MF - Saviour of Ships - #5 Pillage the Village

 

(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)

 

Pillage the Village

Brandon’s heart sank. “No!” he cried, as his eyes widened. “No! It can’t be!” Sailng past Fructi Forté, the ship steered south-east. Staggering past the galley chimney, Brandon threw himself against the larboard gunwale. His insides churned. Locking his fingers around the gunwale, the veins bulged out of his skin.

“What’s wrong?” cried Peter, stumbling over the mop bucket to skid to Brandon’s side. Scratching a hand through his scalp, Sanders followed behind.

“I demand t’ speak t’ the cap’in!” Brandon roared. Spinning around, the ribbon fell from Brandon’s hair. “I demand t’ speak t’ the captain!” he bellowed again. Snarling his nose, his mane of dark hair billowed at his shoulders.

Approaching the portside edge, Sanders threw his head out to sea. His shoulders dropped, as he turned around. “We have a problem,” he muttered to Peter, as his heart thudded. Running a hand across the back of his neck, Peter swallowed at the lump forming at his Adam’s apple.

“The cap’in,” Brandon raged at a passing crew member. Lashing his fist out at the man, Brandon gripped him by the throat of his jacket. “The cap’in,” he growled. “Where is ‘e?” Shaking under Brandon’s wild eyes, the pirate’s bottom lip quivered. “I said, where is ‘e?”

“I’m here,” announced Captain Blagden, clambering up from the gangway. “Drop him,” he ordered. Brandon’s snarled stare twisted to the pirate captain. “I said, drop him!” Scrunching his scowl deeper, Brandon let go, shoving the man to his feet. “Now,” sneered the captain, tilting his head to his left, as he neared the trouble maker. “What seems to be the problem?”

Stumbling back, Peter felt his heart thump to his stomach. Gripping his mop tight, he scrapped it across the deck. As Peter shuffled behind the captain, his chest hammered. His vision hazed, as he stared over at Brandon. Looking at his friend’s face, a chill crept up his spine. Brandon’s wild hair, angered eyes and fierce expression made him appear more menacing than some of the pirates Peter had encountered on the Serpent’s Tongue. Feeling his chest pound, Peter lowered his eyes to the deck and continued scrubbing. “Well?” bellowed Blagden. “Out with it, man or it’ll be a keel-haulin’ for you!” Seeping a breath, Peter froze. His eyes widened.

‘Not keel-hauling,’ Peter’s stomach winced. ‘If he’s dragged under the ship…’ a shudder stabbed at his spine. ‘Not Brandon,’ he cried. “Please stop this,” Peter whispered, his voice lost, under the roaring of the sea. “Brandon, please.”

“Turn the ship around!” Brandon roared, stomping a foot forwards.

“Back to your place!” barked Captain Blagden. Jabbing a finger at Brandon, the captain stood his ground.

“I order yer!” Brandon warned. “Yer turn this ship around or-”

“Or what?” snarled the captain, folding his arms with a raised eyebrow.

“Or I’ll slice yer up faster than a mare on caffeine,” Brandon growled. Swiping his bread sword from its sheath.

“No!” Peter winced, as his chest tightened. His arms had stopped scrubbing the deck. He gripped the mop, daggering his nails into its wood.

“Ha! You and what army?” Blagden laughed. Throwing a hand to his stomach, Captain Blagden chortled at the man before him.

“Me!” boomed Sanders, sweeping to Brandon’s side. Gripping the helm of his sword, Sanders swiped it across his body.

“You turn this ship around!” Brandon bellowed. “Now!” Red crept into the corners of his eyes, as the hue of his skin deepened. Peter swallowed, as a bluing vein bulged at Brandon’s temple. “That’s an order!” he wailed.

Shaking his head, Captain Blagden strode towards the mutineers. Peter’s eyes widened and his lips parted, as he watched on in fear. Time slowed. Wind billowed at his friends’ shirts. The vibrations of Captain Blagden’s pounding footsteps sent shudders across the deck. “Do you know what the punishment is for mutiny, gentlemen?” asked the captain as he circled them. Daggered brows and hard stares lined Sanders and Brandon’s faces. Peter could see they did not fear the captain’s threats. Arching his fingers out, on his left hand, Brandon cracked every joint. Sanders let out a growling snarl. Sweeping behind the men, Captain Blagden stopped between them, leant over their shoulders and whispered, “Marooning.”

“No!” Peter wailed, as his mop clattered to the ground. His heart leapt. All eyes shot towards him. His chest trembled. “What’s going on?” he cried. “Tell me!”

“Blagden’s ‘eaded t’ Castellus!” Brandon raged. Gasping, Peter staggered back. His eyes widened, as he turned to the captain. “They’re gunna torch the village!” cried Brandon. “My home. Me family,” his eyes drooped, as he gazed at Peter. His snarl returned. “I won’t let ya do this!” he yelled, spinning around to face Blagden. “I won’t let ya!”

“I’m right behind you,” Sanders told him, with a growl. “He’s gone too far.”

Folding his arms behind his back, the captain chose to not retaliate. “I’ll give you one last chance gentlemen,” he spat. “For the boy’s sake,” he added, taking a glance towards Peter. “Lower your weapons.”

“Over your dead body!” Brandon growled.

“Brandon stop!” Peter cried, throwing his left arm out towards them. Heads twisted towards him. His chest shuddered. His heart panged. Pulse pounded at his temples.

Jerking his head towards Peter, Captain Blagden beamed, “Would you care to join them?” Peter’s breathing shallowed. He tried opening his mouth, but words failed him. Swallowing, Peter shook his head.

“N-n-n-n, no, Sir,” Peter stuttered, shooting his eyes down to his feet. Peter snatched the mop, from the ground and continued circling it into the decking.

