The Children of Archipelago

by B A Simmons

  He could not believe what he saw. The sea beast that meant to devour him was flying through the air, though it was an unwilling participant in this action. Another creature, one whose wings beat the air down upon Tom and the octopus alike, hauled them both across the lagoon to the beach. Once on the sand, the winged savior severed the tentacle holding Tom. It wrestled with the rest of the tentacles until able to pin enough of them down with the talons on its feet to strike with its beak at the octopus’s heart.

  The question that filled Tom’s mind as he struggled to his feet: would this creature want him as dessert? Tom found he could not stand, so he began crawling toward the small cave at the far end of the beach as the winged creature perched atop the slain octopus between him and the trail leading into the island’s interior.

  “Stop!”

  The voice sounded clear over the messy sounds of the octopus being dismembered and swallowed piecemeal. Tom looked back at the creature and noticed a figure descending from atop its back. A child, dressed in strange clothes including a leather cap and oddly shaped spectacles over her eyes, moved toward him, hands outstretched.

  “Do not run!”

  Tom was too weak to respond. His heart thumped in his chest and the world began to spin. The light dimmed into black. Tom felt his body sink into the warm sand, with the loud cawing of the winged creature sounding in his ears.

  * * *

  Pete listened with joy to the cawing of sea birds in his ears. These birds were fellow Engle Islanders. Their blue feathers provided the stuffing in Engle Isle pillows and mattresses. More recent, the islanders used them to fletch the hundreds of arrows and bolts they made in preparation for their next encounter with the Falcon Empire’s soldiers.

  The Alphina sailed across the waves and Pete’s home island appearing as a thick smudge on the southern horizon. With the hold filled with lumber, Pete looked forward to their return to Engle Isle for the opportunity to see Trina again. Of course, he knew she might not be there. As he had just now retrieved Tim from Isle de James, Trina still commanded the Old Man. She often sailed out a day or two from Engle Isle to train the crew and run drills with militia and Punishers. They occasionally sailed up to Alimia to scope out the Falcon forces.

  On that day, Pete hoped the Old Man was docked at Port John. He found being away from Trina more difficult with each voyage. The sea still pulled at his heart, but she seemed to pull on it just as hard. During this last voyage, he found himself daydreaming of himself and Trina sailing with a small crew from island to island. No war, no worrying about anything save the occasional nessie. Yet as they passed close enough to Alimia to see the castle atop the island, he steeled himself against such thoughts. The possibilities for such were so far in the future as to make them impractical. Engle Isle must be secured and the Falcons removed from Alimia before any such plans could be considered.

  “Sail ho!” came a shout from above.

  “Where away?” asked Yusef.

  “Three points off the port bow!” came the response. Then, “Some five miles distance!”

  Pete raised his far-see and searched but could not find any sail. He turned to his helmsman, “Take us east three degrees.”

  Pete ascended up the rigging for a better view. Near the nest, he heard his lookout, a man called Forster, call out again. “I count five sails, sir.”

  After securing his feet in the lines, Pete again searched the horizon through his far see. Forster had good eyes, for the sails were but white specks at that distance. More than five miles away to the southeast, five square-sailed ships headed south. A few moments later he found two more of them, larger sails, trailing the others at a distance of at least a mile, maybe two. Yet, there could be no doubt of their destination. All seven ships were headed for Engle Isle. There was nothing else worth sailing to in that direction. And as they were all headed to Engle, Pete had no doubt who they were or what their purpose was.

  He called down to Yusef. “Call the officers to the quarter deck!” He then made his own way there.

  Assembled on the quarter deck, Pete looked at Yusef, his boatswain, Logan, his first mate, and Tim who still bore the scars from their action off Forgotten Isle. Also present was Sergeant Pitts, who had recovered enough to rejoin his fellow Punishers on Engle Isle.

  “There’s a Falcon invasion fleet headed for Engle Isle. They’re five miles away, but we can’t catch them before they reach the island.”

