Rising In The East

by Rob Kidd

  “I want to go with Diego,” Marcella insisted.

  “Can I un-volunteer myself?” Barbossa wanted to know.

  After some more bickering, during which Barbossa’s request was pointedly ignored, the six of them finally got into one of the Pearl ’s dinghies and headed for shore. It was a strange island; craggy mountains dominated the landscape, but there was hardly a tree in sight. Instead, rolling grassland surrounded the giant heads, stretching up the mountain slopes and off into the distance along the shore.

  Diego and Jean rowed the small boat to the nearest beach and pulled it up on the sand. Marcella refused to get out until the boat was well out of the water, so this was a rather difficult task.

  “I wouldn’t want to get my feet wet!” she said in horror. “But if you want to carry me, Diego, that would be all right.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  Diego gave an almighty heave, and the boat slid up out of the water. Carolina hid a smile. Disappointed, Marcella climbed out of the boat and immediately began complaining about the sand that had soiled her dress.

  “It’s so sandy here,” she whined. “Ew, it’s getting into my shoes. Diego, can’t you carry me up to the trees?”

  “Marcella, come on,” Jean said, embarrassed.

  “Don’t you Marcella me,” his cousin snapped.

  “It’s too late now,” Carolina said. “You’re already sandy, you might as well stay that way and spare poor Diego’s back.”

  Marcella drew herself up tall. “It’s all right for those who don’t care about their personal hygiene,” she sniffed. “If some girls want to look like raggedy heathens, they’re welcome to roll around in the dirt for all I care.”

  “Trap. Shut. Now,” Jack said, ignoring Marcella’s offended expression. “That small grove of trees in the distance seems like as good a place as any to look for water.” He hurried up the beach to where the sand turned to grass, leaving the squabbling crew behind him.

  Wide stretches of yellow-green grass swept out flatly ahead of them, all the way up the hills in the distance, leaving a clear line of sight for the row of giant heads ranged across the open plain. Jack didn’t want to admit it, but another reason he wanted to head for the trees was to get to a place where the heads couldn’t see him anymore. Not that they could really be staring at him…but it sure felt like it.

  When they reached the trees they found a sparse grove of mostly palms, tall and creaking in the wind. It was cooler under their wide, jagged leaves, and the crewmates could hear the murmur of a stream. After only a few minutes of hiking, they came to a bubbling freshwater stream that ran down from the cliff above. Diego, Jean, and Barbossa knelt to fill their flasks while Carolina searched the ground for fallen coconuts. Jack, of course, supervised.

  Marcella plunked herself down on a rock in the shade, ripped a large leaf off the nearest palm tree, and began fanning herself furiously.

  “I do think,” she said, “that some people ought to be more respectful of the fact that there is a lady aboard this ship, and I do mean one lady, who should be treated like the delicate flower that sheeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!”

  For a moment, none of the others realized that the high-pitched scream wasn’t just part of Marcella’s regular complaining. But finally, Jack looked over and saw what was really happening.

  A band of tattooed islanders had popped out from behind the tall palms. Now, several of them were winding vines around Marcella at lightning speed, while others lifted her over their heads. They dashed away through the trees, wearing green and brown so they blended into the landscape.

  In the blink of an eye, Marcella was completely gone. Completely, that is, with the exception of her screaming, which could be heard echoing far behind her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  There was a shocked pause as everyone stared, frozen, at the spot where Marcella had been. Jack recovered first.

  “Brilliant!” he cried. “Quick, back to the ship, before they change their minds!”

  “Marcella!” Jean shouted. “Marcella, we’ll rescue you, don’t worry!”

  “We will?” Jack asked. “Do we have to? Tell you what, why don’t we come back for her later on? I suggest after we’ve sailed around the world and accomplished our mission. Maybe when we’re very old and very deaf. Savvy?”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Barbossa interjected, “but I agree with Jack.” He made a face as if that notion made him ill. “Leave the lass here. She’s no use on the Pearl.”

  “Jack, they could be cannibals!” Jean said desperately. “They could be taking her away to eat her! We don’t know anything about these people!”

