by H C Storrer
“Jack, me boy.” Nathan spun, unsure where the next attack would come from. “I was worried ‘bout you, lad. Wondern’ how you was gettin on.”
“I am sure you hadn’t given me a thought, you black hearted coward.” Jack dashed forward once more, giving Nathan a painful slice on his hand, Nathan’s sword clattering helplessly to the deck.
Again, the pair was interrupted as a musket ball zipped through the air towards Jack. The shadow wasted no time in moving him out of the way, before sending the Roman dagger from Jack’s belt in a return trip, sinking the blade into the pirate’s chest.
“Why that cuts me deep, pup.” Nathan took notice of Jack’s distraction and lashed out, catching Jack with a slice to his arm. The blue wool of Jack’s coat instantly spread with a bloody stain. The shadow replied instantly, hurling Nathan backward into the railing of the ship as if Atlas himself had punched him. Lying in a tangled heap, he slowly put his arms under himself, when in a streak he shot high in the air, just able to grasp the yardarm of the main mast to keep himself from falling back to the deck of the Jolly Roger. Jack balanced perfectly over the rod as Nathan struggled to climb, hugging the beam for security.
“What is all this now, my boy? We was mates,” Nathan plead, trying to hold the karambit over his head wildly to defend himself.
“Your boy! Your BOY! My father was Edwin Peters! The hero of Penzance! I swear in his name, you will die for what you did,” Jack snarled as he flicked his gladius out in a fluid motion, slicing off three fingers of Nathan’s left hand. As the karambit slipped from the pirate’s grasp, Jack swiped it up like a trophy.
“Jack… wait… You ‘as to understand…” Nathan, for once in his life, felt the stiff pain of death in his chest and started to beg as he tucked his injured hand into pit of his arm to stem the flow of blood.
“I understood it quite well when you left me for dead in a London gutter.” Jack leaned forward, gladius over his head. “I will be taking my five hundred pounds back… with interest.”
“STOP!” A trumpet of a voice demanded. Instantly a golden blade slid between Jack’s gladius, stopping it inches from Nathan’s exposed neck.
Chapter 49
“Y ou have no business here, fairy!” Jack’s eyes were aflame in blue light as the shadow spoke through him.
“Master, you mustn’t,” Tristan begged, his arms flexing as he pressed back against the blow. “Your power is polluting everything around you! You have soiled this boy’s nature!”
“No! I have found my true power. I have been released from my shackles, giving me freedom to do as I will!” the shadow barked back.
Nathan paused, his eyes transfixed on the fairy wings as they beat before him. Below, there were gasps of shock at the hovering golden sloop; slowly, as the battle between Jack and Tristan began in earnest, the fight on deck stopped altogether.
In a burst of strikes, Jack feinted left then attacked right, trying his best to get the upper hand, but each time, Tristan was there, moving just as swiftly, his defense evenly matched to Jack’s blows. The shadow even reached out, seeking to hurl Nathan to his death, only to find he could not touch the mortal world with the guardian near.
“Jack, you can’t do this. You can’t kill with the power of Pan, it is forbidden.” Tristan changed tactics, seeking to employ Jack’s humanity.
“Nothing is forbidden. I make the rules,” Jack and the shadow answered back.
“The shadow of Pan is darkness, Jack! If it’s not contained, it will bring a reign of terror upon men,” Tristan pleaded. Again, Jack slashed and spun, twisting the karambit in tight circles, trying to catch Tristan unaware. Deftly, the sprite drew out his own dirk, and caught the attack just before it pierced him. “Don’t do this, Jack. I know you. You are better than this.”
“You know nothing!” Launching off the yardarm in a deft arc, Jack flipped over Tristan. With all of the pain and force he and the shadow could conjure, he brought his sword down towards the cowering pirate, his scream of frustration drowned by a keening clash as he connected once more with Tristan’s golden blade. Jack stumbled back, his arm still vibrating from the blow. “This man is not worth protecting! He murdered my mother and nearly killed me. He is a pirate!”
“Surely the priest taught you, revenge will not cure your pain.”
