Paradise Island (15 page)

“Give yourself up now, Cutlass, and I will do my best to provide you with a comfortable jail cell instead of the wrong end of a noose,” Gregory said.

Jack swung his gaze to Gregory and raised his pale brows. “Ahh, Captain Marshall of the Royal Navy. I know of you by reputation. An honorable thought, but as far as I can determine, you are not in a bargaining position.”

Estelle slipped her dagger into Gregory's free hand and reached to her other boot to retrieve a dirk that was hidden in a pocket sewn into the seam. “We're going to need them,” Estelle said when she noticed Gregory's curious expression.

“Have you anything else hidden anywhere?” he asked.

“She is a veritable trickery trove, aren't you,
Captain
?” Jack smirked. “But, alas, I feel that they are at an end. I have to get what I came all this way for. But like all good things, this discussion must come to an end. The map, my dear. Give it to me. Now.” Jack held out his hand, palm side up.

“What map?”

“Lying is so beneath you. The map you took from your lover, what else?”

Estelle darted a glance at Gregory. “How … how do you know about that?”

“As I have told you. I have a little help now and then. Now the map. Or you watch him die.” Jack swung the tip of his sword in Gregory's direction.

“No!” Estelle said. She couldn't stand by and watch Jack kill another innocent. He didn't make empty threats. Slowly, she moved her hand to her satchel.

“Sing to him,” Gregory whispered.

“What?” Estelle said.

“What you did to me. See if you can do it to him,” Gregory said.

“I don't know if it will work,” Estelle said. “Jack isn't normal.”

“I will fend off the others. It is our only hope,” Gregory said.

Estelle nodded slightly and tightened her grip on her sword and dirk. It gave her the strength to know that if she were attacked, she would be prepared. She drew in a deep breath, focused her energy and concentrated on Cutlass, ignoring the chill that began seeping into her mind and she locked onto him.

The solid form of Gregory next to her gave her the comfort she needed as she probed Jack's mind and focused on bringing him asleep. She drew her energy from Gregory, knowing she would find the goodness and strength she could draw from him, and knowing that he would protect her if she was unable. It was an unusual observation, he would be the only male, apart from her father, that would do that.

That she would have
let
do that.

That also was an unusual realization. She
knew
he would protect her. That was just who Gregory was. That was without doubt. She drew from the feeling of comfort that gave her the strength she needed to combine with Jack's vile mind.

She began to sing.

She imagined the melody reaching towards Jack like invisible ribbons, encircling him until they wound cocoon like around both of them. She reeled backwards, taking a valuable step back towards the edge of the cliff, as his depraved mind connected to hers. The shock was enough to stop her melody.

“Quickly. Keep going, Estelle,” Gregory urged.

She kept singing, urging her voice into Jack Cutlass's mind. Her conscious followed as she dug into the murky depths. Her limbs were instantly chilled as she dove deeper. She sensed the evil, knew it lurked in very corner of his mind, knew that there was no good left in him. There was no compassion. She sensed his brutality, his greed, sensed how many men he had killed and realized that it was his only form of pleasure. He drew satisfaction from watching life fade from the body he stole from it, and knew that watching her die would be one of his greatest pleasures.

She pressed her song further into his mind, filling it with the urge to sleep until it was an undeniable force. He resisted. She steeled herself and pushed harder, until her entire consciousness was in Jack's mind. She needed to hit him with the full force of her ability to survive.

She sunk further, flitting through memories, feeling his darkness permeating her. She had to resist the temptation to withdraw. He sensed her in his mind already and was fending her off. She moved quickly, winding her melody through his mind, dousing his attention with the need for sleep. She dodged and wove through horrible thoughts, going deeper and deeper into the center of his mind, into the core that was Jack Cutlass. She shivered with the cold, now frozen through her bones.

There was something wrong inside his mind. Apart from the darkest memories and hideous emotions she detected, there was an unnatural force that bound his mind with it. She sensed the force probing her, curiously at first, seeing who she was and what she was doing in Jack's mind.