  Jack stopped to think wistfully about how useful it would be if someone would just pop Marcella in a stew pot. But then Jean would probably sulk all the way back to the Caribbean, and nobody needed a pouting Creole sailor moping around the deck. Plus, Jack would love nothing more than to assert himself and go against Barbossa’s will.

  “All right,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s go after her. Maybe she’ll decide she wants to stay here,” he added hopefully.

  This hope of Jack’s certainly didn’t seem to be the case from Marcella’s loud, piercing shrieks, which they could still hear. The good news (or bad, as Jack saw it) was that this made it quite easy to follow the islanders out of the trees to the grassland beyond. All they had to do was follow the sound of Marcella’s voice.

  “Those are some powerful lungs,” Carolina said, impressed with Marcella for the first time.

  “I think she sounds delighted,” Jack said to Jean. “Try listening really closely—can’t you hear? ‘This is wonderful! I love this island! Leave me here!’” He checked Jean’s stubborn expression hopefully. “Don’t you hear it? I really think that’s what she’s saying, er, screaming.”

  “Over there!” Jean said, pointing to a thin column of smoke near the row of giant heads. “Quick, hurry!”

  “Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeave me!” Jack tried again, imitating Marcella’s high-pitched shriek. “I love it heeeeeeeeeeeeeeere!”

  But Jean was already running as fast as he could. With a sigh, Jack ran after him, and all the others came hurrying, too.

  They raced across the open grass, heads in the process getting closer and closer to the enigmatic stone. They didn’t look any friendlier—or smaller—up close. Jack realized there was a small village of thatched huts behind them; the smoke was rising from a few small cooking fires outside the doors. The islanders had dumped Marcella on the ground next to one of the heads and seemed to be having an argument in their own language. A new islander was standing with them, this one wearing a crown of tall feathers. Tattoos covered his whole body. He had his arms crossed, and he did not look pleased.

  Marcella was lying on her side, still tied up with vines. And she was still screaming, one long, continuous, ear-bending shriek.

  “Marcella!” Jean yelled.

  Her eyes popped open and her mouth shut. All the islanders seemed to heave a huge sigh of relief. Their faces, as they turned toward Jack and the others, were much less hostile than Jack would have expected from folks who had just run off with a crew member.

  “Diego!” Marcella cried. “I knew you would save me!” She tried to stand up, wobbled wildly as the vines restricted her, and then toppled to the ground face first with a crash.

  The man with the crown stepped between Marcella and the pirates. He drew himself up very tall and frowned down at them. His large nose and big, dark eyes made him look strikingly like the huge stone head that was planted in the ground next to him. Jack glanced up at the looming, inanimate face and sidled away from it. Even if it was just a pile of rock…there was no need to draw its attention.

  “Prisoner,” the chief said shortly, pointing to Marcella, whose outrage was now muffled by her face being planted in the dirt.

  “So we see,” Jack said, twisting one of the braids in his beard. He lifted an eyebrow at Marcella as if she were an exotic bug that had turned up in his
tea.

  “Give her back!” Jean demanded.

  “Or,” Jack suggested, “I’ve got a better idea. Don’t.”

  “Pay ransom,” the chief said, holding out one hand, palm up.

  “Anything you—” Jean started to say, but Jack clapped a hand over Jean’s mouth.

  “I don’t think so,” he said to the chief. “We’re not paying to get her back. Frankly, she’s not the most pleasant traveling companion. Threw our swabbing mop overboard, she did. You’re very welcome to her.”

  “MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPH!” Marcella roared into the ground.

  Jean tried to struggle free from Jack, but the captain held him firmly. Jean recognized the look in the chief’s eyes. It was the same expression Jack had had when he first met Marcella and realized she would be staying on his ship.

  “No ransom?” the chief said, shifting uneasily.

  “Am I to understand you don’t want her either?” Jack said, pretending to be surprised. “But just think what a lovely wife she’ll make you.”

  The chief turned visibly paler.

  “MMMMMMMMMPHMMMMMMMRRRRFFFMMMMMMFT!” Marcella bellowed, kicking her feet furiously.

