Calling it a "meeting of the minds" might be too generous of a stretch considering the crew who made up the bulk of the company, but upon the reunification of pirate and protege, those present at Pirate Island gathered in the main dining area. Don Karnage, Kit, Flynn and Katie sat at a table. The other eight pirates sat or stood around them, mostly only listening. Karnage was not thrilled for either Katie or Flynn's presence at his most secretive hideout, let alone sitting down with them, but, seeing as they showed up as they did with the boy and the rest of the crew, he held off blowing his top (at least, until further notice) and deigned to listen to what they had to say.
Kit had just finished telling his story since the fall of the colossus, all the while, and still, getting incredulous stares from the captain as if questioning if he were really there or not. He finally returned a sidelong glance at Karnage. "What?"
Karnage, at first, recoiled as if he'd somehow believed his staring wasn't obvious, but was quick to return the question with a snarl. "Don't you 'what' me, you whatting whelp," he snapped, poking Kit hard on the shoulder. "Like you don't know what! What I saw happen to you ―" His voice trailed away, as he cupped his head, a throbbing headache most evident. It should be mentioned here that not even a pirate extraordinaire was immune to hangovers. "I picked you up," he said quietly, as if to mean for only Kit to hear him. "I know dead. You were more than dead. You were… broken. How are you here now, not broken?"
"He's immortal," declared Flynn, who, leaning back in his chair, nonchalantly picked at his teeth. "It's not news to be received lightly, you can lay to that. Many'd lose their heads to know it so suddenly, and afore now we quite needed someone to manage a flying machine. But I suppose there's no point avoiding the matter now, though I believe the lad was already speculating on that account. Aye, lad?"
Kit was the only one whose jaw wasn't unhinged, though he gripped the edge of the table as if he might suddenly roll out of his seat. For as the time passed since waking up on that desert beach, he had multiple moments where he had perfect clarity of what happened when he was in Klang's metal clutches. He remembered the immeasurable pain, his chest and neck imploding, and everything going dark ― and now, there was the jarring contrast of being perfectly fine now. If he had never observed the things he saw with Flynn and Blackmane himself, he would never have imagined it ― but with the mystery around the sword added to it, the way he started seeing frightful visions and having spells of terrible illness only after he was cut by the sword, not to mention how certain he was at first when he was cut, how deep it was and how badly it would bleed, only to find there wasn't a trace of a wound to be seen ― he already had the pieces of this maddening jigsaw puzzle in order, but not snapped together. He had been too scared to snap them together on his own. Not until Flynn laid it out like that.
Kit gulped hard, a sound that was heard by all in the completely silent room. They were all looking at him like he might be some sort of ghost. "So… wh-what exactly does that mean?" he found the mettle to ask.
"Many things," shrugged Flynn. "Means you're stuck as you are, no matter how many years go by. Means your body can still feel pain as it ever did, and be wounded, but you'll always snap back in place, as it were, fit as a fiddle. You see, lad, you and me, we're in this room plain as day, but all the same, we're also… well, not here."
Upon those words spoken, Kit yelped 'ow!', for Karnge had given him another good clawed poke on the shoulder. "Looks here to me," the captain scowled at Flynn.
"Aye, the flesh and bone is. Aaaand... it's also not. Complicated, that."
"Well un-complicate it, dammit," snapped Kit, slamming his fist on the table, and not that it made a big, resounding impact but Karnage particularly liked the gesture. "I've had enough big mysteries about everything."
Flynn leaned forward, elbows on the table; he stared into his clasped-together hands, eyes narrowed in thought. "Ah, where to even begin," he sighed. "Bloodfang is no ordinary sword, you know that well by now. It's a… well, a tool of great sorcery, like a magician's wand or a wizard's staff. But most of all, it's a connection. A connection between our world, and…" His face screwed up slightly. "An other. One not like ours at all ― though maybe pieces of it were quite like ours, once. It's an abyss, endless." He glanced at Katie and the ancient Norse tome. "What I now know to be called the Dark.
