Pop! A bubble of smoke escaped the muzzle.
Squinting his eyes, Peter smirked. “Wet powder, Captain?” asked Peter with a
shrug.
“Har, har, clever boy,” snarled Captain Blagden. “What
d’you propose?” Tilting his head to the right, Peter swept the dripping curls
from his eyes. At about the length of Peter’s forearm, the wood of the chest’s
structure absorbed the rain, as it lashed down upon it.
“Why don’t you try hacking away at the wood with your
sword?” suggested Peter with a shrug.
“We haven’t got all night!” raged Blagden.
“Let’s take it back to the ship,” Peter suggested. “We’ll
get a dry horn of powder and blast it open.” After snarling his nose and
grumbling a few remarks, the captain agreed to Peter’s plan. Tipping their
rowboat upside down, they drained it of water, before setting back off to the
Serpent’s Tongue.
*
Clambering
up the rope ladder, Captain Blagden staggered onto the main deck of his ship.
Footsteps of nearby crewmen raced towards him. “Grab me some fresh powder,”
barked Blagden. “Now!” he roared. As men scampered, the captain threw a hand
down the hull of the ship to haul Peter and the chest up. “Get inside and dry
off,” the captain told Peter, as he patted his first mate on the back. “You did
good today.”
“Thanks,” replied Peter, letting a sharp breath seep out
through his nostrils. “What about the chest?”
“I’ll call you, when I’m ready,” the captain assured him.
Peter nodded, prodding the left corner of his mouth up at the captain.
Boom! The ship shuddered. Splosh! Peter’s heart leapt.
Waves leapt up over the gunwale. Spinning his head towards the starboard stern,
Peter gasped. “We’re under attack!” he cried.
“It cannot be,” wailed Blagden. The captain joined Peter
at the taffrail. Leaning out, over the edge of the ship, Captain Blagden
yelled, “All men to stations.”
“Captain!” came a yell from the crow’s nest, as a bolt of
lightning daggered past them. “It’s the Sea Wolf!”
“The Sea Wolf?” Blagden repeated, puckering his brow.
“What in damnation are you playing at, Coor?” raged the captain. “The king
isn’t after us.”
“Take a look fer yerself, cap’in,” came the crow’s nest
watchmen’s reply, as he clambered down the shroud, to the fighting top of the
main mast. With a grumble to his throat and a snarl at his nose, Captain
Blagden clambered up the main mast. Meeting Coor at the fighting top, Blagden
snatched the watchmen’s spyglass. Extending the rusting copper coloured tubing,
Captain Blagden squinted his left eye, placing the brass looking-glass over his
right. The captain’s jaw plunged. Lowering the spyglass, he dropped it into
Coor’s hands. The colour drained from his face.
“We’re dead,” muttered the captain.
Whistling swept through the wind. Boom! The ship dipped.
Bodies slid towards the stern. Water sloshed over the ship. Dropping down to
the main deck, Captain Blagden sunk his shoulders. Peter’s eyes widened, as he
rushed towards him. “What is it?” gasped Peter. “What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing,” replied the captain shaking his head. “King
Valder’s turned against us.” He lowered his sight to the floor. “We’re as good
as dead.”
“What?” gasped Peter, puffing out his chest. “We’re not
giving up.”
“Peter,” Captain Blagden sighed. “We stand no chance
against him. Once King Valder declares war against you, it works in your favour
not to fight back.”
“But you’re his second,” Peter exclaimed. “He won’t come
after you, surely.”
“I don’t know what he’s playing at,” Blagden sighed. “I’m
sorry I got you into this mess, kid.”
Gazing out over the
rocks on the portside, Peter’s eyes widened. “I’ve got an idea,” he beamed.
“Captain, may I change our course?”
“We aren’t fighting, Petey,” Blagden sighed, resting a
hand upon Peter’s shoulder.
“And we won’t,” Peter declared with a nod. Marching
towards the helm of the ship, Captain Blagden toed behind. “We arch around.
Place the ship south of the rocks,” Peter told the captain, as he pointed in a
south east direction towards the stern. “Head south west,” Peter ordered the
helmsman, Cormic. “Then twist back south east. Position the ship between the
Sirená Pectram rocks and the Banhaven Peak mountains. If we curve around the
rocks just right, the current should drag us towards the shipwreck point of
Shipwreck Cove.”
“What good’ll that do us?” raged the captain.
“It’ll buy us time,” Peter declared. “If we can make it
back to the island, Valder won’t destroy your ship,” Peter prodded a finger at
Captain Blagden’s chest. “And we won’t be sunk at sea. I’m saving lives,” Peter
told him. The creases on Blagden’s forehead lightened, as the corner of his
mouth poked up into a smirk. “Maybe you can give him the seventh piece of the
moonstone on land, at Shipwreck Cove… like a peace negotiation.”
“Peter,” Captain Blagden sighed, at the mention of the
island. “She’s gone,” he whispered, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“I know,” Peter nodded, pinching his eyes tight and
forcing a swallow. “I don’t want to head back,” he squeaked. “But I’m trying to
save us. Isn’t that what a noble captain would do… save as many men as he can?”
Sniffing, Captain Blagden threw his arm around Peter’s shoulder and squeezed
his first mate towards his chest.
“Yer a good un,” muttered the captain.
“Right!” Peter boomed, punching a fist at the air. “Follow
the rocks around,” Peter ordered Cormic. The helmsman nodded. “Set course back
east. We’re headed to the sanded bay of Shipwreck Cove,” he declared. “Sail
with the tide. We’ll get there faster.” Turning towards Bigby and the other
members of the crew, who had clung by Peter and the captain since their return,
Peter warned them, “Bigby, keep all men alert. We may have to resort to
fighting back at any moment.”
“But it’s getting late,” Bigby protested. “The crew aren’t
gunna stay awake all night.”
“We’ll run shifts,” Peter told him with a nod. “I’m not
having Valder sneak up on us.” Placing a hand upon Bigby’s arm, Peter stared
into the man’s eyes. “I want every man safe.” With a nod, Bigby and the rest of
the captain’s men left to spread the news throughout the ship. “And Captain,”
Peter said, as he turned towards Blagden. “You get that chest open,” he
grinned.
“Aye,” beamed Blagden. “And we’ll need to keep watch over
the Sea Wolf. You and I’ll run shifts, just like you said.” Peter nodded. “I’ll
take first watch,” Blagden told him. “Go get some shut eye. You’ve had a pretty
rough day.”
*
Slouching
against the wall, Peter scribbling away in his journal. A candle flickered at
his bedside. Dropping his quill, Peter scraped a hand through his hair. Water
traipsed down the back of his neck. Shuddering, he wiped his sodden hand down
his trousers. A lump lodged in his throat. He sniffed, rubbing a hand to his
eye, as the inner corner stung. Peter’s chest jittered a shaky breath, as he
pressed his cheek against his pillow. He lowered his inkpot, quill and book to
the floor with a rickety sigh. Gripping his blanket around him, he curled up
onto his left side. Running his fingers down the cord around his neck, he
squeezed his talisman. A squeak escaped his voice box, as his heart leapt up to
his throat. Sniffing, the corners of his eyes stung. As he puffed an exhale at
the candle, his cheek burnt under the salty trickle that slid down his cheek.
Lowering his eyelids, Peter’s heart rapped at his ribcage. He scrunched his
face, burying his head in his pillow.
Three knocks rapped upon the outer side of his door.
Sniffing, Peter rubbed a hand across his face, as he sat upright. “Yeah,” he
mumbled. Creaking open the door, Captain Blagden’s head appeared.
“It’s your shift,” the captain told him. Lowering his eyes
to the floor, Peter nodded. “Come and get me if you need me, okay?” With a
sniff, Peter gave another nod.
“Any sign of the Sea Wolf?” asked Peter.
