July 12, 1568
The man sprinted through the darkened cavern, the motion blowing his long red coat up in chaotic ripples behind him and his three-pointed black hat struggled to stay on his head. Strapped to his back was a large, double-bladed war axe, his favourite weapon, slamming repetitively into the knapsack slung over one shoulder. His clothes were slightly marred with dust falling from the cave's ceiling, not that they'd been particularly clean when he put them on, and his boots were clogged with mud from the damp undergrowth outside that he'd just cut his way through. A lit torch was clutched in one hand, the yellow flames barely emitting enough light for him to see where he was going as the wind of the motion battered them back and forth. Hard limestone walls swished past him as he ran, pitted with small holes where they'd been eroded by the water dripping off the roof.
His overworked lungs screamed at him to stop, but Antonio was used to the painful sensation and kept going regardless, panting hard through his open mouth in order to get desperately-needed oxygen to his muscles. He wasn't close to breaking point, though. Fast-paced, life-or-death situations were the norm to the pirate captain, and a mere half-hour or so of fevered running couldn't take too much out of him. He couldn't have much further to go anyway, and he'd be damned if he was going to give up when he was this close. The renowned treasure of Forlorn Rock was mere minutes away, if the legends were true. And he would rather sink to a cold, watery grave than see the fabled riches in the hands of his most hated rival. Captain Arthur Kirkland could only be a short distance behind him, delayed by a lucky cannon shot fired by Antonio's first mate. The two had been searching for the legend for months now, each chasing the other as they made every step forward. Now the treasure was within grasp, and the hostility between the two was at previously unknown peaks.
After another minute or so of fevered running, the cavern's low, dripping ceiling opened up into a giant underground chamber, tall stalactites falling from the ceiling and stalagmites reaching up to meet them in inadvertently clumsy pillars. A hole in the ceiling granted the room a thin beam of sunlight, just enough to see by, but casting long, ominous shadows into unexplored corners. Yet at the back of the chamber was exactly what Antonio had been expecting, what he'd spent months chasing after, what made the entire ordeal worthwhile. Piles of gold leant against the rough sandstone walls, with jewels of all the colours of the rainbow winking invitingly from amongst the countless coins, goblets, and chains. It was more than the young captain had ever seen in his life, and its sheer immensity was captivating.
The riches of kings, Antonio thought happily, dropping his torch and forgetting all thoughts of his rival as he reverently approached the treasure. He fell to his knees in front of the pile and ran his fingers across the first thing they came across, a flawless ruby, its surface like polished blood. He let its chain fall through his fingers, onto a pile of coins, their faces carved with the profile of a long-dead monarch of a long-crushed country. Next to come under scrutiny was a jewel-encrusted goblet, dusty and dented from its long isolation, but still nonetheless valuable, especially if it received a good polish. But Antonio's attention was quickly diverted by a lamp sat a few inches away, and an amused smile flickered across his face. It was like something out of an Arabian myth, like the ones that the merchants he robbed sometimes spoke about. Its surface curved gently, from the girth by the handle all the way up to the slim, graceful spout. Intricate patterns were carved into the soft metal around the base.
Curiously, he slid his fingers around the handle. It was cold to the touch, but ran smoothly across his fingers as he picked it up, almost as if it belonged in his grasp. Which, the pirate had decided, it did, along with the rest of the hoard. By pirate rules, finders were keepers, and Antonio was certainly the first person to come across this treasure in centuries, judging by the state of the cave's outside and surroundings. Arthur now had no claim to it, although he almost certainly would try fighting Antonio for it. Arthur was never the type to give up easily.
And, as if summoned by his thoughts, or perhaps the devil, swift footsteps from the entrance tunnel confirmed Arthur's approach. Antonio jumped to his feet and spun around, the handle of the lamp still dangling from the fingers of his left hand as he drew his hand backwards and produced his axe from over his shoulder. The polished twin blades glinted in the half-light, eager for the battle they were about to see, and a perfect reflection of the gleam in its owner's eyes.
Sure enough, less then five seconds later, Arthur's dust covered form appeared in the entranceway, his sharp steel sword drawn and determination written all over his face. A look which quickly vanished as the blue-coated pirate spotted Antonio in front of the treasure, to be replaced by first disbelief, then pure anger. His large eyebrows quivered, and the emerald eyes beneath them flicked around, critically analysing the room and its other occupant. He did not speak, only watched. Arthur always liked to try that before a battle; he was wont to think to try escape a situation.
