Alright, so this really is the last chapter. I definitely have a few things to say. Mostly, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
To everyone who reviewed: random chick, SilverRide, DAMN-MAN, Ch Ch Ch Ch Ch Cherry Bomb, ScarletFlamesOfWrath, I Am The King Of Thieves, WhoAmI2575, , Sarah, Megh, Katus V Black, maximumgirl23306, pure-hazard, LanieBaLanie, . .glader, heartofglass99, random child, September Saphire, BookWriter16, Someone, Fax4ever, animals202, HowDoYouDoStranger, MaxFang4Life, Tratieluver14, jifjif123, Faxlover, karawashere0822, Katiebug2000x, The Transformer, Liztyhamilton, Yay Go Explosives, GallaghergGirls13BYE, ruza687, Flowersocks2137, Nina, Elle
(Yes, you're ALL fabulous)
To all ye who supported me, and helped edit: L (my partner in crime), Moby, Michael, Soph, and Ellie. (And my beautiful family)
And to everyone to read this. You're amazing.
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Max
"Alright," Fang calls into the newly-fallen silence, with the rushing wind not quite drowning out his voice. Instead, his voice overpowers the whistling sounds, and with new strength, continuing to address Dylan's crew. "You have two options: You can stay on this island, or you can join the Martinez crew." He nods shortly to Valencia, as if she needed any sort of introduction. "Choose wisely. Anyone wishing to join, speak now." Then he folds his arms in the ultimate power-pose. Nice move. Good job. Phew.
We wait in our silence, watching them; watching them as they watch us and each other. Dylan's half-drained body is laid out before them, blood oozing from the gunshot wound, black and inky. I guess it shows them the consequence of betrayal and non-compliance. And it shows how much of a damn good shot Fang is. Little bit of a reminder that we all need to watch our backs. Especially in his... Perhaps delicate state. We have pretty much no idea what he is feeling. After firing the shot, he told us to round up the crew. Which brings us nicely to the present. With absolutely zero messing about. It's not that kind of day.
Gradually, one by one, a couple of the men shout out, reacting to Fang like squealing slugs being trodden on. They move as slowly forward onto their knees, held by bounds, not looking back at those they leave behind. The next few minutes pass like years, even decades, though we could definitely count each one of them on a single hand.
"You're not going with them?" finally Fang asks, looking down at Sam with revulsion. The only remaining person from Dylan's crew to not migrate.
"Never." Sam spits on the ground at Fang's feet, scowling. I never thought I would see such a horribly gross expression on the adorable face of Sam. Dimples gone. Now a man in his haste to be angry and stupid. What an idiot. Also super glad I didn't kiss him. So there's that.
However, still a bit confusing. Why would Sam not want to join a new crew, and pretty much start over? It wouldn't be because of allegiance to Dylan, would it? Or maybe the opposite to me...? Maybe he hates me? Ah heck, who really cares anymore.
"Fine." Fang shrugs nonchalantly, and turns around, away from Sam. "Tie him to a tree," he instructs Joe, who nods immediately, heading for Sam with a stony expression. Sam doesn't struggle, but spits in Joe's face, like some sort of rabid animal. I can barely look at him. But Joe is master of the situation and simply pushes Sam forward, leaving him to fall face into the sand, before dragging him through the sand, and crashing him against a tree, tightening the bounds around him. Maybe Fang is reminiscent about how he was left at his very own tree, back on another faraway island. Maybe he's just a little bit crazy right now. Again, who knows?
The new Martinez crew are responsive from the word go - and by this, I mean Valencia says "listen up", then gives a bunch of instructions, and everyone listens to her. They move Dylan's body back into the cover of the trees, and bury it beneath the sand and soil there. A thick trail of blood stains the sand and the soil, over the terrain, but without a single one of them uttering a word. Thankfully, they don't seem to have any problems with their new captain, even though she's a woman. Wiping their brows in the heat of the day, and glancing over their shoulders at the ships out at sea, they just get on with things. Probably eager to get to their next destination. Fang is the same way; agitated.