“Good boy,” Blagden mused, grinning at Peter. “As fer you two,” he snarled, gripping both Brandon and Sanders up by the backs of their shirts. “Looks like you’ve got a date, between a rock and a hard place.” Jerking their arms, the two men squirmed, swiping their swords at the air. “Moritz!” Captain Blagden boomed, throwing his head over his right shoulder. Boots clattered up a ladder, behind him. A familiar, tanned face protruded up from the gangway, below. Curling the ends of his moustache, Moritz gave a chuckle, witnessing the two men struggle, against the captain’s force.

“Yes, my captain,” Moritz nodded, as he strode onto the deck.

“Show these gentlemen to the rowboat,” Blagden ordered. Bending his elbows, Captain Blagden shoved Brandon and Sanders into his first mate. Peter’s heart lunged into his ribcage. Stiffening his arms, Peter shifted his eyes towards the shoes of his friends. His chest shook, as his breathing grew heavy. “As for you,” Blagden’s eyes widened, as they landed on Peter. “You’re a comin’ with me.”

 

*

 

The anchor smashed into the sea. Two round-built men stood on the balconied portside to the quarter deck, winding a pair of cranking chains anticlockwise. The chains clattered, as the rowboat lowered into the sea. Following the captain’s orders, a stumpy man raced forward, between the two crankers, and looped a knotted rope ladder over two bungs on the gunwale. Arching his head over the edge, the man let the ladder trail overboard.

With their hands and ankles shackled, rope knotted around Brandon and Sanders’ extremities. Captain Blagden cackled, as he jabbed the tip of his heavy cavalry saber into Brandon’s spine. Snapping his eyes tight, Peter seeped a breath through gritted teeth. Bigby appeared at the captain’s other side, prodding Sanders with his zulfiqar. Squinting his eyes open, Peter continued to grit his teeth and ball up his fists, as he watched the double-spiked, steel blade stab into Sanders’ spine. The captain gave a jab of his saber. Howling, Brandon hopped forwards. “Cower before your captain!” roared Blagden. “Be he an example for all you here,” projected the captain, addressing the sea of crew members that gathered on deck to witness. “For if any of you even think about mutiny…” pausing, he glanced around at the bodies surrounding him. Not an inch of the ship’s wooden framework could be seen through the bumble of buccaneers. “Marooning will be the last thing on my mind. Consider a straight shooting or a long keel-hauling.” Gasps and murmured mutters filtered into Captain Blagden’s ears. A smirk prodded into the corner of his left cheek.

Striding around to face his captives, Captain Blagden pressed his face up against Brandon’s. Stabbing his index finger against the corner of Brandon’s left eye, the captain, dragged his nail down his skin. Peter clasped a hand to his mouth, as his eyes bulged from their sockets. As Brandon winced, Peter snapped his lids shut. His stomach flopped. Cheers broke out amongst the crew. Shaking a breath, Peter squinted a glance at his friend. Crimson blood etched across half of his face. Hands clapped. Feet stomped. Curving around Brandon’s cheek, Blagden’s nail came to a halt at the left corner of the large man’s lips. Peter’s eyes shot towards Bigby. Beating his hands the loudest, Bigby’s face bared a similar scar to the engraving that Captain Blagden had just etched into Brandon. A shudder crept up Peter’s spine, as he shuffled back, gripping his hands to his face.

“Watch where ya steppin’!” growled a buccaneer behind him, as Peter’s heel came into contact with the pirate’s toes.

“S-s-s-s, sorry,” Peter stuttered, leaping away from the man.

“Petey,” roared the captain. “You’re comin’ with me.” Throwing his head in the captain’s direction, Peter’s right knee buckled. He staggered forwards. “Right,” Blagden growled. “Into the boat.” Nodding his head towards the portside gunwale, Captain Blagden’s scowl hardened, as Peter hesitated. “Was I not clear?” raged the captain. “These men have committed mutiny. Look at them,” he roared on. Taking a step behind Brandon, the captain clawed a hand through the man’s dark mane, scrunched his hand around the back of the prisoner’s shirt, and lunged his body towards Peter. With a sharp sniff, Peter’s brow shot up. Knots spiralled in his stomach. His eyes pierced open as his friend’s blooded face was forced in front of his. “Is this what you want, Petey?” Blagden’s voice boomed in Peter’s ears. “Do you want this to happen to you?” Swallowing, Peter’s bottom lip trembled.

“Do the right thing, Petey,” Brandon whispered. “I messed up.” Blood oozed down Brandon’s face. Disfigured, the left of his face was a beaten blur. The acid from Peter’s stomach shot up to his throat, as he hunched forwards. Clasping one hand to his mouth, he threw the other around his waist.

“Well?” growled the captain. “What’ll it be?”

“I’m sorry,” Brandon croaked at Peter, as Blagden shook him. Lowering his eyes from Brandon, Peter arched his head away from him.

“I’m with you captain,” Peter muttered with a nod, as he scrunched his hands up, and balled them to his sides.

Fumbling down the knotted, rope ladder, Peter’s insides quaked. His heart rattled against his skeleton. Sweat dripped from his brow. His intestines twisted and churned into knots. Licking his lips, his tongue scraped against his sundried skin. His chest tremored. Reaching the boat, his left leg wobbled out, as the vessel bobbed with the tide. He flopped back, collapsing onto of the oars with a thud. Shuffling to his knees, Peter swiped the oars and seated himself in the centre of the boat. Swallowing, his tongue scraped against the roof of his mouth. As he lowered his eyes to the oars, he attempted to slow his shallow breaths, while he waited for the others to join him. Brandon was first. Although Peter did not look up at him, the injured man’s salty, metallic stench wafted into his nostrils. Shifting his sight to the man’s shoes, Peter confirmed his assumption. Lowering his chin to his chest, Peter inhaled through his nose. Closing his eyes, his hearing enhanced. Another set of footsteps neared. With each clambering step, a swooshing followed, as the man thumped into the hull. The thudding grew closer. With the weight of a third man in the boat, it dipped towards the sea. Snapping his eyelids open, Peter wavered his arms about, as he tried to find his balance. As a man waddled into the space beside Brandon, Peter’s eyes locked with Sanders’. “Please Peter,” Sanders whispered. “Follow Blagden’s orders. Find out what’s going on. Tell Captain Halaken what happened. Save Shipwreck Cove. Stop the pirates.” The corners of Peter’s eyes sparkled. Pinching his eyes tight, he nodded.