Antonio merely laughed at the other's discomfort, pleased to have finally bested his rival and to see his facial expression when he did so. "Lo siento, Arthur, but you're a bit late here. That little blunder with the cannon cost you greatly, and the rules of pirating dictate that this treasure is mine. So get back to your puny ship before I run you through, sí?"
Arthur scoffed. "Rules? Pirating has no rules, you brainless wanker. Pirates become pirates to escape the confines of the law. Now get away from my treasure before I run you through." He sounded somewhat out of breath, but nonetheless annoyed.
"Can't do that," Antonio replied cheerfully, swishing his axe effortlessly through the air in a show of skill and dominance. It was a heavy weapon, but Antonio handled it like it was a toy. "I got here first."
"It seems we are at an impasse then, Carriedo," Arthur growled, opting to keep his sword low, still and controlled as opposed to Antonio's flashy demonstrations. His calmness was unnerving; usually the Englishman struggled to contain his fury. "And I am not a fan of impasses."
Antonio laughed, wishing he knew what an impasse was so that he could either agree or disagree with Arthur's words. Instead, he just decided to revert to a time-honoured pirate tool, petty insults. "You'll never beat me in battle, you caterpillar-browed idiot. The last time we duelled, you were mere inches away from being fish food. I could see the sharks below, hungry for your watery blood. Your mother is a better swordsman than you are." He brandished his axe again, ready for Arthur's retaliation.
To Antonio's surprise, Arthur neither snapped an insult back, nor charged at him with his sword raised. The blond pirate just stood there, a defiantly cocky smirk decorating his pale face. Suddenly, he sheathed his sword and turned his palms to the ceiling, blinking his calm green eyes slowly. "Perhaps you are right. And perhaps you are not. Either way, I think a sword-fight is a pointless way to end this little conflict. I think I should dispose of you in the way that I will always have you bested in."
"What, losing? Being slow? Having a stupid hat?" Antonio suggested, trying to hide his befuddlement behind a confident grin and disparaging words. Arthur was being highly confusing. Antonio didn't want to admit it, but if the Englishman was trying to psyche him out, it was working.
Arthur growled, adjusting his large crimson hat with one hand, causing one of the fluffy white feathers to fall out of place and flop over the side. "Say all the hollow insults you want, you twat. Before the night is out, that treasure will be sat in the hold of my glorious ship while you despair alone." He tensed his fingers, hands held in front of him, and closed his acid-green eyes, his thick black brows perched perilously atop them as if they were about to jump off and attack Antonio.
"Doubt that," Antonio replied, all traces of cheer now gone from his manner. Arthur was acting far too strangely for his liking – usually when the two duelled, there was little repartee and everything was decided entirely by the men's handiwork with a blade, whether Arthur's sword, or Antonio's dual-bladed axe. Clearly, Arthur had some unknown plan up his sleeve, and Antonio didn't like it one bit. He much preferred to solve all his problems with a quick blow of his beloved axe, not exchange words with his arch-enemy.
Arthur smiled, the expression almost looking like a sneer, or a smirk, like he knew far too much and had secretly had the upper hand all along. Antonio tensed and tightened his grip on the axe, dropping the lamp to the floor in favour of the stronger two-handed grip, in preparation for whatever Arthur's plan was. Suddenly, Arthur's eyes snapped open again and his mouth twitched up into a full-fledged smirk. "Oh? Rejecting the treasure, are you? I thought you liked that lamp. Don't worry, though. I'll make sure you're safe with it once my plan is through. So very safe." He resumed his tensed position and began chanting something foreboding in an incomprehensible language, his voice resonating with power. A ghostly green light radiated from him as strange symbols lit up the air as if written in smoke, dancing hypnotic patterns as the chant grew in intensity and complexity.
Ice chilled Antonio's heart as he realised too late what Arthur's plan was. Magic. As well as being a pirate, Arthur was also a feared warlock, and against magic, Antonio had lost the upper hand. With the right spell and sufficient time and preparation, Arthur could do anything – Antonio had discovered this on more than one occasion. He had to stop Arthur before his spell was complete. He braced his hands against the handle of his axe and prepared to charge.
