Pirates and Wizards

by Jaxon Reed

  The men glanced back at Frond, clearly spooked now thanks to the old sailor’s ominous pronouncements. The captain tugged his beard, gazing at the deck for a moment. Then he raised his head, a decision made.

  “I can’t fault your wisdom, Denn. Perhaps you’re right. We’ll expect the worst. Mattero, prepare the men. I want everybody to have a sword or an ax strapped to their belts. Distribute our bows to anyone who says they can draw a string. These may be pirates or the Royal Coral Navy. Either way, we’re just a merchant ship. Let’s be prepared to meet force with force.”

  The men sprang into action as Mattero shouted out orders. Frond smiled apologetically to the twins and Stin. He said, “It wouldn’t hurt for you to be armed as well. If Old Denn is right, you’ll be wanting a blade on you.”

  “I’ll get our weapons,” Bartimo said. He hurried off toward the passenger cabins, disappearing in the hustle and bustle of the crew.

  “I’m afraid,” Frond continued, more to himself than the others, “if they indeed are pirates, we have precious few options to fend them off. Most of my crew are not used to fighting.”

  Quarl stepped up and said, “I have an idea, Captain.”

  The two men headed down to the hold as Frond listened intently to his healer.

  Stin shaded his eyes and squinted up at the sails. He made out Kirt at the top of the canvas. Kirt saw him looking up and gave a jaunty salute.

  Stin scowled and said, “I think he’s enjoying this.”

  “Of course he is,” Bellasondra said. “He’s got a chance to fight pirates. What boy doesn’t dream of such adventure?”

  “The problem is,” Stin muttered softly, “adventures have a way of getting you killed.”

  -+-

  The sun slid halfway down the sky before the two vessels came within hailing distance. The captains bellowed at one another across the water. The other ship appeared considerably larger than Dream of the Isles, complete with two decks instead of just one, and several more sails. The captain of the larger vessel made clear his intentions to come within distance.

  The sailors of the large ship were dressed in the orange-red linen uniforms of Coral, and appeared authentic from a distance. But Old Denn spat in the water and said to anyone who’d listen, “Too few men for a ship that size! Likely they be hidin’ the ruffians.”

  The captain felt he had little choice, though, thanks to the other ship’s advantage in size and speed.

  At the last moment, just as the larger ship pulled alongside them, the orange-red flag of Coral went down, and a solid black one went up. As the waves shifted the side of their ship toward the merchant, hundreds of men sprang from hiding and screamed.

  Frond yelled, “Brace yourselves! They’re coming in!”

  Several threw ropes with grappling hooks, catching them on the rails of the smaller ship. Men on Dream of the Isles responded by chopping the lines with axes. Some of the more daring pirates jumped for the ship early. Some missed, falling in the water. But some landed on her deck. Each one making it onboard was met with a flurry of blades and axes.

  The ships drew closer, the final few paces separating the vessels narrowing, narrowing. More ropes sailed across the gap, and not all of them were cut. More and more pirates made the leap to the smaller ship, their numbers on deck increasing rapidly.

  Swords and axes flew as pirates attacked the merchant sailors. Blades clanged and thunked into flesh. Men screamed in horror and rage. Archers from both ships loosed arrows, many finding their mark despite the wind and motions of the waves. Blood pooled around fallen bodies, mostly on the merchant ship.

  Two pirates ganged up on Denn. The old sailor gamely fought them off with his battle ax, his blows carefully chopping at exposed arms and legs. Stin ran to his aid, thrusting his blade through the side of one. When his partner looked over, distracted, Denn swung his ax into the man’s neck, bringing him down.

  Old Denn mumbled his thanks. Stin waved it off.

  Stin looked at the fighting all around him. The tide of battle seemed to favor the pirates. Dream of the Isles had only minutes before capture, soon to be overrun by the pirates’ superior numbers.

  He looked over at the captain, who stabbed a shirtless man wearing a bandana on his head. Pulling his shortsword out of the man’s belly, Frond looked back over his shoulder toward the hold and shouted, “Now, Quarl!”