I stick by his side, as some sort of weird replacement for Iggy (now that Iggy can barely hobble), and being there 24/7 has made me notice a whole lot more going on with Fang. Every single thing that races over his features, without stopping for hardly a second, is much more noticeable. In that moment, I can't imagine how many things and people he has to be. How can anyone spread themselves over so much? He has to be strong, and powerful, and all leader-y, but he's hurting. When he stops giving orders, I see that in his face too. Dead in the eyes. No hope or way forward. But I have to give him a little of the hope that I have.
So, I stick by his side.
"Alright," Fang starts, turning to face me. "I need the Marauder to be cleared of my stuff. I want all our stuff back on the Knave." I nod in agreement, and swallow. "You, me and Nudge can do it, while everyone else is readying the ship to be off. It won't take long. Anything that doesn't look important probably isn't." He gestures to Nudge and explains the same to her.
Before long, the rest of our crew is assembled before us - what's left of it anyway - and we're boarding the small boats out to see. We push off the sand with oars, and row against the light tidal waves which rock us. Everyone is used to the motion of the sea by now, and it doesn't make to much difference to us. Valencia's boat leads us, with her standing valiantly against the horizon.
Time slips away easily at this point, like sand through an hourglass.
We leave Sam on the island, marooned. He doesn't say anything when I glance back at him, but glares back at us like we'll all burst into flames if he looks hard enough. No flames. What a shame.
The sun beats down on us, strong and hot, with the whole of our two crews working through the burning, keeping things going so that we can be set off by the end of the day. I look back at Sam several times, without really meaning to. It's difficult to see so far in the distance, from the deck of the Knave, all the way back to the golden, blood-stained shores of the island. But I can just about see him, the slight figure slumped against the tree, not moving, but definitely alive.
Fang and Valencia pull the two ships closer together, and someone else lays a plank between the two, to allow us easy passage between the Marauder and the Knave for the day. Walking back onto the Knave feels like a completely new type of home; more like home than I have ever experienced, or would ever experience. With Fang, and the rest of the crew, it feels like something. Something more.
With Jeb dead, there's that lingering sense of lacking closure, right in the very pit of my stomach. Not that he was really anything to do with me, but I guess it makes me think about my own father. Obviously, I want to meet both my parents. But seeing what happened today, I'm not sure I would meet them if it meant I had to see them in the way Fang saw his father today. That would be completely devastating, and I wouldn't wish it upon anyone.
Fortunately, tragedy isn't the only thing on people's minds today.
In these golden hours, I notice Iggy glancing towards Fang every so often, with his leg no longer bleeding quite so much. That's some positivity. Plus, the sun makes his hair look more orange than ever, which is almost comical. Ella wipes Iggy's brow every so often with a damp cloth, looking blissfully casual about the whole thing, while also looking over at Fang a few times. There's not a whole lot of opportunity for either of them to be distracted though, as Gazzy and Angel play by their sides.
On the one hand, it's probably better for everyone for them to be downstairs, out of the way. But I want Iggy to be within my sights, too.
Nudge, Fang, and I all stalk across the wooden plank onto the Marauder, and down vaguely familiar corridors, to the quarters Dylan kept (and Fang had in his absence). Fang leads, with Nudge behind, and me lagging as last in our little trio. Nudge seems better, at least. And Fang is at least stoically silent as we barge into the room, starting to search through every nook and cranny. The walls and decoration of this room is so different from Fang's back on the Knave.
Its walls are plain, and the curtains are mere sheets, covering a sunlit-ocean view. A simple white sheet lays on the bed, hardly disturbed by the nights spent in it. Lonely, and cold, which makes it easier to spot where Fang has left his detritus of life; his files, a sword, and the compass he doesn't use that often. The files from the manila 'confidienial' folder are strewn throughout the room, clearly meant as reading material for bed.
We each begin casting our eyes and hands around the room, searching for anything that isn't quite so obvious. But I head straight for the folder, scanning my way through it. The sketches are the first things inside it; of Nudge and Fang's fathers... And I spot something, someone, new.
"Fang," I blurt quickly. "Fang, isn't this the man from Scarlette Island?"
He turns to me and peers over my shoulder. He smiles.
"Yeah," he replies. "Guess he wasn't lying after all." True.
