Paradise Island

by Charmaine Ross

  With streaming eyes he watched as a tunnel of blackened wind erupted around the old woman, contorting her body, encasing her in an icy tornado. Estelle stood blank and frozen despite the agony of the noise and the wind seeing and feeling nothing. Her hair was blowing in writhing snake-like fiery strands. Her beauty was ethereal, china skin, high cheekbones and rosebud lips that were frozen into blankness. She held the sword out in front of her and stood as solidly as granite. It seemed to him as though she were every inch a sentinel to the gates of hell.

  As abruptly as it started the noise and the wind abated, leaving his skin stinging and heated with the battering he had just endured. His ears rang with silence that screamed. He blinked dust particles from his eyes and spat foul tasting dirt from his mouth.

  The old woman slowly turned to face him and what he saw made his mind numb. “This can’t be real,” he murmured. His voice was soft, disbelieving.

  A small smile tipped the ends of her lips. “Believe it,” she said.

  Gone was the dry, rasping voice of the aged. She spoke with the full tones of the young. The woman who now stood before him was stripped of her age. She was in the full beauty of youth, tall and proud, the full figure of a woman in her prime that the rags she still wore could not hide. Her hair was no longer grey, but lush shining ebony that fell down her back in burnished strands. Her skin was smooth, no longer hollowed with withered muscle. The old woman had disappeared.

  “What magic is this?” Gregory demanded.

  “The strongest kind,” she replied. “One deed for another. Now irreversible.”

  “But how … ” Gregory said. “You helped us.” He stared wordlessly, meaning loosing purchase, until overriding reason held. It was all a trick. They had been targets in a well thought out plan.

  “And you helped me. A due debt has been paid.” She walked past him, shooting him a sideways glance.

  He reached out and grabbed her upper arm, holding her. She held his gaze. “You did this to Estelle,” he said, his anger barely contained.

  The woman hesitated, glanced at Estelle for a second before returning to him. “It had to be done. It was the only way I could get back what was taken from me. Payment due, payment made.”

  Gregory’s hand tightened on her arm. “Do you mean to tell me that this was your plan all along? You traded your youth for, what, destroying another? She is an innocent.”

  She dropped her gaze to the ground. “It is the only way that which was taken from me could be returned.” She went to walk, but Gregory held her.

  “Make her better. Use your magic. There must be a way to get her back. You cannot leave her this way,” Gregory pleaded.

  The woman shrugged her arm from his grip. “I can do no more.”

  “Why can’t you help us? You are the reason this has happened to her,” Gregory said.

  “If you want her, you will have to fight for her.” She waved her hand above her head and disappeared into nothingness.

  Gregory span in a circle, grasping for some meaning, some sign, something he might have missed, for the first time he could remember, not knowing what to do, who to turn to. Feeling as helpless and defenseless as he ever had in his entire life. Estelle was lost to him, had been taken by a force he could not see and didn’t understand, had been tricked and traded by a cunning woman without conscience.

  It was the silence that got to him. The utter desolation of anything living within hearing distance of this cave. He had to get her away from this repugnant land, had to give her back her life, her body, her energy.

  Whatever had happened to Estelle, he had to work out a way to save her.

  It was the only thing he could do. The only thing that had any meaning. He had to have her back in his arms, just as she was the night before. This shell before him was not enough. He faced her, stepped towards her.

  Her eyes locked onto him and she raised her sword. She moved as though someone else controlled her body, her wishes. As if she were not in control of her limbs at all.

  “Estelle, can you hear me?” he asked.

  His answer was a quick attack that happened so fast he almost didn’t react. Whatever had happened to her body, her sword fighting ability was still intact. He grabbed her wrist and brought her off balance so that the tip of her sword scraped the ground.

  She responded quickly with a strength well beyond her normal ability, snapping back into a fighting stance and attacking again. She would keep attacking him until either he was struck, or until her body gave out. There was only one thing he could do.

  “Estelle, I am truly sorry,” he whispered.

  He came up front to front with her, grasping her sword wrist. He span in a tight circle so that she had no room to counteract, raised the hilt of his sword and brought it down on her temple. Instantly she fell bonelessly into his arms. Her sword clattered to the ground. Blood seeped from the wound he had inflicted and trickled down her cheek.

  He hoped that he had not hit her so hard, she never wake.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “She lives.”

  The words struck dread straight through his chest. “How?” he thought the words.

  “The witch helped her.”

  “I knew I should have killed her while I had the chance.” Cutlass stared at the rugged skyline of the islands dotted on this side of the world.

  “She is lost in her mind, but she is strong. While she lives, I am endangered.”

  “Just a few more hours.” Cutlass clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. He was so close to finding the village. He could taste the terror in the air. He lusted for blood. He didn’t know if it was the final look in the eyes, or the stark horror of realizing their inevitable death, but when he killed he was alive.

  “Come.”

  “You don’t understand.” He would go insane if he didn’t taste death soon.