“Right,” boomed Captain Blagden, as he dropped into the boat. “Petey, you sit up here, by me,” he told him. “The prisoners shall row.” Nodding, Peter followed the captain’s orders. Clambering to his feet, Peter flapped his arms about, as he and Brandon traded places. Sanders shifted into the space beside Brandon and Captain Blagden perched in the space beside Peter. “Row!” barked the captain to his prisoners. “You shall row to your own doom.” Fumbling about for the oars, Brandon and Sanders scratched at the poles, as they tried to shuffle the stick into their hands. Rope burnt at their wrists, as they lunged the oars into the sea.

The boat bobbed in silence. Crossing his right ankle over his left knee, Captain Blagden stared ahead at their destination. With the fruit forest, Fructi Forté, in sight to Peter’s left, they rowed towards a lone, sanded lump a little in the distance, to the right. Keeping his head low, Peter laced his hands together at his lap. Staring at his hands, he rolled one thumb over the other. Grunts and breath-seeps of pain stung through Peter’s ears. Creasing his eyes, he focused on the rolling motion of his thumbs. One over the other. The boat bobbed closer towards Brandon and Sanders’ death. Right thumb over his left. He was never going to see his only two friends again. Left thumb over his right. ‘If I’m not careful,’ he warned himself, ‘Captain Blagden will maroon me too.’ Right thumb over his left. His heart shuddered. Left thumb over his right. He was alone now. The safety of Castellus and Shipwreck Cove depended on him.

“Mount here,” barked the captain, as the rowboat scraped against the sand. Leaping out of the boat, the captain dug his nails into Brandon’s right shoulder. “Up you,” he growled. “You too,” he ordered, to Sanders. As both men staggered out of the boat, Blagden unbuttoned the top two brass buttons of his jacket, and dove his hand inside. “Don’t say I’m not an honourable man,” he sneered, removing his hand from his jacket to reveal a pistol. “One bullet,” he added, swirling the trigger guard around his index finger. “Don’t waste it.” Turning his back to his former crewmen, Captain Blagden strode back towards the rowboat. “It’s part of my own personal collection,” he added over his shoulder. Dropping back into the boat, the captain grabbed one of the oars. Stepping into the space beside him, Peter did the same. “Let’s watch your friends fade away together, shall we?” Blagden beamed, digging his oar against the sand and lunging the boat off the mound. Peter’s brows sloped. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, as he dove his oar into the sea. Drifting backwards, his friends began to fade.

 

*

 

Returning to the Serpent’s Tongue, Captain Blagden kept close guard on Peter. Blagden remained about the ship, watching over the deck scrubbers. As soon as one man came close enough to whisper to another, the captain raced towards their conversation, in a shot. Stomping about the deck, he stretched his head over the starboard gunwale. Land drew close. From the quarter deck, Captain Blagden tugged upon the back stays ropes. Cupping his right hand around his mouth, he shouted towards the crow’s nest. “Coor,” he called up. “How much longer?” Arching a hand to his brow, a scrawny skeleton, flattened his spyglass into his shirt pocket and threw a leg over the crow’s nest. As the scrawny man staggered down the shroud ratline, he flung his arms out towards the nesting at the fighting top. Dropping into the balcony, the pirate flopped his stomach over the barrier.

Cupping his left hand around his ear he called down, “Say ‘at agen cap’in.” Rolling his eyes, the captain sighed.

“I said,” Blagden bellowed. “How much longer ‘til we reach Castellus?”

“Castellus?” repeated the pirate with a frown. “About an hour,” he told him with a shrug.

“An hour?” gasped the captain. Nodding up at Coor, he left the man to scramble back up the main, top, gallant mast and into his crow’s nest.

Stomping about the ship, the captain called for all men, which were not rowing, to be on deck. Bodies bumbled about, bashing into one another, in attempts to meet Blagden’s demand. Mops clattered to the ground. Buckets were kicked aside, as men trampled towards their leader. Stood on a raised platform in front of the captain’s quarters, Captain Blagden and his first mate, Moritz, waited with folded arms for his men to assemble. Bands of bodies gathered. Creeping up towards the beam that secured the weight of the poop deck above, Peter shimmied his way through the crowd to near the captain. His heart raced against his ribcage, as he increased his pace. His eyes flickered from bulging beer bellies, to gruesome gouges. Staggering, Peter pushed his palms against the decking to steady his balance. Brushing against a man’s leg, scarred shins, torn rags and a tar-stumped elbow flashed before him. Scrambling to the front of the group, gapped smiles, eye patches and blistered boils blared in front of him. Feeling his stomach churn, Peter sucked his stomach in, as he reached out for the beanpole near the captain. Blagden caught eye of Peter and nodded his head towards him. As his heart panged, Peter nodded back.

“Men,” boomed the captain. Voices froze. Breaths were held. Silence. The sea roared beneath them. “We will be arriving at Castellus within the hour,” he announced. Fists punched into the sky, as cheers rang out. Holding his hands above his head, the captain called for silence. “For those of you who do not know, we have a little matter t’ settle with the harbouring land. Do as you wish t’ the townsmen, but leave the Eastern-Star Inn to me,” he warned.

“Here, here!” cried a cheer from the crowd. Shouts broke out and the crew began chanting.

“Show them no mercy!” the captain beamed. “From orders of King Valder: pillage the village!”

Roars of cheers, excitement and bellowed laughter rang out over the ship. Shuddering, Peter flopped against the pole. Gripping his biceps, he hugged himself tight, as the lump in his throat closed up. ‘My home land,’ Peter cried to himself. ‘They’re going to destroy everything.’ Sliding down the pole, he plonked onto the ground. The cheers and shouts of joy from the crew washed over him. His heart sank. ‘What can I do?’ he cried. ‘Brandon… Sanders…’ His bottom lip trembled. Salt stung at the corners of his eyes. Scraping a hand through his hair, his head flopped to his palm. His chest heaved. ‘And the Eastern-Star,’ he sobbed. ‘What’s to become of it?’