"I wonder how he got stuck there," I muse, mostly to myself
I turn the drawing over in my hands, looking it over in every part of our available light. Nudge's father seems to stand out to me, as well. Nudge watches me quietly, thinking that I don't know she's looking. I eventually pass the sketch to her, smiling. Her hands shake as she takes it. Why? Maybe, and probably, wondering whether he fell to the same sort of gruesome death as Jeb. Or whether he's actually still alive.
"Well, Valencia said he was a bounty hunter, so he got stuck there doing that?" Fang suggests. I realise, after a moment, that he's still talking about Jeb.
Nodding in agreement, I move away from the table and begin to look properly around the rest of the room. It's not cluttered in the slightest. Whether that's a Dylan thing, or a Fang thing, I have no idea. The only indication of someone staying here is the slight rumpling of the sheets, and one or two candles. Maybe where Dylan was reading over papers late during the nights of travel? Or Fang? I brush my fingers over the cubby holes on the window-side, feeling for trick bottoms, and loose boards. Nothing. While Fang is scanning beneath the bed, I check the desk. Nudge is still staring at the drawing.
"Oh my god," I breathe, hardly daring to think too much into it.
Nudge Stevenson. Written across the top of this new manila folder, in a broad stroke of ink.
Is it her? It's Nudge? Who else would be called Nudge? She never said Stevenson? But it has to be her, right?
Shut UP! It has to be her.
Because damn if this doesn't feel like an evil plan in note form, then I really have no clue what does.
Nudge briefly looks over at me, before returning to the sketch. Fang doesn't even look up. And then I'm rifling through the pages without shame, mouthing the words from the page, having lost the ability of speech. Jeez, get a grip, Max.
Seriously, actually get a grip. This is ridiculous
Shut up. This is important.
"What's that?" Nudge asks, as I pull a new sketch from the folder, to examine it in a better light. I can't respond, so simply hold it out to her. She takes it, staring at me in confusion. I shake my head, unable to form words of any kind. Nudge sighs quietly, before really looking. "Oh my God!"
Finally Fang glances up.
"What?" he demands, a little short of temper. "Let me see." And he stands beside us.
Nudge sets down the sketch on the desk, and I place the rest of the folder beside it. We each pulls things out of it, eyes skating over every inch of detail. The sketches of Nudge's parents. The list of names of the people who boarded The Mariner all those years ago. A couple of letters, to a person named Kalai, from Nudge's father, Michael Stevenson. From the terms of endearment in these beautiful, and beautifully private, letters, we assume that Kalai is Nudge's mother.
There's nothing about her mother in the entire folder. But one note on the side of the sheets is what closes the matter. Both dead. Dylan's handwriting is surprisingly recognisable. How he got this information is beyond me, but it's still heart-breaking to see.
And yet, Nudge doesn't seem disheartened in the slightest. In fact, she is radiant with joy.
Her fingers skim the pages again and again, as if memorising the words will bring her parents closer to her. Fang and I pretend not to notice the redness in her eyes, and the tracks racing down her cheeks, into her smile.
After this discovery, we scan the rest of the drawers, and every inch of the room. But we find nothing else of importance. Just a record of all those Dylan appointed to the Marauder, and a few scraps of paper he made simple notes on. Fang shrugs in disappointment. It's weird to feel suddenly quite distant from everything. It feels like things were riding on this being a success, and it wasn't. People died. And Nudge makes my heart ache a little too much for comfort.
Finally leaving the all-too-dull quarters, we walk back along the belly of the ship, across the deck, and over the oddly stable plank between our two ships, one at a time. Nudge holds tightly onto the folder, as though afraid some part of her might fall into the ocean, should any of those papers fall. I carry a few random things, and Fang carries his lot of stuff. Waves swirl down beneath us. Fang glances back at me, across the plank, watching. I wish he wouldn't; it really just makes me even more nervous. When I wobble, he moves suddenly towards me, but not onto the plank.
I run across the damn thing and be done with it. Obviously.
Nudge is hugging Iggy as I'm helped onto the ship by Fang. I feel the same electricity between us, but stronger now.
God, I am getting so damn soft
Is that a bad thing though, really?
Iggy waves me over.
