“Dear God, he’s killed Jack,” whispered Ross. “Stede, he’s killed Jack! Get us over there!”
“I b’ trying Declan!” yelled the quartermaster. “But we b’ fighting the very wind! I tell ya, we b’ nearing the eye of this storm!”
The Constantine arrived too late to help the Banshee. Cutlass Jack’s xebec had become a bonfire of debris. Through the wavering flames and smoke, Anne and Cat could see the Raven’s Revenge moving slowly on the other side. It was as if Thorne were looking to make sure no one survived.
Anne’s tears burned down her cheeks, but she did not weep on Cat’s shoulder. She turned the wheel. “What are you doing?” Cat asked.
“We can’t match the firepower of that ship,” Anne said bitterly. “But we will stop him!”
Cat realized at once what she planned to do. “I’ll get Father Brun and the rest of the Brethren,” he said. “We’ll be ready to board when the time comes.”
Convinced that Cutlass Jack and his crew were dead, Thorne looked about for the Robert Bruce and saw it knifing in to starboard. “Coming right for me?” Thorne was surprised. “Ready the starboard cannons!” he yelled. In the seconds before the command to fire, Thorne imagined sending a volley right into the Bruce’s keel, breaking its spine . . .
Something hit the Raven’s Revenge so hard that Thorne lurched forward and slammed into the ship’s wheel. He fell to one knee . . . feeling disoriented and strange. When he stood at last, he saw that another ship had rammed them on the portside. Where had the ship come from? Who was it? He leaned over the rail of the quarterdeck and saw that the damage to the Raven’s Revenge was extensive . . . but not fatal. Then he realized with dreadful certainty that the other ship’s captain had made a grave error.
“Fire port cannons!” Thorne yelled.
Only a handful of the ship’s port cannons opened up, but it was enough. Cannonballs tore into the Constantine and dislodged it from the Raven’s Revenge . . . but not before dozens of intruders had come aboard. Thorne saw men climbing up the side of his ship. These men wore brown robes.
“The Brethren,” Thorne hissed. “Raukar! To the deck!”
The Bruce was finally in range. “Fire!!” Ross yelled.
“NO, DECLAN!!” Stede grabbed his friend and pointed. “Look!”
“Belay that order to fire!” Ross screamed. He saw what Anne had done and realized an errant shot could hit the Constantine. “Anne, what are you doing?”
“Nothing ya wouldn’t have done, mon!” Stede answered.
Ross laughed. “You’re right, Stede. Give me as much speed as you can!”
“Ohhh, Declan, ya not going to b’ doing what I b’ thinking?”
“I can’t just leave her there!” Ross knew Stede understood his order, so he raced off the quarterdeck and warned his men to get away from the front of the Bruce. Then he went below and ordered Red Eye to round up everyone in sight for a boarding party.
“What ship are we boarding?” Red Eye asked.
“The Raven’s Revenge.”
“I was hoping you’d say that, sir,” Red Eye said, and then he was off.
It was as if the Constantine had been blown right out from under them. Father Brun, Cat, Anne, and a dozen other monks had just leaped into the rigging of the Raven’s Revenge when the cannons blasted the Constantine. Cat looked back over his shoulder and saw that the ship was already sinking. “No going back now,” said Cat.
“There never was,” Father Brun replied.
Thorne remained on the quarterdeck. He had a crew of two hundred Raukar warriors, at least a dozen Berserkers, and a handful of men from the Talon. The invaders stood little chance. Suddenly, the Raven’s Revenge was rocked a second time, and Thorne flew into the portside rail. Standing and shrugging off the blow, Thorne saw the Robert Bruce smashed into his starboard bow.
Thorne couldn’t believe Ross had the nerve, but it didn’t matter. He’d do to the Bruce what he’d done to the first ship. “Fire starboard cannons!”
Thorne waited, but no cannons fired. “FIRE THE STARBOARD CANNONS!!” Thorne shrieked. But no cannons fired. Thorne realized that his men were up on deck, fighting the invaders. And somehow, the fight had just become a lot more even. Men poured over the Bruce’s rail, swung across on ropes, and even leaped from the masts into the rigging on the Raven’s Revenge. Thorne’s main deck quickly filled with combatants. Their silhouettes danced strangely in front of the myriad of fires that burned on the deck.
