The Salamander and Whydah surrendered without a further fight. It was only when Hannibal boarded the Whydah that he saw that her crew had mutinied. Captain Randall Redhook was trussed up like a pig for slaughter, before the mast. In short order, Hannibal freed the one hundred men and women who were chained in the hull. His crew looted the Whydah’s hold. They pulled the ship close enough to the shore of Las Palmas to give the crew a chance to swim ashore. Hannibal had Redhook placed in his brig, below decks on the Gambit and set the Whydah on fire.
While the crews of the Wanderer, Flying Dragon, and Fortune raided the Salamander, Hannibal stood on the stern castle of the Gambit and watched the Whydah burn to the waterline. He allowed Safiya to oversee the dividing of the spoils from the Whydah’s hold.
The only thing Hannibal wanted from the ship, he retrieved while its crew was being thrown overboard.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, Hannibal flipped through the pages of the Whydah’s ledger until he came to the name of his father.
BLOODLINE
DK Gaston
West Africa
Equafo Kingdom
Year 1694
Moon barely made it out of the Dutch fort alive with his prize, an allegedly mystic bone knife. He would been tracking its owner, a shaman named Cadoc, for months and finally caught up with the sorcerer there. Unfortunately the Dutch West India Company and the British Royal African Company were in the midst of a war over trade rights. From what he could gather, Cadoc had gone there to take advantage of the escalating tide of death to build an army of the dead.
In the many years since escaping slavery from the Colonies, he had taken refuge with buccaneers and eventually became a member of their crew. Moon had seen many strange, unexplainable things as he travelled the world, going from one perilous adventure to the next, seeking fortune and glory. But he had yet to see the dead rise and found the notion laughable.
Still, even he could not deny there was power that surrounded the shaman. When an opportunity arose for him to collect the bone knife without a face-to-face confrontation with Cadoc, he had taken full advantage of it. While the sorcerer was in some type of deep trance, Moon had acquired the treasure and slipped away into the night.
He had been negotiating the land, avoiding man and beast, gaining distance from the Dutch fort and the battle for several days to meet up with other members of his crew. Yet, he could not shake the odd feeling that he was being pursued. His suspicions became reality when he caught movement in the corner of his eye.
Moon made himself small, positioning his body into a crouch, wishing the grass was taller to hide his six foot frame behind. His breath, heavy with exhaustion and the pounding of his heart, filled his ears as he waited for more signs of movement. Had he journied all those hard miles only to be tracked and caught when he was so near to his waiting shipmates?
He would not allow himself the luxury of panic. Closing his eyes, he held his breath and took in measured gulps of air. His heartbeat slowed. Listening to his surroundings, Moon should have at least heard swarming insects and the rustling swish of tall grass, but there was nothing at all. It was as if the night had drawn all sound away into a void.
Opening his eyes, he spied the signs of morning and was grateful that dawn drew close. Though the moonlight provided enough illumination for him to trek through the tangle of grass and trees without a torch, it was not enough to see past a few feet ahead of him. As the sun slowly emerged over the horizon, Moon strained to find the source of his anxiety. It was the stench of rotting flesh he noticed first, followed by the low moan within a spitting distance of his hiding place.
Moon searched through the thick foliage and caught the outline of a hunched beast of some kind. Its huge silhouette undeniably that of a two-legged beast, perhaps an ape. He had heard rumors about wild simians plaguing humans who had come too close to their habitats, but he found no evidence of being in ape territory.
He doubted he could outrun the beast and even if he could, Moon recalled apes typically moved about in a group, or shrewdness, as it was commonly called. With one ape, he had a chance of escape, but with more, the odds would weigh heavily against him. The only thing in his favor was the fact the breeze blew downwind of the animals, masking Moon’s odor. He slowly moved away, trying to put some distance between them.
Slow, measured steps became Moon’s world. He avoided sound as best he could. The task seemed impossible because his heart pounded too loudly inside his chest and he feared he would be heard. His clothes clung to him and his skin was damp, more from nervousness than from the stifling African heat.