"Go," Fang murmurs beside me. "I'll look after those." He takes the papers from my hands and moves away towards the dormitories. He dodges around those working on the ship. The people who are bringing it back to our excellent standards of before. Setting the sails to the correct degree. With Joe at the helm, plotting out our route away from here. Keeping everything in ship-shape. Funny, no?
As I stumble awkwardly towards Iggy, Nudge releases him from the hug, and follows Fang down to the dormitories. I'm not sure whether to feel hurt, and just stick with this numbness I seem to have been given, or relieved that I don't have to deal with two people at once.
"Max," Iggy sighs, smiling at me. Then he frowns. "What's the matter?"
"Is everything going to change?" I blurt out, then purse my lips, embarrassed. Pretty much a freaking admission of feelings. What the heck is going on today?
"That depends on what you mean," he replies easily. I kneel down beside him, hating the sticky feeling of sweat all over my body. There's no breeze, so I definitely feel like I'm suffocating here, and no one is letting any air in. Urgh. Meanwhile, Iggy shifts uncomfortably to turn and face me. "This isn't going to change," he gestures to the crew, and everything that's going on. "Sure, things are going to be different for a little while. Maybe it will be harder for a while." I snort derisively. "But the core of it won't change. Friendship. And all that other crap." He grins.
"I'm in love with the captain," I laugh, my eyes stinging painfully.
"Me too," he sighs heavily, joking. It makes me laugh harder, though. Which I'm guessing was the intention. Either way, it puts me at ease. "Just in a completely different way," he clarifies, laughing too. Then he simply looks at me for a few moments, as if deliberating what to say next. "You know, you're a good one." I frown, confused. "I mean it, Max. You're good for him. You're good for everyone. We're lucky to have you here, on our side no less!" He laughs to himself.
"Thanks," I say quietly.
He pats me on the shoulder, and looks away; at the way the setting sun reflects off the sheen of everyone's sweating bodies; at the shimmering azure blue of the sea and skies ahead of us; at the great new friendships we have all formed on this tragic, and brilliant, adventure. And I'm looking at the exact same things.
"How's your leg?" I ask, after an age.
"Pretty damn sore," he laughs, then quips, "like my ego." I smirk, watching the way the horizon dances up and down. "But it's healing."
"Good." Then, "I just gotta talk to someone. I'll see you later, Ig."
He nods in understanding, and we hug. One of those things I've never really done before this. It's weird, and we laugh, and then let go.
Joe waves at me as I make my way across the burning deck, swiping a hand over my sweating forehead. My heart feels a little lighter after my chat with Iggy. And this will be good too. Joe with his great smile, and his cool resolve, and our bonding moments on the ill-fated island. Holding the map out to me, and taking liberty to instruct someone on the rigging behind him, he turns to me. He fits the role, replacing Iggy while he needs to.
"Hi," I greet him, smiling back. "I see you've worked your way up the ladder." He laughs out loud, and easily. It's incredibly comforting. "How are you handling all the extra responsibility?"
"Fairly well, I hope. Just got to check the course with Captain Walker, then we're good." Joe looks around, almost as if he can't quite believe his luck. But when he looks back at me, I notice something in his eyes. A tightness. You know, like when someone isn't quite telling the whole truth, and you can tell by looking at the way they hold their expression. Which is exactly what happens here.
"What's up?" I ask. Hopefully we're at that stage of our completely (and yet comfortable) new friendship.
"Oh, it's nothing," he lies. I raise an eyebrow. Joe sighs heavily, and scratches his head. It seems today is the day for big secrets to be revealed, and definitely with an air of intensity and odd things happening all around. I'm not entirely sure whether this is a good thing yet, but hoping for the best here. Go team! "You have to promise not to tell anyone. Not that I'm embarrassed," he quickly states. "It's just... People would treat me differently."
"Okay..." I say slowly, trying to pretend that I didn't just become uncomfortable.
Joe nods hurriedly.
"It's about Peter."
"Okay?" The guy that died.
"I liked him. And I don't know how to feel about it all." Joe spins around on the spot, as if quite literally dancing around the topic. Then he stops, grounding himself with the moment of truth. "Max, I'm gay."