“Now it comes to it, Declan!” Thorne yelled. He drew a sword in one hand and the bleeding stick in the other.
Declan Ross put a hand on Stede’s shoulder and said, “I’m going after Thorne.”
“I b’right behind you, mon.” Lightning flashed overhead. Thunder boomed. “The storm won’t b’ the only thunder.” Stede took his huge gun from its holster.
The Raven’s Revenge became a battlefield, and Red Eye led the charge. A huge Raukar warrior rose up in front of him. The Norse man hacked at Red Eye’s legs, but Red Eye leaped, whirled in the air, and slashed his cutlass across his enemy’s face.
Jules found a Berseker, or rather the Berserker found Jules. The crazed Raukar crashed into Jules, actually picked him up, and slammed him to the deck, crushing a burning barrel. Jules patted out a few licks of fire on his breeches, stood up, and cracked his knuckles. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he said. Then Jules drove a heavy punch into the Berserker’s midsection and then hooked an uppercut beneath the man’s chin. Teeth flew out of the Berserker’s mouth and blood flowed, but the Berserker came back. He swung clumsily for Jules, but missed. Jules slammed his ham-sized fists into the Berserker’s chest and then wailed away at his face. Still the Berserker would not fall.
St. Pierre appeared behind the Berserker and dropped something into a nearby Raukar’s leather armor. “Jules,” St. Pierre said, “I suggest you get out of the way!”
Jules and Jacques dove behind some crates on the deck just as the grenade went off. The Berserkers were no longer a problem.
Hack and Slash fought back to back, engaging four men at a time. Their system worked well . . . until it became fighting six men at a time. But with the aid of two Brethren monks, they survived to fight on.
Anne and Father Brun found themselves separated from Cat in the fighting with a sea of combatants between them. Several Raukar warriors drew swords and approached Anne and the monk.
“Are you ready?” Father Brun asked, pulling two fighting sticks from the sleeve of his robe.
Anne smiled and said, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .”
33
THE HURRICANE’S EYE
The storm worsened. The wind blew so hard that men doing battle were blown off the sides of the ship. Fires still burned, and the wind whipped the flames wildly. What was left of the Constantine had drifted and sunk. The Bruce, its bowsprit still impaling the Raven’s Revenge, groaned and creaked with every gust. Still, the fighting raged on.
Bartholomew Thorne slammed his bleeding stick into the lower back of Brother Keegan. The monk toppled to the deck. He tried to get up, but found that he couldn’t move. Thorne approached, lifted his cutlass sword, and as he was about to let it fall—
“Nooo!” Cat yelled. He leaped out of the rigging and faced his father near the mainmast.
“My prodigal son returns . . . again!” Thorne shook with anger. “The Merchant didn’t kill you. Seems I can’t trust anyone these days!”
Cat didn’t waste time with words. He lunged at his father. Thorne deflected the blow with his own sword and brought the bleeding stick around. But Cat was too quick. Ducking his father’s strike, he dropped to his knees and slashed his cutlass across his father’s thigh. Blood poured from the wound. Thorne stumbled backward and fell into a Raukar warrior. Thorne got back to his feet. The crowds parted as Cat pressed in on his wounded father, driving him across the deck. Thorne ducked around the foremast and charged up the ladder to the forecastle
.
Cat followed quickly, but not quickly enough. As Cat reached the top rungs of the ladder, Thorne slammed a heavy boot into Cat’s jaw. Then Thorne reached down, grabbed Cat by the neck, and flung him headlong into the starboard rail. Cat’s sword clattered to the deck. Cat fell in a lump at the feet of another man.
Ross quickly stepped between Cat and Bartholomew Thorne. Ross’s gray eyes blazed. The wind whipped his corona of coppery hair around his face. He raised his cutlass and said, “What kind of a man tries to murder his own son . . . his own flesh and blood?”
Thorne did not answer, but with a raging howl, he ran forward. Ross charged as well, his sword moving in a blur. Their clash was so fierce that others near the forecastle stopped fighting to watch. But at that moment, the wind and rain stopped. An eerie silence fell upon the two locked ships. Ross and Thorne parted for a moment and looked around. The clouds overhead swirled darkly forming a curving wall. As the storm drifted slowly over, Ross saw that the wall was actually the edge of a vast tunnel through the massive clouds. And to his astonishment, he could see stars in the night sky. The eye, he thought. We’ve reached the eye. Others had drawn the same conclusion, but the battle resumed.