The rotting odor gradually diminished as he withdrew.
Though he could no longer see the hunched silhouette of the predator, Moon had the sense his every movement was being tracked.
The sharp crack of a twig to his right confirmed his fears. The time for hiding was over.
Moon scampered through thick prickly undergrowth. Thorns as sharp as knives scratched his bare cheeks and forehead and eventually found his skin through his clothing. The rising sun made it easier for him to avoid running into obstacles. Unfortunately, barring a nocturnal beast with inadequate daylight sight, it would aid the predator that hunted him with its relentless tracking.
Several times it closed on him and pulled away. Ape or not, whatever animal it may be was much faster than Moon and seemed to be toying with him, enjoying the thrill of the chase. He found the notion strange since most animals hunted for food or protection, not sport – a particular proclivity of man.
Moon spotted tall trees ahead and considered for a moment about scaling one. Most two-legged creatures indigenous to the region would have the ability to effortlessly climb a tree and would be on top of him before he made it a foot off the ground.
Perhaps I don’t need to climb the tree, he thought.
He drew his only weapon, the bone knife, from its sheath.
Days ago, Moon had to abandon his normal accompaniment of weapons, which included a sword, pistols and daggers. The only way into the fort was to pretend to be a local laborer. The self-important Europeans would not notice another black man in their midst, but would, without delay, become conscious of one possessing small arms.
He dodged behind a wide tree and flattened his back against it, clutching the strange knife tightly in his hand. It pulsed gently with a uniformed rhythm as if a heart thudded beneath the bone exterior and it seemed to generate an unnatural warmth.
Is the damned thing alive? he thought.
He fought the instinct to drop the knife on the ground, though every fiber of his being beseeched him to do so. The smell of death suddenly intruded on his internal struggle. Moon willed himself to peer around his hiding place. In the dawning glow of the sun he could clearly see what had been stalking him.
Something that was once a large man of more than six feet came hulking gracelessly out of the tall grass. It stood slumped as if fighting to keep its balance. The tattered remains of its clothing was that typically worn by a man of Dutch heritage. The fabric hung ill-fittingly on its physique. All color had been drained from its skin, giving the thing a pale hue that matched the hilt of the bone knife. Its eyes were milky white and dull – its ominous gaze stared directly at him.
Grabbed by a strength born of horror and desperation, Moon struggled to scale the tree, his feet barely finding purchase as he climbed and he had to rely mostly on the muscles of his arms. The creature pounded toward him. Moon doubled his efforts, using the bone knife as a makeshift anchor.
If the crew saw me now, they’d laugh and taunt me ‘til my dying day, he ruminated.
The extremities of a putrefied hand that looked more like talons than human fingers swept past Moon’s foot, catching his boots. He heaved himself up a thick limb, narrowly being pulled back down. The boot was pried loose and plummeted to the ground. He stared down to see the creature staring back up with that milky gaze, its fingers opened and closed reflexively like it was waiting for Moon to fall int
o its waiting outstretched arms.
“You’ve have to wait until hell freezes monster,” Moon yelled.
The creature lowered its arms and began circling the tree. Whatever tendrils of humanity it had left in its brain obviously figured out its prey had no place to go. All it had to do was wait him out.
Becoming the creature’s quarry was a prospect that Moon did not care to face. He needed weapons that he could use without being forced to toss his single knife at it. He was sure his aim was good enough to place the blade between the thing’s eyes, but he could not be sure it would destroy it.
His answer surrounded him – the tree.
Clopping at a nearby limb with the knife, he began fashioning it into a spear. The branch broke off easily. He used the sharp edges of the blade to cut away at one end of the wood. There were enough branches he could reach that he felt confident he had more than enough to finish off the creature. Movement from above caught his attention.