“No,” Blagden replied, shaking his head. “This course a
yours has sailed us right out of harm’s way.” Swiping his journal from the
floor, Peter stuffed it into his inner jacket pocket. “The lads are speaking
highly of you. If anything happens to me, you’ll have a loyal crew behind you;
I have no doubt about that.”
“Thanks,” Peter muttered, swallowing. “But nothing’s going
to happen to you,” Peter declared, staring into the captain’s eyes. “I swear,
I’ll keep you safe. It’s what Lela would have wanted.”
“Yer a good lad,” Blagden mused, ruffling up Peter’s hair.
“She’d have been proud of you.” Poking the corner of his mouth up, Peter nodded
at the captain with sparkling eyes.
Stepping out onto the deck, Peter paced towards the helm.
Arching his head to the sky, the rain had eased. Skidding, he threw his hands
to the ratlines to steady his balance. Wind swept up behind him. Running a hand
to the back of his shoulder blade, he pressed his fingers into his skin. He
winced, before letting out a long groan, as he approached Cormic. “Have you
been sailing all night?” Peter asked him.
“Aye,” Cormic nodded.
“Is there much to steering?” Peter enquired, frowning at
the many prongs on the steering wheel.
“Nope,” Cormic shrugged. “You’ve just gotta keep ‘er on
course.”
“And how are we doing?” asked Peter, stretching his head
around the mast, checking the seas behind them.
“Good,” nodded the helmsman. “Better than I could ‘ave
ever imagined,” Cormic beamed. “We’ll ‘ave covered a whole days sailin’
overnight, by a time the sun rises, like.”
“Wow,” Peter breathed.
“Sailing by the wind works wonders,” Cormic praised.
“Ain’t even seen the likes of the Sea Wolf or nothin’.”
“Excellent work,” beamed Peter, patting the helmsman on
the back. “You get some sleep,” Peter told him. “I’ll take over.” Thanking
Peter, Cormic scurried off below deck.
Tilting the steering wheel to the right by a prong, Peter
stretched his head up, catching the view over the gunwale. The last of the
rocks south of Sirená Pectram drifted out of view, passing the ship by on the
portside. Peter’s eyes drooped, as the rhythmical hushing of the sea swept into
his ears. ‘Must stay awake,’ Peter warned himself. ‘Must save the seas from
Valder.’ Dipping his head lower and lower, with each hushing sweep of the tide,
Peter shuddered, as his eyes closed. ‘I’m awake,’ he told himself, forcing his
eyes open wide. ‘I’m awake.’ Shifting his eyes to the sky, the dark, mystic,
purple, ominous clouds from earlier that night had begun to part. The glimmer
of midnight-blue sky shimmered through the breaks in the cloud. Gasping, Peter
spotted the twinkling of a star. Warm thoughts bubbled at his stomach. ‘Is it
stupid to wish upon a star?’ he wondered. ‘I know it’s only superstitious
nonsense… but it wouldn’t hurt.’ His heart raced, as thousands of warm thoughts
bounced to the front of his mind. Brandon’s comforting smile, upon their first
encounter, having survived from the shipwreck. The welcoming arms of Captain
Halaken, when Peter and Brandon arrived at the Wreck-Age Inn. Sanders and
Brandon’s support with his first mission, upon the pirates’ ship. Lela’s
sparkling eyes. Her soft touch, as her hand brushed against his. His stomach
fluttered. Pinching his eyes tight, Peter sniffed. Garrin’s cheerful grin,
every morning. A huge plate of food. A warm mug of mint water. One of Lela’s
sand biscuits. The Mulberry Drupe shell that he had given her. The talisman of
shells that hung from his neck. Dragging a hand across his face, Peter inhaled
a long, deep breath, through his nose. “I wish there was a way to fix this
mess,” he muttered aloud.
*
Creeping
above the horizon, golden rays of light pierced through the clouds. The dark
midnight-blue sky lightened to a deep teal. Yawning, Peter twitched the wheel
of the ship portside by a few prongs. Gripping a new part of the handle, an
iced chill refreshed his palms. Peter wriggled his fingers, as he fastened his
hands around their new steering position. Arching his head over his left
shoulder, the sea was clear. As he stretched his head around his right
shoulder, no vessel appeared in their line of sight. “Good work,” beamed
Captain Blagden, as his face appeared in front of Peter’s at the helm.
“Thank you, Captain,” Peter nodded.
“You could have got me over an hour ago, though,” the
captain told him. “Look at you. You need t’ rest, Petey.”
“I guess I’m a little tired,” Peter confessed, deflating
his chest.
“Take a break, solider. You’re doing a fine job,” Captain
Blagden saluted him. “But you’ll be no good to us, if collapse from
exhaustion.”
“But-” Peter muttered.
“I’ll come get you if we need you,” Blagden assured him.
“But what about the chest? The moonstone?” Peter cried.
“What happens if-”
“It’s all been taken care of,” the captain insisted, with
a nod. “Look!” Pulling open his jacket, Captain Blagden slipped his hand inside
and pulled out a piece of rock, a quarter of the size of his palm. Holding it
out towards his first mate, Peter gasped. This piece was bigger than the
previous chunk of moonstone that Peter had seen. Just like the other piece, it
was coloured a creamy-bluey-purple, however this time instead of jagged angles,
this piece had a smooth curve that stretched up from its nine o’clock point, to
twelve o’clock. Where the curved edge ended two straight lines met at a
right-angled point ,in the centre of Blagden’s palm. Engraved in the glistening
texture, along the curve of the rock, was the arch of a crescent. Along both
straight edges, diagonal lines cut across.
“How did you-” Peter began.
“I took your advice,” Captain Blagden shrugged. “I didn’t
want to blast the chest open, in case I damaged the moonstone. Instead I had
Beady and Neale beat it open. It kept them entertained and released some of
their anger whilst you rested,” the captain mused.
“I can’t wait to see what it looks like all together,”
Peter beamed.
“Well, if we ever make it past King Valder,” the captain
grumbled, “You may do.” Lowering his head, Peter gazed at a knot in the wood of
a prong of the ship’s steering wheel.
Whilst thoughts of the last twenty-four hours washed over
him, Peter gazed out at the shimmering on the sea’s surface, as daylight
glimmered from a crack in the clouds on the horizon. “Wait!” Peter cried, as
his eyes widened. “Did Valder-”
“King Valder,”
Blagden interrupted.
“Set fire to the Shipwreck Cove Harbour, to harvest more
souls, for when he restores the moonstone and retrieves his undead army?” Peter
asked, as his heart dropped to his stomach.
“So, you believe now?” asked Blagden, returning the
moonstone to his inner jacket pocket.
“I’ve travelled around the map with you and your crew,
risking my life for flimsy, little fragments of rock,” Peter raged. “For a guy so powerful, he sets entire villages
aflame for the fun of death, in hopes of bringing the people back from the dead
to join his all-powerful, omnipotent, rising-dead army.” Running his hands up
his face, Peter exhaled his anger. Blagden threw a hand to the steering wheel.
As Peter’s shoulders flopped, he added, “Either he’s completely deranged or
there is something to it.” Smirking,
the captain nodded at his second in command, as Peter returned hold of the
wheel. “I was hoping he was crazy,” Peter confessed with a shrug. “But legends
do have their sources, I guess.”
“And you’ll do wise to think about it,” Blagden warned him
with a nod. Hugging his arms to his biceps, Peter shuddered. “But get some
rest,” the captain told him. “You’ll feel better once you do. You’re gonna need
a clear head to help me come up with a plan for facing the king.” Nodding,
Peter waved a hand to the captain, as he retired to his cabin. Dropping his
head onto the pillow, Peter’s eyes closed. A warm hum washed over him.
