RED SKY
"DAMN YOU, JACK SPARROW!"
Davy Jones shouted at the very top of his lungs, his tentacles quivering under his mouth in pure rage. Jack Sparrow had the nerve to jump overboard and take his secret of the lost heart with him. It made Jones shake with anger and desperation. He slammed his clawed fist against the deck rail, shattering the wood under it.
And that damned El Cazador drew nearer and nearer by the moment.
At least, to Jones's great pleasure and delight, Jack floundered in the water when he came up. There was still a chance to pick up the battered pirate and get the heart in the end. But, tickling Jones in just the right way, was the sight of Jack, bobbing up and down in the water, thrashing with ungainly, ruined limbs. Jack wouldn't get far, and Jones had the pleasure of watching him suffer in his futile attempt to escape.
"Maccus, would ye do me the honor of escortin' Captain Sparrow back here while I deal with these... interlopers?" Jones crooned, calming himself by stroking the long, slithering tentacles of his.
"O' course, Cap'n."
xxxx
Another volley from the triple guns of the Flying Dutchman sent quivers through El Cazador, up and through each and every one of the timbers, but, still, Barbossa held strong to the wheel, keeping on the heading. He didn't even flinch when one of the blocks came crashing down right beside him. The man just stood there, even as the breeze of a narrow miss of one of those great mortars brushed the big hat right off his head.
The Flying Dutchman cut through the water like a knife, skimming the surface it seemed, right up to El Cazador. The tattered, crimson sails had died slightly, as the wind had subsided just ever so slightly. El Cazador had been a fast ship, but, with each carefully aimed shot of the triple guns at the sails, rips tore through the sails, letting the wind loose. While the Dutchman ran fast and lean, her keel just resting so slightly in the water with the wind deep in the sails, El Cazador stalled, in a dead calm. The wind on their side died.
Barbossa grinned madly from ear to ear as the Dutchman came alongside the port side of El Cazador. His grin remained even as Davy Jones sneered at him from across the great gap between the ships. His smile did not fade when the side cannons of the damned ship hammered at his sloop. The pirate was waiting, waiting until he could see the details to those monstrous forms of those cursed crewmen of Davy Jones's service.
"OPEN FIRE AND GIVE 'EM HELL!"
The cannons exploded along the port side of El Cazador. A plume of smoke puffed up with each and every thunderous blow, with a burst of light. The shots were dead on, carefully saved and aimed to make each fire count. Davy Jones had thrown away each shot like timing didn't mean a thing. Barbossa had calculated and saved each and every round until he was sure of the range. The cannons of El Cazador tore through the brittle, aged, waterlogged and weathered wood of the Dutchman with deadly accuracy. They punched holes in the ship just below the surface, letting water flood into the holds with great splashes of water. Crewmen were knocked down and swatted back like flies.
Still, this was a a crew of the undead, the damned to serve Davy Jones no matter what physical damage their bodies took in the line of action. Until the very end of the world, or their term of service before the mast, they would keep coming back for more. They would come, and come again, even as dismembered body parts, desperately seeking whatever quarry their captain had appointed.
The two ships drifted closer together, close enough to cast lines across from one to the other. Sure enough, even as Will realized that, a hooked rope almost smacked the blacksmith right in the head. He stepped just out of its path, to the left. The hook clattered across the deck until the line grow taught. Will glanced across the gap between the two ships as the cursed pirates were all tossing over such lines, sneering and grinning as they made ready to board. Will jumped with his cutlass, chopping the rope cleanly in two in one, swift motion, leaving a little notch in the wooden deck of El Cazador.
Will ran back and forth, cleaving any other such lines with hooks he would come across. "DON'T LET THEM BOARD!"
xxxx
Chaos unfolded about them. Such loud noises. Such harsh bangs and booms as the gunshots burst out about them. Such screams of agony. It was a nightmare of the very worst, brought to reality.
Elizabeth had never had the opportunity to see the warriors really fight as a team. They moved together like the wolves and beasts in their masks. They growled and barked at one another, just as they had upon El Cazador that one night. However, that night had been an ambush, and Elizabeth had never seen their true fighting style. She had never seen them ride into battle, their spears drawn and at the ready. She had never seen them charge to certain death with the heads held high and prepared for the dark, endless embrace of mortality.
They moved in unison, whirled about in a great circle, slashing out at the men before retreating into the undergrowth and coming at them again. Blood splattered and splashed onto the verdant leaves of the jungle as their golden weapons took down man after man from the landing party. But the warriors were not immune to the musket balls and bullets. They were warriors, of flesh and blood; good warriors but not immortal.