A cuckoo-hawk far larger than Moon had ever seen was perched on a high branch. The raptor’s keen eyes had settled on him. The bird’s gaze ranged freely up and down Moon’s body as if studying him. Then the hawk turned its awareness to what Moon was doing, spying the limb being forged into a spear. Moon saw fury and something else in those eyes that disturbed him more than the creature below him, intellect.
A sound emitted from the animal that was not the characteristic kaw or shriek or even cluck one would expect a bird to make. No, it was human. “Kill the thief,” the cuckoo-hawk cried out. “Take back what is mine!”
“By the gods,” Moon gasped. In his life he had seen many strange wonders, but nothing at the magnitude of which he faced now.
Clawing and scratching came from beneath him, tugging him out of his stupor. Below, the creature had leaped onto one side of the tree and dug its talon-like fingers deep into the bark. It climbed skyward inches at a time. He turned back to the bird. “You somehow control this monster don’t you? What are you?”
“I am Cadoc,” the hawk answered. “And you have my knife. You will give it back to me!”
“The witchdoctor?” Moon whispered. He stared at the hand holding the stolen bone knife and back down at the unearthly creature scaling the tree. “It’s true then. You can bring the dead back to life.”
The value of the blade was far higher than the price he agreed upon to steal it. Assuming he survived to stand before the man who had hired him, Moon would make sure the recompense was quadrupled for his troubles.
The dead thing’s hand reached up and around the thick branch Moon had been perched searching for purchase. Its mouth spread open far more than could be humanly possible, as if it planned to swallow him whole. Hefting the spear up over one shoulder, he hoped the tip was sharp enough to break skin. The foul stench of death filled his nostrils, making him nauseous and he nearly lost his sense of balance. In a flash, he was the escaped slave again, whom his former Virginian master had simply named Moon. At the outset of his days at sea on the pirate ship, he suffered from an overwhelming wave of seasickness. He had learned to deal with his queasiness then as he would now.
Moon forced his mind back to the present. “Get away from me,” he shouted defiantly.
Steadying himself, he thrust the spear. The point entered the creature’s open mouth and exited through the back of its head. Its hand fell away from the tree limb and gave itself, unwillingly, to gravity.
The living corpse struck the ground with a sickening slap. It flailed this way and that but appeared unable to rise up.
“The spear,” he said, realizing the tip had lodged itself into the dirt, in effect trapping the dead creature where it had fallen. It was now or never for Moon to make his escape. He started down the tree.
“No,” came an inhuman cry from above.
Moon glanced up in time to see Cadoc fly up into the air. He took a moment to digest the witch doctor’s power. Not only could he bring the dead back to life, he could change himself into a bird. He thought aloud, “What else can you become? And what other dark magic do you possess?”
Scrambling down the tree, he landed softly behind the thrashing creature and stared at it in amazement. There was a word he once heard from one of his fellow pirates who came from the Congo, nzambi – it was used to describe dead men who continued to walk the Earth. Moon thought it was only the fabricated tale of a drunkard. Obviously he had been wrong – nzambi, were very real, brought about by a witchdoctor who could change himself into a giant bird.
Moon recovered his pilfered boot and rapidly slipped it on. He decided not to linger, but he refused to run without first ensuring the nzambi could not free itself from the spear and come after him. Taking the bone knife, Moon knelt beside the flailing dead creature and began sawing off its head.
####
Moon ran for miles until he came to a fresh water pond. Before embarking on his venture to the Dutch fort, he made sure he knew the locations of drinkable water along the trail. Fish swam in the pond and he wanted to take the time to catch and cook one. But after catching his breath and rejuvenating his body with liquid, he realized just how lucky he was to still be alive and did not want to push his luck any further.
He had just downed a handful of water when he heard movement and voices headed in his direction. The language was familiar to Moon.
“The Dutch,” he cursed under his breath.
Both the Dutch and the British had established camps throughout the Equafo Kingdom. Obviously, one of these sites was stationed close to the pond and the Europeans came to collect water as he had.