"Okay?" I laugh, but my face falls when his panic is clear. "Oh crap, I'm not laughing at you! Sorry, sorry. It's just, it's not a big deal, is it?"
"I'm glad you think so," he mutters.
"Don't let anyone else tell you anything otherwise."
Joe smiles. He smiles like there is nothing more important in the world - and there isn't. And he smiles like those are the invaluable words he will hold onto forever, and that they make him happy. And crap, it really does something to me. Like a sucker-punch of happiness is exploding in my gut, and all of the clouds have disappeared, and everything really is going to be okay.
Golden rays of light curve themselves to fit the waves. Reflecting back on themselves, and evolving into something of more and more orange as the afternoon wears on. Joe smiles beside me, holding up the map in varying lights. And while the sun beats on, I watch the waves, nearly feeling completely at peace. There's just one more person I have to talk to. And she just so happens to be crossing the board onto our ship, taking long, powerful strides. Confident in her ability to not fall into the waves below. Dammit she doesn't even look down.
Valencia Martinez glances briefly at me, but makes a beeline for Fang, handing over another bumf of papers, which he accepts begrudgingly. When she meets my eyes for a second time, I understand. She wants to talk to me.
"Alright if I have a word with Max before we set off?" she asks Fang, as I approach. He nods, and moves away, leaving us.
She looks awesome. Her tan skin glowing like bronze and gold in the setting sun, and with the light bouncing off her hair. How the hell did she manage to keep it in such good condition, with all the being-on-an-island-for-a-super-long-time? And I'm still in this reverie when she nods her head in the direction of the bow of the ship, where it is actually quiet, and there is no one around to listen in.
We stand there for a few moments, embracing the last light of the day. It warms us, the sun breaking through the light cotton. No longer sweat-inducing, but actually calm. With the smallest of breezes, the ship churns waves below us. But it hardly makes an impact on the moment. Which, for some reason, feels odd. Momentous. Eugh.
"Max, there's something you have to know before we part ways," Valencia begins. But she's not nervous. Her eyes are curious. Dark brown, like mine. "I'm your mother."
Urm...!
Shhhhhhhh!
"Sorry?" I laugh. "What are you on about? What are you on?" The words come out more incredulous than I intended. Then again, I am pretty damn shocked. Not quite my-stomach-has-vanished shocked, but a swooping shocked. Hope. Wonder. Confusion. A little bit of anger. All of the emotions rush through me, not giving my brain a second to process a single one of them. And Valencia laughs. Nice.
"Not on anything, Max," she laughs. "I'm your mother. I know it."
"How?"
"I came away from the same place as you. I married Peter Ride. My daughter was named Maxine. I left, what, fifteen years ago. You were very small. Your hair was a much lighter blond." Valencia lists off the facts, like she has known them for years. Known my whole life, and not bothered to show that until now. I don't really know what I'm supposed to feel, in that instant. So, just go for a bit of confused and wondering indifference. I manage to just about shrug my shoulders. Valencia smiles a little tightly. "I should have told you sooner, but there was no time. Dylan came out of the forest, and the moment was taken from me."
"That's not important," I break into her speech. "Why did you leave, all those years ago? You left me with him." I try my best not to scowl. Let me tell you, it's difficult.
"I had to. And I am so sorry," Valencia says, her smile now gone. "I had to leave the island. Otherwise I would have been strung up by debt collectors." She sighs heavily, running a hand through her hair. Something I seem to do a lot recently. Stressful situation much? "It was about your father. He died." Her voice cracks. I'd hardly ever thought about my own father. Only really my mother, until recently. But it still causes me a twinge of guilt. "I couldn't handle that. And I didn't have the money to support myself and you."
"This doesn't make any sense," I tell her.
"I'm sorry, my mind is a mess."
As the sun sets a few more inches into the sky, I wait for her to become less confused, and for myself to feel a little less annoyed. Finally, she speaks.
"Okay, here it is. The full story."
And in that most beautiful time of day, Valencia Martinez, my mother, tells me of the story of her life so far. Each twist and turn, each swoop of the heart, and crushing of hope. The light moments making me almost happy, and the dark moments not so much.