One of them split from the rest, rushing her steed right up and into the main pack of the trespassers. The warrior suddenly gripped the reins hard, and the horse slammed to a dead stop. The daring woman was spiked into the air, thrown at the men. She held her spear overhead and stabbed one of them before drawing back to swing at the rest of the group, but the men were just too much. They shot that one dead in a heartbeat.
Elizabeth's heart contracted slightly as another one of the warriors fell before the pirates under the fire. The warrior lay so terribly still and dead. She had been shot right off of her steed. The closest man, greedy, pillaged the corpse for the golden mask, claws, and weapons.
"LEAVE HER BE!" Elizabeth screamed at the top of her lungs.
She leaned close to Sygne as the warrior bore down upon the men, leading one last, desperate charge. They had lost six of their own, and the remaining seven seemed determined to kill these men at all costs. The warrior leaned down low, holding out her spear to the right. Elizabeth moved with her, shadowing the motion with the hand which held her dagger.
The men shouted and cursed at them as the horses came down, all of the them. They jumped back, still firing their pistols, some trying to draw their sabers and rifles to bring down these women. The great, ebony war horses broke easily through the line, scattered them, but taking such terrible damage upon them. Their screamed and whinnied in pain, but they bore on, stampeding through the line of the landing party.
Sygne made for damned sure to draw herself as near as possible to the man who dared try to take the vestments of one of her kin. Elizabeth threw her dagger sharply, making sure to land it in his chest. She watched him claw at the dagger, kept her eyes upon him even as Sygne sliced through him neatly with her spear. He had the gall to touch one of the warriors of Hel, and he paid the price. Elizabeth watched him die, knowing her hand it in.
Sygne nodded to Elizabeth.
The warrior jerked the reins hard to the right, bringing the horse around. She swung her spear with all her muscle. The warrior managed to slash the arm of one of the crewmen, but, as he stepped back, the man fired a shot at her.
"No!"
Elizabeth pulled Sygne to the side, as far away from the path of the bullet as she could. However, it was not far enough. Sygne's blood, hot and sticky, sprayed upon her as the searing hot metal slammed into her. It hit her directly in her right arm, almost making her drop the golden spear. The warrior howled in pain under her mask before clamping her jaw shut and gritting her teeth, silencing the noise. In rage, the warrior slammed her spear down swiftly, not even paying attention as the pointed thing came down, right into the shoulder of this man with a terrible crunch of tissue breaking.
"Whore!" the man shouted as soon as the cold metal pierced his flesh.
Elizabeth reached forward, worried. "Sygne?"
"No," the warrior snarled.
The woman reached down to take the spear and reins from Sygne, but, as she did, the warrior tightened her grip on the weapon. Elizabeth's hand had already curled around the metal thing when the warrior moved. Sygne twisted the spear harshly, feeling the muscle curl and catch on the flat side of her blade. Then, in a swift motion, Sygne dragged the thing from his chest with a strange ripping sound of sinew before slamming it deep into his gullet and giving it a slight saw under the warrior cleave right through to the outside. Viscera poured out upon the land.
Sygne sat astride the great horse, her chest heaving with each, heavy, panted breath. The warrior did not need to lift her mask to show her anger, her pure aggression. Her muscles, her body, her entire being radiated a pureness of hatred for these men who dared to adulterate her island, her home.
A noise caught Elizabeth's attention as a man shouted just beside them, not too far away. He ran towards them. The noblewoman lashed out, suddenly so horribly enraged, kicking at him. She jerked the spear from Sygne's grip and gave it a light toss over their hands, grabbing it just in time. Elizabeth gave a hard whirl around, bringing the spear with her body as she moved. The meal ripped through the man's chest, knocking him back almost dead by the time he hit the ground. He lay, gasping for air and pressing against the gaping wound in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding. Elizabeth felt no remorse; this man wouldn't have if he had taken down the two women.
However, that was not enough. They had fallen, as a group, when the pair looked about and into the fray, no more than five or six in this last charge, while another three of their kin lay dead from who knew what had happened. They had taken our half of the initial wave, but it seemed a whole new group of men were approaching from the beach, heading up the island. A warrior barked at Sygne like an animal, drawing their attention to where she was locked in hand to hand combat with one of the men as she tossed her head in the direction of these new comers.
"I will not leave you!" Sygne shouted back in English tongue.
The warrior took her spear back up and kicked the horse sharply in the sides. The ebony steed surged into motion, throwing his full weight into a flying gallop and swishing his tail. Sygne galloped the horse as fast as she could, covering the only two or three strides in no time and nearly cutting the stranger in half with her spear.
The other warrior looked to her leader with the tiger stripes. "We are outnumbered! Protect our lady!"
"Fight well!" Sygne called, turning the horse away.