Moon filled his leather canteen and ran off in the opposite direction of the voices. In his haste to avoid detection, he was not as careful as he should have been when he stepped into some high grass. Losing his footing, Moon tumbled and slipped over the edge over the lip of a drop. Against his will, in an unflattering sequence of somersaults and skids, he rode down a muddy, steep incline, smashing through thick grass and shrubberies.
“By the gods,” he yelled once he burst through the last of the undergrowth.
At the end of the slope was a severe overhang. He desperately tried to take hold of shrubs or vines to slow his descent but everything broke away in his hands. He rolled off the crest of a vertical drop and fell. His arms wind-milled and his legs paddled. He felt as if his stomach would explode through his throat. Before he could let loose a scream he splashed down, face first, into water. Its coldness shocked his exhausted senses into full awareness.
I couldn’t have reached the shore yet, he thought, I still have miles to cover.
Moon swam up to the surface and stared at his surroundings. He appeared to have fallen into a small lagoon, hidden within a valley. He thanked the gods for his luck, because he could have just as easily smashed against the rocks. Moon stared up at the sky. A dark shadow flew overhead.
“Cadoc,” he said through gritted teeth.
Almost before finishing the witch doctor’s name, rifle reports and human screams of horror rang out from somewhere above. It was not hard to conclude that the Dutchmen were being attacked, likely from one of Cadoc’s monsters.
Moon swam toward land and crawled out of the cool water onto dry ground. He lay on his back to catch his breath. His exposed skin was a patchwork of scratches and every inch of his body ached. If the evil shaman did not manage to kill him, the jungle certainly would.
He had hoped he lost Cadoc or that he had given up his pursuit, but the circling giant bird in the sky said otherwise. Exhausted, hungry, and unsure how he could best the monsters that pursued him, he feared he would never make it to the crewmen waiting on him. Feeling totally defeated, the buccaneer was tempted to hand over the bone knife and pray the shaman felt generous enough to let him live.
Disheartened, Moon crouched, shivering, colder than he had ever been. Do I feel this way because of the chill of the water or because I am frightened? Doubts filled his thoughts. He questioned everything in his life that led him to steal the bone knife. Re
trieving the blade, he stared down at it and thought about the riches he would receive if he should survive. The thought of his reward pushed back much of his fears.
The giant bird let out a longing cry, as if Cadoc could see the bone knife from where he soared. Perhaps he can, Moon considered.
A heavy splash ahead of him in the lagoon drew his attention away from the bird – something large had fallen into the water and sank to the bottom like a stone. His gaze went up the crest where he had tumbled from. Nzambi Europeans and Africans alike came tearing through the thickets, sailing across and down the edge into the water. Some crashed into jagged rocks becoming impaled, yet still their limbs moved with life.
“Time to go,” he said as he rose to his feet. And for some reason that confounded him, Moon held the bone knife defiantly over his head and shouted, “I will bury this blade into your dark heart demon!”
“We shall see,” Cadoc bellowed back, his voice sounded strong as if he stood next to him.
That sent another chill up his spine and gave him something tangible to cling on to. He would survive if for nothing else but to defy the shaman. Moon was not accustomed to fear and futility; he refused to let them rule him. Glancing at the water, he noticed that none of the nzambi swam. All of them sank. Apparently, simple tasks for the living, like swimming, did not carry over into death. Cadoc must have realized it as well because his anguished screams echoed throughout the valley.
Moon laughed as he ran off. He crossed grassy fields, wandered through overgrown woods and climbed up the side of a rock face. By the time he cleared the small valley his clothing was dry and the sun was starting its exodus. He needed to rest and to eat. Moon came across the half-eaten carcass of an antelope. He must have scared off a leopard in the middle of its feeding, but he was sure it was close, watching. It would not be long before the startled cat regained its courage.
He cut away meat from the dead animal, but not enough to infuriate the cat. The last thing he needed was to be hunted by leopards.
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