  Quarl ran out of the hold with half a dozen men, all carrying oil lamps. As they rushed past Stin, he noticed the lamps were all lit, the men covering the front of their glass flues as they ran, protecting the flame. Reaching the rails, the men threw them at the decks of the larger ship. Each lamp burst and broke into flames, six fires spreading quickly.

  The tide of battle changed. The attention of the pirates onboard the merchant shifted back to their own ship. The sailors took advantage, stabbing and cutting and chopping the pirates in their distraction. Most of those left on the pirate ship quickly formed a bucket brigade to try and quench the fires before they spread, their interest in the battle disappearing.

  But a few kept their eyes on the prize. One extraordinarily large pirate spied Bellasondra and leapt over to the smaller ship, his feet thumping to the deck as he landed.

  He grinned at her, flashing two missing front teeth. Bald, white shirt, black pants, and red sash around his middle in lieu of a belt, Stin thought he must have leapt straight from a bard’s pirate tale.

  Bellasondra shifted her sword and assumed a fighting stance. Bartimo ran up beside her and faced the giant, too.

  Stin joined them and said, “You’re not getting her. Begone.”

  The pirate smiled even wider at the three swords facing him and said, “Ha! The odds are about even!”

  He swung his longer sword in an arc, clanging it loud against all three blades. He swung again, pressing his advantage and forcing them back.

  Sparks flew as their blades connected, the larger man easily fending off their thrusts in a whirl of motion and footwork. Stin tried to sneak around behind him, but the pirate would have none of that, repeatedly thrusting and parrying, holding Stin in place while he fought the twins.

  They moved about the deck in a deadly dance, stepping over bodies, taking care not to slip on the blood. The twins and Stin pressed and prodded and swung, but could gain no upper hand on the giant.

  In the corner of his mind, Stin heard Mattero and the captain shouting orders. Canvas snapped and lines creaked. Somewhere, someone swung the ship’s wheel hard to port. Dream of the Isles began moving, pulling away from the burning pirate ship. Sailors rushed over with axes and cut the last of the lines connecting them.

  Swords blurring, they neared the railing now, and the giant cast a quick glance over his shoulder to gauge the rapidly expanding distance between the two vessels.

  Thoop!

  The pirate screamed in pain and surprise at the arrow suddenly sticking out of his shoulder. Stin looked up, following its path. Kirt waved at him up in the sails before drawing another arrow from his quiver.

  “How did the boy make that shot? He could have hit one of us,” Stin said.

  Bellasondra said, “Fuss at him later.”

  They pressed their advantage against the wounded pirate, closing in on him. But even injured, the man fought well. Stin lunged in for a decisive blow. The giant riposted, and caught Stin’s blade, pushing it to one side as Stin followed through with his weight. Their faces drew close. Stin felt the big man’s breath on his face, and smelled the blood flowing from his shoulder.

  The giant smiled at him, wrapped an arm around Stin’s shoulders and jumped backward over the railing, pulling Stin along with him. They hit the water together. Stin gasped and gulped as the shock hit him, and he blacked out as the giant pulled him under.

  2

  Mita drifted high in the air under a starless night sky, her dreamscape sifting through fragments of reality, memory, and imagination. Her conscious-self barely registered the journey. Her dream-self floated gently, carried along b
y soft air currents.

  Details below and around her faded in and out as she drifted. Lights from a village far below flickered, then disappeared. Wisps of cloud strayed by. An owl somewhere below made a darker shadow on the landscape as it flew looking for prey.

  Dawn threatened, a distant brightening on the horizon. Just as suddenly it swept away, leaving the landscape darker than before.

  The face of Atta, Mita’s sister, hovered to her right. Atta appeared to be deep in conversation with somebody unseen, nodding her head eagerly and enthusiastically mouthing unheard words.

  Mita’s dream body twisted in the air, gently floating on her back now. Far above her a star twinkled, then fell swiftly toward the ground before winking out.

  Mita’s conscious-self receded further, gradually succumbing to a deeper level of sleep.

  Something grabbed her leg, pulling her down.