“Petey,” beamed a voice above him. Peter’s heart startled, as he flinched, throwing his head up. “Need a hand?” asked the captain, holding out his right arm to help Peter up. Shaking in a breath, Peter nodded. Gripping the captain’s hand, Peter clasped his left hand on Blagden’s forearm and staggered to his feet. “You alright lad?” Blagden chuckled, patting Peter on the back.

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled with a shudder, trying to shake away his fear.

“You don’t seem alright,” noted the captain, throwing his right arm around Peter’s shoulder.

“I just used to work at the Eastern-Star,” he mumbled. “I have a few memories there.” Crossing his fingers, Peter slipped his hand into his pocket. “No big deal,” he told the captain. “What do you need me to do?”

“Glad you asked, lad,” Blagden beamed. “That’s why I like you – always after the next challenge. I’ve got something special fer you – think you can handle it?”

“I’ll give it my best, Sir,” Peter nodded, squeezing his crossed fingers tight.

“I want you to take a group an’ lead an attack,” Blagden told him with a grin. As his eyes widened, Peter swallowed hard. “‘Ey, it’s just a small group, about ten or twelve of ‘em.”

“Y-you w-w, want me… t-to lead a group?” stuttered Peter with a frown. “Now?” Throwing his left arm to his stomach, Captain Blagden chuckled.

“Yer a good lad. Smart. Intuitive. Remind me a me, when I was your age,” the captain beamed at him. “Wish I’d have been given a chance. No one dared look me twice over ‘til I was at least thirty-two,” he grumbled. “Besides, I promised Lela I’d look after ya.” Ruffling his knuckles against Peter’s curls, he chuckled, “Not much higher command I can offer ya, than manning your own group.” Feeling Peter’s shoulders droop underneath him, Blagden added, “It’ll get yer a higher cut of any loot we swipe,” in a sing-song tone. “Yer could score Lela somethin’ pretty with that.” As the stale stench of rum seeped from Blagden’s throat, the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck began to tingle. Forcing a swallow, Peter turned to the captain and nodded. “Atta boy,” Blagden beamed. “You’ll be captain of yer own ship in no time, lad. Mark my words!”

Bodies raced around deck, gathering swords, shields and pistols. Barrels were rolled along the quarter deck, crashing into the gunwale. “Careful!” yelled Moritz. Jarring his neck towards him, Peter flinched. “You’ll scatter the powder.” The man muttered an apology, as he dipped his head, before heaving another barrel. Leaping up onto the steps leading to the poop deck, Peter grabbed onto the ratlines to steady his balance. As he sunk down onto the step, he watched on as men ran from port to starboard. Men clambered up from below deck, heaving weapons and armour onto the main ground. Sifting through the gear, Moritz tossed an iron breast plate, a small, single-handed pistol, a powder horn and sheathed cutlass, with a waist strap, at Peter. As the pile plunged into Peter’s stomach, his jaw clamped down on his tongue. Wincing, Peter gave Moritz a firm nod. “Be careful with it,” Moritz growled with a snarl. “That’s some of our best stuff.” Setting his equipment beside him, on the step, Peter nodded again. “Don’t blow it,” spat the captain’s first mate, before skulking off to assign more equipment.

Peter tugged at the neckline of his eggshell coloured shirt, as his eyes shimmied over the equipment, laying at his side. Swiping the sheath, Peter stroked his thumb across the leather covering the arched blade. His palms dampened. Taking a deep breath, he forced a swallow, in attempt to shift the lump lodged in his throat. Cupping the fingers of his left hand around the hilt of the sword, Peter stroked his thumb against the brass. ‘I really don’t want to use this,’ he shuddered. ‘I don’t want to kill anybody.’ As his fingers fumbled to fasten the strap around his waist, images of Lela flashed before him. ‘She has a dagger,’ he reminded himself. His heart thudded. ‘It’s just for self-defence,’ he told himself. Thud-thud. ‘I’ll only use it if I need to.’ Thud-thud. ‘Or to scare innocent people away.’ Thud. His hand clasped around the gun. His intestines spiralled. Grabbing the buttoned-down collar of his earthen jacket, he stuffed the pistol into his inner pocket. As his eyes lay upon the powder horn, he snarled his nose and stuffed it inside his jacket too.

Sat on a step, in a quiet corner of the ship, Peter wriggled his shoulders, allowing his new items to shuffle to a comfortable position on his body. Jerking his shoulders up, a shudder shot down his spine. The spout of the powder horn jabbed at his breast. Scratching a hand against his side, Peter stretched his right arm across himself to grab the iron breast plate. His wrist thudded against his leg. ‘Goodness!’ he gasped. ‘This is heavy.’ Shuffling both hands underneath the slab of iron, Peter heaved it across his lap. ‘How am I supposed to even carry this?’ he cried. ‘Let alone wear it.’ The breast plate curved towards the centre. A rim of round lumps lined the edges of the crest’s plating. Through a loop on either side of the shorter, flat edge, knotted the end of a strand of rope. Hooking his head through the rope, Peter let the slab drape over his chest. Pressing his hands to his knees, he tried to stand. Toppling to his right, Peter flung a hand out towards the wall. His stomach swirled to his chest. Lolling his neck forwards, Peter slipped a hand to the rope, scratching against the back of his neck. ‘Feels like a small child’s dragging me down,’ he wheezed. Rolling his shoulders back, he pressed his chest out. As he slid the rope under his jacket collar, Peter readjusted his posture. Looking down his nose at himself, he sighed. A horn sounded. He gasped, throwing his head to the crow’s nest. One deep toot, followed by two fast, higher notes hummed out over the ship.

“Land ahoy!” bellowed a throaty cry, from above.