  “You’re sure they’re Falcons?” Tim said.

  “Who else would they be?” Yusef retorted.

  Pete waved a hand. “In any case, we have a hard decision to make. We can follow up behind them and attack the support ships at the rear of the convoy—”

  “I like that plan,” Tim interrupted. “Take advantage of our position behind them.”

  “Or, as they are making for an approach from the east, we sail around from the west and hopefully catch them as they enter John’s Bay.”

  “What’s the advantage there?” Logan asked.

  “I think it’s more likely the Old Man will be defending the bay. We could join her and not split our forces.”

  “I say we follow up behind and assault the support ships. If the Old Man is at the bay, won’t they have support from our forces on land?” Pitts said.

  “Just the mangle nell at Port John. It’s possible they might launch the smaller boats to help, but that would be foolish. Those Falcon ships are going to be well armed, well crewed, not to mention full of soldiers ready to fight,” Pete said.

  Yusef shook his head and sighed. “We can’t stop seven ships with just us. We need to join up with the Old Man to do any good.”

  “What if she’s not even there?” Tim countered. “Trina could be off who knows where.”

  “We have our cargo to consider,” Logan said.

  “I thought of that. We have to ditch it either way. If we sail around the west side of the island, we can ditch it where the current will put some of it ashore for us,” Pete said.

  There was silence. Each of them scanned the others, perhaps hoping someone would have an epiphany to point them in the course they should take. Pete knew the decision was his and he alone would bear the responsibility.

  “We sail around the western shore of the island. Dump the lumber overboard and hope Trina is near the entrance of the bay.”

  “Let’s hope whatever the Falcons are throwing at us is something we can take,” Tim said.

  They dismissed and Pete stood at the edge of the quarterdeck looking at his crew, looking at him.

  “The Falcons are moving against Engle Isle. We will defend the island with our lives. General Quarters! Prepare to ditch the cargo!”

  Their course brought them closer to the Falcon ships as they neared the northern extent of the island. Pete climbed up to the nest to identify what ships were in the enemy fleet. He saw three ships of the same class and design as the Alphina. They were the empire’s work horses. Two smaller, though stout looking ships sailed with them. They resembled a style Pete remembered seeing at Isle de Joc just after the Falcons took the fortress there. They were assault ships designed to deliver troops under fire.

  The last two, lagging behind the others, were large double masted ships. Such ships were as much a display of the empire’s power as they were powerful ships. Here was the vanity of the empire on full display. These were meant to intimidate as they didn’t need such ships to invade Engle Isle. Large ships were a waste of wood. They attracted more attention from sea life and required larger crews. A large ship going down was always a disaster, while smaller ships could often be saved or salvaged.

  “We’re getting awfully close Pete. They’re going to spot us,” Tim said.

  “Let’s hope they do.”

  Pete wanted one or two of the ships to break off and give chase to them. It would split their forces and give those on Engle Isle less to deal with all at once.

  “If anything, at least our lookouts at the pinnacle will have spotted us by now.
They’ll know we’re here to help,” he said.

  If the Falcons had noticed the Alphina, they made no response to her approach. Pete gave the order to change course and sail around the west side of the island. His crew busied themselves with the chore of dumping nearly twenty tons of rough-cut lumber into the waves. They worked without conversation, in somber solemnity. Yet it was after the work was done, when they donned armor and took up their weapons, when the ship approached the west peninsula that their tensions rose to a palpable state.

  “Sail ho! Coming around the point!”

  They all saw it, a Falcon-made ship tacking against the wind, coming around the peninsula. It was the Old Man, battered and torn from battle.

  Pete resisted the urge to run to the bow. Rather he gripped the gunwale and grit his teeth. His mind forgot the fleet, the invasion and the rest of Engle Isle. At that moment, his only thoughts dwelled on the hope of Trina’s survival.

  Invasion

  “H old up for a moment, Neil.”

