Immortal War

by Justin Somper

  Down in the bunker, Cheng Li glanced at the clock once more. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Would this meeting never end?

  “We’re not getting anywhere,” Kirstin Larsen said, speaking, it seemed, for the majority of the assembly.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Moonshine asked. “We’re a democratic organization, aren’t we? Why don’t we just put this to the vote?”

  There were murmurings around the table, largely, it seemed, in favor of the suggestion. Then two things happened in quick succession. Ahab Black raised his hand to restore order. Then there was a hammering on the door to Room 13 and a breathless Bo Yin pushed it open.

  All eyes turned to her. Suddenly everyone was quiet. Something told them that she brought news of the utmost seriousness.

  “The Vampirate fleet is making its way to Pirate Academy,” she said. “Kally brought the news.”

  Cheng Li glanced at the clock once more. “But this is madness,” she said. “It’s scarcely more than three hours until sunrise.”

  Ahab Black’s expression was grim. “You’re right, Commodore Li, but I don’t think we require much further evidence that Sidorio and Lola are mad.”

  “Or,” Lorcan sounded a note of warning, “extremely confident.”

  “How can they be?” cried Barbarro Wrathe.

  A din of voices began to bubble up again.

  Cheng Li addressed Ahab Black. “You need to invoke Protocol Nine,” she said.

  For once, he did not protest but simply nodded. “Consider it invoked.” He rose to his feet and addressed his comrades. “Sound the attack sirens! Every captain needs to get to their ship!” He turned to Bo Yin. “Tell Kally and the intel team to get word to Sanctuary that we need medical backup.” Bo Yin nodded, remaining admirably calm as the commander in chief of the Pirate Federation continued to bark orders at her. “And get them to warn the rest of our fleet that they are sailing into a battle zone.” As Bo Yin raced off to execute his orders, Black continued to reel off commands. “All senior students to go to their assigned ships, juniors to gather in the bunkers…”

  The sirens echoed in the vast dome of the Rotunda. The noise caused the bank of swords above their heads to tremble and agitate.

  “We’re under attack!” Connor cried, scrambling to his feet. “I have to get back to The Tiger.”

  “Wait!” Grace implored him.

  He shook his head. “This is Protocol Nine, Grace. We all have to move fast.”

  “But there’s so much we need to say to each other,” she said. “Especially now that you know about the prophecy.”

  Connor shook his head once more. “We can’t talk now. We both have important jobs to do.” Seeing Grace’s desolate expression, he added, “Maybe it’s better this way.”

  Grace was trembling. Was this the beginning of the end? How were you supposed to say good-bye to the brother you might never see again?

  She felt him hug her. She was numb but, as he released her, she managed to get out two words: “Be careful!”

  After he’d gone and she was alone in the Rotunda, she berated herself for not saying something more meaningful. She realized it was futile. There were no words to reach across the terrible chasm they now faced.

  She was still holding the book. It was open in front of her. As she glanced down, tears spattered onto its pages, staining the paper. Then she saw words gathering again, even over the tear marks. The book was speaking to her once more. But what could it possibly have to tell her?

  It is time for you to enter the realm of the dead.

  She experienced a sudden tremor of shock, then a strange form of relief. Then confusion. Did this mean that it was her, not Connor, who was destined to die? Her heart was racing as further instructions began to appear right before her eyes.

  41

  THE DESCENT

  Johnny stood side by side with Stukeley at the front of The Redeemer. The night air was heady with expectation. To their port side was Mimma and her crew on board The Calabria; on their starboard, the vast hulk of The Blood Captain with Sidorio at the prow. Johnny knew that The Vagabond was on the other side of The Blood Captain, though for now the larger ship restricted his view.

  “Isn’t this amazing?” Johnny turned to Stukeley, his eyes bright. “Look up ahead! Are those the lights of the Pirate Academy?”

  Stukeley shrugged. “That’s right, pal. Our suicide mission is almost upon us.”

  Johnny frowned. “Don’t talk that way. We’re both coming back from this.”