"'Tis is not merely a place. In fact, I don't know if it's a place at all, in the way we think of places. You'd never find it even if you could sail beyond the stars. It's an existence, as it were, separate from ours. It is, in of itself, an unholy presence. All it craves and hungers for, is more souls. It craves worlds to devour, to feast upon and make formless. Its feelers, like roots spreading through the unfathomable void, found our world ages ago, though only its whisper could exist here. And in its whisper, it searched among the darkest hearts for a champion. A soul bringer. A champion it found in my day, in a pirate. And what best for a pirate to deliver souls than with a pirate sword.
"Bloodfang did not come from our world, mateys. It cannot be injured by any means of natural force. It was conceived in the Dark, gifted unto its champion. The sword is the connection, the path between our worlds, and the key to pass through is our mortal lifeblood. When you were cut by the blade, lad, that's all it took. The illness you felt? No, not poison. 'Tis not what the blade put in you, t'was what it took away.
"Your life, as mine, is no longer with you. You exist in the Dark now, and that part is preserved eternal, and is yet eternally locked with what remains here. The void will protect you, true. What wounds you may suffer in this realm, as you've seen of me, shall only be temporary, until as much your connection to the void, and your life inside it, restores you. Might be a day, might be a week, might be a matter of minutes, that all depends. Sounds like a wonderful deal, aye? Aye, I thought so too when I fed my blood to the blade. But I was deceived. So greatly deceived.
"The sword's champion, its master, is the only one who can wield its true power, and with it lay waste to all life. Ah, but the Dark chose its champion wisely, it did. The pirate it seduced needed no seduction at all. Nay, I'd say this pirate wanted nothing more than to turn the world to ash."
"Blackmane," Karnage muttered darkly.
Flynn sighed and scoffed at that. "I've become acquainted with what history has passed down of the pirates of Cabo Diablo. I believe the word for it is hogwash. Your myths about Raj'jik ― known infamously as Blackmane, by the by ― but as I was saying, your myths about him say that it was his ship, the White Witch, that enchanted him with wicked power. They say it was the White Witch that made him unkillable. They say t'was the White Witch that summoned a storm of hell's fire and sank the Great Armada.
"All that is true, you can lay to it, except one particular detail. T'was indeed the White Witch behind Blackmane's power. The ship, however, was named the Alabaster. The White Witch, on the other hand…"
Patch had the helm of the Iron Vulture. Ahead, through the eye of the airship, the Twin Spires emerged through a bank of moonlit mist. Sterling stood at the window, hands folded behind her back, rocking subtly on the balls of her feet.
He was a pirate in heaven. The mutiny was wildly successful, all those who wouldn't turn from their re-inspired loyalty to Don Karnage had been run out, and what was left was still a fierce pirate force to be reckoned with. As for who was to be captain, the vote had been cast. Everyone joined, except the newcomer, who quietly observed everything off to the side, always smirking. Some pirates found the gumption to nominate themselves, as wasn't unusual, but Patch's influential mumblings, the very ones that at length encouraged the crew to take the ship into their own hands when Karnage would not, had given him the advantage. He didn't even have to nominate himself, one of his cohorts did that for him. He reluctantly accepted, acting with great humility, making a speech saying he would always look out for this forgotten crew. He told them it was their time to shine. They bought into it, and as soon as you know, he was hailed captain.
Steering the helm of the airship, something he wasn't accustomed to to begin with, felt like it had great meaning. He wasn't steering on behest of someone else's orders. It was his ship, now. He was in control. At long last. He felt like he had the entire world in his pocket, and it was only going to get better. The newcomer had told a convincing story of the importance of finding that lost sword, promising she could unleash incredible power. Having seen the sword himself and its incredible, impossible luster, he was sold on the idea that it was at least worth their time to investigate such claims.
His one good eye, meanwhile, shifted from looking out the front window, to the dame standing there. She was still an enigma in his head, like the way she dressed, the fashion of her black coat and belt conjured images of a time centuries gone, not anything that could be found in a catalog nowadays.
"Interestin' name ya call yerself," said he.
"Oh, I've been called many a name, luv. Some quite fittin' to their meanin'."
"What I mean is, don't meet many broads named Sterling."
He saw her flash a narrow glance at him through the reflection on the glass. Through the same reflection, then, she smirked at him. "Meet even fewer named Jack, if ye like."