Thudding sounded in the distance. Gripping his blanket,
Peter tugged it around him. Footsteps trundled on the deck, outside. Whistling
sang through Peter’s ears. Boom! The ship trembled. Bashing into the wall,
Peter groaned. A fist beat against his door, from the other side. Stretching
his head up to face the door, Peter croaked, “Yeah?”
“We’re under attack!” cried the captain, as Peter’s cabin
door flung open.
“Attack?” Peter repeated puckering his brow.
“It’s the Sea Wolf,” Blagden exclaimed. “All hands on
deck.”
Racing out onto the deck, Peter’s heart trembled at his
chest. His stomach swirled, as he grabbed a hand to the shells around his neck.
‘Still there,’ he gasped, before patting the left of his jacket. ‘Journal’s
secure,’ he told himself. His temples pounded. Arching a hand across his
eyeline, Peter squinted at the sun beaming down against the briny blue. “What happened?”
muttered Peter, staggering after the captain. “What time is it?”
“Around noon,” Blagden replied, glancing up at the sun’s
peak in the sky.
“You left me to sleep that
long?” Peter exclaimed, clawing a hand through his hair. “What happened? Where are
we? Where’s the Sea Wolf?” he cried, throwing his head over his shoulder.
Pirates raced around on deck, dragging weapons, loading and firing cannons.
Holding his hands to his ears, Peter pinched his eyes tight, as Arad lit a
fuse. The ground trembled. Squinting his eyes open, Peter lowered his hands
from his ears.
“We’re not far from Shipwreck Cove,” Blagden confirmed, as
they strode past a line of men, sliding spheres into cannons. “Only the rocks
are between us,” the captain continued answering Peter’s questions. “King
Valder and his crew are at our backs, west-north-west.” Ducking out of the way
of a crewman cradling a cluster of cannonballs in the hollow of his shirt,
Peter squinted his eyes towards the sea. “They must have figured your plan and
weighed anchor at Sirená Pectram all night, awaiting our return.”
“How?” Peter cried, clawing a hand through his hair.
“Fire!” bellowed Blagden to his crew, as the last of the
line loaded their cannon. “Duck,” he barked at Peter. Throwing his head down, Peter
swung his arms out to the main mast, gripping it tight, as the ship dipped
larboard. “There’s no escape,” the captain warned him, over the roaring of the
firing projectiles. “We fight to the end.”
Gripping hold of the braces, as the ship tipped back starboard,
Peter leapt onto the chains that fastened the sails ropes to the deck.
Outstretching his hand, Peter held it to his forehead, as he scanned the
surrounding seas. “It’s not the end,” Peter declared. “Get rid of everything.
The heaviest things on ship, dispose of them,” Peter told the captain with wide
eyes. “If it’s launchable, we fire it. If not, we lose it. We lighten the load
and head right between those rocks,” Peter ordered, pointing out at the rock
formations gathering at the Charleston shipwreck on Shipwreck Cove’s sanded
bay.
“Through the rocks? You’ll get us killed,” objected the
captain, snarling his nostrils with rage.
“Not in daylight,” Peter beamed, as pictures of his plan
flashed across his mind. “We’ll navigate through.”
“Can’t we go ‘round?” protested the captain.
“No,” Peter shook his head. “It’s faster this way. We’ll
dock ship on the sand and scatter up the forest mound. He can’t chase all of
us.”
“Fire!” boomed Blagden, blasting his pistol to the skies.
“Fire everything you’ve got men,” he roared. “Unless it’s of value, it’s gone.”
Staggering towards the shroud, hanging from the fore mast, Peter clung himself
to it, as another round of shots were fired. Booms and blasts rang through his
ears. As the ship shuddered back, from the firings impact, Peter swayed
gripping his stomach. “What’s the plan once we get to land?” Blagden asked
Peter.
“If we split up, most of the crew will get away,” Peter
explained. “That’ll buy us time, while Valder tracks down who has the moonstone
piece.”
“But he’ll know to come after me,” Blagden declared.
“Then don’t have it on you,” Peter told him. “Give it to
someone else. Plant a decoy. We’ll do whatever it takes. Valder can’t have many
men with him, surely.”
“Perhaps ten or so,” Blagden informed him, with a shrug.
Peter nodded.
“He’ll leave some to guard his ship, no doubt – in fear
that we’ll steal it. If the crew all split up, they can’t chase us all.”
“Then what’s
your plan?” pestered the captain.
“You’re the captain,” Peter replied with a shrug. “What do
you want?” Pressing a hand against
the outer pocket of his jacket, carrying his journal, Peter’s heart raged in
his ribcage. ‘I just need to separate the pieces,’ Peter told himself, as the
captain’s lips parted at Peter’s question. “Do you want an undead army to
control?” Peter asked him. “Or do you want to bring Valder down?”
Dipping his head, Captain Blagden strode away from Peter.
Marching up and down the deck, he barked orders out at his men. A wave washed
over the portside. Cannons slid. Throwing their hands to the shrouds, men
heaved themselves up, kicking their legs into the air, to avoid the rampant,
rolling cannons. As the pirates staggered back onto the deck, crates, barrels
and bones were tossed into the sea. “Sea Wolf at nine o’clock!” called Coor
from the crow’s nest. Throwing his head to the port of the ship, Peter gasped.
While Captain Blagden had the crew firing cannons, the Sea Wolf had slid
towards them. As the bow of the ship twisted in their direction, Peter’s eyes
widened, as the figurehead came into view. The daggering eyes of the wolf’s
pierced into his. His intestine slithered into knots. His chest pounded. His
tongue scrapped against the roof of his mouth. A lump lodged in his throat.
‘We meet again,’ Peter shuddered, at the figurehead. The
wolf’s snout snarled at him. Lowering his eyes from the wolf’s, Peter’s eyes
became entranced by the scaling whirl of its siren tail. “Ease fire!” Peter
yelled, as the nose of the Sea Wolf thundered towards them. Pushing Cormic from
the helm, Peter grabbed the steering wheel. “Get every man to row,” Peter
ordered, twisting the wheel several prongs to the left.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” growled Blagden, at
his heels.
“I’ve stared at the map a million times,” Peter boasted,
fixing a stare upon the island ahead. “I could steer this ship in my sleep.”
Bodies wavered about the ship, shifting cannons, lobbing
supplies overboard and staggering towards the lower decks, to aid with the
rowing. Throwing his hands to his eyes, Captain Blagden, squinted through the
gaps in his fingers and cowered behind his first mate, as Peter weaved the
Serpent’s Tongue in and out of jagged rocks and mountainous boulders. Waves
lashed up the Serpent Tongue’s body. Rocks scratched at its wood. Tipping starboard,
Peter steadied his footing. Diving the nose of the ship into the sand, the
Serpent’s Tongue jolted to a halt. “What’s happening?” cried Blagden, as he
staggered forwards.
“We’ve made it,” Peter exclaimed, as the captain lowered
his hands from his eyes. “Now we need to run!” Glancing up at the grass mound,
to the right of the island, the captain nodded.
“Abandon ship!” roared the captain. “All men board land!”
he ordered. Bodies hurled about on deck. Unfastening sails and slicing fore and
back stays from their knots, pirates swung from ropes over the hull of the
ship. Leaping through the air, men crashed onto the sand, rolling to their
feet. With Captain Blagden leading the march, his crew departed from the sanded
cove and staggered towards the mossy mountain.
Several paces behind the captain, Peter grunted, as he
flung his left foot in front of his right. “What about the moonstone?” Peter
called to the captain, as he caught him up.
“King Valder guessed you’d turn the ship around and head
back to Shipwreck Cove,” the captain warned him, as they entered the opening of
the green lands. Peter nodded. “Who’s t’ say he hasn’t already figured we have
a decoy.” Peter frowned. “He’ll think you or one of the others have it.”
“Me?” cried Peter.