  “All right, let’s go,” Jack said, turning to leave without releasing his hold on Jean. “Just think, it’s probably safe to get a new mop now.”

  “No, wait!” the chief cried. “Please take her back! Please!”

  “Oh, I dunno, mate,” Jack said. “She really seems to like it here.”

  “MMMMMMMMFFRRRRMMMMBBLMMMMMGRRRRRRRRRRFFFFTMMMMMMMMBTTMMMMMPHT!”

  “Please!” the chief said again. “We pay you! Gifts! Anything! Anything to save our ears!”

  “Gifts?” Jack said, perking up. “Tell me more.”

  An hour later, the Black Pearl was loaded with fresh food and water, enough to last for weeks. Regretfully, Jack let the islanders untie Marcella and take her aboard as well. On the plus side, she was too angry to speak to him. He hoped that would last a long time.

  “Thank you,” the chief said to Jack, taking the pirate’s hands between his. “We all thank you.”

  “There’s still time to change your minds—” Jack offered. The chief shuddered and backed away.

  “Here,” he said, pressing something small, cold, and heavy into Jack’s hand. “For you. To speed your journey away. And please, please—never come back.” He turned and hurried up the beach along with the rest of his tribe.

  Jack opened his palm and saw a miniature version of one of the stone heads, carved from dark volcanic rock. Flecks of light seemed to gleam inside the hollow eyes, like something inside was watching him. The rock hummed a little with an unfamiliar energy.

  “Splendid,” Jack said. “I’ve always liked, um, eerie little heads.”

  But to his surprise, the minute he stepped on board with the gift, a brisk wind blew up and filled the sails. The Black Pearl shot away from the island as if all the heads on Easter Island were blowing together, hurrying the ship on its way.

  Delighted, Jack decided he had earned a rest. He left Catastrophe Shane at the helm with strict instructions to aim for China and retired to his cabin for a long nap.

  “The Day of the Shadow is coming.…”

  “Shut up,” Jack mumbled, keeping his eyes firmly closed. He was determined not to let anything wake him. Especially not cryptic whispering voices.

  Er…cryptic whispering voices?

  “The Day of the Shadow is coming.…”

  Jack cracked open one eyelid. The cabin was shrouded in darkness. All the shutters were closed, letting in only tiny slivers of moonlight. He was lying on his back on the couch.

  And something was sitting on his chest.

  With a gasp, Jack tried to sit up, but the something pressed down heavily, pinning him to the cushions. It leaned closer, a grotesque blob of darkness, until it was breathing smoky air into Jack’s ear.

  “The Day of the Shadow is coming. When the shadow spreads, our armies will rise…and the world shall fall.”

  “Phew,” Jack said. “No offense, mate, but you might want to look into this new concept called dental hygiene.”

  The shadow beast regarded him silently. It seemed to grow heavier, its weight pressing down on Jack’s chest until it felt like he was trapped under a stone fortress, wondering if his chest was about to cave in. Jack’s breath came in short gasps, and he tried to push the thing away, but his hands went straight through the creature as if there was nothing there.

  “The Day of the Shadow is coming,” it hissed again.

  “Yeah, I got that part,” Jack huffed.

  “The shadow will spread…and you all will die.”

  “Right, well,” Jack said, “must admit I’m less keen on that bit.”

  “Hrrrrrrraaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” the shadow rumbled ominously. Darkness foamed out from inside it, spreading up and around until it filled the cabin, leaving nothing in Jack’s sight but roiling black clouds.

  “The Day of the Shadow . . .” it whispered one more time.

  And then it vanished.

  Jack started awake. His heart was pounding and he was drenched, his long dreadlocks sticking to his shoulders and his white shirt soaked with sweat. Worse yet, the energy from the second vial of Shadow Gold was gone. His illness hadn’t returned completely, but he could sense the shadows lurking in the corners, as if waiting for his strength to ebb a little more. And then there would be more nightmares…more sickness…more madness. More of everything Jack hated.

  And what was “the Day of the Shadow”? How soon would it come?