  “I wish I shared your confidence,” Stukeley said, “but Sidorio has lost the plot. We were roundly defeated last night. The only reason we’re back for more is because Lola’s precious wine cellar was breached. She’s always been a bad influence on him, and this time she’s pushed him right to the edge.”

  “You think?” Johnny’s face grew suddenly anxious.

  Stukeley nodded. “Look at the sky, man. You can read it as well as me. It’s only hours until dawn.”

  “This battle will all be over by the time the sun rises,” Johnny said. “I can taste success.” His eyes skimmed the fire beacons that marked the perimeter of the Pirate Academy harbor.

  “Now, you’re clear on your own mission in this?” Stukeley said.

  Johnny nodded. “When the battle heats up, I slip onto The Vagabond and steal the babies.”

  Stukeley nodded grimly. “Still feeling confident?”

  Johnny grinned. “Hey, I was a cattle rustler, remember. Stealing is my thing.”

  Stukeley gazed at his friend, wondering if it was the right moment to remind him he’d been caught cattle rustling and killed for it. On balance, not, he decided. He needed Johnny to deliver the goods tonight.

  Johnny’s expression changed suddenly. “I’m comfortable with the stealing part. But do I have to kill them? I know we need them out of the way, but killing babies is a first even for me.”

  Stukeley lowered his voice, intent that no one on his crew overheard this conversation. “Johnny,” he said, “you have to get rid of Hunter and Evil or there’s no kind of future for us. You know that as well as I do. This crazy battle is the perfect smoke screen.”

  “I know that, but do I have to kill them?”

  Stukeley’s eyes met Johnny’s. “I don’t much care what you do with them. Throw them into the ocean or give them away. Just make sure that when the battle ends and the smoke clears, that nursery is empty and there’s no way back for those kids.”

  Johnny nodded. “Okay, I understand, hermano. But wouldn’t it be simpler to have another go at killing Lola?”

  Stukeley shook his head. “Too dangerous,” he said. “But if you take away her precious kids, she’ll be a broken woman. And we have to break her, Johnny. You get that, don’t you?”

  Johnny nodded, his eyes turning once more from his comrade to the fire beacons, which seemed to be floating nearer and nearer. “I get it,” he said. “I don’t like it, but you can depend on me. I’ll do what has to be done.”

  On board The Nocturne, the crew was moving back into attack positions. At least tonight there had been some warning and the Nocturnals had had a chance to feed. Still, Lorcan was fearful that this was one attack too many and too hard on the heels of the last. He was growing tired of this. This wasn’t the life he had chosen. He’d risen to the challenge far better than he had expected—to protect the people he loved and their way of life—but fundamentally he was a peaceful person. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on. He had never felt closer to the edge of the abyss. The sleep of oblivion was starting to appeal to him, had there not been so much at stake.

  He hammered on Grace’s cabin door, scarcely believing that once more he was about to say good-bye to her, perhaps for the last time.

  “Come in!” came a voice, but it belonged to Oskar, not Grace. Already feeling a deep sense of disquiet, Lorcan pushed open the door.

  The sight before his eyes only made his heart hammer faster. Grace lay motionless on the floor of the cabin
. It looked as if she had fallen, though she had sustained no obvious wounds. Lying close by her was the precious book she had been carrying around with her. Its pages were open and flapped as if there were a breeze, though the air in the cabin was perfectly still.

  “What’s going on?” Lorcan asked Oskar.

  “I don’t know!” Oskar said, shaking his head. “I found her like this.”

  “What does this say?” Lorcan asked, crouching down before Grace’s book. One of Grace’s forefingers lay across the book as if keeping a page open. Lorcan reached out his own hand above hers to still the butterfly motion of the pages. At last, he could read what was written on the page. “It’s time for you to enter the realm of the dead. No!” His frantic eyes met Oskar’s.

  “It’s okay,” Oskar said. “I just checked her pulse, and she’s definitely breathing—but slowly, like she’s sedated or in some kind of trance. I can’t seem to wake her.”

  Lorcan looked at Grace’s beautiful face. She seemed peaceful at least. He turned back to Oskar. “Look,” he said, “I have to get going. I don’t want to be anywhere but here, but I have no choice. You understand, don’t you?”