“Steady the ship!” barked the captain, from the poop deck. “Men, to your stations!”

 

*

 

Crashing against the harbour, the Serpent’s Tongue cracked against a beam, holding the dock’s wooden framework to the shoreline. Fragments of wood flung through the air. Upon the captain’s bark, men fled from the ship, charging into the village. Wavering their swords about above their heads, the first batch of buccaneers to swarm the land wailed war-like cries, as they shattered windows and spooked horse drawn carriages. The next batch, trampled through the stalls and shacks lining the shore. Peter was head of the third group to wreak damage. Raging down the dock, Peter ordered for his men to raid the woodland on the far right of the village. ‘That should do the least amount of damage,’ he hoped. Slipping behind, Peter allowed fellow pirates to race ahead. His eyes dropped to the ground, as his feet crunched. Seashells shattered beneath the buccaneers’ boots. Shimmering out from the cluster of crunched shell, a deep eggplant-purple sparkled from the centre of a porcelain spiked shell. Peter's heart flipped, as images of Lela flickered across his mind. Crouching down, Peter scooped the Mulberry Drupe up and stuffed it into his pocket. Glancing over his shoulder, Captain Blagden released the fourth batch of pirates, then a fifth and sixth before charging towards the inn, with a band of his best men.

Screams shrieked. Peter shuddered. Keeping his head facing forward, he followed after his band of men. His chest trembled. Glass shattered. Snapping his eyes shut, he squeezed his sword tight. ‘Please don’t make me use this.’ His heart pounded. ‘Please,’ he begged. Swiping through trees and lashing at wildlife, Peter’s group circled their surroundings. Approaching a thick mound of bushes, Peter snuck behind them and dropped to the ground. He held his breath, clasping his hands over his ears. Shouts and jeers from the buccaneers rang over him. Their bellowed laughter and throaty cries echoed off the trunks of trees. His chest pounded. Sweat streaked his back. His stomach lathered. A shrill scream for help swept into Peter’s ears. His chest quaked. ‘What do I do?’ he cried. ‘What do I do?’

Yells of panic pattered his way. His heart crashed into his chest. Shuffling to his knees, Peter stabbed his sword into the ground. With a shaky breath, he clambered to his feet. “Oh no!” cried a woman’s voice from behind him. Throwing his head over his shoulder, a woman with long, wispy hair staggered towards him. “Spare me!” she cried cradling a bundle of rags in her arms. “My baby. Please, don’t harm my baby.”

“I won’t!” Peter gasped, throwing a hand up in surrender. His eyes shifted from her tearstained face to the mass of trees to his right. “Keep running,” he told her. Bellowed roaring raged nearer, from behind her. “There aren’t many men in the forest. Run and don’t look back,” he ordered, throwing a hand to his right. “Run!”

“Thank you,” she cried, throwing one foot in front of the other. As cries for help and screams shrieked over the deep rumbles of laughter and war cries, Peter’s head raced from left to right.

‘I have to get these people to safety,’ he raged. ‘I, at least, have to try.’

Storming through the forest, Peter raced back towards the village. Several more women, with children, staggered in his direction. “Keep running into the forest,” he told the women. “I’ll try to hold them back,” he promised. Spotting a family of a man and his three young children, peering out of a house, all huddled under a large sheet, Peter leapt towards them. Pointing his sword towards the forest, Peter guided them to safety.

Glass shattered, as a table swept through an upstairs window to the Eastern-Star Inn. Throwing his arms across his face, Peter ducked, as he shielded himself. Bang! A gunshot blared behind him. Jumping, Peter leapt towards the forest. Bang! Bang-bang! “No!” he cried, racing through the trees. ‘I just sent people here,’ he sobbed. ‘I thought it was safe.’ Bang! He flinched. The firing was close. Slinking behind a tree, Peter’s heart crashed against his armour. He traded his cutlass over to his right hand and slid his left underneath his armour. Hooking his index finger around the trigger of his pistol, his left trembled, as he pulled his rifle out in front of him. Stretching his head around the tree, Peter seeped in a shaking breath. He shuffled forwards, rustling his cutlass through the bushes.

“Arrrgh!” growled a throaty cry, as another shot fired. Bang! Bang! Dropping to the ground, Peter’s heart panged. Thud! A weight flopped to the ground, on the opposite side of the bushes. With a sharp sniff, a sweet powder lingered in the back of his throat. Shuffling to his feet, Peter swallowed, as his pulse pounded through his head. Shaking his pistol out, ahead of him, Peter sliced at the branches with his sword.

“Petey got ‘im!” cheered a pirate, as his head peered through the bushes, spotting the blooded corpse at Peter’s feet.

“Way ta go, kid,” beamed another of his troop. “Keep it up!” Feeling his face redden, Peter nodded, before diving back into the bushes.

‘Someone’s still out there shooting people,’ he worried, as his heart raged in his chest. Staring down at his gun, Peter’s stomach lurched. ‘They think it’s me,’ he realised. He forced a swallow. His furrowed brow hardened to a stern stare. ‘Best let them think so,’ he told himself with a nod. Aiming his pistol up into the sky, Peter fired a shot. As the trigger sprang back, his arm trembled. Staggering, he fell to his knees.

Smoke wafted into his lungs. A thick earthen cluster of pines and dampened bark choked him. Throwing his head over his shoulder, Peter’s eyes widened. An orange glow blazed from the trees behind. Smoke clouded towards him. ‘Fire!’ His heart leapt. Throwing one foot in front of the other, he raced back to the village. His chest pounded. His legs strained. The smoke thickened. Shouts and yells of panic wailed in his ears. Reaching the edge of the forest, Peter jabbed his cutlass in to the ground and flopped against it. His chest heaved. Squinting against the glow from the flames, Peter watched on, as smoke billowed through a shattered window of the Eastern-Star Inn. Smoke swept into his lungs. He belched forwards. Clawing a hand through his hair, blood pounded in his ears. ‘Not here,’ he raged. ‘I thought Blagden-’ His stomach dropped. Fear washed over him. ‘What if he’s still inside?’ A gasped escaped him. “Lela!” he cried. ‘She’ll never forgive me if Blagden’s-” Without allowing his thoughts to finish processing his sentence, Peter raced towards the inn’s entrance.

