Paradise Island

by Charmaine Ross

  There was barely a definition between the sky and the water, but whatever was out there would not go unnoticed. A sliver of guilt worked its way into her thoughts. She hoped that kidnapping Gregory would not be a mistake her friends and crew would pay for with their lives. Revenge for her father had been the defining force of her life, and now that her planning was finally coming into fruition, she hoped it would not be her undoing.

  Her indistinct, girlish memory of Gregory was in stark contrast to the real life version of him currently deck below. Gone was the misty face of a boy a few years her senior, and here now was the volatile man in the flesh. A fission of sparks ignited in her abdomen as the thought of his bare chest filled her mind. She imagined how his skin might feel beneath her fingertips. Silken? Firm? Burning?

  She shuddered and dropped the thought from her mind. A clipped order to one of her crew members had him a fresh shirt. She gave explicit orders to take two other women to the brig and have him change clothes in front of them.

  Claire doubled over in pain with a soft cry, as if an invisible fist had slammed into her. There was a single, forlorn cry from the lookout in the crows’ nest. Estelle’s world was shattered with an explosion that had her ship tilting violently to the side. Estelle was thrown onto the solid wooden boards of the deck. Her ribs exploded in pain and her lungs constricted tightly with the impact.

  Estelle reached for the handrail, dragging herself to her feet. The ship rolled and righted, recoiling with the shock of the impact.

  “Ship ahoy!” a crew member cried out.

  Estelle searched the horizon. Several black dots grew larger within seconds. They moved at an incredible pace, too fast for mere sail ships, and soon she saw the spires of the masts and their full bows sails, filled as if in the middle of a gale.

  “Is it Cutlass?” Dalia asked.

  Estelle shook her head. “I do not know. I have never seen the skull and cross-bones sign before.”

  A burning heat at her hip had her looking into her satchel. The ring she had taken from Gregory was lodged into a corner, burn marks evident on the soft leather. She went to take it out, the touch searing her fingertip.

  There was a high whistling sound that cut a shard of terror straight into Estelle’s heart. She knew that sound and it didn’t bode well for the Wanderlust. Something exploded in the water, close to their ship. Water sprayed upward like a geyser, higher than the main sail, and dumped hard, unforgiving drops onto the deck. It rained heavily, slapping the boards with a thunderous chorus. Estelle flung her arm over her head in an automatic, albeit futile attempt at self-protection. Water pounded down on her with the force of fists.

  She slipped across the boards to where Claire and Dalia clung to the hand rail. Claire’s large, terror filled eyes were fastened to the horizon. She was shaking. Her white-knuckled fingers dug into the wood, strangling it as though she could snap through the oak.

  Estelle looked to Dalia. Although she naturally reigned in her emotions, rarely showing them, Estelle knew by the tight line of her shoulders and the way she wrapped protective hands around Claire’s shoulders, that she was alarmed. She turned wide eyes on Estelle.

  “We are under attack,” she said in a quiet voice at odds with the menace that surrounded them all. There was no trace of the utter surprise that shook Estelle to her core.

  “They are too far away for an attack. I don’t know how they are doing this,” Estelle gasped.

  “Could they be after Gregory?” Dalia asked.

  Estelle nodded. “Possibly. He promised this. He also said they would be fast, but how can they be this fast?”

  “It is not right. There is something amiss about them. Claire senses it and she is never wrong,” Dalia said.

  “Whoever it is, they must know we have Gregory. They will not want to kill him after going to so much trouble to find him. So we are safe as long as we have him on board,” Estelle said.

  “Then we cannot lose him to them,” Dalia said.

  “He certainly will prove his worth,” Estelle answered.

  There was another high whistle and Estelle immediately braced herself. There was another explosion and water pounded down on them with a vicious roar.

  “What do you want us to do, Captain?” Jade asked. She staggered, holding on to whatever she could as the Wanderlust rocked with the angry waves of the explosion.

  Estelle looked to her crew. They waited expectantly, intent written on their faces. A burst of pride swelled in Estelle’s chest and brought a momentary hot sting to her eyes. Her crew would follow her to the ends of the earth and she knew it. She had saved each and every one of them in some way and they in turn followed her to the life which they had all forged together. But she was their Captain and she needed to make decisions.

  The sleek ships were gaining on them with a ferocious speed. There was little wind, and from what she could make out, they had no oars. There was no earthly explanation for how they could be covering such a distance at great speed. They were undeniably bound by magic, and every life on the Wanderlust was in immediate danger.

  Estelle took her position on the poop deck. A smile curved her mouth and the familiar rush of heat in her blood washed away her fear, leaving her with a simmering anger and the kick of adrenaline. This was what she lived for. This was her reason for being. They wanted a fight, and she was just the person to give it to them.

  “All hands on deck! Raise the main sails! Move! Quickly!”

  Her crew scattered. The sail rolled into full position and burst into plump folds with the wind. The Wanderlust slid through the water like it was smooth ice. Wind ripped through her loose hair and tossed her heavy locks wildly in the breeze. The water roared past, a blur of deep black-blue and white frothy peaked caps.

