If Edward killed his father, there was a chance that the pirates wouldn't kill him in return, and he would become their new leader. It made a twisted kind of sense to Edward, and it was their only real chance to survive. Everything else led to death.
Grace was the only wildcard. They had killed her son, and she hated them for it. He knew from her story that she probably didn't have any real affection for his father. If it looked like he was about to escape or win, she would probably kill him afterwards. Edward had to kill Grace first.
Edward was so deep in thought that he didn't see the oncoming missile as it hit him in the face. A bystander had thrown a rock his way. He reeled back but stamped his foot down to stay upright. He stood back up to his full, towering height and looked for the aggressor. Soon he found the man, who had gathered another rock to throw, but when Edward's eyes met his, he stumbled and dropped it. He cowered at Edward's gaze. Edward noticed others in the crowd who had gathered the courage to throw something because of the first volley, and he stared each one of them down.
Whatever power Edward held in that gaze of his made the people in the crowd sink into themselves with fear despite him heading for the gallows in bonds. He didn't question it and turned his gaze to the men and women on the other side of the road for good measure. He could feel blood trickling down the side of his face where the rock had hit, but he didn't wipe it away.
The crowd parted as they came closer and closer to the gallows, giving them a straight path to the wooden structure. Edward could see his father there, waiting for him, and another man who would operate the lever. His father moved to the side and motioned behind him, beckoning Edward towards the noose hanging at the top.
When they were not thirty feet from the gallows, Edward noticed Sam there in the crowd. Sam winked and grinned at Edward, then looked down to his hip. Edward followed his gaze and Sam tapped on the cutlass at his hip, Edward's golden cutlass, and then he tapped his wrists.
It was all the confirmation Edward needed. He could count on Sam and his crew to help them through this. Relief washed over Edward, but the feeling was brief. He steeled himself for what was coming.
Grace passed Sam, staring daggers at him. Sam shrugged and laughed. The failed distraction from earlier had blown over, but not without a loss of Sam's position. Grace turned her attention back to the gallows in front of her, ignoring Sam.
Sam pulled the golden blade from his sheath. The strange golden metal sang. Edward put his hands out and held the rope tying his wrists taut. In one swing, Sam cut the rope in two. It was no match for the razor edge of Edward's blade. With another flick of Sam's wrist, he cut the bonds from Herbert's hands as well.
Then Sam tossed the cutlass to Edward. He caught it and swung around in an arc behind him. He sliced open the two guards behind him in one stroke. They fell to the ground, instantly dead.
"Now, Herbert!"
Grace had turned around just as Edward had killed the guards.
"You're not the only one with a secret weapon, you bitch!" Herbert shouted.
Herbert pulled on a cord within the arms of his wheelchair. The cord was attached to several small flintlock mechanisms inside the arms. The flintlocks fired off all at once, sending iron balls out the front of the wheelchair.
Grace jumped out of the way and to the ground. Some of the iron balls missed, but a few caught her in the stomach, and she clutched the wounded area. She gritted her teeth and rose to shaking feet. She grabbed onto the cords in her copper greaves and pulled.
Edward grabbed Herbert out of his wheelchair and jumped as Grace's weapons fired. Edward didn't feel anything hit him, but he heard Herbert groaning in pain. They tumbled to the ground together.
"Herbert, were you injured?" he asked as he got to his feet.
Herbert coughed. "I can't feel my legs."
Edward shook his head. "This is no time for jesting." Edward looked over his friend, and it appeared that he was mostly uninjured.
Edward rose to his feet to see Grace standing there, still clutching her stomach as she bled out. "Sam, protect Herbert."
Sam came over, another weapon drawn. "You got it, Captain. Now kill yer da so we can get out of here!"
Sam's crew had surrounded the gallows and were keeping the rest of the pirates at bay. The earlier shouts of a crowd eager to see a hanging had been replaced with women screaming and the battle cries of pirates loyal to Jack. Something felt off about it all though, as though there should have been more fighting and more noise than there was. For the number of people who had gathered there, it felt subdued.
Then Edward looked up at the gallows, and he could see his father had his hand raised. When Sam's crew noticed what was happening, they stopped provoking fights but remained at the ready.
Then Jack jumped off the podium to the ground below. "Grace, are you well?"
"Well enough," she said, though the sweat on her brow and the blood from her stomach told another tale.
Jack pointed at Sam. "Kill Sam," he said.
Grace took a few deep breaths and pulled out a cutlass from her belt. "Gladly."
Jack stepped away from Grace to give her some space, and Edward followed. He held his blade forward, pointed at his father and ready to strike or defend.
Edward felt ready. His body was healed, better than it had been before he had been stabbed. The demanding work on Grace's ship had paid off. He had more stamina, more strength, and he felt more agile. The only point he felt weak on was his swordsmanship. He hadn't been in an actual fight in ages, but his golden sword with the eagle pommel, the one he'd had for several years now, felt right in his hands.
Jack unbuttoned his calico jacket and tossed it to the ground. He then took off his white undershirt, showing his toned body underneath. Though he was at least twenty to thirty years older than Edward, his body looked like someone of Edward's age. Other than the unprecedented number of scars across his body, it would be hard to tell his age just from his frame alone.