  Startled, her conscious presence filled her dream-self, the nightmare suddenly becoming sharp and vivid, more real, imprinting itself on her upper memory.

  A giant claw gripped her. She felt it squeezing her entire lower leg, compressing her calf muscle. It pulled Mita down through the dark, gaining speed as the unseen ground raced up to meet them. Instinctively, her black leather armor grew from a narrow band around her wrist to cover her entire body.

  Her dream-self hit the ground hard, and her physical body bounced on the bed with the impact.

  In the dreamscape, she came to her feet quickly, assuming a fighting stance. But she could see nothing in the surrounding gloom.

  Powerful claws ripped across her belly, penetrating her armor and cutting deep into her flesh. She flew back from the force of the blow, landing on her butt.

  She scrambled back up and cast a spell of light, sending a bright glowing globe up in the air. The gloom dissipated, the globe illuminating a stretch of monochromatic landscape. Strands of grass. Dirt. Some rocks. A distant thicket of trees and brush.

  Mita jerked her head. She felt something approach, racing fast. She cast a protective blue globe around herself.

  Whatever it was rushed through the globe as if it weren’t there and tackled her to the ground.

  The part of Mita’s conscious-self in the dream detached from her ethereal body and watched the fight from a few steps away. From this angle she seemed to be fighting herself, throwing blows and kicks in the air and grunting from unseen impacts.

  Mita rushed back into her dream body with growing alarm. She raised her hand and cast a powerful Spell of Expulsion. With a thunder crack, blinding white light burst out from her hand in a rapidly expanding globe of pure force.

  The creature, or whatever it was, roared and jumped on her face and shoulders, bringing her crashing to the ground on her back . . .

  -+-

  Mita woke up with a start, sitting straight up in bed. She took several deep breaths and forced herself to stop shaking. She looked at her hands to make sure they no longer trembled, then wiped sweaty palms on the sheet. Her entire nightgown felt wet. She was covered in sweat from head to toe.

  She moved her legs to the floor and the pain hit her. She doubled over, gingerly holding her middle where the powerful claw had ripped her open with such force. Other pains cropped up, from her swollen calf muscle to her aching arms.

  With a quick downward motion of her hand, the nightgown disappeared. She looked down and inspected the wounds on her waist. Blood oozed from four sharp parallel cuts, making an ugly contrast with her light brown skin. They were deep, too. She could feel the damage inside her.

  She shuddered, fought to control the shaking again, and cast a healing spell.

  Nothing happened.

  She cast it again, mentally exerting more than enough energy to staunch the bleeding and heal the wounds.

  Nothing.

  Perplexed, she conjured up a roll of cloth for bandages and wrapped it tightly around her middle. By the time she finished, the first rays of dawn peeked through the little window of her room in Oldstone’s flying castle.

  She willed the black leather of her armor back over most of her body, leaving her hands and head uncovered. Gingerly she felt around her middle, physically inspecting the armor for cuts, but she couldn’t find any.

  Unable to explain things to herself, she finally walked out the door and down the stairs toward the kitchen. Cookie smiled at her as she sat down, the facsimile carrying plates of steaming food to the table.

  “Good morning, dearie! How about ham and eggs for breakfast?”

  Mita smiled. The facsimile invariably had breakfast prepared every morning just as she walked in. Other meals were handled the same way, the magic somehow anticipating her needs perfectly.

  Mita cut a slice of ham and chewed it thoughtfully, grateful she no longer had to kill the animals she ate. As part of her training, she had to learn how to feed an army without magic. Pigs were especially nasty, she thought, grimacing at the memory of slaughtering them.

  Cookie walked back to the table carrying a mug of steaming hot tea. Setting it down, she exchanged another smile with Mita. No longer overweight as a result of Oldstone’s modifications to her appearance, Cookie stood tall, slim, and attractive.

  The facsimile’s eyes wandered down to Mita’s middle. She said, “You’re injured, dearie! Why don’t you heal yourself?”

  Mita touched her stomach self-consciously, wondering as she did so how the facsimile had sensed her wounds.