  There was an explosion that impacted the water in the direct path of the Wanderlust. Water thundered onto the decks. The ship lurched forwards, the bow digging in the churning water. Items skidded across the deck, cracking against the hull and scattering in all directions. There was a deep, mournful groan and the ship shuddered, the bow so low that water lapped at the railing. A wave slapped against the hull, the white peaks cascading over the railing. Anymore and it would clutch the ship and suck it down to the bottom of the ocean.

  “Loose the main sail!” Estelle screamed.

  The crew swung instantly into action, racing to unfurl sails, pull ropes, anything that would bring the main sail down. Ropes swung into a tangle and the sail ripped down the mast, unfolding to a heap at the base. The Wanderlust tipped backwards, rolling awkwardly in the water.

  They were a sitting duck, without a hope of regaining their speed and safety. Estelle watched the black ships gaining on them.

  “Get Gregory,” Estelle cried. She clawed a path to Claire and Dalia, riding the tossing decks.

  “If they see him then maybe they will stop firing,” Estelle said.

  Claire uttered a low moan. She rocked back and forth, caught in a private world of unspeakable terror. Dalia crouched next to her and wrapped her arms about her shoulders. “She will not survive this,” Dalia said.

  Estelle reached out and planted her hand on her friend’s shoulder. She needed to ask Dalia the one thing that would get them from this danger — the one thing Dalia had said she would never do. For the sake of her crew, she had to ask. “Dalia, you will have to use The Hiding on the ship … as well as the crew,” Estelle said.

  Dalia shook her head. “I cannot,” she whispered. Her usually impassive face was struck with open terror.

  “For the sake of the crew. For Claire’s sake, Dalia. None of us will survive if they catch us.”

  “The gods … ” Dalia whispered.

  “Where were the gods when you were taken from your parents as a slave? Where were your gods when my father was killed and I was left to fend for myself when the world t
urned against me? Where were the gods when it was Claire’s duty to marry that ogre of a man, just because of his station in society? Dalia, where were they then? They were not there and they are not here today. If you do not help, it will be the end of all of us.”

  “But, the women, the crew — I can’t use The Hiding on them. I do not know what will happen,” Dalia said.

  “I know exactly what will happen if you don’t. We will fight, and we will die. All of us. They outnumber us. Look at them coming towards us. They blot the horizon. We don’t have a chance of winning this fight. All we can do is hide and run. Dalia, please. I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t our only option,” Estelle pleaded. She hated asking this of Dalia. “Dalia, time is running out. This is a battle we cannot afford to enter. You have to do this.”

  She gently squeezed Dalia’s shoulder. Dalia was her dear friend and she couldn’t bear to see her caught, or worse, again. And Claire wouldn’t survive going back to her home.

  Dalia nodded, just once and double-edged relief washed through Estelle. She smiled at her friend and cupped her cheeks in the palms of her hands.

  “Thank you, Dalia.”

  “I do this for the three of us and our crew. But if it goes wrong, I cannot tell what will happen.”

  “It is a chance we have to take.”

  “We have him, Captain,” Jade said.

  Estelle faced Gregory. His wrists were cuffed, but even that could not diminish the power of his lean, hard frame.

  “It seems that you have friends after all,” she said as she stood before him. “Very fast friends.” She indicated to Gregory the ships moving with incredible speed towards them.

  Gregory narrowed his eyes as he looked at them. “They are not my ships.”

  “Surely they are. They have been following us and have fired on us, for you,” Estelle said.

  “The Navy is fast, but not that fast. I have never seen those ships before. I don’t know who they are,” Gregory said.

  “You lie. They are coming for you. Maybe they will stop firing and stay back if they see that you are in danger,” Estelle said.

  She hooked Gregory’s manacled arm in her hands and hauled him to the side of the ship. They would be in full view of the lead ship and Estelle hoped that it would be enough to deter their firing at them. To her horror there was a puff of smoke from the lead ship. Moments later another explosion rocked the Wanderlust and they were thrown to the decks with the brutal rocking.

  “Dalia, it is time. Hurry, please,” Estelle cried. She hoped that Dalia could concentrate enough to begin The Hiding.

  Gregory seared her with an icy stare. “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “I will never believe anything you say,” Estelle said.

  As they stumbled to their feet, Gregory yelled over the noise of the water. “The Navy would not fire knowing I was onboard.”

  “Maybe they did not see you,” Estelle said.

  She pushed Gregory to the railing again and stood slightly behind him, giving the ships a good view of him. “It will make no difference. They must have their sights set on you, not me. What else have you been up to in these waters?” Gregory spat.

  “You have greater concerns than to worry about what I have done,” Estelle answered.

  She glanced at Dalia who sat cross-legged on the poop deck. Her head was tilted backwards and she had her eyes closed. She started the chant, loud enough for all to hear. The low tones wove winding pathways through the air, weaving tiny particles and binding them together. Estelle felt the breeze soften as the threads of Dalia’s chant blocked it out. The Hiding was starting. Estelle felt as if they were caught under a jar, dividing the world around them by a thin veil. She could see the ships, the water, the sky, but knew they would be fading from their sight.