But it was his father's eyes which told the story, and the true nature of his strength. It also gave Edward an answer to why, aside from his towering height, people cowered at his gaze. His father's eyes, more than any other part of him, conveyed an air of strength. Looking into those eyes was like looking into the eyes of Death—a swift inescapable death. It conjured the feeling you get in the seconds before waking up from a nightmare where you're falling.
He had felt the same feeling many times. The first was when he'd seen the man who called himself Plague, and since then, Edward realized he felt it along with the unbidden thoughts of those he'd killed, the torture he'd endured, and those who had died because of him. He knew that feeling well, so well that it had become a part of him.
And yet, Edward still fought on despite it. His father's gaze held no power over him because he experienced it daily.
"I find it quite interesting, the way we think alike, son," Jack said as he gently pulled out a blade from a sheath at his belt. It, too, was golden like Edward's and sang a similar, eerie song as though it were a yawning beast waking up from a long slumber. "Only my son would think to make a blade from this metal."
"We're nothing alike," Edward shouted back. "You use people, rape little girls, and kill innocents."
"Oh? Acting holier than thou, are we? I know of your deeds. I've heard all about them. You have a silver tongue you use to manipulate others into doing your bidding. Your crew has done horrible things to innocent people, and to get your ship back, you fired cannons at the homes of innocent people at Portsmouth. Or do you forget your own actions?"
Jack rushed in, slashing wildly at Edward. Edward ducked and dodged the blows. Jack was testing him with a flurry of strikes, and Edward managed to avoid them. His father was skilled, and Edward could tell that he was only warming up.
Edward cut through and retaliated, pushing his father back. He channelled the feeling he'd had aboard Grace's ship, the feeling of floating on air far above everything else. It wasn't a completely freeing fe
eling like when he was exhausted beyond all reason, but it was enough.
"I remember everything," Edward said, his tone and mind calm. "Every face."
Jack laughed. "Do you also remember where you got the metal to make your blade?" he asked before thrusting forward.
Edward parried the strike, slid forward, and slashed down at Jack's head. Jack turned his body and took a step to the left out of the way. Edward followed through with another slash to the body. Jack jumped back and out of harm's way.
"Was it not from the body of one of my commanders? Gregory Dunn? What kind of a man takes the arm off a dead man and turns it into a sword?"
Jack leapt towards Edward and came down hard with his blade. Edward parried again, pushing his father's sword off to the side. The clash of the blades sent sparks flying with the strange harmony they produced together. Jack punched Edward in the jaw. Edward turned his chin with the punch and twisted away.
"What kind of a man turns another man's arm into gold?"
"I gave Dunn a gift from Midas. He desired wealth more than anything else, so I gave him enough to last a lifetime if he only sacrificed an arm."
"You think you're some Greek god come to earth? What kind of a trial is that for a person? What kind of a man sends his son off to die to solve a bunch of puzzles all around the world? What kind of a man tries to kill his own son?"
Edward took the offensive. He thrust forward, aiming for his father's stomach. Jack knocked Edward's blade aside. Edward spun around, using the momentum, and went to a knee as he attacked in a wide arc. Jack jumped over the blade.
"What kind of a man faces those trials? Someone willing to stand up to a challenge. You could have walked away so many times. You had so many opportunities. And look at you! You're stronger now than you ever were." Jack lowered his cutlass. "You're stronger than I ever was." Jack stood there for a moment, his face changing, softening. "Do you remember what I told you when you went into the Devil's Triangle?"
Edward's guard faltered. "What?"
"When you met me in the Devil's Triangle, on the Freedom. We were in the captain's cabin, though I imagine it looked quite different from how I left it for you. For me, it was." Jack looked down at the ground in thought. "It must have been eight, no, nine years ago."
Edward remembered the moment vividly. The crew had landed on an island in the Devil's Triangle and walked into a strange mist, and he'd gotten separated from Anne. Then he'd seen a vision of his father. Many had seen strange events, some from their past, some from a loved one's past. Edward and the others had debated whether what they had seen was real, or if it had been a hallucination.
"It can't be," Edward said. He had never told anyone about what had happened to him. Not even Anne knew. There was no way that his father could have heard about it from one of his spies.
"I told you that I was proud of the man you had become. You told me about your adventures, the keys, everything. I had been Calico Jack for a time by then, and work had already begun on the trials and the keys. It was then that I knew this was the right path to take." Jack held his hands out to his side and closed his eyes. "Now, end it, Edward. End it, son."
Edward looked at his father, arms open and eyes closed, calling on Edward to kill him. Edward lifted his cutlass and pointed it at Jack Rackham, at Benjamin Hornigold, at his father, Albert Thatch, who had raised him, for good or ill, to be the man he was today. The one who had put him through so many trials, both fantastical and horrifying; trials that had made him stronger, but had also caused him so much pain; trials that had allowed him to meet his captor who made him want to die, but also his wife who gave him a reason to live on.
"I…"
"Do it, Edward!" Herbert shouted from behind him.
"Do it, Ed ya bastard!" Sam said, his voice strained.
