Paradise Island (16 page)

Jack paused, looking at the woman's body at the base of the cliff. There was something familiar about that cascade of red hair. But it wasn't from his memories. Someone else's. He sorted through the men's memories, sifting through each mind he'd locked away in the dark void. Apart from a skinny child he couldn't imagine looking like the woman he'd wanted dead, there was a wife with red hair holding onto children with various red heads and an old woman who liked to wear the red hair of her youth in a wig. He huffed, stuffing the memories back and locking them away. Now he felt dirty, like he'd just shoveled through pig manure. Filthy men and their equally filthy memories.

That was the only thing he didn't like about obtaining their minds. It was the odd thought, or a wisp of a memory that wasn't his that somehow floated to the forefront of his mind. That was what made him know without doubt that his mind wasn't totally his to own anymore. That was the deal he'd cut. The gods would give with persuasion, but there was always a consequence. They sought universal balance. Where one took, an opposite had to be given. It was the way it was.

Best not to dwell. There were more important things to get done. Lilura for one. She had to be here on the land somewhere, meddling with forces she had no right to meddle with. How much did she know? He shuddered to think she knew the deep secrets of these island. But what if she did? He couldn't leave that loose end. Lilura would have to die now. It was something he should have done all those years ago.

“No.” The voice was strong in his mind and made him stop in his tracks. He knew that commanding tone, and knew there was nothing he could do but stop and communicate. It was the one voice he dreaded. To ignore it though, would be much worse.

“The witch must die,” he thought.

“There are more important ties.”

“The witch is close. I can feel her. She must be dealt with. She has helped the man and the woman.”

“Still, there are ties that lead to the red headed woman's friends. They are a threat that must be broken.”

Jack quelled his anger. It would be no good to have the ancient voice know he'd been angered. Its force was too great to disobey. “The red headed woman is dead.”

“She lives. You must stop her from going to the land she calls her home. The land belongs to me. Protect my home and you will protect me. Without me, you cannot hope to fulfill your dreams.”

Jack drew a deep breath, staring at nothing in particular. He didn't like to be made a fool of. “Where is she?” he said.

“The ships. You need to be fast.”

Cursing, Jack retraced his steps, silently ordering the men to follow and took the path that led back to the shore and his ships. How could she have lived through that fall? She would die for her transgressions. She would die from making him look like a fool. This time, he would make sure she died with a sword straight through her heart.

“Estelle!”

She surfaced through black layers to a world that exploded with pain. With the pain came the need for survival. Her body still pumped adrenaline through her veins and she sat, looking around her with a gasp. She was at the base of the cliff, her body sprawled over the rocks and sand. Gregory sat next to her, struggling to his feet.

His skin was marred with a myriad of bruises and bleeding scratches. There was a wild look in his eyes, a brightness that proclaimed determination against odds. She drew from it, his strength becoming hers. “Estelle, we have to leave.”

He reached to her, offering his hand. She gratefully took it, thankful for his strength as he helped her to her feet. She took a moment to balance, her body screaming against the pain of a multitude of punishment.

“How did he … ?”

Gregory shook his head. “I don't know, but if don't leave now, he'll come after us again.” He indicated the ships. “We have no option.”

Estelle nodded, fighting to ignore the torment of her body. She looked to the ships darkening the blue of the bay. She knew which ship she was going to take. The same ship she had tried to last out of the water on many occasions. The ship where she had rescued so many souls.
The Bloody Blade
— the ship of Jack Cutlass.

A smile touched her mouth. Cutlass would be furious when he saw that his beloved ship was missing. Anticipation clipped her heels and made her heart race with adrenaline. She turned and glanced at the cliff-line, checking again for black-clad figures. There was nothing but the morning sun in the sky outlining the ridge line.

She was grateful Gregory was a strong a swimmer as she. He matched her stroke for stroke, powering through the waves. Her sword pulled her down, but she refused to let the weight slow her down.