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder as the stallion bolted away, taking them up the island and away from the mass hysteria on the incline. She could have sworn she saw the other warrior, with the leopard spots, turn to wave a farewell to her leader and friend as they rushed off.
If that weren't the case, she knew she heard that last call of the warrior. "DIE BETTER!"
xxxx
Maccus had been built for speed. His whole life he felt as though he had been sculpted and carved from the air and the waters of the world. Joining Davy Jones crew had been a strange series of events, but Maccus counted it as a blessing. The changes in his body had been subtle at first, but, when his muscles bulged and his body streamlined, Maccus felt the speed in him. Like the shark, not on land. But, in the water, Maccus was untouchable.
He slid through the water, ignoring the battle behind him, swinging his legs up and down in one sinuous motion like a whale cutting through the water. Maccus secretly hoped his change would progress further. Then, maybe, if his spine shifted, he could move side to side like a shark and be swifter, even if just by a hair.
And, there, ahead of him, was Jack Sparrow, still thrashing about.
Sparrow had turned back to the ships upon hearing the cannonfire break out. He watched as El Cazador had torn apart the Flying Dutchman's hull, but knew it would be of no avail. That was a cursed ship, and as such, would never be taken down by something as petty and simple as little holes below the waterline. In truth, the Flying Dutchman hardly looked harmed by it, while the sloop took so much damage from the attack.
But Jack had bigger fish to fry, metaphorically and honestly. He saw the broad line of disturbance beneath the surface of the water of a large animal coming right at him. The shadow's shape, lurking just under that, didn't match any fish he knew. It had to be Davy Jones's second, that damned beast.
"Not good, not good," he groaned.
It took such effort to keep head above water, his body faltering and failing him with every minute. And the lull of sleep, of just giving up sang so sweetly and seductively in his ears. It took such effort and such work to just keep conscious and head above water. Jack had not an ounce of fight left in him anymore.
Sure enough, in a flash, Maccus's head broke the surface close by. "Ye're comin' with me, whether ye like it or not."
"I fancy not," Jack forced a teasing joke as he tried to scramble away in vain.
But Maccus swirled about him, snatching up Jack as he moved and hauling him back, back to the fight and the to the ships. "Davy Jones doesn't care what ye fancy. Ye owe 'im his heart."
xxxx
A heavy whomping noise hit the ears of the men on deck. Will glanced up and smiled to himself. As the two ships had drifted together, El Cazador's crimson sails had quite literally stolen the wind from the Flying Dutchman. Those scarlet sheets billowed up and aloft. Will let out a whoop of joy as the sloop finally moved again, driving into the wind and picking up speed.
Will glanced to Davy Jones, who looked enraged at the thought of the sloop just sneaking away. The blacksmith just thanked his lucky stars that the damned crew hadn't been given the chance to board. The heart pounded swiftly against his chest, as if excited and angered its self. Who knew what would have happened if Davy Jones had gotten a hold on his undead heart? It was their only bargaining chip with Jones, Beckett, and Hel.
The pirates about him cheered and shouted, but Will knew this was far from over. He could see the glimmer of action in Jones's face. He knew the way those tentacles moved, in a calculating manner.
Will glanced out to the nothingness about the ocean around them, scanning for any bit of motion. His eyes were searching for any sign of something swimming in the water. They were looking for the kraken, for that hideous beast under Davy Jones command. However, they saw not any sign of the great monster, but splashing in the water, not too far away.
The blacksmith peered over the deck railing. "JACK!"
Will launched himself into the water without thinking about it. He felt the heart of Davy Jones float slightly, bobbing against his chest with a strange boyancy. He could hear the dulled shouting of the men of El Cazador, calling after him and barking orders. They threw him a rope, splashing in the water just ahead of him. Will grabbed it and swam as fast and as hard as he could.
A heavy sound thundered in the water, sending aches through his ears.
'Damn you, Davy Jones, and your kraken,' Will mentally cursed.
He reached Jack in a moment, and almost gasped when he saw the battered, bloodied pirate. But the blacksmith had to focus. He drew forth his knife, the knife his father had given him, taking Maccus's distraction with Jack Sparrow to his advantage. The blacksmith stabbed him in the back, and Maccus dropped the pirate captain as his back arched out instinctively, reaching for the thing.
Another strike of the kraken call trembled through the water.
Jack slipped under the waves. He was spent. Mentally, physically. He had nothing left in him. The warm waters swallowed him up in an instant. But Will, bless him, would not simply let him drown. He dove down after Jack, taking hold of him and hauling him back along the rope.
"Reel him in!" the blacksmith heard his captain shout.
He held tight to the man, afraid that his grip hurt the pirate. "Jack..."
"I'm alright..." the pirate whispered.