"Uh… Jack…?"
"Jack Sterling, as I've answered to." Hands still folded behind her back, she turned from the window and sauntered half a lap around the helm, until she stood beside Patch, watching forward out the window. "Doesn't ring a bell, does it. Strange how tales unwind, the names that are remembered, an' those that aren't. The name Blackmane sure stuck 'round, di'n't it."
Patches one eye ogled her over. Her clothing, out of fashion as it was, could as just have been easily donned by a fella, though certain contours inside the fabric weren't any he'd seen on a fella. "You don't look like a Jack," he uttered, dumbly.
For a moment her only response was a smile, her ice-blue eyes contained a calm eagerness as they fixed upon the tall, rocky spires.
"Not all Jacks are made the same." With a smug look at Patch as she turned around, she departed the bridge. "Well. Let's gather the mates. We've finally arrived at our haystack, seems. Now what say we find our needle."
"The tale of Bloodfang, as we know it now, begins with a lass named Polly," said Flynn. "The when is about two hundred and fifty years ago. The setting is Olde Victoria.
"Now Polly was regarded as a sad, quiet creature, ever unsmiling. And strange, so they said of her, for she would be seen atimes sitting by herself, using coal to write upon the ground and whatnot ― writing, and focusing on this writing with great intent, though she knew not her letters. And those that knew their letters would say that she merely made up her own, a fixation born out of simple madness. And madness, mind you, was nothing uncommon among the destitute, so though she was laughed at mocked, no one thought twice there might be anything more sinister about it.
"It would come that the best she could afford for herself, the closest she could ever call to a home, was a nook in the Havenshore warrens. Like living in a cave, that, one crowded in poverty, pestilence and addiction. T'was an old place, perhaps ancient, tunnels stretching below the city. One day, though… she seemed to change the way she carried herself. She started smiling. Not a bright, cheery smile, no. More like the kind of smirk you wear when you've cleverly unraveled a riddle, or finally understood a jape that had long been beyond your understanding.
"They say she began speaking to someone that wasn't there, in hushed tones dripping with conspiracy. Just a bit more madness so it would seem to anyone, aye? She would wander now, watching the comings and goings of those around her, as if observing their squalid existence for the first time, always with that smile. Always remembering the jape. She was inspired, it turned out, to seek out a new kind of life, one that had been quietly on her mind since her earliest memories, watching the ships come and go from the lowly docks: the pirate life.
"A terrible storm thundered over the city the day she departed. No sooner than she stepped out than the warrens were flooded by the surging river. A strange coincidence, aye? It would have forced an evacuation of everyone inside afore they drowned… though no evacuation took place. No need. They were already dead, every last one of them. Relieved of the misery of their existence, as well as their heads." He rapped his finger twice on the table. "But hold that thought for now.
"I've learned these things re-tracing some of Polly's life. An investigation of my own, if you like. Some of it I heard from herself, we were quite acquainted at one time, you see. I had run-ins with her atimes, such mingling happens among pirates when you perchance deal at the same shady port. She was indeed a reveler of the pirate life, and hardly could I find a better drinking buddy, is what I thought. But I never knew her as Polly. I always called her Jack.
"Jack Sterling. Blackmane's first mate, so it came to be. She made the name up when she set off to sea. Sailors didn't take kindly to bringing women aboard, after all, and t'was the same for many a pirate ship. T'was a qualm I didn't share, by the by. Ah, the dastardly ladies I sailed with…"
Flynn paused. His face grimaced with a flicker of grief and remembrance.
"Ahem. Any event, our dear lass thought it would befit her to take on a man's name when she went out to sea. She took on the guise of a lad, got her first job out at sea, a cook's assistant for the galley Cornucopia, sailing a trading route to exotic Summer Lands. Alas this would pass the ship through an area known to be hunted by Blackmane, and don't you think that hadn't crossed the mind of the cook's assistant. Indeed, Blackmane struck the ship, right as rain, and boarded her. The captain of the Cornucopia, and some others, drew swords and fought off the pirates with their last dying breath. Some cowered and soiled their breeches. T'was one member of the Cornucopia that stood lazily by, eating an apple just as she pleased, while the steel clashed and the blood spilt on the deck.