His footsteps pounded. The village blurred past him. With a war-cry, Peter crashed into the inn’s flaming doorway. Staggering over the wooden table barricading the batwing, Peter toppled to the right. Crimson flames lashed out in front of him. Squinting, he arched an arm around his face. His eyes flashed around the room. Overturned chairs and tables littered the floor in all directions. His heart pounded. Roaring hissed in his hears. The flames danced towards him. “Blagden!” he yelled out. Smoke flung down his windpipe. “Blagden!” he called again. Creaks sounded overhead. Peter shot his head up. Flakes of timber crumbed from the ceiling. Flames, at his feet, hissed. He leapt back. Chocking, Peter spun around on his heels. Another crack sounded above. Gasping, he crouched, shielding his head with his arms. Sweat streamed down his back. His breathing grew shallow. Clambering to his feet, Peter shuffled forwards, kicking a tankard. “Blagden!” he cried again. “It’s me, Peter!”

“Petey!” came a wheezing cry.

“Yes!” Peter shouted. Squinting, the smoke trailed tears down his cheeks. As he sniffed, Peter forced his tongue to the roof of his mouth, as the smoke scraped at his throat. “Blagden,” he called. “Is that you?”

“Petey!” cowered a voice, to Peter’s right. “Piano,” he croaked. “Window.”

 

 

 

Peter’s head spun towards the voice. A crack of light glimmered. Peter hunched his shoulders. Holding his breath, he swayed back, before leaping over a burning mound. He staggered forwards, collapsing into a large object. Cla-ang-dong! It vibrated under him.

‘The piano!’ his eyes shot open. Flames hurtled towards him. Hissing snapped at his feet. “Blagden?!” Peter called out once more, as he shuffled around the music box. Something tugged at his trouser leg. He gasped, staggering back. Smoke seeped into this throat. As he crouched down to cough, his eyes widened, spotting movement.

“Here,” croaked a voice, as a hand flopped beside Peter’s shoe.

“Captain!” Peter gasped. Dropping to the floor, Peter scooped his arms under the pirate’s pits and heaved the man over his left shoulder. Swiping his sword, Peter held his breath, as he slashed his blade across the window in front of him. Glass shattered. With a grunt, he leapt onto the piano and through his cracked opening. Straining his throat, he cawed out a war-cry, as he soared through the window.

Rolling onto the gravel outside, Peter jabbed his elbow into the ground and turned towards the man he had rescued. Dark hair tied back. A long, leathered coat. “Captain!” Peter breathed. “What happened? Are, are you alright?”

“You saved me, Petey!” Blagden wheezed, pushing a shaky palm into the ground.

“Careful!” gasped Peter, as he clambered to his feet. “Let me help you.” Stumbling, Peter shuffled beside the captain and slid his left shoulder beneath the pirate’s armpit. Draping Blagden’s arm around Peter’s right shoulder, he helped the pirate captain stagger to his feet. “We need to hurry,” Peter warned him. “The fire’s spreading fast.” Nodding at Peter, Blagden leant against him, as together they limped towards the ship.

Keeping a firm grip around Blagden, Peter arched his head over his shoulder. Looking back, his heart hammered. A scarlet fire engulfed the land. Smoke billowed out of every window and doorway. Men raced from the smoke, zigzagging away from the flames. His chest trembling, Peter returned his sight back to their ship. Other crew members were staggering towards them. Slamming their feet against the wooden dock, the ground vibrated. “You first,” Blagden insisted, as they reached the Serpent’s Tongue. Peter nodded and threw himself up onto the knotted rope ladder. Scrambling up the hull, Peter hauled himself onto the deck. Collapsing in a heap, against the main mast, his eyes lowered as the captain’s head peered above the gunwale.

 

*

 

Groaning, Peter rolled his head. Padding cushioned his neck. He wriggled his shoulders and gave a yawn, as he pushed himself up to sit. Gasping, Captain Blagden’s face appeared in front of him. “Good,” beamed the captain, with a shudder. “You’re awake.” Jabbing his fingers into the back of his collarbone, Peter groaned again. Shuffling into a comfortable seated position, his eyes glanced around the room. Shelves filled with books lined the wall to his left. Walking towards the back of the room, the captain dragged a chair away from a desk and dropped into it. Behind the captain’s head, various maps of the surrounding islands and the world were pinned to the wall. Glancing down at his legs, Peter was covered in blankets of a dark blueberry tone. As he stroked a hand to the bedding, its soft, soothing texture made his eyes flutter. Clawing a hand through his hair, Peter’s eyes squinted into a frown, as he turned towards the captain. “Where am I?” Peter murmured, scratching his head.

“You’re in my cabin,” Blagden told him, glancing up from his papers on his desk.

“Your cabin?” Peter repeated, as the creases deepened on his forehead.

“The captain’s quarters,” Blagden rephrased. “I brought you here t’ rest,” he told him, as he lowered a book from his face. “You put yourself through quite the ordeal,” the captain confessed. Rising from his chair, Blagden strode around the desk. As he perched himself on the table’s edge, the captain told Peter, “I truly am grateful for what you did, Petey. When the rest of the crew abandoned me, saving their own skin, you charged in, in much worse conditions, and dragged me out. That takes guts, kid.”

“I didn’t want to commit mutiny,” Peter shrugged. The captain’s brow rose. “You’re a very important person,” Peter told him. “Not just to me, but to Lela. You promised her you would look after me… well, I’m looking after you too.”

“Thank you, Petey,” Blagden muttered, lowering his head. Holding a fist to his mouth, he cleared his throat. “You gave us all quite the scare,” he confessed. “Collapsing on us, like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter mumbled, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“Nonsense,” chuckled the captain. “You’re a hero, Petey. And to mark the occasion,” he went on, as he returned to his seat. “You have now been promoted t’ me first mate.”