  “You will have your fill. The ties between the man and woman have strengthened. It will mean the end if they discover their link and use it.”

  Jack’s hand relinquished the handle of his sword. “Very well.” He shouted orders to the men. He could have thought them, but yelling seemed to sooth his frayed nerves.

  He had retried his ship, The Bloody Blade, his pride and joy, finding no one on board. He had thought them perished in the waters. Yet no. How did they live? There had been no sign of them. He braced in the wind and turned one hundred and eighty degrees. Spray soaked the men as the hull crashed against churning waves.

  “We need full speed,” Jack thought.

  “As you wish,” came the reply.

  Wind immediately struck the main sail. The heavy material plumped and the ship jerked forward as through propelled by an invisible giant hand from beneath the surface of the ocean.

  Jack took his hat from his head and held it beneath his arm before he lost it in the heavy swells. The hull cut through the water, slicing through waves that would have toppled other ships. But his ship was safe. His ship was protected. They were coming back to the magical land. But his mission was unfulfilled.

  It wouldn’t go over well with the General. He was not a forgiving man. The steel in his eyes made even Jack want to only see him with good news, no matter how well he paid. Many men had met their untimely death when his orders had not been carried out.

  And if they failed … entire families were known to disappear.

  Jack steadied himself on the gun rail. There would be no mistake this time. He would have Estelle’s severed head in his hands before day break, as well as the Captains heart. Then he would sever every head in that village she called her home. He didn’t like being made to look like a fool. He didn’t suffer mistakes himself. If all went to plan, he wouldn’t have to tell the General anything except all was prepared.

  That was what he wanted. He would be repaid handsomely for
his efforts. After all, he did have the power of ancient gods on his side. Yes, he could retire on what the General would pay him. Maybe he would take over Estelle’s island for himself. Maybe he shouldn’t kill everyone who lived on it. He would need slaves after all, and she did steal quite a few from him in the past.

  Life would be good. Life could be comfortable. He would be rich beyond his wildest imagination. He would have everything he wanted. The General would see to that. If all went to plan. The dead weight of apprehension filled his stomach and he shifted uncomfortably.

  “Why do possessions matter so much to you?” the bodiless voice formed in his mind. Jack jerked from his daydream and blinked back the reality of streaking through the ocean. He had forgotten the link they shared.

  He’d had a poor family life, no childhood to speak of. Hunger so great it had twisted his insides and abuse so horrific he’d almost died several times had been a natural part of his day until he’d been old enough to fight for himself. His first coin had been spent on grog and a good dagger. That was when he’d learned it was good to have things. Things meant you were somebody. Things meant people looked up to you.

  Money meant people would do things for you. Money was the persuader of actions.

  “That is what life is about,” Jack replied.

  “How so?”

  How could he explain to a being that didn’t understand the physical world? It had never experienced life or anything of the best of the good or the worst of the bad. It was all-powerful, but still such a child.

  The General had been smart enough to use that naivety to his advantage and Jack didn’t want to upset the apple cart.

  “It is for the best when you live in the physical world. It makes living easier,” Jack replied. He didn’t state his lust for exotic possessions, manmade and human. He didn’t explain the pleasure he received when he was able to persuade someone to kill when they had no desire to. He didn’t explain the satisfaction he had when he used people and they had no way to fight him back.

  Power. Lust. Greed. He was his own god on earth.

  There was a pause as the god assimilated this information. “You will be back at my land before long. Ready your men and bring me fully into this physical life you love so much.”

  “As you say,” Jack replied, not bothering to hide his smile.

  The wind rose into a raging typhoon, propelling The Bloody Blade through the ocean with lightning speed. Jack threw his arms out wide, embracing the power of the storm.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Gregory stopped by the river. Sweat trickled from his temple down the side of his face. The sun about to drop below the horizon of the mountains and soon it would be dusk. Although the day had proved to be hot, he knew the night would bring its own problems.

  He had walked all day, leaving the cave and the bleakness that spewed from it as far behind as he could. He had not reached the village. He had hoped to take her back home before dusk, but the distance was greater than he had estimated. To his steadily growing fears, Estelle had not even stirred in his arms. Her skin temperature had grown colder as the day had progressed and now she was icy.

  Several times he had stopped to check her breathing and to make sure her heart beat. Both had remained steady, but her state of unconsciousness and cooling body had him more than worried. He had to prepare for the night. There was a large tree that was hollowed out at the ground level with room enough to offer protection for two inside. He lay Estelle in a grassy sunny patch and went to prepare the hollow for the night.

  Having spread a padding of large, soft fern tree fronds onto the ground, he set about finding dry sticks for a fire that would last the night. He found a tinderbox in Estelle’s satchel and soon had a fire crackling near enough to the hollow to make it snug and warm.

  Next he found a large rubbery leaf that he wound into a spiral. He scooped up some of the water from the river and held the edge of the leaf to Estelle’s mouth. He picked up her head with her free hand and tilted her head back so that the water may trickle into her mouth. There was no response.