“He knows of your great deeds Petey,” the captain
confessed. “I’ve been praisin’ your name since the beginning. He’ll assume I’ve
given the moonstone t’ you.” Peter’s heart crashed to his stomach. “But I’ll
have it all along,” Blagden added. The ground vibrated. Staggering forwards,
Peter punched a hand to the ground, bouncing himself back to his feet. Throwing
his head over his shoulder, Peter gasped. “They caught up fast,” Blagden
growled, seeing the Sea Wolf scrape up on the other side of the cove. “Men
scatter!” the captain cried.
Soot and charcoal hazes raced across Peter’s left, up the
mountain, heading north-east. Ash greys and browns blurred past Peter’s right,
in a south-east direction. Peter and captain raced straight up. “It must be a
couple thousand feet high!” declared Peter, thumping a hand to his knee, as
their climb steepened. “Where does it head?” he asked.
“It’s the long way ‘round t’ the village,” the captain
told him. Peter gasped. His heart leapt into his ribcage. “I wouldn’t even know
a safe place to meet if any of us escape,” Blagden confessed. Throwing his head
behind them, deep slate blues and mahogany reds of their crew staggered about
behind them. Glancing towards the cove, King Valder’s men had dismounted the
Sea Wolf. Amber jackets and charcoaled legs raced towards them. “Goodbye
Petey,” Captain Blagden nodded with a swallow. Eyes widening, Peter’s forehead
furrowed, as he nodded back. “Stay safe.”
“You too,” Peter added. With one last nod, the two
scattered in opposite directions.
Jabbing his heels into the dirt, Peter threw one foot in
front of the other. His heart raced. Throwing his head over his shoulder,
Valder’s men were gathering speed. Their dots grew bigger. His chest pounded.
Sinking his shoes into the dirt, the mound steepened to his right. The ground
grew from emerald grasses to a dark pine. Sniffing, a sharp breath clung to his
throat. As the wind gushed, waves crashed against the cliff face, below him.
Arching his head further right, the mountainous mossy range dipped. A sanded
cliff face daggered down to spiked rocks below. Swallowing, Peter’s stomach
flopped to the pit of his torso.
Fog swirled around him. The higher he staggered, the
thicker the clouds around him became. Bang! A shot fired. Peter’s heart crashed
into his ribcage. His insides leapt. Throwing his head over his shoulder, the
bodies of Blagden’s crew faded into the fog. The ground trembled. Footsteps
thundered nearer. Charged war cries rang out behind him. Wheezing, Peter’s
breaths grew shallow. Damp from the fog seeped through his clothes. Clenching
his fists, Peter scrunched up his face, as his legs pounded forwards. His heart
hammered. Rain rattled on his scalp. Throwing his head over his right shoulder,
Peter staggered forwards. Kicking his feet at the ground, he scrambled up. A
hand clawed into his right shoulder. His heart thudded to his stomach. He
gasped. “Captain Blagden’s first-mate I presume,” snarled the voice, from a
dark-haired figure. A tricorne hat hid his face from view. “Hand it over,”
boomed the voice. Peter’s chest tremored. His heart rattled in his ribcage. His
bottom lip trembled. Thud. A heavy clunk whacked the back of his head. He
seeped a breath. His eyes snapped closed. His knees buckled. Collapsing to the
ground, everything went black.
*
Groaning,
Peter’s cheek pressed against a cold, stone block. The back of his head
pounded. Scrunching his face, he slid a hand to the back of his scalp. He
winced. Flickering his eyes open, his heart rapped at his ribcage. Thick,
vertical, metal bars lined the wall in front of him. Between the bars, his view
of a grey wall leapt his heart to his throat. Staggering to his feet, Peter
gripped the back of his neck. Rolling his head around his shoulders, he glanced
around the room. Everywhere was grey. The walls that blocked him in were no
different to the view outside of his cell. Pacing to his left, Peter took two
strides, before reaching the wall and spun back around on his heels to pace in
the other direction. With a sigh, he scrunched up his fists and turned to the
bars imprisoning him. Throwing himself against the bars, Peter gripped them
tight and yelled out, “Hello? Is there anyone there?”
A distant hinge creaked. His stomach spiralled. Seeping a
breath, he clasped a hand to his mouth. His heart froze. His brow creased, as
he shuffled back from the bars. Footsteps clopped near. His nails daggered into
his palms. He held his breath. Rooted to the spot, Peter clenched his teeth. As
he squinted his eyes, he forced all of his concentration into his hearing.
Jangling metal danced through the air. “Hello?” hissed a breath. Peter’s chest
trembled. His eyes widened. “Are you there?” the voice asked. Swallowing, Peter
clung to the talisman around his neck. Patting his jacket, he felt for his
journal.
‘Still there,’ he told himself, as he hugged it to his
chest. The footsteps grew closer. His heart raced. His legs trembled. The
jangling clattered against a tinning metal, nearby. A shudder tingled up his
spine. The thudding in his chest raged faster. Swallowing, Peter threw himself
at the metal bars. “Oi!” he yelled, rattling his caging. “I can hear you! I
demand an audience with Valder, do you hear me?” he wailed. “I call parley!”
Footsteps fastened. They grew louder. Closer. Peter’s heart trundled. His
stomach churned. Swallowing, he steadied his shaking breath.
“For goodness sake, Petey!” gasped a gruff voice, as a tall,
shadowy figure approached Peter’s cell.
“Blagden!” Peter cried, as a head of dark, wavy, brown
hair appeared in front of him.
“What the hell d’you think you’re playin’ at?” exclaimed
the pirate. “A parley?” Lowering his head, Peter shrugged. “Don’t mess with
King Valder,” Captain Blagden warned. Rattling with a ring of keys in his hand,
Blagden unlocked Peter from his imprisonment. As the door screeched open, Peter’s
heart flung to his ribcage. Peter’s eyes shot wide, as the captain threw an arm
around his first mate, dragging him into an embrace. “Come here,” mumbled the
captain, ruffling Peter’s hair. “I’m so glad yer alright.”
Leaving Peter’s cell, Captain Blagden led them down the
corridor, where they past several cells identical to Peter’s confinement. “Are
you gonna fill me in?” Peter asked. “What happened? I remember coming face to
face with Valder-”
“King Valder,”
Blagden muttered.
“King Valder,”
sighed Peter rolling his eyes. “There was a sharp thud on the back of my head…
and everything went black.” Running a hand across the back of his head, Peter
winced, feeling the lump where he had been whacked. “The next thing I know, I’m
in some prison cell. Where are we? What’s happened? Where’s the rest of the
crew? Where’s Valde- King Valder? What about the moonstone?”
“Husssh,” hissed the captain. Turning back to face Peter,
Captain Blagden pressed a finger to his lips. “You don’t know who the king has
listening in.” Frowning, Peter scratched a hand through his hair. “We need t’
get you out of here,” Captain Blagden warned.
“Stop!” Peter insisted, as Blagden ran up a tower of stone
steps, at the end of the corridor. “Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded.
“We haven’t the time to stop,” barked Blagden.
“Then tell me on the way,” Peter insisted, leaping up the
steps two at a time, following after the captain.
Fiddling with the lock on the door at the top of the steps,
Captain Blagden grumbled to himself. “I’m savin’ yer skin, kid,” growled the
captain, throwing a head over his shoulder to Peter.
“From what?” Peter cried, as he reached the top of the
stairs.
“King Valder,” grunted the captain, as he scraped open the
door. The creaking the hinges forced Peter to grit his teeth. “Follow me,”
Blagden muttered, cupping his hand and wavering it forwards. Hunched over, the
captain peered down the left of the corridor, then the right, before retrieving
a lit oil lantern beside his feet. “This way,” he hissed, prodding his head to
the right. “And keep your voice down.”
Following behind Captain Blagden, Peter crept along
corridor after corridor. Most were narrow, with no space to allow passing.