“First mate?” Peter gasped, sliding his legs off the bed. “Me?” he frowned. “But what about-”

“Moritz?” shrugged the captain. “He bailed, at the first sight a fire. If it was up to him, I’d be dead.” Widening his eyes, Peter swallowed.

As Peter neared the captain’s desk, he looked down at all of Blagden’s notes, letters, drawings, diagrams, maps and books. Skipping his eyes across the name Moonrock Island, Peter flickered his sight towards the captain. “Can I ask what was worth risking your life for, at the Eastern-Star Inn?” Peter enquired, as his shoulder blades stiffened. “I understand, if I can’t know,” he blurted out.

“Nonsense,” laughed the captain. “I trust you more than anyone else on this, here, ship.” Shuffling in his chair, Blagden added, “More than anyone, I’ve ever known. You saved my life Petey, for no other reason than loyalty, whether it be me, or my precious, Lela.” Feeling his cheeks redden, Peter dropped his eyes down onto the parchment in Blagden’s hands. “We’re looking for a symbol, several of the same symbol, scattered all around the lands, connected by this sea we’re sailing,” the captain told Peter. As Peter listened, his eyes were drawn to a painting of a man, hanging washing upon several lines tied between two trees, was staring back at him. The tree in the background, to the left of the piece, blossomed a blaze of ruby-red spiked out leaves. The tree to the right, in the foreground, contained detailed round edged leaves, in deep mossy tones. Small cups of fruit flowered from their branches. An engraving scarred the tree trunk. Etched into the bark was a circle, with a crescent moon and a star inside it.

“The oak tree,” Peter breathed. “I know where that is,” he beamed, pointing down at the painting. Captain Blagden’s eyes widened. “Is that the symbol you’re looking for?” he asked, pointing to the circle, encasing the moon and star.

“Yes,” gasped the captain.

“What’s our course?” Peter asked.

“We’re headed back to Shipwreck Cove,” Blagden told him. “I’ll ‘bout-turn the ship,” he insisted, bouncing up from his chair. “Yank off whoever’s on helm. You take charge.” Captain Blagden’s eyes widened, as he nodded at Peter. “That is, if you’re certain?”

“I am,” Peter nodded. “Continue as planned,” he instructed, dropping back onto the captain’s bed.

“But, we’ll get there faster if we act now,” fumed Blagden, thumping his fist to his desk. “You seem to lack the urgency of the matter, boy.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter insisted, holding both hands up in surrender. “It’s on the island. I saw it when-” snapping his mouth shut, Peter swallowed his words. As visions of the shipwrecked Charleston flashed before his eyes with the raging tide, cannon fire, rocks, a black flag, the wolf head, Peter shuddered. “When Brandon and I explored the forest a few weeks back, after arriving on the island,” Peter told him.

“Aye,” nodded the captain. “So, you can take me there?” asked Blagden with a puckered brow. Peter nodded.

“I can.”

 

*

 

Docking in the harbour, the Serpent’s Tongue towered over many of the merchant ships. Two of the trading boats, anchored on the opposite stretched of the woodened pier, would have seemed large to Peter, before his travels on the pirate vessel. As the pirates rumbled their way through the village, Peter led the captain up the stone steps and towards the forested trail, at the far side of the village. Bushes scratched at their slops. The two strode on in silence.

Trees around them began to thicken. Moss and olive leaves brightened to deep emeralds and glowing bronzes. The hushing of the river guided them deeper into the overgrowth. The crunching of gravel, underfoot, faded to the swishing of long silvery grass. Squinting, Peter arched his head up and scanned the area ahead. Bundles of barks and swaying leaves began to blur together in Peter’s vision. He shuddered, shaking his head, trying to clear his sight. Scratching a hand to the back of his neck, Peter asked, “What are we looking for once we find the tree?” Seeping a sharp breath through his nostrils, he added, “Or aren’t I allowed to know?”

“Course you are,” replied Captain Blagden, clasping a hand to Peter’s shoulder. “I told you I trust you, didn’t I?” A nervous laugh escaped Peter, as the captain tugged him near. “Now this is on behalf of the Pirate King, Valder,” he warned Peter. “What we find belongs to him.”

“That’s not fair,” Peter erupted, shrugging the captain’s arm off his shoulder. “We do all the hard work, while he sits in his keep, yet he keeps it?”

“Mind your tongue,” Blagden warned. “For even the trees have ears.” As they stepped into a darker hue of leafed trees, Captain Blagden continued with a chuckle, “We shall be rewarded, don’t you worry. I’ll be sure to let King Valder know how we owe this whole venture to you. He might even make you captain of your own ship.”

“Really?” Peter gasped. As his heart gave a twinge, Peter ran a hand through his hair. ‘I hid during fights. I aided villages from the land they were pillaging,’ he recalled, ‘I almost got myself marooned on an island, yet there is a possibility that I could be crowned captain of my own pirate crew?’ A frown lined his forehead. Peter shuddered. ‘This is madness,” he declared, as his stomach spiralled into knots.

“Really,” Blagden confirmed. “Providing we find what he’s after.”

“And that is…?” hanging on the vowel of his last word, Peter left the open-ended question linger in the air, as they leapt onto stepping stones, hopping across the river. Staggering to the other side of the waterway, Captain Blagden swayed, grabbing out for a tree branch. “You okay?” Peter called over his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” nodded the captain, as the two of them arched left, following the flow of the river.

Shuffling with some parchments in his pockets, Captain Blagden asked Peter, “Have you ever heard of the legend of the Moonstone?” Peter shrugged, scrunching his nose, as he tilted his head to the left.

“Only the bedtime stories they tell you when you’re a child,” Peter scoffed.