  John Cooper straightened himself and wiped his brow. His aching lower back, the result of long hours of planting, was almost enough to make him forget the chronic dull throbbing in his legs. Despite the pain, he loved the work. Farming brought peace to his heart, relaxed his mind and gave him a sense of accomplishment he’d never found on Fallen Dome.

  The sun radiated off the waxed hacklebushes separating plowed wheat fields from the goat pastures. A short distance away, John’s father-in-law, whose body was more used to the work, continued planting his section with the help of his third son, Brandt. The youngest of the Engleman children, Neil, was John’s helper. The boys walked along the marked rows, stabbing the ground with sticks every few inches while the men came after them, dropping seeds into the holes.

  John turned back to Neil and opened his mouth to speak, but another voice filled his ears. It was a harsh, cracking voice; one that had been screaming too much.

  “They’re coming! They’re coming!”

  “Who?!” Brandt asked

  Peyton Smith, the young boy whose voice broke again, said, “The Falcons. A fleet has been sighted to the north.”

  “Calm down Peyton,” John said. “Tell me what you know.”

  Peyton caught his breath and took the offered drink from Neil’s water pouch. “Riley and me were on watch duty. We saw five ships with the Falcon symbol coming down from the north. Riley ran down to the Punisher’s camp to tell Cap’n Edward. I’m on my way to Port John, ‘cause that’s where Roger and Charlie are.”

  “How far out when you sighted them?”

  “Not more than twenty miles.”

  “Thanks for stopping here. Now continue your duty and tell Charlie I’m on my way to him.”

  The boy ran off again as if the Falcons were at already at his heals. John turned to Mark, noting the same stoicism in his countenance as his namesake son.

  “Five ships is a bit much for an ambassador,” Mark said.

  John shook his head. “Certainly not. This is what we’ve feared since last summer. They’re going to hit us hard.”

  Mark turned to his two sons. “Boys, get home and help your mother and Greta to gather all the food we have in the house. Load it in the cart and take it to John and Lisette’s.”

  “What about—”

  “Now, Brandt. Please obey me.”

  The two boys dropped their sticks and ran for home. John and Mark both headed to the barn to deposit their sacks of seed.

  “You mean to accompany me to Port John?” John asked.

  “No, I mean to thank you.” Mark drew John into an embrace. Unsure what else to do, John hugged him back. “No one could ever replace my Mark, but you… you have been as much a son to me as he or Rob. Thank you, John.”

  John felt a lump rise in his throat. “Thank you, sir. I… I will be back.”

  They both knew there was no certainty in that statement. The love and respect were mutual and both recognized that they might not see each other again.

  From the Engleman’s barn he took the road northeast toward Harrisville. Mark walked with him as far as the farmhouse, keeping at John’s slower pace. Even though the wounds had at Alimia Castle were well healed, John had taken to walking slower and a bit bow-legged. Few people had pointed it out and nobody dared tease the burly Fallen Dome soldier for it. His reputation with the Engle Islanders was beyond that.

  The people of Engle Isle had just finished the wall surrounding Harrisville with its main gate straddling the road to Port John. He walked through that gate and into his home a few minutes later to find Lisette feeding the young Mark Engleman. It had been more than two weeks since Anna had left him. John’s feelings on the matter were mixed. Lisette, to her credit, accepted the motherly responsibility for her nephew with all her heart. Even as her own child grew in her womb, she seemed to lack no love for Mark.

  “You’re home early,” Lisette said with a smile.

  She hadn’t heard yet. His heart sank with the realization that he would have to tell her.

  “The fields will not be planted this season. There is a Falcon invasion force coming to the island.”

  Her smile transformed into a gasp of horror. John went to his wife and took her hand.

  “We will be fine as long as we do everything we have practiced. Your family will be here soon with their supplies. Remain with them no matter what.”

  “You’re going out to fight.”

  “It’s my duty. It’s what I came here to do.”