But Will knew better than that. He saw for himself what horrors Beckett had inflected upon him. The blacksmith couldn't imagine how Jack had kept afloat as long as he had. Jack's right arm seemed dead and useless, marred by a hideous lump and dark purple where the bones seemed to be trying to escape. His face held a deathlike pallor where all the color had drained from him. His body felt hot, much more so than a normal person; fever raged within his flesh. Jack was dying, and fast, it looked.
But Maccus wouldn't have him getting away so freely, the blacksmith knew. Will tried to swim and drag Sparrow up the line, away from Davy Jones's right hand man as fast at he could go. The shark-man ripped the knife from his back and threw it as hard as he could away from them. Then, Maccus returned his attention to the blacksmith and the half-dead captain. The rope beyond Will grew sharply taught as the heavy monster began to pull himself up along it, baring his teeth at Will.
Then, the kraken call cracked again, ripping through the water.
Maccus glanced to the Flying Dutchman for a second, taking his eye off his quarry. Then, he gave a menacing smile plastered on his twisted, contorted face. Then, Maccus sank beneath the waves and disappeared from sight.
"What?"
Jack stirred in Will's hold. "That damned 'eart. Ye have dirt fer brains?"
"A simple thank you would have sufficed," Will replied as he began to pull the pirate captain back to the waiting safety of El Cazador. He looked up, spying Barbossa himself pulling up the rope in a hurry. "Bet you never thought you'd see the day Barbossa would be helping you."
"'E's helping himself," Jack breathed weakly. "The kraken..."
The crew pulled the pair up on deck while Will dangled on the line. He held Jack slung over one arm, but the pirate didn't flinch, didn't move. He'd lost everything. He didn't even more the slightest when the water logged pair slipped onto the deck and fell into a heap. The rest of the crew bolted, returning to their stations and moving with haste that Will had never seen.
All but Gibbs. The man slowly, hesitantly touched Jack's shoulder. Will watched as the man crossed himself, held his breath, and pushed the pirate gently off his side and onto his back. Gibbs let out a gasp, and Will knew, from that simple act, just how bad it was.
"Mother's love, Jack." The beaten captain smiled weakly, making even Gibbs's sorrowed face soften. "Knew ye'd never let Beckett take ye."
"Never." The soft utterance from Jack's lips seemed more of an exhale than a word.
Will rolled to his side, scrambling to his feet and peering out to sea, to where Barbossa's gaze held. There was nothing, at first. Not a thing. El Cazador had made great distance in that time, dragging Will and Jack behind it like a lure. And the kraken seemed to have taken the bait. The blacksmith hadn't noticed while they were in the water, but, on deck, now, looking back, he could see that mild hump in the placid waters, chasing them, coming for them. That was why the crew had been so hasty to pull them out and return to their posts.
Will placed his hands on Gibbs's shoulder and stuffed the sack of the heart into the man's hands. "Get him below and make him comfortable."
"What'll ye do?"
Will stole the man's pistols, both of them. "Kill the bloody thing."
xxxx
A/N: The game is afoot!
Again, this is another one where the chappie was ready yesterday, but my DSL apparently decided to take a crap on its self.
Now, this is where I make a wonderful warning to everyone. This story has to be finished, absolutely, without a doubt (well, with the exception of possible sequels!) by Nov. 1, 2006. So, we are definitely getting up to the gripping conclusion of RED SKY! I'm hoping everyone's been enjoying it, especially considering what I'm about to say...
I have good news and bad news, and it's all rolled up into one statement:
I'm officially going to participate in National Novel Writing Month ( for the first time THIS YEAR!
I've been a big fan of the haphazard novel, as you can see by much of my other stories (which the exception of Touching God- that keeps being a sour note with one of the people who inspired me to write it, so it keeps getting put on hold), I've pretty much written four almost novels in the last two years. So, I think it's time to put to the test and attempt the NaNoWriMo for the first time. This will just be a practice attempt for the big one, the holy grail of the haphazard novel. I hope, if work and life permits, to attempt the 3-DAY NOVEL (http/ next year (Labor Day Weekend 2007).
So, what does this mean for you guys?
It means the continued adventures of the crew of El Cazador will be on a holding pattern unless someone wants to tackle a few of the things I really missed out on working with by writing so fast. How did Barbossa make his deal with Hel? What did Sygne do to get her contract? How in the Hell did Barbossa make it back to Tia Dalma's (although, I've always secretly fancied that Tia Dalma brought him back to make his bid at a contract with Hel!).
Between Dead Man's Chest and Red Sky, there are some plotholes you could fit a double-decker bus in. Anyone game at patching a few up?
But, we're in the middle of the climb to a climax here, and this is no time to talk about such frivolities! I've got more writing to do!