“Don’t mock, boy,” Blagden warned. “For there is more truth to it than you see.” Folding his arms, Peter turned towards the captain, with a smirk. “As I dare say you’ve heard,” the captain began with a nod. “The legend of the Moonstone began many, many centuries ago. Having become too greedy at sea, and banished all of his crew, a great captain of a well-known, well respected ship, came to be alone on the whirpooled waters outside of the land of Langti, to the far, far north-west.” With a hum, Peter nodded. “Without a crew to help man his vessel, the captain’s ship was engulfed by the sea. He washed up on an island, known by the locals as Moonrock Island.” Peter’s stomach spiralled at the island name.

‘That’s why it sounds familiar,’ Peter realised, shaking his head. ‘Moonrock Island’s from the story.’

“Upon Moonrock Island,” Captain Blagden went on. “The captain found the Moonstone – a round stone of a deep shimmering cream of sapphire and amethyst.” Seeping in a breath, the captain’s eyes widened, as he began visualising the rock. “Etched into the stone was a crescent moon, along the left, and a five-sided star stretched over the stone’s surface. I bet you know that much, at least?” he asked. Peter nodded.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Then the stone granted him magical powers of a spirit crew. As the captain commanded, all those who lost their souls to the sea, rose up from the dead and came to his aid, helping him man his ship. Together they sailed east, until they came across an enchanted fruit forest.”

“Now, they weren’t enchanted fruits,” laughed Blagden at the thought.

“Depends which version of the story you’ve heard,” Peter told him with a shrug. “This way,” he muttered, jerking his head to the left, as the river arched deeper, into the heart of the forest.

“Well, after finding the flourishing fruited forest, the captain decided to set up a home nearby,” continued Blagden. “He ordered his spiritual soldiers to build him a castle on top of a great mound of rocks, so that no one could ever overthrow him or cross his path again. With his fortress fortified, the captain came and went as he pleased, wreaking havoc upon all passing ships and anyone who dared to trespass on his waters.”

“But,” Peter added, wanting to show off his knowledge and continue the story. “One day, a boat of his old crew happened to be passing through. They had been ordered by their king to bring an end to the captain’s traitorous ways, by whatever means possible.”

“Good,” beamed Blagden with a nod. “During battle, the moonstone was shattered into seven pieces. With the power of the moonstone broken the captain’s army disappeared, back into the depths of the sea.” Hearing the tale come to an end, Peter nodded with approval.

“See,” Peter boasted. “I know that childish story. It was told over and over again in my home town,” he laughed. “Parents told it to scare their children, so that they wouldn’t become pirates.”

“I see,” Blagden nodded. “Well, over the years, stories have been told of people who believe they have found the pieces.” A frown furrowed on Peter’s brow, as the pirate captain continued, “In fear of the same thing happening again, people hid the fragments of moonstone all over the land. Legend has it that if you are lucky enough to find all seven pieces of the moonstone and return it to Moonrock Island, the stone will merge to form as one, once more, and the sea spirits will grant you the powers to control an army of those who lost their lives to the sea.” Running a hand through his hair, Peter turned towards the captain with a deep furrowed brow.

“And you believe the story to be true?” the end of Peter’s statement broke higher, into a question, as he stared at the captain.

“I know it’s true,” Blagden told him with a gleam in his eye. “And this ain’t just some story, kid.”

Flickering his sight away from their conversation, Peter gazed ahead. The old moonstone ledged chilled his spine. Memories of sitting around an outback fire, being spooked by adults, into not running away to sea, skimmed to the front of him mind. ‘Fat lot of good that turned out to be,’ he mused, poking the corner of his mouth up, as Blagden’s black hair bounced into his stream of sight. Following a bend in the path, Peter’s eyes widened. “Here it is,” Peter gasped, pointing across the water to rows of rope stretching out across the riverbank, between a maple tree and an old oak tree. A large contrast to Peter’s previous visit, the colourful rows of billowing fabrics were bare. Knots and stray rope strands spindled out along the fraying stings.

Standing in front of the tree, Peter’s eyes widened. “Exactly as I remember it,” he beamed. Stroking a hand against the tree’s trunk, his thumb scraped over the bubbling dents in the engraved symbol. A circle scratched into the bark a few inches above the six-foot stretch. Curved against the left side, a crescent moon-shape etched the outline. Slashed over the circle, a star had been scratched into the bark. “How does this help?” shrugged Peter. “What are we looking for?”

“With any luck,” muttered the captain, as he approached the tree. “Some nut’s been guarding it.” Scanning the tree, Blagden stroked a hand to his chin. A hum escaped him, as his boots clopped towards the roots. “Here,” Blagden muttered, from behind the trunk. “There’s a hollowed-out hole in back.” Diving his hand inside, the captain’s eyes widened.

“What is it?” Peter gasped.

“I think I found it,” Blagden breathed.

“The Moonstone?” cried Peter.

“A piece of it,” Blagden corrected him.

Removing his hand from the tree, a small calico pouch lay in the centre of Captain Blagden’s palm. Peter’s eyes widened. His stomach swept up his insides. That was the same pouch, as the one, Bigby had handed to the captain, when they searched Motorus Relicta, several days ago. “Does that make two pieces?” Peter asked, leaning over the captain, as he tugged at the rope on the pouch.

“This,” the captain beamed. “Makes six.”

“Six?” hissed Peter, as the creases on his forehead deepened.

Both men gasped, as a thumbnail-sized jagged edged, creamy coloured crystal, with a cerulean-amethyst glint and sharp spiked angles tumbled into Blagden’s palm. The piece had one long, straight edge that spiked out towards the captain. With a sharp angle, the point pierced, back up, away from him, before forming a rough, jiggered edge, which joined the smooth edge, closest to the outer edge of the captain’s hand, and along his smallest finger.

“What about the seventh piece?” asked Peter, shifting his stance to his left foot. Twinkles of light shimmered off the crystals, with his movement.

“It should be back on Moonrock Island,” Blagden declared, dropping the gem back into its pouch.

“What does this mean?” Peter breathed.

“It means…” beamed Blagden. “That the power of the sea will soon be ours.”

 

- Josie -