  For a moment he though he may put her into the icy water in an effort to wake her, but thought better of it. He had seen such a tactic used on those in a fever to bring them back to health but he didn’t want to risk her getting any colder than she already was.

  He swore under his breath at his own inability to do anything that could bring her back. His anger had simmered all day at his own inadequacy and all the ‘if onlys’ in world had crashed into his head. If only he hadn’t been such a fool as to know better than to leave her, knowing the woman she was, she wouldn’t be this way. If only he had woken her, gone together to face this cursed thing. He had left her to be coerced by the old woman — a witch.

  He didn’t know one damn way to help her. He didn’t fully understand what had happened to her. She was under the same enchantment as the others, including her father, but to what it was, the extent of it, or how to end it, left him reeling. There was nothing he could do but to make her live as long as he could, and if it meant hand feeding her food and water then so be it. He was determined to, at least, give her that.

  He gently lay her on the fern fronds in the hollow and watched her sleep, agonizing — willing, pleading — for her to come back to him. If there was any way he could replace her, put himself wherever she was so that she might be out of this agony then he would, eagerly, in a second. He took her hand in his, raised her stone cold knuckles and pressed them to his lips.

  • • •

  Estelle jumped. Rubbed her knuckles. Held them to her chest. In the freezing cold and the complete black, there was a trace of warmth that flashed through her fingers. She clung to it, letting it anchor her.

  She’d been stumbling through the dark that cloyed about her. She could easily suffocate in it if she let it. There was no knowing how long she had been here, but she was steadily getting colder and more tired with very misled faltering step. She pressed her knuckles to her frozen lips, letting the slight warmth flow into her lips.

  She thought of Gregory. Closed her eyes. It was just as oppressively dark. She opened them again, just to feel that she had some control over where she was. She couldn’t pinpoint when she had woken to find herself here, but only knew that she had been in the grip of an all-encompassing rage that sucked her, spiraling down and down until she had been a slave to it. It had gripped her with talons that broke through her better judgment, until she bled hatred and destruction. And it had felt good that she was that way, it felt right. She couldn’t see past the rage, didn’t want to. She had no idea of when she had started to enter it, but only knew that there was no way out.

  She was trapped, left to wander aimlessly until the cold and desolation wore her down. She didn’t want to think what would happen to her then. The temptation to roll into a ball and give up was a viable option, like it was the only thing she could do now. Let the cold pick at her until there was nothing left.

  A flicker of dissent stirred an internal fire. She was a fighter, a Pirate who saved women, had built a life for herself against all odds where she, others, her friends, could thrive and find the happiness they deserved. It was just not in her to lie and let death claim her without a fight.

  She span in a circle. “You will not take me. Do you here? I will not lie down and let you slowly kill me here. I will not let you.” Her voice echoed dully in the suffocating thickness, but still, she felt better for having said that. It was the line in the sand. She would not go down without a fight.

  • • •

  Her lips moved. He was sure of it. There was movement, only slight, but it was there. He leant closer, so that he may hear words if she could speak them, but there was only her shallow breath on his cheek.

  He knew what he’d seen. She was fighting, he knew she would be. There was nothing else that she would do. It simply was not i
n her to take the deal that was dealt. And that facet of her personality was the thing that was going to get her back to him.

  It was hope. A small hope. A glimmer. But it was something.

  They had a connection, the two of them, and this was a glimmer that they both would battle for. Estelle was not the only fighter here. Both of them were up to this task. He steeled himself, ready for this encounter.

  And he would fight like he never had before.

  He leant close to her ear so that he was sure she would feel the heat from his cheek. “Estelle. I am here for you. I will fight with you.” He pressed his lips on her cheek, keeping them there until his lips cooled with her stone cold skin.

  • • •

  The tingle was on her cheek now. She placed her hand over it. She recognized what it was. That feeling. She had felt it before, when she had been frozen on deck, he fingers so numb that she could no longer feel them and had to be prized from the wheel. It was when she was below deck and Sara, her healer, had come to her to thaw her out with a bath of lukewarm water. It was the same tingling when the blood started to pump into her extremities.

  It was the feeling of life.

  She looked up and around, hoping to see a flicker of something but nothing permeated the cloying blackness. As impenetrable as it seemed, it couldn’t contain the glimmer of optimism that let her cheek stay thawed. “You can’t keep me here,” she yelled. “You cannot win. Do you hear me? You will lose!”

  She kept her hand on her cheek, letting the laughter well up from within. The warmth traveled from her cheek to her mouth. She felt her lips curve into a smile and she let it stay there.

  • • •

  There was a definite smile on her mouth. Her face had lost the tension that etched the harsh lines. They had relaxed into softer, feminine lines. Her mouth tipped at the edges. She looked serine, as though she had found some inner peace that was drawing her from this enchantment.