Now was not the time to stop and catch her breath. She would do that when her feet were safely on the shores of Paradise. She reached the anchor chain, breathing heavily. She waited as Gregory took hold. “Can you climb?”

She refused to acknowledge him as he swiped his wet raven hair from his eyes. It was a little longer than current fashion, and it slid down the back of his neck in thick waves. Her heart pounded with something more than physical exertion.

He lifted a sleek black brow. “I spent most of my time in the crow's nest. Of course I can climb.”

His long fingers wrapped around the heavy chain and he pulled himself from the water with ease. His water clogged shirt clung to his skin. His biceps bulged beneath wet sleeves as his arms took his weight. As he moved, his skin rippled with the changing interplay of muscle. He was hip high out of the water. A massive taut thigh rose from the water, finding purchase on the chain. Then his body was free.

He looked down at her, black eyes as bright as the surface of the water. He reached down, offering his hand. Long fingers stretched towards her, the calloused skin of his palms evident of his time at sea. These were not the hands of a man who sat behind a desk. These were the hands of a man who knew how to use them. She gulped, her body reliving the way they branded her skin.

“A man offers a lady help,” he said.

She looked back at his face, recalling their conversation of last night. “I am a Captain and I need no help,” she said, reaching for the chain at his feet and hauling herself from the water.

She climbed after him, struggling against the abuse of tumbling down the cliff, finding purchase in the loops, ignoring the weight of wet clothes and forgetting exhaustion. Before long they had reached the decks and fell to the boards, letting lungs and body recover. Finally her breathing returned to something more normal and she was able to take in the surrounding deck.

“How do you propose to get this sail up,” Gregory said, indicating the heap of flax strewn on the decks. The ropes were in a messy tangle on top of the sail. Something hard and uncomfortable tightened in her stomach. The elation of moments before slipped away like wisps of a dream.

“How … how do they manage to sail?” she gasped.

Gregory shook his head. “As though by the hand of magic itself. But how does that work?”

Estelle sat, ringing her knees up and resting her forehead on them. She refused to give in to the despair that welled inside. Where there was action, there was hope. Where there was a way, she would find it. But now, sitting on the black decks of an enemy ship, knowing that without hauling the sail, there was no hope of getting away. No hope of finding Paradise. No hope of seeing her friends. No knowing if they lived or if the worst had happened to them. Her father, alive but not.

She choked off the sob that threatened to spill from her mouth, hiding her face from Gregory so he couldn't see the hat she knew colored her cheeks. She would show no weakness.

Images of her friend's faces skittered through her mind. Claire's fair face and her quiet, sublime smile. Dalia's stern face and warm chocolate eyes. She would never see them again. She imagined herself pulling in the dock of Paradise, the children running to the pier, excited and laughing, wanting the presents they knew each trip would bring them. The images were so real, she could almost reach out and hug them.

The decks of the ship lurched and the ship rolled in the quiet waters. Estelle clutched the boards with splayed fingers. “What was that?”

Gregory flew to his feet, unseating his sword. Estelle followed. They both stood, frozen in place, eyes and ears taking in every sight and sound. Apart from a stray call of a seagull, there was nothing. All returned to quiet, the ship eventually settling beneath her feet.

“The ship moved by itself.”

Gregory looked about, jaw tensing. “Agreed. How else can these ships move so fast through the water at such speeds? They have no help of a sail. There has to be another explanation.”

“You were right. It is magic,” Estelle muttered.

“But how? Did you do something to make this ship move?”

A frown crinkled her brow. “I did nothing.”

“Think. There must have been something. There has to be a reason.”

Her mind buzzed. There was no reason, she hadn't moved a muscle, yet the ship had moved. She looked blindly around, palm on her forehead, searching for a reason.

A black patch in the crumpled sail caught her attention. It was a piece of canvas caught in the folds. Catching the edge of the material, she pulled it out, flattening it on top of the sail. She knew what she saw in an instant. The skull and crossbones were seared into her mind. The dark foreboding feeling wound through her mind, as though suffocating any good she felt from her mind.