When Ross’s and Thorne’s swords met again, the sound was incredibly loud and distinct in the absence of the wind. Ross tried to angle in on Thorne’s sword arm and keep the bleeding stick out of range. Ross struck for Thorne’s upper arm, hoping to disable it and force Thorne to one weapon. Declan’s attack cut across Thorne’s shoulder, but not deep enough. Thorne stepped away from Ross’s blade and toward the bow. Then Thorne slammed the butt of his bleeding stick into Ross’s midsection. Ross doubled over, and Thorne drove a knee to the side of Ross’s head. Ross dropped his sword and fell to the deck.
Anne saw Cat fall and then her father, but there were too many enemies around her. She couldn’t fight her way through. She was forced to watch from a distance while fending off attacks. “Cat!” she screamed. “Da!”
Dolphin stood on the main deck of the Bruce and saw Ross fall. She watched as Thorne cut a leather strap from his boot and lashed Ross’s arms to the rail. Then he unscrewed his bleeding stick so it became a flail weapon. Dolphin cried out, but no one heard. She had no weapon. There was nothing she could do. Then, suddenly, it came to her. But she needed to get closer.
Thorne let the perilous head of his bleeding stick dangle and swing. Then he retreated a few steps and let the weapon fly at Ross’s back, opening a huge bloody gash. He raised the weapon again and—
“Bartholomew, STOP!!” came a voice from behind.
Thorne knew that voice, and his next swing went errant. The head of the weapon embedded itself on the rail.
“How could you let the British get to me, Bartholomew?”
“Heather?” He dropped the handle of his weapon and turned slowly.
Lady Dolphin stood at the bow rail of the Bruce. Her eyes seemed vacant. Her crimson hair was matted from the rain, and thin red locks curled down her forehead and cheeks like blood trails from small wounds. Dolphin lifted her hand and pointed accusingly at Thorne. “You let me burn!”
“No!” Thorne lifted his hands.
Just at that moment, Ross revived. He took in the scene, saw Thorne distracted, and knew he had to act. The leather strap that bound his arms to the rail was not tight. Ross freed one arm and then the other.
Dolphin’s voice rose to an agonizing shriek. “You let the fire take me . . . and our child!”
Thorne’s mouth opened and closed, voicelessly mouthing “no . . . no . . . no.”
Ross rose behind Thorne. Quick as lightning, he grabbed Thorne at the shoulder and waist and rammed his head into the rail. Disoriented a moment, Thorne fell to one knee. But he managed to draw his cutlass and began to rise.
Without a weapon himself, Ross grabbed the handle of the bleeding stick and slung a loop of its chain around Thorne’s neck. He shoved the handle inside the loop, pulled it down, and tightened it like a noose. Thorne gagged and dropped his sword. He flailed, pulling at the handle for several seconds, and then slumped to the deck.
Streaks of rain and blood ran down Ross’s face, but he wiped them away. He could only stare at the nearby still form of the man who had murdered his Abigail, had killed so many, caused so much agony . . . now dead at last. Ross backed away a few steps and then turned to look for Cat.
“Declan!” Stede appeared at the top of the forecastle ladder. Ross’s old friend ran to embrace him but then he saw Cat lying in a heap near the starboard rail. Neither Ross nor Stede saw Bartholomew Thorne as he slowly clambered to his feet. The flail weapon’s chain was still knotted around his neck, but Thorne drew a pistol and leveled it at Ross’s back.
Dolphin saw the scene unfold from the Bruce. “Captain Ross!!” she cried.
A powerful gunshot blast thundered. Ross’s eyes went wide and he swayed.
Thorne dropped his pistol and staggered backward. Blood spread from a dozen new wounds on his chest and stomach, and his mouth fell open. One raspy breath escaped before he slammed into the rail and fell overboard. The chain of Thorne’s bleeding stick held, the noose tightened, and Thorne hung from the bow of his own ship.