“Maybe not a cure, but revenge is going to make me feel a whole lot better.” Jack lunged, as both men raged in a series of quick blows that, to the onlookers below, appeared to be a blast of fireworks as they whirled in mortal combat, sparks and thunderous clangs racing out in a spinning twist of light.
“The shadow is feeding your darkness; you must fight it, Jack!” Tristan challenged.
“No, you naive fool, it feeds off our desires. It is a force; a tool. One I intend to use to kill this man!” Jack attacked again as Tristan parried the blow.
‘His power is in his wings, remove them and he will be nothing more than a human,’ the shadow whispered in his mind.
“Put off this darkness, Jack, before it consumes you! You cannot kill with the power of Pan!” Tristan implored.
“It’s too late for that.” Jack grinned wickedly.
“Jack—” Tristan’s eyes rippled with pain and closed. Like a flash of lightning, his hand flew out, a comet of red dust glittering in the sun, coating Jack head to toe. “We were friends, you and I. How could you not trust me?”
Jack paused, staring at the ruby dust that covered his arms. “Trust you? You and that blasted council! How could I trust those who were willing to end me? I was banished, remember. Even now you seek to control me!” Giving a mighty pulse, the shadow threw the redsleeve back at Tristan who dipped around the yardarm narrowly avoiding the danger. Seizing the opportunity Jack dove off the other side, colliding with Tristan in midair. “Trust you? I would rather pet an adder!”
Sensing the next attack, Tristan brought his dagger up behind his neck, blocking the sweeping blow to his wings. With a mighty kick, he shoved Jack away. “Where does this leave us, Jack?” Tristan’s brow creased with the realization that words would not solve this.
“Leave, little fairy.” Jack floated close. “But whether you stay or go it doesn’t matter. Nathan dies today!”
“I won’t let that happen, friend.” Tristan raised his sword.
“Have it your way!” Jack yelled, diving forward.
The battle resumed its furor, the two clashing again and again as they darted about each other through the sky. Tristan continued his masterful game of defense, blocking Jack’s strikes against his wings, and then in a fluid motion swinging about to protect Nathan from Jack’s anger. As it continued, the pain of battle wore upon him, and for the first time in Tristan’s existence, he was starting to feel tired. As hard as he fought and as quick as he would move, Jack was always there. There was only a single solution. Tristan knew he had to get the ring from Jack’s thumb, and there was only one way it would happen.
Slashing away another series of blows, Tristan disappeared to fairy size and then started to grow once more as he spun to block Jack’s curved knife. To the pirates and king’s men it seemed to all occur in the blink of an eye. To Jack and Tristan, however, every parry was an eternity of time. As Tristan worked to stave off another mortal blow to Nathan, he could feel the gladius ripping towards his wings. The fairy knew this was a sacrifice that had to be paid.
“AHHH!” The searing pain was nearly unbearable, the agonizing burn passing from his spine, through his heart, and then racing through the bones in his chest as his wings separated from his body. Without losing his chance, Tristan brought his dagger up in return, slicing clean through Jack’s wrist, severing the flesh and bone. Time came to a standstill as every eye followed Jack’s lifeless hand while it danced in a bloody, macabre fall, sliding down the white sail towards the ground. Confused, as if his mind were only half awake, Jack lurched forward using the stump of his forearm and shoved Tristan from his path and off the yardarm. With all of his might, he continued forward and caught
Nathan between his shoulder blades. The gladius buried nearly to the hilt as it pinned the pirate to the mast while he tried to scramble down from the battle. Nathan flinched for a moment as he jerked involuntarily, never uttering a peep. In a final grasp of life, he struggled to breathe as blood filled his throat, the last of his essence pumping from him in great streams of red.
Instead of relief, Jack twisted to watch Tristan fall. Nathan was nothing to him now, his death as insignificant as if an ant had been crushed. Instead, his being screamed for the shadow, the power, the companionship. It was as if his legs had been removed and his lungs made devoid of air all at once.
***
Tristan dove past the sail, following Jack’s bloody hand towards the deck. In a great stretch, he reached out and gripped the ring as it sat upon the lifeless thumb of the severed limb, slipping free as soon as he tugged. Swinging his dagger into the fabric, he slowed just long enough to retrieve a small pouch from inside his belt. Frantically, he spun it inside out, not but a small flicker of pixie dust twinkling into nothingness below him. Just then, the blade of his dagger reached a seam in the fabric, tossing him forward. His hands and feet flailed as he descended helplessly towards the planking, which was already awash in blood.