Walking one behind the other, walls merged from stone grey, to a blotched,
sanded biscuit colour, to a dusted eggshell. Stairs were climbed. They snuck
into rooms, hid behind antique armour mounted on stands. They ran up stone
steps and down others. As the two zigzagged their way throughout the building,
Captain Blagden explained to Peter what he had figured out thus far. “As I
suspected, King Valder assumed I had entrusted you with the seventh piece of
the moonstone,” the captain told him. “He captured and searched you for it. When
he discovered the last piece of the moonstone was not in your possession, he
must have thrown you in his dungeon.”
“His dungeon?” Peter squeaked. “You mean, I’m in Moonstone
Fortress?”
“Where’d you think?” scoffed Blagden. Lowering his head,
Peter hid his reddening cheeks and shrugged.
“What about you and the others?” Peter asked.
“King Valder tied me up in his torture chamber. He
wrestled the moonstone piece off me and left me guarded by one of his
henchmen.”
“How did you escape?” Peter gasped.
“Easy,” Blagden shrugged, as they passed their first
window. Glancing outside, Peter’s eyes widened at the thickening mauve clouds.
Running a hand across the back of his neck, he swallowed. “I knew his henchman
well,” Blagden continued. “I promised him I’d drop him off at port, to see his
missus, so he let me go.”
“Just like that?” Peter frowned, as the captain took
bigger strides.
“Not exactly,” muttered Blagden. Throwing his head over
his shoulder, Captain Blagden’s eyes shifted around the corridor behind them, before
dipping his head down the stone, spiral staircase at their feet. With a nod,
Blagden grabbed Peter’s neckline and dragged him deeper into the building. “I
had t’ put the poor sod t’ sleep. Shame,” he mumbled with a shrug. “Good man.”
Peter’s eyes widened, as his jaw froze open.
“Wh-wh-wh, what’s next?” Peter stuttered, forcing a
swallow, as his eyes widened. ‘Why’s he saving my neck?’ Peter wondered. ‘He
could kill me here and now and hand me over to Valder.’ A shudder trembled up
Peter’s spine. He lost his footing, stumbling into the captain’s back, as they
halted at the bottom of the stairwell. Crouching down, Blagden rested his oil
lamp on the ground, while he fiddled with a metal latch etched into the floor.
Peter’s heart rapped in his ribcage. He threw his head left, then right.
Darkness. Inhaling, his arms trembled, as he steadied his breath. A latch
clicked. Peter’s eyes widened, as Captain Blagden lifted up a square panel from
the floor.
“What’s next, is I get you to safety,” Blagden told him,
nodding his head towards the stairwell below them.
“What?” frowned Peter. “I don’t understand. I-”
“For Lela’s sake,” the captain sniffed. “Please go,” he
added, with a sigh. “Quickly.”
Swiping the lantern, Peter began his descent, creeping
down a creaky wooden staircase. After stepping down five steps, the staircase
twisted to the left. Holding the lantern out, Peter squinted, as he searched
for each step. “I’m dropping you off at Castellus,” Captain Blagden informed
him, as he lowered the floor hatch behind them.
“What?” Peter gasped, spinning his head over his shoulder,
to face the captain. “Why?” Peter’s heart leapt to his throat. ‘I can’t stop
Valder in Castellus!’ he fumed to himself. ‘If Blagden takes me back now I’m the one responsible for Valder
taking over the seas.’ Peter’s pulse pounded in his ears. Trembling quaked at
his knees. ‘I aided him gathering the
moonstone pieces.’ Clawing a hand through his hair, Peter stopped his descent
and turned back to face Blagden. Stomping his feet, Peter planted them in line
with his shoulders and held his arms out, preventing the pirate captain from
passing him.
“King Valder wants you dead,” Captain Blagden sighed, as
his shoulders drooped. “You can’t stay among our waters. He’s captured many of
our men… some weren’t as lucky as to be locked in his dungeon or torture
chamber.’ Peter lowered his head. A lump lodged in his throat. ‘Those I could
find,’ Blagden continued. ‘I managed t’ set ‘em free, whilst I was looking for
you. They’ve already set a boat up ready.”
“And what about King Valder?” asked Peter.
“I imagine, he’s on his way to Moonrock Island as we
speak,” Blagden mumbled, lowering his sight to his shoes. “Please Peter, we
need to get going,” insisted Captain Blagden, taking the lantern from Peter’s hand.
“There’s an underground tunnelling system, at the bottom of this staircase,”
Blagden told him, as he pushed past Peter, continuing with their descent. “It
keeps boats we’ve stolen, from the crown safe… and protects us pirates from
being seen by the king’s men.” Pressing a hand to his chest, Peter gripped his
journal, as the left corner of his mouth prodded up.
As they neared the bottom of the wooden stairwell, the
gushing of sea air echoed off the stone walls. Clambering to the bottom of the
stairwell, Peter’s lips parted. Stretching his neck up, he gawked. Twelve
vessels towered over him. Arched above him, water trickled down from the
stalactites, as they found themselves inside an underground cave. Peter
flinched, as a droplet plopped on his nose.
The ocean echoed off the cave walls. As the hushing sea
waved around Peter, he shuddered. Waves rippled at the wooden docking, as they
travelled across it, towards the ships. “Stealing this ship brings King
Valder’s wrath on my head,” Captain Blagden warned, as they walked past five
monstrous ships, twice the size of the Serpent’s Tongue’s double decks and
twenty guns.
“Which is ours?” Peter asked, as they strode alongside a
triple masted, triple decked ship with over fifty ported cannons. Letting out a
whistle, Peter froze in his tracks, gazing at the ship.
“That one belonged to the Barkton Versulin army,” Blagden
told him. “We won ‘er in battle, a few months back. Beauty, ain’t she?”
“You bet,” Peter beamed.
“She’s too big fer us though, Petey,” the captain warned
him. “She holds four t’ five hundred men. This,” he announced, “is our ship.”
Eyes wide, Peter threw his head over his shoulder. His brow puckered. His
shoulders drooped.
“That’s it?” he frowned at the single masted, single
decked ship.
“There’s only six of us, Petey. It’s all we can man,” the
captain told him, as they neared the vessel, less than a quarter of the size of
the Serpent’s Tongue. “You, me, Arad, Beady, Neale and Bones,” counted the
captain on his fingers. “Come on, now,” Blagden insisted, holding a hand out,
for Peter to board the ship. “I promised Lela I’d keep you safe.”
Peter’s heart pounded. ‘I can’t go back,’ he told himself.
‘If I return to Castellus, Valder will gain rule of the seas… and I
helped him..’ The thumping in his chest grew louder. ‘He’ll become unstoppable.
No ship will survive.’ His stomach spiralled. ‘And it’s all my fault.’ A
lump lodged in his throat. An icy shudder trembled up his spine. Looking from
the ship to Captain Blagden, and back again, Peter pushed the pirate back,
swiping Blagden’s sword from it’s sheath, as he staggered back. “Sorry
Captain,” Peter called, as he leapt onto the boat. “But I made a promise too.”
Swinging the sword, Peter sliced through the rope, docking the boat, and pushed
the ship away from the wooden decking. “A promise to bring Valder down,” Peter
called out to Blagden, as the boat bobbed away. “And I’m keeping it!” Running
to the helm, Peter fixed a stare upon the light glaring from the entrance to
the cave and spun the steering wheel around.
“Petey!” Blagden yelled, waving his arms above his head.
“Petey!” Ignoring the captain’s pleas, Peter sailed on.
Pulling out of the cave, sunlight sprang upon them. With
Peter at the helm, the four other pirates that Blagden had rescued, appeared at
Peter’s sides. A cliffed range of rocks towered over them, surrounding the ship
on every side. Peter let out a gasp, as he flung his head from left to right.
“How do we get out?” Peter cried. His heart pounded against his chest.