"I… can't," Edward said. He dropped his blade to the ground, and it fell with a clang.
"What?" his father said, opening his eyes to look at his son.
"I can't do it. Despite everything you've done, I love you. I can't do this." Edward felt hollow. "Please, just stop this madness. We don't have to fight each other. This is a fool's errand."
"Pathetic," his father snarled. "How did I raise a boy so weak as you? We don't have to fight each other? Everything has been building to this moment, you snivelling little shit. I don't have… When I'm gone, someone needs to rule here, and you're supposed to be that someone." Jack took a deep breath, rubbed his temples, and let out a sigh. "Then I suppose I'll have to settle for second place. Perhaps after I kill you, your wife will try to get revenge. If she manages to kill me, she could be a queen yet. Better a queen of pirates than the alternative, I'd say."
Edward's thoughts went back to Anne, and just what his father was saying. He was going to try killing Anne next. Edward knew that Anne would seek revenge, there was no way she wouldn't. Edward, in his current state of mind, cared little for his own life, but he still cared deeply for Anne. He loved her more than he loved himself. He also loved her more than he loved his father.
The thought of Anne dying took over his mind, and a wave of great anger washed over him. It stripped away the floating feeling he had been holding onto during the fight. It ripped from his body the arresting memories that haunted him. Rage took over.
Jack stepped forward and thrust his blade at Edward's chest. Edward rolled out of the way, grabbed his blade mid-roll, and slashed his father's stomach. His father couldn't dodge out of the way, and the blade sliced through him from front to back.
Edward bounded to his feet and turned around to clash blades with his father again, but Jack had fallen over and was bleeding out from the wound on his stomach. It was a mortal wound, Edward was sure.
Edward ran over to his father and pressed on the wound.
"No, no," Albert said. "Go get Herbert." Edward, his mind in shock, going from enraged to his instinct to save his father, couldn't hear him. "Go, go," he said again. This time Edward heard.
Edward got up and turned around to see Herbert sitting up, watching everything. Sam was nearby, wounded and breathing heavy, but alive. Grace was lying in a pool of her own blood farther away.
Herbert was listless and pale, but from the tears in his eyes, he knew what had happened. Edward picked Herbert up and brought him over to his dying father.
"He's here, Dad, Herbert's here."
Albert, his face soaked with sweat, and already paler than Herbert, was barely clinging to what little life was left in him. He reached out and touched both of them.
"I'm proud of both of you. You've become so strong," he said. "Herbert, you became a fine helmsman; better, I heard, than any I knew in my lifetime." The pool of blood beneath the three of them was growing and covered his father's whole body. "Edward, I'm sorry for what I made you do, but I wanted this. Don't blame yourself." Albert reached into his pocket and took out the driftwood seashell necklace that had once belonged to Edward's mother and handed it to him. "It's yours now. Don't lose it, it's the only thing of hers left."
Edward, his hand shaking, took the necklace and nodded. His memory of his mother was faint, but at that moment it felt stronger than it had before.
Albert's voice was fading fast, and he had trouble keeping his eyes open. "And I forgive both of you for John. He was a good boy; he wouldn't fault you for what you did." Albert couldn't keep himself up any longer, his strength waning. "I'll see him soo…" Albert's voice trailed off, and his eyes closed.
"Dad?" Edward called, but his father didn't answer.
Herbert pulled Edward in close and embraced him. Edward couldn't help but weep for his father's death. Despite everything that he had done, he still loved him, and Edward mourned.
The two sat in the middle of the road in Nassau for several minutes, the crowd around them silent. Then a chant began, starting with one person in the crowd, then another, and another, until it felt like the whole of Nassau were speaking as one.
"By the sound of the Golden Horn!"
"By the so
und of the Golden Horn!"
"By the sound of the Golden Horn!"
The chant continued unabated. Edward pulled away from his tearful embrace with Herbert to see all eyes were on them. All eyes were on him.
Edward looked upon his father's body again. The familiar golden hunting horn, from his father's time as Benjamin Hornigold, was tied around his waist. Edward loosened the horn, took it in hand, and rose to his feet.
He took a deep breath and sounded the horn.
19. Water and Blood
In the week since leaving the island, Anne started to acclimate to the prosthetic Alexandre, Victoria, and Nassir had made for her. It felt altogether strange and uncomfortable and itchy where it secured to her thigh with a leather, corset-like strap, but she could walk in it, and that was what mattered most to her.
She still had a problem with her gait and putting the right amount of weight on it, but she had the rest of her life to perfect that, so it didn't bother her.
She also liked the privacy that it gave her, as she could wear a boot and cover it with her pant leg. If she were standing still, none could tell that she had lost her foot. None save her. Though she supposed for some in their profession, it could be seen as a badge of honour, she saw it as a sign of weakness.
They left Los Huecos after gathering and burning the bodies of the dead, as well as the main town that Silver Eyes had occupied. The crew agreed to break and toss the golden bells into the ocean. Whatever strange power they held was better off at the bottom of the sea with Davey Jones.
If Anne never heard them ring again for the rest of her life, it would be too soon.
Blackbeard's Family Page 24