Thinking and moving quickly had been a normal aspect of fairy life; a life Tristan had lived for millennia. Tristan was willing to die to protect the ring; he was willing to die rather than use its power for his own gain, but if he did die, the ring would be left to the worst sort of men imaginable. As the wooden planks filled his vision, Tristan gripped the ring and slid it over two of his fingers.
Every face cringed away at the sight of what looked like a cabin boy inches from death, when before the impact Tristan dashed skyward, swooped through the sky like a bird, and then stopped to a hover before Jack.
With glaring eyes, hate etched over his lips, Jack pitched against the main mast, holding himself upright with his good hand, his face pale. “There are demons within your grasp.”
“It’s you who’ve become the monster… Jack!” Tristan cried out.
Jack snorted in reply, his mind fogged and eyes bloodshot like a drunken man.
“The shadow has more power than you could control. I can feel its… its darkness, Jack.” Tristan hovered in the air, confused. In what was just a moment to the onlookers, Tristan lived a lifetime of Jack’s experience. ‘Oui maman.’ He could feel Margaux’s warm embrace, smell the lavender in her hair. ‘Did he suffer?’ ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. Not if I get there first, Father.’ He could feel his love, his pain, his torment, and most of all his desire for revenge. ‘No’ne steals from Nafan!’ That last memory echoed through his thoughts as every blow that Jack had felt etched itself into Tristan’s being. With contempt, he narrowed his eyes on the bleeding corpse of Nathan pinned to the mast. Tristan could feel the need to treat men like posts, to cut them down if they got in the way. He felt nothing towards Bill. He could feel Benning’s struggle for life, meaningless as Jack held the pillow over the dying man’s face. Chewing his lip, he blinked repeatedly as his being retched at the hatred. Tristan sucked in a long breath, filling his lungs before exhaling in one continuous stream, controlling the darkness with the good he knew. “I assumed it was the shadow that darkened you, made you wild. It wasn’t the shadow that corrupted you, Jack… you corrupted it.”
“We all have our flaws,” Jack growled back. “You know the truth now. Finish it. You hate me. I murdered your friends; go on, then, FINISH IT!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Jack. I don’t hate you.” Tristan’s shoulders slumped in anguish. Turning in midair to leave, he craned his neck back, nearly whispering, “I don’t hate you, I pity you. It didn’t have to end like this.” In a streak, Tristan shot to his glowing sloop. With a flick of the ropes the white canvas filled with wind, shoving the sloop through the sky. As the airship banked and then started south, a long and painful screech rent the sky, ‘Arr-ara-arooo’.
Jack looked up slowly to the call, his lips wet with anger, a slight grimace over his face. “Who said it has come to an end?”
Chapter 50
J ack finished tying his belt about his arm as a tourniquet and turned to make his way to the deck. With the end of his black belt in his teeth, he ripped the gladius free of Nathan’s body then unceremoniously put the heel of his boot to the man and shoved him from the mast. Below, the sailors scattered just before the former captain’s impact. In awe, every man gazed upon Jack as if he were a specter of magic. It wasn’t until he had descended near the stunned men that he noticed the absolute silence, every jaw agape. Both crews stood, cutlass and pistol in hand, unsure if they were to fight or run. Seizing the moment, Jack looked about him. “Put your weapons down, lads, all of you.” With a little trepidation, and in a surprise to even Jack, every man who had stood in battle started to cast their arms aside as if they were burning hot.
“Fire!” A sailor rushed up from below on the Fox.
“Fire on the gun deck!” A second man right behind him coughed out the alarm.
“Men on a fire line!” Talker barked. “Move it, ye swabs!”
“Cut the rigging and the hooks free.” Jack swayed and began to slump. Just as he started to collapse, a hand reached out and caught him. “Cut… cut the rigging,” he spoke as if underwater, the world gathering black around him.
“W-W-What was that, Cap?” a familiar voice asked, taking him under the arm. Blinking back to life, he looked over at the face. It was Sam. He was older and heavier now, but it was the same old Sam.