  “I know,” she said, and John again detected the Engleman stoicism in her voice. “I just… I suppose I had hoped you would stay here with us instead. After all…”

  She said no more. Her smiled returned as she helped him strap his armor around his body and girt his sword around his waist. A shield bearing the heraldic hellhound emblem and a bronze helm were taken up and John turned again to his wife.

  He kissed her before whispering, “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  A few tear drops fell from Lisette’s eyes and John left before she could see his own. Outside again, people hurried back and forth. It was clear that the news had reached every ear. Several of John’s neighbors, some young, some old, emerged from their homes with what arms and armor they had. They looked to John with questioning glances.

  He bellowed, remembering his sergeant’s voice. “You know your duties. Get to them and Ayday protect you!”

  “John!” a voice called out. It was Joshua, Edward’s lieutenant. “Edward needs you at the courthouse?”

  “I’m leaving now to find Charlie at Port John.”

  “I’ll go. Edward needs you to help him talk to the council. They trust you more than us.”

  “What’s to discuss?” John sighed and moved up the street toward the town center.

  Inside the courthouse he found a group of councilmen locked in an argument. Four of the twelve members were missing, including Lewis Johnson, who was likely with Charlie preparing the defenses of Port John. The youngest and first foreign-born member, Roger Cunningham, was there wearing his armor and leaning on his spear. Raymond Jones, whose experiences with the Falcons in the Sea of Grass had taken him from stern advocate for peace with the empire to a hawkish persona, stood by Roger. He also wore armor, with a falcon-made falcata tucked into his belt and his blacksmithing hammer cradled in his folded arms. Edward, called the Toad by his men, stood among them looking as if he’d just swallowed sour milk.

  “Ah Mister Cooper!” Edward said. “I’m glad you’ve come. These gentlemen want us to bow down to the Falcons when they reach our shores. Tell them what folly this is.”

  Mister Adams, a carpenter in Harrisville, refuted Jones’s claim. “We don’t want to ‘bow down’ as you put it Mister, um, Toad; but we should attempt to negotiate with them before everything twelve generations have built on this island is destroyed.”

  John rolled his eyes, “We don’t have time for this. There are no ambassadors on any of those five ships, only soldiers and sailors, all o
f whom stand ready to kill us. We either fight or surrender. Gentlemen, you can either take up arms with us or hide in your homes to see who wins.”

  “It’s seven,” Roger said. “One of the Punisher’s scouts just came in to report it. Two more large ships are following behind the main group.”

  “Support ships, which means they expect a fight and that’s what my men and I were brought here to do,” Edward said.

  “Easy for a mercenary to say. All you expect is to be paid. Supposing the Falcon’s offer you more, would you change sides?” Adams said.

  “Mister Adams!” Roger protested.

  “That’s alright!” Edward squared himself to Adams. “It is easy for me to say and I do expect to be paid. But you should listen to another mercenary who has been among your people for a year now. Listen to John Cooper tell you what the Falcons have done at his home island. How many times have they tried to invade Fallen Dome, John?”

  “Three times, and we fought them back each time.”

  Adams looked no happier than before but backed away from Edward as if the soldier held a sword to him.

  “There can be no argument for peace now, it’s not what they’ve come for and not what we’ve trained for these past months,” Jones said. “Believe me, I wish it could be different.”

  “We need to implement the plan. Draw all our civilians into Harrisville and keep the Falcon’s busy everywhere else. Now that your scouts have had a look at the flotilla, what do you estimate their strength?” John said.

  “Two assault ships, likely meant to take on our own two ships, but could also be used to land marines at the docks. The three others will have several boats each to land men on the beaches. Since they’ve only had to endure a three-day voyage from Alimia, they could easily have packed men in tighter than a school of mullet. We should count on at least two hundred soldiers in those, up to fifty marines in each of the assault ships and there’s the possibility they’ve got more on the support ships.”

  “We’ve got just one hundred and twenty between militia and mercenary forces. Trina is taking the Old Man out of the bay as we speak. The Alphina is due back any day now,” Roger added.