  “I tried, but for some reason my magic won’t work on this one.”

  “Hmm. You should see Oldstone about it. He’s in the library.”

  Mita nodded dutifully. When she finished her food, the plate and fork disappeared. She took her mug and walked down the hallway toward the library.

  The door opened for her and she stepped into her favorite room in the castle. Tall ceilings made it feel especially spacious. Huge windows on the far side of the room offered a wondrous view of the surrounding countryside from the castle’s lofty height in the sky. Books filled shelf after shelf. Display cases held rare artifacts. Portraits for kings, wizards, and other important figures were scattered about the room as well, some behind glass while others stood on tripods.

  Oldstone placed the morning broadsheet from one of the capital cities he’d been reading down on the conference table, and stood to greet her.

  “What’s this about a wound that won’t heal? Where did you get it?”

  Mita wondered, briefly, at the magical bonds Oldstone shared with his facsimiles. How had he known? How had Cookie told him? Was he watching through Cookie, or did the facsimile contact him on her own accord?

  He quirked an eyebrow and she jumped out of her thoughts.

  “It was a dream. I got injured in the dream by an unseen animal of some sort, and when I woke up I discovered I really was hurt.”

  He pointed to his chair and said, “Sit down. Let me see.”

  She sat, and mentally pulled back the leather armor from her belly. He kneeled and began unwrapping her bandages, his fingertips light and graceful.

  Cutie, Oldstone’s other facsimile, young and fresh-faced, ran into the room carrying a washbasin filled with water along with some clean towels. Mita decided he must have mentally summoned her. Cutie stood back at a distance, quietly observing as Oldstone pulled back the last of the bandages.

  He looked at the four claw marks and said, “Try healing again.”

  Mita cast the spell, but nothing happened.

  Oldstone held out his hand and a knife appeared in his palm. He clasped it tight then pulled the tip along the inside of his forearm. He extended his bloody arm to Mita.

  “Heal this.”

  She cast the same spell. Instantly his bleeding stopped and the skin knit itself back together, leaving no marks.

  Oldstone nodded thoughtfully as the knife disappeared. He cast his own healing spell on her stomach.

  Nothing happened.

  “I’ll try a more complex one.”

  He furrowed his brows and Mita c
ould sense the power being summoned. She looked down at her wounds. They remained stubbornly open, oozing blood.

  Oldstone sighed, and Mita sensed his worry, tinged with frustration. He motioned toward Cutie.

  “Clean and redress her wounds, please. Then stitch her up.”

  Cutie dutifully knelt down and wiped the wounds with a clean cloth while Oldstone walked toward the back of the library.

  Cutie retrieved a needle and thread and began sewing up the wounds. Mita quickly numbed her skin around the wounds, grateful that at least the anesthetic spell worked.

  Mita raised her voice so Oldstone could hear and said, “What do you think?”

  He didn’t respond right away. By the time Cutie had rewrapped Mita’s stitched-up stomach with a fresh set of bandages, Oldstone returned carrying an old book. He placed it on the table in front of her, opening it to a page he had marked with his thumb.

  “I think you faced a mind monster last night.”

  Mita looked at the text intently and tried to understand what she read. It seemed to be a history of some sort, discussing the challenges faced by the First Wizards shortly after the creation of the world.

  “What is a ‘mind monster?’”

  “They’re very rare. Only a few have been known to exist.”

  “But what is it? Why did it attack me? And how did it get to me in a dream? And why can’t we heal the wounds it gave me?”

  Oldstone nodded, acknowledging the questions, and she suddenly noticed he seemed tired. He waved a hand at the book, as if all the answers were contained in it if only she took the time to read.

  “From what we know, mind monsters only appear to a select few wizards. The very strongest ones. Since the early days of Creation, they have appeared far less often. Of course strong wizards are fewer in number, too. And since they only attack the strongest, it makes sense we wouldn’t see as many of them. In fact, you are the first to meet one since . . . well, since I battled mine when I was your age.”

  He smiled, and she couldn’t help but notice the twinkle in his eye despite the gravity of the situation.