“Follow the shadow,” instructed Neale, the pirate with a
mop of blond hair.
“Shadow?” Peter frowned.
“Yer see there?” said Neale, pointing towards a dark patch
in the rocks, to the right of the ship’s nose. “There’s a shadow towards yer
right.” Peter nodded. “The rocks curve around. There’s a gap wide enough t’
sail the largest of king’s ships through,” explained the pirate, with wide
eyes. Peter’s brows slanted upwards. “Only those who know of it know where t’
find it,” Neale continued. “The cliff curves ‘round, in an ‘s’ shape, like. T’
a passin’ ship, they don’t see the passageway through, like you don’t now. They
j’st see the cliffs. It’s not ‘til yer get there, right up in front a the rocks,
an’ yer about t’ crash, that yer see the passage, like.” With a nod, Peter
forced a swallow.
‘I hope I can trust this guy,’ Peter worried, as sweat trickled
down his temple. Squinting his sight at the sanded cliff face, Peter turned the
wheel of the ship several prongs. His heart rapped against his ribcage, as they
sped closer. Holding his breath, Peter’s eyes bulged wide, as the bow crept
closer to the cliff edge. “You sure we’re not just going to crash?” Peter
exclaimed, forcing another swallow. ‘What if he’s mad I left Blagden behind?’
Peter cried. His heart leapt to his throat. ‘He’s going to kill us all.’
“Yer have me word, Captain Petey,” nodded Neale, placing a
hand upon Peter’s right shoulder. Warmth slithered through Peter’s stomach at
the title, ‘Captain’. “I wouldn’t steer yer wrong,” the blond man added. “The crew
‘n’ I want King Valder taken down too. Blagden shoulda been King. We’re on yer
side.”
“Thanks Neale,” Peter nodded, poking the corner of his
mouth up.
“It’ll be an honour sailin’ wiv yer, Captain Petey,” Beady
told him, appearing at Peter’s left. Turning to his left, Peter smiled at Beady
and Arad, whom he recognised from their mission upon Motorus Relicta. Arad gave
Peter a nod.
“We’re with yer, Cap’in Petey,” added Bones, the Serpent’s
Tongue chef, stood beside Neale, on Peter’s right.
“Thank you men,” Peter told them with a nod. “I welcome
any ideas you men may have, but we need to work together to take Valder down.”
“Aye,” shouted Arad and Bones.
“We’ve got yer back, Captain,” Neale told him, with a nod.
Steading the ship, Peter guided the crew through the
winding arch of the cliffs. ‘Who’d have thought it,’ Peter mused, as they made
their way through the rocky imprisonment and out into the briny blue sea. ‘The
cliffs create an optical illusion that there’s no way in.’ Once through the
clearing, Peter arched his head behind him, looking back at Moonstone Fortress.
‘I wonder how many of Valder’s crew know that trick?’ he worried, as he sailed
on.
With a small ship, Peter and his crew sailed through the
Banhaven Peak waters, at speed. The lighter, smaller vessel picked up speed
unimaginable on the Serpent’s Tongue or the Sea Wolf. As darkness befell them,
Peter sent his crew off to rest. Keeping an eye to the western star, Peter
sailed on through the night.
*
As
light crept into the sky, the pebbled grey clouds thickened into a bubble of
deep mauve, upon the horizon. Waves lashed up on the stern of the ship. The
current tilted them starboard side. Pulse pounded at Peter’s temple. Gripping
the wheel tight, Peter lost his footing, as he allowed the ship to dip towards
the sea. As waves crashed over the starboard gunwale, the ship bobbed back up. Squinting,
as a beam of light cracked through the clouds, Peter rubbed a hand to his eyes.
Racing towards the helm, a blond waft of hair flickered
into Peter’s vision. As the boat swayed against the choppy tide, the pirate
stumbled into Peter, clasping a hand on the captain’s shoulder. “We’re catchin’
up,” Neale exclaimed. “Beady’s been keepin’ watch, like. He said Sirená
Pectram’s dead ahead.” Peter nodded.
“Can I trust you men around the sirens?” asked Captain
Peter.
“If it means stoppin’ King Valder,” Neale replied, with a
nod.
“Good,” Peter grumbled. “Round the men up,” he ordered.
“No one leaves my sight.”
As the storm rumbled on, Peter slowed the ship, as he guided
it through the rocks, towards the sirens’ serpent shaped calling station. Anchoring
their vessel, Peter placed Neale at the helm, as he approached the taffrail, at
the peak of the ship’s front quarter deck. Rain lashed down, spattering on the
empty rock before them. Peter’s brow puckered. Edging towards the rim of the
bow, Peter peered over and squinted a glance across the seabed. Throwing his
head over his shoulder, Peter shouted back at his crew, “Any idea where the
sirens are?” The pirates shook their heads. “Any idea how to call them, when
they’re under the sea?” Again, the pirates shook their heads.
“This ain’t good,” Bones muttered, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” agreed Neale. “Coralina’s always ‘ere, waiting ta
sing sailors astray. They sense a man comin’ a mile away.” Striding back
towards his crew, Peter clawed a hand threw his hair and puffed out an exhale.
“I don’t like this Cap’in. I don’t like it at all,” the pirate confessed.
“Me either,” Bones muttered, shuddering against the icy
gusts and thunderous downpour.
“We sail on,” Peter declared, as the crew looked to him
for answers. “Loosen the main sail,” he bellowed, as a gusted tugged them west.
“We’ll pick up speed, with the wind on our side.”
Swaying through the waters, the wind howled against them.
Ominous clouds circled above. Thunder rumbled. The current dragged them
starboard. “The whirlpool!” cried Beady from the crow’s nest. “It’s pullin’ us
in.” Peter’s heart pounded. The bow dipped. Waves lashed over the peak. Tilting
starboard, the boat slipped towards the sea. Hooking an arm over the gunwale,
the sea dragged the ship towards the eyes of the spiral.
“Look!” bellowed Bones, over the shrieking gusts. Throwing
his head to the left, Peter saw the trembling hands of the cook, point an arm
out to sea, over the portside gunwale. “It’s Moonrock Island!” gasped the cook.
“King Valder’s there now. He’s performing the ritual!”
Lightning flashed. The sky rumbled. Waves lashed over the
starboard gunwale. “Neale!” Peter yelled, as the steering wheel whizzed
clockwise. “Help!” Peter called. Scrunching his face, Peter’s grip on the
prongs of the steering wheel protruded bulging blue veins from his palms. He
held his breath, as he tugged. Grunts escaped through his gritted teeth, as
Peter’s face turned red. Throwing himself at the helm, Neale grabbed the two
prongs, above Peter’s hands and heaved the steering wheel anti-clockwise. “Drag
the cannon portside!” Peter yelled, over his shoulder, at Arad. “Bones, help
him.”
Gusts lashed at the sails. Waves pounded against the hull.
Rumbles vibrated in the clouds above. Flashes flickered across the sky. Rain
thundered on deck. “The current’s too strong!” Bones yelled, grabbing onto the
ratlines, as the boat swayed starboard. The waves circled them, dragging them
deeper towards the eye of the whirlpool. Alert, Peter’s heart raced, as he and
Neale flung the prongs of the steering wheel anti-clockwise. A spark of green
crackled portside. Shouts carried over the ship. ‘Moonrock Island,’ Peter
gasped. His heart leapt into his throat, as he threw his head portside. A
figure stood in the centre of the seven stones, holding a hand to the sky. Peter’s
insides spiralled. Bolts of green lightning crackled towards the man on the
island. “We’re too late!” Peter yelled. “Look!”
“King Valder!” Neale cried.
“The ritual!” Arad shouted, throwing himself into the
portside taffrail. “He’s done it.”
“We’re dead,” muttered Bones.