  Oskar nodded.

  “Will you stay and look after her? Do what you can to bring her back around.”

  “Of course!” Oskar said. “You know I’d do anything for Grace—for both of you. As long as you’re sure you can spare me from this battle?”

  Lorcan did not hesitate. “You’re a great swordsman, Oskar, but I need you right here, taking care of Grace for me. I can’t go into this battle unless I know she’s in safe hands.”

  Oskar nodded. “You have my word,” he said. “I won’t leave her side.”

  The Alliance ships were moving swiftly into the battle zone, out beyond the harbor, in an arrowlike formation. Connor stood at the stern of The Tiger, looking back at the ships following in its wake. Every one of them was a legend. Moving behind them in a line were The Diablo, captained by Moonshine Wrathe with Cate Morgan as his deputy; The Typhon captained by Moonshine’s father, Barbarro, with Trofie Wrathe as second-in-command; and The Nocturne under the dual command of Obsidian Darke and Lorcan Furey. Beyond those three ships came four more legendary vessels: The Inferno, captained by Francisco Moscardo; The Muscovite, captained by Pavel Platonov; The Seferis, captained by Apostolos Solomos; and The Kronborg Slot, captained by Kirsten Larsen. Behind them, Connor knew, were more legendary ships and equally legendary pirate captains.

  There was a tangible sense of history in the air tonight as the last of the fleet made its way through the academy arch. Connor reminded himself that he was going into this battle as a captain himself. He could never have expected this when he had first journeyed to Pirate Academy, first sat at the table with these pirating legends. What an incredible journey he had traveled in the past year. He did not yet have his own ship—Ahab Black, currently directing operations from his bunker, had promised him one would be ready soon. Connor wasn’t so sure. Perhaps, if what Grace had told him was true, this would be his one and only battle as Captain Tempest. Strangely, the thought was not a source of pain or terror. He felt almost preternaturally calm, though his senses were heightened. He realized he was the living embodiment of zanshin—the warrior’s consciousness, which had been drilled into him at Pirate Academy and subsequently perfected through real-life conflict.

  Turning his eyes forward, Connor could see the ominous lights of the enemy fleet stealing closer. It was a vast armada—made up in large part of ships stolen from the pirates and crewed by converts, both willing and unwilling. It was time to end the fearful empire Sidorio and Lola were building—with no loftier goal than spreading chaos and dark dominion over the oceans. They had to be stopped—here and now. Connor shivered and knew it was more from anticipation than fear. This was not the first time he had gone into battle against Sidorio or Lola. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight’s battle was different. Somehow he knew that none of them would come out of this night quite the same.

  He had another brief flash of his recurrent vision. Jasmine’s cries and the sight of the sword embedded in his chest. The horrified faces of his comrades. He pushed the vision away. Every pirate—every pirate captain—went into battle in the certain knowledge that this could be his or her last. Connor was no exception. He thought fondly of those pirates who had gone before him—Porfirio and Molucco Wrathe, Commodore John Kuo, Bart Pearce. He was proud to be following in the path they had charted. If he died tonight, he doubted very much they’d hang his sword in Pirate Academy, doubted they’d even remember the name of the young pirate captain who fought once and once only. It didn’t matter. When all was said and done, it was more than enough simply to have played his part.

  His thoughts turned to Grace, knowing that aboard The Nocturne, she, too, was preparing to play her part. They had each come so far, though their journeys had been markedly different, since they first set out from Crescent Moon Bay almost a year ago. Connor was unaccustomed to praying, but now he closed his eyes to say a silent prayer for Grace’s safety. If he did lose his life tonight, she would have to journey on for both of them. He wanted her to do so in peace, not in pain. He needed her to know that, whatever happened, he accepted his fate.