By now, Arthur's voice seemed to be incanting in harmony with a hundred unearthly choristers, echoing of the walls of the cave and chaotically mingling with previous words. A fierce wind blew through the cavern, seeming to be emanating from Arthur along with the eerie green light, and Antonio abandoned all attempts at self-control, sprinting forward towards the navy-clad captain with only one thought in his mind: to get Arthur to stop doing whatever the hell he was trying to do. But somehow, as soon as he began to move, an unexpected force began to pull him backwards towards the treasure and further away from Arthur. Antonio struggled – oh, how he struggled – to the point where his limbs were once again screaming at him, but all to no avail. The mysterious force kept dragging him backwards, and the harder he fought, the more it tugged.
In front of him, Arthur had finished his unearthly chanting, and was standing above him with a triumphant grin on his giant-browed face. Perhaps it was the spell, perhaps he was swelling with perceived victory, but Arthur seemed so much bigger than he had before, and the cave around him was getting further and further away.
No, wait – Antonio, much to his horror, realised he was shrinking. He tried to run, tried to yell, tried to heft his axe, but he was rendered frozen and helpless as the magic took him over. Beside him, the now enormous lamp loomed above him, taller than a church spire, with Arthur's mocking laughter ringing in his ears.
And suddenly, everything went awfully black and silent.
Antonio seemed to be trapped in nothingness. For the first time in years, genuine fear pricked the pirate's heart. Where on Earth had he been sent? Could he be dead? Condemned to purgatory, or worse, hell? But Antonio quickly quashed the rising panic, knowing that there had to be a way out. His rival wouldn't have killed him like this – evidently there was some trick afoot. He didn't know what Arthur had done, or where he now was, but he knew there had to be an exit. Somewhere, somehow, there was always a way out for those clever enough to find it. Unluckily for Antonio, he wasn't exactly the sharpest sword in the armoury.
"Hello?" he called tentatively, but his only reply was his own voice echoing back at him from close by. It sounded strangely metallic. Antonio cautiously reached out his arms and jumped when they met a cold, unforgiving metal sensation, curved with a smooth, fluid gradient. When he turned back and reached the other way, he met the same result less than six feet away. With a jolt, he realised what Arthur had done to him.
He was inside the lamp.
A shocking laugh abruptly emanated from somewhere nearby, nearly scaring Antonio out of his skin, but it sounded tinny and a very long way away, and laced with barely-concealed derision and triumph. "Morning, Carriedo. I hope you like treasure, because now you're inside it, and you're not going to get out very easily. You see, I can't risk my worst enemy chasing after me, so I'm going to throw this lamp in the sea while I take the rest of my treasure back with me! Have fun waiting until you get released. Which I doubt will ever happen. So long!" And, as quickly as it had appeared, Arthur's voice disappeared, leaving Antonio trapped in a tiny, confined space with a cauldron of rage bubbling up inside him.
He lashed out at the walls with first his fists, then his axe, unleashing every curse known to him with his blows, every act directed at his most hated foe. The barrage lasted for several minutes, until the adrenaline was gone from his veins, his ears rang with the echoes of metal on metal, and his energy was all but spent. Antonio collapsed to the lamp's floor, if he could call it that, panting for breath. But, on closer inspection, all that his efforts had produced was a lot of ringing crashes and a stabbing pain in his fists. Obviously, the inside was stronger than the outside, and brute force wasn't going to get him out of his tiny prison. Was he really going to be trapped in here for years, until someone unknowingly released him? Could he even perhaps die, as there was neither food nor water? He wouldn't have put it past Arthur to be that heartless. But, either way, he had no choice but to find out for himself, or develop a plan to get out of here.
Frustratedly, regretfully, the defeated pirate captain settled back against the wall to what looked like it was going to be a very long, boring wait.
Yup. Me again. And, as a result of my recent poll, I've got a new story for you good folks of the Internet.
One of two, in fact. Since I've currently got more done on this one than the others, I've decided to upload it and give me a bit more motivation to write as opposed to procrastinating everything ever.
Just as a note, rating may go up later. DLDR and all that jazz.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go find the bastard who's stolen my sock.