Waves frothed around them. The ship vibrated. Gasping,
Peter’s eyes widened, as Neale’s frightened face met his. The sea slashed their
ship portside. “Grab hold a something!” Peter cried, as they flung across the
waters. The crew darted into separation. With his hands clawed around the
ratlines, Peter’s nails daggered into his palms. He squeezed his eyes tight.
Darkness. His stomach swirled, feeling the boat tip portside. His legs swung
from the floor. As his back flung into the main mast, Peter gasped for a
breath, pinching his lips together.
Wood splintered. Vibration trundled through his bones. As
the sea engulfed him, Peter held his breath, scrunching his face up tight.
Thud! His head hit the ground. A groan escaped him, as Peter squinted his eyes
open. The ground grazed his cheek. Staggering to his feet, Peter’s heart flopped
to his stomach. Their boat had crashed, onto the shore of Moonrock Island.
Throwing his head over his shoulder, Peter spotted Neale, washed up at his
side. “You alright?” Peter asked. Neale nodded.
“You?” asked the pirate. Peter nodded back.
“Where’s Vlader’s men?” Peter asked, spotting the pirate
king, alone, at the cluster of rocks.
“Probably killed them,” replied Neale, with a shrug. “More
men for his army.”
“What about his ship?” Peter asked. Neale’s eyes widened.
His mouth dropped open. Pointing a hand over Peter’s shoulder, Neale froze,
rooted to the spot. Turning to the sea, Peter staggered back. The sea mounted
up, towering over him. Waves rose, spiralling around them. Stumbling back,
Peter’s heart rapped at his ribcage. Wooden beams rose from the seabed. His
eyes widened. His chest quaked. Hovering a hand at the hilt of his sword,
Peter’s bottom lip trembled. Rising from the spiralling waters, a triple
masted, five decked ship emerged. Water streamed over the edges of the ship, as
it sprang up from the depths of the sea.
Crackles of green lightning darted into the sea. Bubbles
surfaced. Groans echoed. Heads bobbed over the sea’s surface. Shuffling towards
Valder, bodies rose from the sea depth. Peter’s insides knotted, spiralling in
a circumbendibus. His chest quaked. ‘People are rising from the dead,’ he
cried, as his knees knocked together. Thudding trembled at his temples. Acid
frothed up his stomach. Turning toward Valder, an involuntary squeak escaped
Peter’s voice box. His heart raged. His blood bubbled through his body.
Snarling his nose, Peter yelled, “No!” as he raced towards the pirate king.
Swiping his stolen sword, of Blagden’s, from its sheath, Peter swung it at the
pirate. Growling, King Valder roared, as he flung his hand to his weapon and
clashed his steel against Peter’s.
“You!” roared the pirate king. “How did you escape?”
Snarling his nose at the pirate, Peter pressed both hands to his hilt and leant
his strength onto his blade. “Ha! A scrawny little kid thinks he can defeat
me?” scoffed the king. Seeping a breath through gritted teeth, Peter groaned,
as he swayed forwards onto his blade.
“He’s not alone!” shouted a voice from behind. Valder gasped.
Peter flung his head over his left shoulder. Neale, Beady, Arad and Bones
charged towards King Valder, swords in the air.
“Traitors!” growled Valder, striking his sword out, across
his chest. Staggering forwards, upon Valder’s release from their clashing
blades, Peter stumbled to his knees. His eyes widened, as he swayed towards the
six foot deep hole that he and Captain Blagden had dug days earlier. Gasping,
Peter spun his head towards the pirate king.
With a war cry, Neale threw himself at Valder. As their
blades clashed, Valder staggered back. The ground trembled. Beady and Bones
trundled towards Valder’s right. Arad skidded across the ground, swiping at the
pirate’s left. Cursing, Valder staggered back. Throwing his left hand out to
steady his balance, King Valder swiped his sabre across each of his attackers’
swords. Staring at the pirate king, Peter gasped. Valder’s left hand held a palm-sized
rock that glistened against the shimmer of the tide.
‘The moonstone!’ Peter realised, as his brow shot up.
‘It’s complete.”
“Take that!” roared Beady, jolting his fine-bladed sabre
into the pirate king’s waist. Swiping his blade at his attacker, Valder wavered
his left arm back, behind himself, to steady his balance. A fire burnt in
Peter’s chest. With a war cry, Peter threw himself towards King Valder. Leaping
onto the pirate’s back, Peter flung his arms around Valder’s shoulders.
“Get offa me!” growled the self-proclaimed Pirate King, as
he staggered back.
A green flash flickered overhead. Thunder rumbled. Peter’s
crew raced to his side, as he toppled Valder to the ground. Skidding towards
them, Neale booted the moonstone from the king’s hand. The glimmering rock
hurtled through the air. “Nooo!” screamed Valder, as he scrambled to his feet.
Arad swung his sword at Valder, blocking the captain’s course for the stone.
Spinning on his heels, Valder whirled himself around, to face Peter. “You!” he
growled, snarling his nose, as he lunged, swiping his sword at Peter. Peter
darted at the pirate. As their swords clashed, Peter ducked beneath Valder’s
swing. Skidding across the ground, mud sprayed up, as Peter scrambled to his
knees. His heart crashed at his chest. Throwing his head over his shoulder,
Valder’s snarled nose appeared before him. Peter’s heart dropped to his
stomach. A shudder crept up his back. He snapped his eyes tight. Clang. The
clashing of steel twanged in his ears. Squinting his eyes open, a blur of blond
swept by.
“The moonstone,”
Neale cried, as he threw his weight into his strike. King Valder grunted in
front of him, his sodden mane of hair billowing in the wind.
“Captain!” yelled Arad, as he ran at Valder’s left. “It’s
over there!” he exclaimed with raised eyebrows, gesturing with a nod to Peter’s
left.
A shimmering twinkled, under the dew of the rain. Scraping
a hand across his forehead, Peter slopped his sodden curls from his eyes, as he
scrambled towards the stone. Grunts and shouts echoed behind him. Steel
clashed. Peter dropped to his knees skidding across the mud to the stone.
Holding a hand out to steady himself over the crystal, a gasp escaped him. His
heart panged. Connected together, a crescent curved around the left edge of the
rock. Etched across its surface, a five-sided star stretched across it. ‘Just
like in the tree,’ Peter realised, as image of the tree bark engraving, back on
Shipwreck Cove, flashed to his mind. The old man. His shoes. Peter’s stomach spiralled.
His intestines lathered. Sliding a hand into his jacket, Peter pulled out a
pistol. His vision blurred. His hand tremored.
“No!” screeched a shriek, from behind him.
“Captain!” came a cry.
“Peter, look out!” yelled another. Squinting his right
eye, Peter lined the barrel of the gun up, against the stone. His heart hammered.
He pulled the hammer back. Pulse pounded in his ear drums. He twinged his
finger to the trigger. The raging in his chest loudened. Everything slowed. The
noise around him drained into static. He snapped his eyes tight. Boom! Crack. The
trembling force caused Peter to fall back. He pierced his eyes open. The stone
had shattered. Seven pieces scattered across the ground before him.
“No!” Valder cried. Peter flung his head towards the cry,
with a gasp, as Valder raced towards him.
Scooping up the fragments, Peter clambered to his feet.
“Captain watch out!” Neale called, from behind him. Alert, Peter leapt into the
air, swinging his sword. Clang. Valder’s gritted teeth, wild eyes and snarled
nose stared deep into Peter’s soul, as the pirate locked his blade with
Peter’s. A lump lodged in Peter’s throat. His arm trembled.
‘It’s all in the wrist,’ Peter told himself, with a shaky
breath. ‘It’s all in the wrist.’ Stretching his arm back, with the moonstone
pieces tight in his grip, Peter swung his arm forwards and flicked his wrist. Glimmers
of creamy-ivory, shimmering pewter and an adularescence glow of the
deep night sky soared through the air, towards the sea. Skimming across the
surface, three times, the stones skipped towards the whirlpool. Waves lashed.