“Cut us free, Sam. She’s going to blow us both up if we don’t cut her free.” Jack repeated.
“Aye aye.” Sam lowered him to the deck. “You ’eard ’im! Cut the rigging and g-g-grapples. Tight the line, we needs to shove off b-before we both b-burn!”
Jack lay barely awake as the two boats started to pull apart, unaware of anything but the flames. Most of the sailors on the Fox, pirate and limey alike, didn’t see the Jolly Roger cut lines until it was too late. Some abandoned ship, swimming as fast as they could to get away. Others, unable to brave the waves and not knowing how to swim, called from the deck, pleading for the other ship to return. Still in earshot of the screams, the boats hardly a safe distance apart, the powder magazine caught a red-hot ember. The first explosion rippled through the air as a red orange flame and black smoke billowed into the sky in a great, wicked plume; the Jolly Roger rocked uneasily from the shock. The second explosion was deafening as it followed quickly on the heels of the first. Shards of wood and men hurled skyward in searing flame only to rain down in a gruesome storm with a great wake of water rushing out and tipping the pirate ship sideways as it passed.
***
Jack lay on his back for some time, the slow bobbing of the ship up and down like the rocking of a babe in a crib. He was aware of the voices around him but didn’t much care to listen. He felt only half a man.
Too slowly, the days of heaving sweats and death shakes finally passed. He was at peace, but only in the sense that his body had accustomed itself to being without the shadow; his soul still longed for the connection. He had tried to explain to Sam several times that it wasn’t the wound that caused him the most pain. Those days were like a fog. The sense that it was about as fruitful as trying to explain complex geometry while drunk to a pigeon, lingered. It was in vain; no one could understand what it was like to lose such power.
Sam!
Jack nearly jumped from his cot, the quick movement rushing the blood from his head, his eyes filling with stars as he lay back down.
“Now y-you ’as best be c-c-careful.” Sam was at his side. “Them boys w-will wait fer your word, C-Cap, when you is healthy enough to g-give it”.
“Sam? Is it really you?” For once, Jack didn’t slur his words. Something that wasn’t lost on his oldest and best friend.
“Aye, Cap.” He inspected Jack’s face as slowly one eye opened and then another. “I be finkin you’s c-come back t
o us. Why, some days it looked like you w-w-was at the gates of Saint P-Peter.”
Jack slowly sat up, taking the teacup as it was offered, and then paused, checking his surroundings. The captain’s cabin aboard the Jolly Roger was a grand affair, golden candlesticks and fine Spanish china lining the walls. The sheets of his bed were Chinese silk, the spoon at his hand solid gold.
“Is s-somfin wrong?” Sam looked around, even checking behind him.
“No… no… just making sure you put sugar and not honey in my tea.” Jack smiled, still unwilling to put the cup to his lips.
“Why… no, C-C-Cap. It’s rum. If it’s t-tea yer want’n, well, I am s-s-sure we ’as some in the hold.” Sam stood.
Jack laughed, shaking his head. “No, no, rum is just fine.”
They spent the next hour discussing how Sam had been sold as a Redleg to the sugar fields of Barbados for his crimes. He was on his last ship of the voyage when the Jolly Roger attacked. Given the opportunity to join the pirate crew, he took it without hesitation. “Life as a p-pirate is no Sunday walk in the g-g-garden, but sure beats labor in one of them p-p-prison camps,” Sam had offered as a finality to his tale.
“Well I guess our fortunes have not been so far apart these last few years.” Jack smiled back, and then accepted help to button up his shirt and put on his coat. “Sam—”
“Beggn’ yer p-pardon, Cap.” Sam interrupted him before he said another word. “If you wouldn’t m-m-mind. You is the only one who knows me as S-Sam these days. Name’s Smee to the m-m-mates.”
Jack looked puzzled.
“I chose it.” Sam stood a little taller. “R-R-Rogers, well he said choosing our names g-gives us some automini, autonimity, au… well indep-pendance. He said it gave us our independence. He always c-c-complained ’bout not chang’n ’is. S-said it was ’is worst mistake.”
Jack nodded in thought—he wasn’t sure if that was the dead mongrel’s worst mistake.