  He found that he was clutching the little stone head. He lifted it to his lips and whispered: “To Shanghai, as fast as you can, my friend. As fast as you can.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Jack stumbled out to the deck the next morning, he noticed several of his crew members looking at him strangely. He peered strangely back at them, and most of them got nervous and sidled away.

  But not Barbossa. The first mate glowered at him from the quarterdeck. The ridiculous blue ostrich plumes on his hat danced in the breeze, and the sun sparkled off his lion’s head ring. He looked very disgruntled. Even more disgruntled than he normally looked.

  “’Allo, Hector,” Jack greeted him cheerfully. “Got up on the wrong side of the hammock this morning, did we?”

  “Well,” said Barbossa, “I suppose you are feeling well-rested.”

  Given his nightmare, Jack was not feeling well-rested at all, but he was careful not to let that show. “Every good captain deserves a good night’s sleep once in a while,” he said with a grin, pulling out his spyglass to survey the sea ahead of them. To his surprise, there appeared to be land on the horizon. Already?

  “Yesss,” Barbossa said. “And I suppose bad captains deserve several nights’ sleep, do they?”

  Jack squinted at him. “What are you on about?” he asked.

  “You’ve been asleep for four days!” Barbossa shouted. “Or at least hiding in your cabin! No response to all our knocking. What kind of a captain abandons his ship for that long?”

  “I didn’t abandon my ship!” Jack said, ruffled and a little disturbed to find out how long he’d slept. “I was right here—terribly busy—er, making plans, I was. And I left Catastrophe Shane with very clear instructions.”

  “Oh, right,” Barbossa said, casting a glare at the hapless pirate standing by the helm. “One of your best ideas so far. Where exactly did you tell him to take us?”

  “Shanghai,” Jack said uneasily. He glanced over Barbossa’s shoulder at the shape of land in the distance. “I guess that’s it, eh?”

  “Oh, yes,” Barbossa said. “That…or New Holland.”

  “New Holland?” Jack said. “Is Old Holland anywhere near Shanghai? Maybe he just got confused. Anyway, it could be worse. We could have veered off to Australia.”

  “You dolt! New Holland is Australia!”

  They both looked at Catastrophe Shane, who looked up at the sky and tried t
o pretend he wasn’t there.

  “Australia?” Jack said, squinting. “Are you sure?”

  Barbossa held up a map and a compass. “Oh, I am sure.”

  “Hmm,” Jack said thoughtfully. “Never been there. What’s their rum like?”

  Barbossa threw the map down on the deck and stormed away.

  “Sorry, Captain Jack,” Catastrophe Shane mumbled. “I just figured I’d keep aiming at the horizon and China would show up eventually.”

  “A solid theory,” Jack said, beckoning Shane away from the helm. “Why don’t you let me have that wheel for a while?”

  Shane slipped and stumbled back to the galley as Jack took the helm and steered the ship north. He wasn’t worried. All they had to do was sail on past Australia, wind the ship around a few islands, head through the South China Sea, and doubloons to doughnuts, they’d be in Shanghai in no time.

  “Everything all right, Jack?” Billy asked, climbing up to the quarterdeck beside the captain. He studied his old friend carefully, evidently wondering if Jack had completely gone around the bend this time.

  “Certainly,” Jack said. “Still not sure what Shane’s piratical strength is going to be, since it’s evidently neither fighting nor navigation. But we’ll figure it out sooner or later.” He wrinkled his nose. “Must admit he definitely smells like a pirate.”

  “So what is the plan, exactly?” Billy asked. “Sail up to Shanghai and ask Mistress Ching for her vial of gold?”

  “Er—why?” Jack asked, furrowing his brow. “You don’t think that’ll work?”

  “You’re not that charming, Jack,” Billy pointed out.

  “Slander and calumny!” Jack protested.

  “And Mistress Ching is not easily charmed,” Billy continued. “Especially considering that we escaped her ships at the Strait of Magellan, which I’m sure she’ll not be tremendously pleased about.”

  “Details,” Jack said, flipping his hands dismissively. “We Pirate Lords are big-picture people, Billy. Not like you pedestrian souls with your childish grievances.”