It slowed her progress. She pressed harder, probing until she stopped as if she had come up against a stone wall. She sensed a connection, sensed that there was a bargain made between Jack and this force and knew that it was beginning to take over his mind and control his actions, knew that however dark and vile Jack Cutlass was, this entity that was now a part of Jack's mind was a thousand times worse and a thousand times strong.

With that realization, it instantly began sucking her deeper into Jack's mind. She pulled back and it locked harder onto her. She felt herself loosing track, slipping downwards. She stopped singing, stopped trying to bring Jack down and forced herself to retreat from its pull.

She screamed into Jack's mind, felt her lips move as if as unmalleable as stone, felt the breath slip from between her lips and hoped that he heard. “Gregory!” she screamed with all her concentration, hoping that it would come as a bare whisper.

Warm arms were around her and she embraced the heat of them. Silken ribbons of strength and light surrounded her and she followed them, speeding along them with the speed of thought, knowing the entity was snapping at her heels. She broke through the light and gasped in a lungful of fragrant, fresh air. She cracked open her eyes and instantly looked into midnight depths.

“Estelle, are you back?” Gregory's voice acted like a tonic, allowing her to surface back into her mind.

She nodded, looking around for Jack. Amazingly he still stood, albeit a little crumpled. He was stooped, his sword had dropped to the ground and he sagged on bent knees, but against all her strength using her gift to its full capacity, he was not unconscious. His men stood around him as silent sentinels, still and unmoving as though they waited for direction only from him. Jack's head snapped up and he regained his posture.

“Nice try, m'dear.” Jack's eyes cleared and he blinked back the evil into their dull depths. In them, Estelle saw more than just Jack Cutlass. The nameless entity was a dull cloud behind Jack's grey veneer. Both pinned her with an icy stare. “Now hand me that map.”

“You'll have to take it from my dead body,” she said.

Jack answered with a weak smile. “It will be my pleasure.”

She looked at Gregory. “Until the end.”

“Then let's make it not ours.”

The figures silently stepped toward them, moving in unison to corner them in a tight circle. All her senses were heightened. Her heart pounded making blood scream through her veins. Her breath hot in her throat. Fear ran a gauntlet from her gut to her mind, making her tingle with their menacing threat. She let her spiraling sensations wash through her body, knowing it would serve her well with this battle. Knowing Gregory could match her skill for skill, Estelle didn't wait to be trapped by these unearthly beings, instead charging forward and slashing wildly, left to right and left again, turning to the next figure, slashing across their chests, stabbing with her dirk, spinning, lunging, stabbing.

Still they bore down at her, pushing her backwards step by step. She sensed Gregory battling the same as her, lunging with both hands, chopping down freezing flesh to save their own lives, but he also, was retreating, weighted back by sheer force of numbers.

There were no battle cries, no noise save their own gasps. Her arms ached, shoulders strained, legs weakening. She slashed at a chest and blood spurted from the wound, splashing her torso. There was no cry, no scream of agony. The figure staggered for a moment, recovered and approached. She slashed the sword from his hand. It fell with a dull thud onto the ground. Desperate now, she lunged forward, skewering his stomach with the blade of her sword.

The weight of his body dragged her sideways. He leant forward, hands coming around her throat, fingers digging into the soft flesh. She gasped with pain and surprise. There was no way a man could survive a wound she had just inflicted, and still manage an attack.

She retreated. Her heel slipped downwards with nothing to support it. She glanced sideways. To her horror she was balancing on the edge of the cliff, with nothing behind her but a sharp drop that would surely end her life. Estelle swung her left hand and hooked her dirk between his ribs. She changed the direction of the blade, slicing upwards, effectively hooking the blade behind his ribs. She swiveled to the side and bent at the knees, turning the torso of the man with her sword and dirk. The quick motion unbalanced her attacker. His fingers slipped from her throat and she pushed him away, dropping to her knees. He slipped at the edge of the cliff and toppled without a sound.