The pieces divided. With a splosh, the sea swallowed them.
Thunder rumbled. King Valder’s weight pressed into Peter’s
sword. His arm trembled. Throwing both hands to his hilt, Peter grunted, as he fought
back. His’s chest shuddered. The ground quaked. Feet pounded towards them.
Neale, Arad, Beady and Bones jabbed their swords towards the king. Valder leapt
back. Swiping a dagger from his belt, Valder wavered both blades at his
traitors. Circling his opponents, King Valder hovered the point of his blades
across each of the men in turn.
The sea bubbled. Waves crashed. Green flashes of lightning
crackled into the sea. Crumbling under the waves, the moonstone’s rising ghost
ship collapsed. “No!” Valder cried, as the sea engulfed it. Lashing over the
seven rocks, waves washed over them. Turning his head to his sinking ship, Valder’s
mouth dropped, as his rising minions crumbled to ashes.
“Fight me!” ordered Peter, daggering the point of his
sabre into the pirate king’s chest.
“Fight yer?” chortled the king. “I’ll slay yer.” With
Neale at his side, Peter swiped his steel against Valder’s sword, whilst Neale
jabbed at the dagger. “You’ll never stop me!” roared Valder, hunching over his
blades. Valder shuddered a gasp, as icy, metal swept around his ankles.
Throwing his chin down, Valder’s eyes widened spotting shackles at this ankles.
“Come an’ get me?” scorned Bones, waving his weapon-less
hands at the king.
“With pleasure,” growled the king. Thud! Valder dropped to
his knees. His sword and dagger clattered to the ground. Watching Peter and
Bones swipe the pirate king’s weapons, Valder let out a growl. Snap. Shackles
locked at his wrists. Throwing his head around, to the men circling him, Valder
foamed at the mouth. “Untie me!” he raged, as he clambered to his feet. “I
order you!”
“You order me?”
Peter repeated. “Your days of ruling the seas are finished,” Peter snarled in
Valder’s face. As Peter squared up to the pirate, Valder shuffled back. Peter’s
crew joined their captain, at his sides. “You’re a prisoner of Castellus now,”
Peter warned his captive, taking another threatening step towards Valder. “Prepare
to be hanged.” Upon Peter’s words, Valder shuffled another step back. His foot
slipped. He toppled backwards. With a splash, the pirate fell into the
rain-filled pit that Peter and Blagden had dug days earlier.
Returning his sword to its sheath, Peter arched his head
to the sky. Beams of light cracked through the clouds. Looking out to the
horizon, a ship sailed towards them, from the east. Peter’s eyes widened. “Keep
watch over him,” Peter warned his crew, as he trudged back towards the remains
of their boat. With a hand to his brow, Peter squinted out to sea. The bow of
the unknown vessel twisted towards them. ‘They don’t look as though they’re
about to attack us,’ Peter thought, with a hum. “But how’d they navigate
through the rocks and the storm? We almost died.’ Having scanned the immediate
ground of debris, but spotted nothing but splintered wood, Peter slipped off
his jacket. Holding onto the arms of the coat, he let the fabric flap out, in
front of him. “I hope this works,” Peter muttered to himself, as the ship grew
nearer. “Ahoy there!” he called, as he raised his billowing jacket above his head.
As the ship got closer, Peter noticed it was similar in
size to the one he had stolen from Moonstone Fortress. Footsteps trundles
towards him. Peter shifted his head to his left, as Arad appeared at his side.
“Valder’s getting’ angrier,” Arad exclaimed, pressing his hands to his knees,
panting.
“Hopefully reinforcement has arrived,” Peter told him,
nudging his head towards the nearing ship. “Help me flag ‘em down.”
“But we don’t know if they’re friend or foe,” warned Arad.
“We don’t have a ship either,” Peter reminded him. “If you
wanna float back to Shipwreck Cove on a piece a driftwood, that’s up t’ you.
Anyone sailing ‘round these parts either has a pretty decent boat and crew or
is completely crazy. As your captain, it is my mission to get my crew back to
safe grounds, whether we hitch a ride off these guys, or we steal their ship
and sail away,” Peter felt a shudder creep up his spine, as he added the last
part, in hopes of persuading his pirate crew.
“Aye,” muttered Arad, with a nod. “Yer a good captain t’
sail under.” Jumping up and down, Arad waved his hands over his head, hoping to
assist Peter with flagging down the travellers.
“Ahoy men!” came a call from the ship, as a large man,
with dark hair and a dark complexion, appeared over the gunwale. “What yer be
doin’ out ‘ere?”
“Brandon?” gasped Peter, as her ran closer to the ship.
“Brandon, is that you?”
“Petey?!” Brandon cried. “Petey, we found yer.”
“Your alive?!” exclaimed Peter, feeling a lump lodge in
his throat.
“Takes a lot t’ get ridda me, lad,” the large man
chuckled. “Yer should know that.”
“We need help,” Peter told him, as the ship came to a halt,
beside Moonrock Island. “We stopped the ritual. We shattered the moonstone.
We’ve got Valder prisoner. Our ship was destroyed. Are the others with you? Can
you help? I need to get my men back safely to Shipwreck Cove. I can’t leave
them here.”
“I’m sure we can lend yer a hand or two,” chuckled
Brandon. “Ain’t that right lads?” Four heads neared the gunnel.
“Sanders! Hughes! Lawson! Captain Halaken!” Peter
exclaimed. “You’re here? All of you? And you’re alive.”
“Enough with the questions,” barked Arad. “Are yer here to
rescue us or not?”
“Let us check with our captain,” replied Halaken with a
nod.
As the cluh-clonk of Halaken’s boots faded, the heads of
Peter’s friends departed too. Shuffling his jacket back on, Peter exchanged
glances with Arad, whilst they waited for the ship’s response. A pair of
footsteps, with a heavier, faster strides, grew near. Squaring his shoulders,
Peter swallowed away his nerves. A head appeared at the gunwale. “Petey, my
boy, you did it,” beamed a tall man, with long dark hair. “I never shoulda
doubted you.” Dipping his head, the man removed his tricorn hat.
“Captain Blagden?” Peter gasped, with a puckered brow. “How
did you- Why’re they- What happened?”
“What happened to me? I
should be the one askin’ the questions,” chuckled Blagden. “What are you men
doing here? Where’s your ship? Where’s King Valder?”
“If you’re able to take us to Castellus, or back to
Shipwreck Cove at the very least, we’ll tell you along the way,” said Peter.
Blagden nodded, giving Peter a soft smile.
“Welcome aboard lads,” he beamed.
“We ‘ave a captive too,” Arad added. “Yer gots a cell we
can lock ‘im in.”
“A prisoner?” frowned Blagden. “Did Beady call mutiny?” he
sighed, scratching a hand to his left ear. “I was worried he might.”
“Actually captain,” Peter muttered with a furrowed brow, as
he ran a hand across the back of his neck. “It’s King Valder.”
“Valder,” growled Arad, as he spat at his feet. “He
doesn’t deserve the title King.”
“Neale, Beady and Bones are watching over him,” Peter
explained. “He’s in the pit we dug, when we were last here.”
“I see,” Blagden muttered, with a nod. “And the lads are
okay with this?” he asked Arad.
“Aye,” replied the pirate with a nod. “You should be king,
not that cheatin’, dirty, good fer nothin’-”
“My,” Blagden gasped.
“Arad, go help the others with our prisoner,” Peter
instructed, as he gazed over to his crew. Turning to the ship, he asked, “Captain
Blagden, will your crew assist? I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Aye,” Blagden nodded. “You’ve become quite the leader.
I’m proud of you, Petey.” Peter felt his cheeks burn, as he beamed back at
Blagden.
.
- Josie -