Valencia Martinez, aged eighteen, fell in love. That glorious kind of love, where it is all-consuming, and where you can predict and project your future, reminiscing in the lightest parts of day, until your hearts burst from the very feel of it. A man named Matthew McConnell. An Irish man, full of the soul of river dance, and laughter. And full of love, and sarcasm. They both had their tragic stories, and supported each other through dark times. But then they were going to have a baby. Me. Maximum (previously Maxine, gross).
However, our stickler society would not allow such a baby out of wedlock. The parents were enraged. The town was enraged. Everyone was pretty pissed off, to put it lightly.
This is where it gets a little fuzzy. There was a fight. Matthew, my father, ended up dead. And yeah, it does come as a blow, in spite of her earlier words alluding to it. My heart still clenches, for the both of us. Valencia is crying by this point, but making her way through the story. Her voice is thick, but her words don't come out jumbled. And after this admission, the tears slow, before stopping completely as she completely regains composure.
My mother married someone else; Peter Ride. Unable to support herself and me, she was forced into the marriage for financial reasons. Peter was cruel, but had money enough to support all three of us for a while. Around the time of my third birthday, she had endured beatings, and harsh words for no reason, and came to a single conclusion; one that would save the two of us for sure. She would board a pirate ship, and earn enough to return, and take me safely away from my step-father.
But then, of course, she was trapped on the island. Meanwhile, my step-father sent me to the Home (home being a ridiculously loose use of the word), and was done with me. Then I left, boarded my very own ship. And here, we meet.
"So, it's true then," I murmur. My voice is scratchy, but give me a break. I laugh, "hell." And Valencia Martinez, my mother, laughs too.
Dusk has firmly been set upon us now, with only a single line of yellow stretching the length of the horizon, the rest of the sky a rich purple-blue colour. The moon rests halfway up the night sky, not quite at it's peak. And, like the day, I feel our conversation coming to a close. A comfortable one, though.
"I'm sorry I didn't get to see you grow up," Valencia tells me. I smile weakly.
"It's alright."
"And I'm sorry that I'm leaving now. But it feels right, doesn't it?" she asks me, maybe a hint of uncertainty in her voice. I nod. "I have to give you this freedom. Plus, we'll see each other again, won't we?" I nod again, not comfortable with speech just yet. "Then that's alright then."
"Yeah," I say.
"Good." She smiles. "I better go now. It looks as though we're ready to set off."
I hadn't realised until she said those words. The night was almost completely cloaking us, with lanterns lit on both ships, and two of her crew standing, waiting, for her to return. Standing by the plank, waiting to be able to remove it, and slink away into the darkness, and onto their next adventure. Fang is waiting by our own side, watching us quietly.
"See you soon, Max."
"Bye," I whisper, as she hugs me, and leaves, across expanse of ocean, which suddenly seems wider, and deeper, than ever before.
Several clunks are heard, as the plank is removed, and the ships are broken away. The Marauder starts off first, hauling up their anchor, as we do the same. Their oars dip into the ocean, pushing off the sand, far below. It feels as though it takes an age for them to be away, and my mother is moving farther away from me. But it doesn't feel quite like a loss. In fact, a weight has been pushed off my chest with the revelation. I feel good. Achy, but good.
Footsteps come closer to me, and a hand is gripped in my own now, as the ship turns to the sea.
Fang's shadowed eyes meet mine, for what feels like the first time in a long time. We understand each other better now, and we're better for it. Both of us. Our walls are down. And I have to let him know that I will remain by his side.
"I love you," I tell him again. In case he forgot.
A smile breaks over his face.
"I love you, too," he says.
"What did my mother give you?" I ask, gesturing to the papers in his hands. He doesn't fumble over the revelation of her being my mother. Maybe she told him. Maybe he guessed. Maybe he just doesn't feel it's a big deal.
"A quest," he answers, opening the papers to me. "Something to head towards."
"Great," I say.
And I mean it.
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The End.
This chapter was a struggle, for several reasons. But I made it. This has been a great growth process, for me in terms of writing, and in terms of general stuff. So, let it be known, that the end of this is not the end of my writing. I have lots of things in the works, which will be coming online very soon!
For now, after four wonderful years, ADIOS!