  Grace stood in the lamp room of the lighthouse, looking down at the waters of Crescent Moon Bay, then out across the familiar seascape. Below, the ocean waters were high and rising, but it was still a long way down to their churning surface. She knew what she had to do. Stepping forward, she opened the door and walked out onto the balcony, savoring the familiar silhouette of the coastline one last time. She thought of the many previous times she’d been up here—with Connor and with Dexter. Then, unable to defer the moment any longer, she climbed up onto the balcony railing and dived down into the ocean, giving herself over to her fate.

  Her descent was rapid, but this did not diminish the magnitude of fear that rushed through her. It wasn’t only fear for herself. The fate of so many others depended on her mission proving successful.

  This was unlike any of her previous astral visits. This time, she could still feel the icy chill as she shot down through the surface of the ice-cold water. It was as if she had somehow split into two. The air was forced from her lungs. Then the swirling waters began to move her about, carrying her back up to the surface. No! She needed to go down, not up! She was completely at the mercy of the ocean and grateful to feel the undercurrent begin to suck her down. Her descent gained such momentum that she instinctively closed her eyes. The motion shifted and she felt her body spinning as if she were being carried through a vortex. Once more she was fearful that somehow she had gotten this wrong, even though she had followed the book’s instructions to the letter. As she felt her body come to rest, she hardly dared to open her eyes.

  Before the fear could take any deeper hold on her, she opened them—but onto pitch blackness. What her eyes could only suspect, her feet now confirmed. She had reached the ocean floor.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she began to distinguish rough shapes. Then she saw what she had been searching for—a line of incandescent light barely visible in the distance. She knew in her gut it must be the door. She began swimming toward it, gratified to find the light growing stronger as she did.

  Fish swam past her as she continued on toward the door, but they were not the kind of fish she was used to seeing—the rainbow-bright creatures who lived closer to the surface waters. These were as dark as their surroundings, their shapes simple, as if rough-hewn by a beginning carver. It felt to Grace as though she had not only descended to the floor of the ocean but back to a more basic world. She swam on.

  As she reached the door, the light that ringed it illuminated the surrounding environs, though, actually, there was not much to see. The terrain was barren in the extreme, offering little sustenance for the creatures that had swum alongside her. The door was in the face of a vast rock and to one side was a painted sign, the words of which were now legible. />
  JACK TAR’S CAVERN. COME INSIDE! WE NEVER CLOSE.

  Grace moved toward the door, her wet hair swirling about her face. Even her own flesh appeared ghostly in the ethereal light. Her hand rested on the heavy iron door, which looked as if it might have been salvaged from a shipwreck.

  At her touch, the door opened with a creak. Grace had expected the interior of the cavern to be underwater, too, but, as she crossed the threshold, she found that it was dry and airy inside. Her hair and clothes were also now dry. Turning back, she saw the wall of ocean water that stopped at the entrance, as if held back by an invisible force field. The fish were stuck within it and could only stare back at her in mute wonder.

  “Close the door! For goodness’ sake, love—close the door! You’re letting in a terrible draft!”

  Grace obediently closed the heavy door as a lady pirate passed her with a grateful nod.

  “Welcome to Jack Tar’s!” said the woman, in a friendlier tone. “The company’s grand and the drink is plentiful—but I’d stay away from the house cocktail until you’ve got your bearings!” With a wink and a giggle, the woman bustled on her way.

  Grace stepped forward, finding herself awestruck by her surroundings. She wasn’t sure exactly what she had expected of Jack Tar’s Cavern—perhaps simply a deep underwater version of Ma Kettle’s Tavern. In a way, it was like Ma’s, but far bigger. And where Ma’s was a rickety wooden building that always gave you the impression it might imminently collapse into the sea, Jack Tar’s was a rock structure, as vast and solid as a cathedral. Stepping forward, Grace realized she was on a central landing, from which stone stairs stretched both up and down, left and right. She moved along the landing, trying to take it all in. Seeing—and hearing—hordes of pirates carousing in the room below her, she decided to continue down the stairs. As she made her descent, rough archways in the rock opened onto cavelike rooms, each filled with pirates lounging, drinking, playing cards, or singing chanteys. There were caves as far as she could see in every direction. It felt as if Jack Tar’s Cavern might stretch across the entire ocean floor.