There was no time to gather her breath. She staggered to her feet, ready to face her next attacker. And stopped short.

Horror collided through her as the breath smacked from her lungs in a single instant. Her mind refused to understand what her eyes saw, refused to take in the information that couldn't possibly be true. Her world spun, gathering momentum as realization shrank her conscious between her and the man who stood before her.

“Father.” She said the word on a breath, so softly that the gentle breeze plucked it from her lips, dissolving it into the air around her. She dared it not to be true, dared it not to be him, but he was as solid, as real as the other figures.

He was a cadaver. His dull eyes stared unfocused at her. His yellowed skin hung loosely from his stony face. There was no flash of recognition, no pain, no joy at finding her, just … nothing.

Estelle took a small tentative step towards him. The temptation to run into his arms, like she had when she was a little girl was overpowering. Her sword tip lowered to the ground. “Father, don't you know who I am?”

Gregory stood protectively at her side, slashing away at bodies that came for them both. She couldn't move, couldn't fight, needed to talk to her father, needed to feel his arms around her. She lifted her arms, moved closer.

“Estelle, I don't think that is wise,” Gregory said through clenched teeth.

She hardly heard Gregory's warning, took no head from it. Stepped closer. “I thought you were dead,” she said.

“A good guess, my dear,” a charming voice drawled.

“Too scared to do your own fighting, Cutlass,” Gregory said.

Jack stood at the back of his men, a leering smile etched onto his handsome face. “I have more important things to attend to. Now, you've taken too much of my time already. It is time to say adieu.”

“That's much too poetic coming from a man like you,” Gregory said.

“It matters little what you think.” Jack replied. He stretched his hands outwards. Estelle saw the sun glint from a huge golden ring on his finger before he uttered more unintelligible words.

The figures resumed their attack. Her father raised his sword, slashing straight at her heart. Something large and solid charged into her. No breath left in her lungs. She staggered backwards and she was falling.

Rock all around. The edge of the cliff far above her. Crashing into unyielding rock. Pain jarring through her arm. Spinning indistinguishable shapes. Rocks clattering. More pain. Crashed onto something hard and solid. Red lightening seared her mind. Everything black.

Jack watched the bodies at the base of the cliff. After ten minutes, when they hadn't moved, he re-sheathed his sword, sniffed and adjusted his gloves. Their deaths were a mere blip, barely raising his heartbeat.

It had taken him years to track and beat that blasted woman, and now he felt only light relief that she was at last dead. And that Navy Captain she was with. A slight frown creased his forehead as he wondered why he'd found them together. He shrugged his shoulders. He had larger fish to fry.

The witch being one of them.

Needing to move, he sent his thought to the men and the filed back into the bush, backtracking their way that would lead them to the witch's hut. So, she'd hidden here, in this land when he'd told her specifically not to go. Logical, but not the safe haven he'd told her to find.

Couldn't she see that he'd taken the time to suggest somewhere safe she could live out the rest of her days? He'd even located a small house on the edge of her hometown village. Not that anyone would recognize her, but he'd thought familiar surrounds and all … He thought he'd owned her that for her sacrifice. But there was no telling the feeble minds of females.

He turned to face the emotionless faces of the men. The living dead, he called them. Minds gone, bodies puppets for him to control. This was the power he'd become accustomed to. No more killing when people didn't do what he wanted. All he had to do was direct them with his thoughts, and they would do the killing for him.

What a laugh it was when they did. To see such men who had stood their high moral grounds, who once had faced him and ordered him to the gallows, now standing piteously before him, waiting for his command. Like that Major Stonebridge for one.

He'd been one to look out for. That night when Jack had met him by the docks when he was still in his right mind, in the middle of winter with the mists of the ocean rolling in, telling him, Jack, to deliver the information about his source, his master. There had been no one with him, so he'd taken control of his mind easily enough and they'd calmly walked away. No one had seen them and he'd made sure gossip spread after his disappearance. How people were so ready to believe lies, especially if those lies kicked up some imaginative dirt.