  She held her telescope to her eye, needing to see who was attacking. The chant changed. Dalia’s soft voice rang along every plane of the ship. The pathways stroked her skin, winding around her arms, soft on her face. It was charged with a cold power that sizzled where it touched. She felt lightheaded, drowsy. It was as if her spirit were lifting from her body, leaving her free and light. She moved her arm, just to make sure she could still physically move it but it took so much energy, she let it drop to her side once again. Her breath was becoming labored and she tilted on the drowsy world of near sleep.

  Estelle noticed Claire staring at her and she sensed an extreme sadness riding along the pathways Dalia carved in and around them. They were being joined by The Hiding. Estelle tried to send her an encouraging smile, but she could not summon up the happiness to move. Estelle shuddered, knowing she felt but an essence of The Terror.

  Wanting to send something kind and good to Claire so that she may not feel such agony, Estelle concentrated on Paradise. She imagined the three of them laughing as they sat on the white sandy shore of the protected bay they had built their village around. She imagined the women who lived there, the children that ran along the crisscrossing paths between huts. Estelle concentrated so hard, she could almost smell the warm tropical breeze and the cries of the hosts of tropical birds that claimed the island.

  With great effort, she managed to hold the telescope to her eye. The ships were close enough to spot black-clad figures onboard. For ships sailing as fast as they were, the figures seemed very still. Then her veins froze. There was one figure that was animated, busily shouting orders, his telescope aimed directly at her. “Cutlass!” she whispered. Why would he be sailing beneath such a sign?

  There was another puff of smoke from the lead ship. She watched it billow into the air. The whistling sound started, high and forlorn. She saw the black canon ball tearing through the air. It was on target this time, heading straight for them. It would not merely fall into the water. This one was meant to hit.

  There was a keening cry from Claire. She held out her hand to Estelle just as the canon ball ripped through the mast of the Wanderlust. Wood shattered in all directions. A thunderous cracking followed and the mast tilted and fell towards them. Dalia’s chant echoed loudly from all directions, seeming to coming from inside and outside of her head at the same time.

  Estelle grabbed Gregory’s arm, pulling him. Gregory rolled with her as the mast ripped through the railing. The deck shattered into a million shards and crumbled beneath her body, and suddenly she was falling through a gaping opening in the side of the ship.

  She felt like she was pushing against a membrane. It stretched. Snapped. She plummeted downwards until she was embraced by the cold, hard ocean waters, all thoughts of Paradise lost.

  Chapter Four

  He tumbled through the crumbling deck. Frigid water. Gasp air. Skin numb in an instant. He somersaulted, disoriented. Open eyes. Blank darkness.

  His hands were pinned together, heavy in iron. He stifled his first reaction to panic, knowing it would eat up his oxygen quicker than if he let his mind work and found sense in his surroundings. Then he relaxed his limbs, letting his arms and legs become heavy, concentrating on which way his body moved in the water. Gravity would take effect. He would sink and then be able to work out which way was up.

  A bubble of air leaked upwards from between his lips. The black churning of the surface was above him. He kicked, feet cumbersome in leather boots, lungs screaming for air.

  His arms burned with the pressure of being cuffed. If only he had his hands. He was an excellent swimmer, but it was a struggle in the heavy chains. He kicked and broke through the surface. His searing lungs opened and tore air down his throat.

  His body dropped, the surface licked past his chin and water spilled down his throat. He gasped, coughing it up. He struggled to keep his head above water while his water-filled boots and drenched clothes acted as weights. He treaded water as best he could, but it was not enough to keep him buoyant, and water closed over his head.

  H
e watched the surface as he sunk, tantalizingly close, but unreachable. Drowning was meant to be one of the more peaceful ways of dying. There was no pain, only oxygen eating panic.

  Gregory decided to cling onto life with the few remaining seconds he had and relaxed into the water. It would gain him precious moments more of life and if it was only moments he had then he would take as many as he could. His breath slipped between his lips and he closed his eyes, ready for the inevitable.

  Abruptly, he was hooked beneath his arms and pulled upwards. His head broke through the surface and he sucked in air with a noisy gasp. He kicked clumsily, fighting his leaden body, and twisted to see what had brought him upwards.

  “Lay back and relax, you stupid ox, otherwise you’ll have us both drowned,” a sultry voice whispered.

  Her breath was hot in his ear. It wove through his mind and connected with the primitive insides of his body. His mind filled with a vision of autumn oak trees and blazing chestnut eyes. Soft breasts pressed into his back and he relaxed into them. She wound her cold arms beneath his chin, tilting his head back to keep the water from entering his mouth. She was a strong woman, toned and fit. Her powerful strokes had them gliding through the water in long easy slides.

  He focused on the night sky above him, rather than the body beneath. What he saw didn’t make the faintest sense at all. Where moments before it had been bright sun, now there was nothing more than glittering stars polka-dotting an ink black sky. He turned his gaze across the waves, looked as hard as he could, but there was no ship, no crew, nothing but the dark swell of the ocean.

  “How can it be night? Have I been unconscious?” he gasped.