It was the same feeling she had in the cave when she'd discovered the painting of the cave on the wall. It was the same image on the ring in her satchel. With unsteady fingers she pulled the ring out. The gold was hot to the touch, the metal buzzing with a powerful charge. As soon as it touched her skin, she felt the power surge through her.

“You have my ring,” Gregory said.

Hesitantly she took his hand and turned it palm side up. She held the ring between their palms. The energy from the ring pulsed between them. It rattled between their enclosed palms like a living things, writhing and jumping.

“I saw the same image in the cave last night.” Gregory stabbed her with a hard stare, she swallowed hard, continuing, “When you were … asleep, I found it. The painting was very old, but there is no mistaking this is the same skull. This ship sails under the skull. This is the magic that gives it such great power.” Estelle scooped the ring and placed it on her finger.

Gregory paused, raked his fingers through his hair, exhaling his breath between clenched teeth. “There's more. I have to tell you about … the ring. It was magic that took your father that night.” His voice was rough and low and she stabbed him with a stare of her own.

“How do you know?”

“I found that ring on this night he disappeared.”

“You said you found nothing! No trace! You lied to me!”

Gregory faced her, hard lines etched his mouth. “Believe me when I say it is better you didn't know of it. It's all I found. There was nothing else. I found it in the shadows just after your father disappeared. Estelle, I … I have uncovered more of this mystery than I could ever tell anyone.”

“And why then, did you keep this ring, if it were so dangerous to possess?”

Gregory sighed. “I can't say now whether I believe it or not, but if what has happened to me in the past two days is anything to go by, it seems I should have been more open minded years ago.” He turned to face her, watched the sunlight spark off her autumn locks. “You father had found a great secret and told me the night before he went missing.”

“What did he discover?” She was breathless, watching him intently, her whole attention riveted to what he should say next.

He chose his words carefully. “He had inadvertently discovered information pertaining to a government official and an ancient prophecy.” Gregory checked to make sure that she believed what he said, that there was no incredulous expression on her face, no fleeting twitch.

She nodded. “Go on.”

He thinned his mouth into a flat line. “I have told no others of this during all these years, but have only worked to reveal further truth from what your father told me that night. I'm not sure if you're going to like what I am about to reveal, but it involves your General Marcus Worthington and a prophecy so ancient, so evil that I was astounded it survived the eons of years that it has.”

“Worthington discovered the folklore of the ancients that dwelled in this area of the world for thousands of years. The Time before Time, they call it, their explanation of how the earth, heaven, and hell were created. But there was one such story that they never liked to tell. Worthington was curious, more curious than others. You father told me he discovered the tale of how gods can live of the earth as men.”

“Worthington read tales of one such god, a power hungry god of the ancients imprisoned in a bottomless cave for his wicked deeds when the gods were allowed to walk the earth before men were created. If this god were to be set free, its glory would to become a god on earth. But having no body, it would need to enlist the help of men made of blood and bone to walk these planes again. Worthington subjected many of the local people to torture and was eventually shown a cave and a map. Your father happened upon this map a week before he disappeared, learning of Worthington's deeds. He needed more evidence to put him behind bars, but Worthington had covered his tracks well, enlisting the help of one of the most corrupt seamen in this region.”

“Cutlass,” Estelle whispered.

Gregory nodded. “The then Able Seamen Jack Cutlass, who having been enlisted by Worthington, has grown to become the most ruthless and richest of pirates in the Southern Hemisphere.”

“Are you sure about this information? I have only known the General to be kind to me.”

“Kind to your face, but behind your back something else altogether. Since raising the god from the cave, however he has done it, he has risen through the ranks to General faster than any other. He was the one that stopped me from coming to get you after the disappearance of your father. All the way, General Worthington has grown more and more rich and has entwined himself into the upper echelons of power. Now Worthington is more powerful than even the prime governor.”