Ross, still wide-eyed, stared at the smoking muzzle of Stede’s thunder gun. “But just after we boarded, I heard you fire . . .”
Stede grinned. “I reloaded, mon.”
Ross grabbed Stede by the cheeks and kissed his forehead. “That’s another lifetime of friendship I owe you.”
“I b’thinkin’ that’s seven now.” Stede laughed. But the levity was short-lived. The Raven’s Revenge pitched suddenly and began to shudder. Ross and Stede ran to Cat’s side even as the ship began to list. Ross looked up and saw that the ships were shifting, separating from each other. Ross ran to the edge of the forecastle and bellowed, “Crew of the Robert Bruce . . . return to the ship!”
Ross and Stede managed to hand Cat up to Jules, who leaned over the rail of the Bruce, and then they went to work on the ship’s wheel. Stede blasted the hub with his thunder gun, and he and Ross kicked at it until the wheel cracked and fell free. Then they tossed the wheel of the Raven’s Revenge into the sea.
Just as the ships pulled apart, Ross and Stede went to the rigging and climbed for their lives. They dove from one ship to the other. Ross found Anne and Father Brun waiting on the quarterdeck. “Did we all make it?” Ross asked.
Father Brun looked up grimly. “All who were still living are back on the ship.” They turned and watched the Raven’s Revenge plunge back into the storm. They could still see Thorne’s feet dangling as the wind swallowed up the ship.
Stede looked up at the approaching wall of clouds and said, “The Bruce b’ not surviving another bout with the storm. B’ no chance at all.”
“I know,” said Ross, glancing at Anne and the others assembled there. “At least we’re all here together.”
“It ain’t so bad here, is it, my lady?” Hopper smiled at Dolphin, and then looked up through the hurricane’s eye at the stars and said, “I like it here.”
Anne said, “I like it here too.”
Cat gave Anne’s hand an affectionate squeeze. He looked up at Captain Ross and smiled.
34
OUT OF THE GRAY
Commodore Brandon Blake grabbed another armful of palm fronds and debris and carried it to a massive pile fifty yards from the Citadel’s gatehouse. He was one of many moving silently from the fire and storm-ravaged walls to various mounds and heaps of wreckage. But even among the monks of the Brethren, Commodore Blake felt like the loneliest person on the face of the earth. He’d made a decision to let his beloved Dolphin sail out of his sight. She and the others had disappeared into the hurricane and had not returned. In fact, no one who sailed into that storm had returned.
The storm had indeed turned north, so it spared the island of Saba its most intense winds and rain. And even as the Brethren defeated the last of the Berserkers and Raukar invaders, the rain put out the last of the
ir fires. The damage to the walls was considerable, but not permanent. The main keep was barely touched at all. But the Brethren had lost many of its faithful including Father Henry and Father Hoyt. Brandon Blake had lost everyone.
The mid-afternoon sky was still leaden and overcast. The winds still swirled and spat moisture, but the storm was gone. A merchant who arrived earlier in the morning reported that the storm weakened a great deal before dissipating over the Turks. Blake dropped off another armful of debris and stared out to the horizon. All the while, staring out to the gray, he walked to the shore, took off his boots, and let the water run over his feet.
The Oxford, what was left of it, was moored just offshore and floated ponderously on the light surf. Blake looked at the tattered sails and thought about the last several years of his life. He’d witnessed some of the vilest atrocities ever committed by a man. He’d also seen men change, seen them do good when they had every reason to do evil. And Blake wondered about that.
Something caught Blake’s eye, and his heart jumped. There was something on the horizon—a ship. But as it came closer, he saw that it had only one square sail. Just another merchant or fisherman. Gulls cried overhead, and Blake watched them drift on the breeze. He turned back and looked again at the sail. It is a tall ship for just one sail, he thought. In fact, Blake didn’t know of any ships of that size with one mast and one sail.
The bell in the Citadel’s keep tower began to ring. Members of the Brethren streamed out of the keep and joined Blake at the shore. They pointed to the sea and whispered. The ship drew nearer still. Commodore Brandon Blake dropped to his knees. For even with its swinging bowsprit broken clean off, Blake knew the ship was the Robert Bruce. And standing at the bow rail was a woman with scarlet hair blowing in the wind.
Isle of Fire Page 29