"Now I weren't there myself, but picture it. Blackmane approaches her, his snarling fangs unquenchable for blood. There remains a deckhand near her, the poor sod has lost his mind in fear, on his knees, babbling and screaming for mercy. The cook's assistant takes a dagger, sticks it in the sod through here," Flynn pointed at his left temple, "and the other side went out poking here," he then pointed at his right temple. "She then takes the last bite of the apple, tosses the core overboard, and announces herself as Jack Sterling, a lad looking for a little adventure.
"Blackmane was one of very little words, even then, but he took a shine to her. The name Jack didn't fool him one bit, either. Didn't need to fool him, for what perhaps Jack didn't know was that Blackmane had no qualms between man or woman aboard his ship. One thing to know about Blackmane, though there were no pirate more afeared on the sea, anyone who proclaimed themself pirate found safe harbor from his claws, barring they didn't cross him otherwise. Greed did not rule him, nor competition. As a predator he lived as he wanted, and living as you want, he believed, was the only ambition worth living for. Well, that's us pirates, aye? Blackmane respected that, even if most of us weren't as… em... murderously inclined?
"But their newest acquisition, a meager assistant cook, turned out to fit in just jolly among the Alabaster's vicious crew. She insisted still her name was Jack Sterling, and kept it from then on.
"I asked her once, over a mug of ale, why the name Jack. She smiled. Aye, you know the look of that smile, Don Karnage. But she smiled, took a gulp of her ale, and said plainly, 'I like it.' That was the long and short of everything about her. Her own person she was, never inclined by convention. She was pleasant company, all-round. T'was my case, anyway, and as far as I knew, to any other pirate alike. To others, Blackmane's victims on the seas… it was a different story, indeed.
"She didn't revel in the pirate life for greed of clinky stolen gold. She was like Blackmane in that, and no doubt that's how she rose among the Alabaster's ranks to first mate. But, nor was she in it for the open horizons of freedom. The reality was, she was as cold-blooded a killer as any you can imagine, and not one who took to killing swiftly. She craved it madly. Now Blackmane was cruel, I know this well, he was murderous and had a particular penchant to use his claws in leaving none alive. But word had it, rumors whispered from pirate to pirate, Jack's cruelty could atimes make Blackmane himself look squeamish.
"During Jack's tenure as first mate, Blackmane's infamy abroad grew doubly terrible. There was talk swirling among the voices at sea that a warship fleet was to be put together, to deal with the piracy threat; namely, Blackmane. So Jack, then, takes a little shore leave. Ah, I should back up ― see, this wasn't unusual for Jack. She left often upon her own secret affairs, but always returning to the Alabaster. I asked her of this too, over one of our chance meetings. I was only making friendly conversation, truth be. 'I hear you fancy taking holidays,' I said to her in a jest. No smile that time. I thought I had offended. She looked away, distant, the faintest sign of a sneer curling her lip. 'I heed a callin' to go 'ome now 'n' again,' she said, a phrasing I found curious. ''Tis good ro remember why ye left,' she said of it. 'An' what ye hate.'
"She returned back to Blackmane from this particular leave with an extraordinary blade. Bloodfang. That day, Blackmane and the rest of his crew placed their hands upon the blade's edge and fed it their blood, thus rendering their lives to the Dark, and their bodies on this world immortal."
Flynn leaned back in his chair, tapping his finger against the corner of his lip, his brow furrowed as he searched for a way of explaining. "Afore I go further, here's the deal: the blade takes your life regardless if it's a cut on the hand or a slash through the heart. A cut on the hand, though, you wind up like the lad and I, preserved alive as like, and, importantly, preserved with our own free will. A killing blow with the sword, on the other hand… immortality takes on a truly dreadful meaning.
"Alas, Jack demanded that the sword required lives in return for its gifts. Thus Blackmane began a cruel, vicious hunt, ships and towns. No ordinary raiding was this. T'was massacre for massacre's sake, and none too quickly, as each killing blow was delivered by Jack through Bloodfang, either by the black blade itself or a projection of its sorcery."
By then, Flynn had his head hung so low that his chin was on his chest, which swelled in a deep sigh.
"Soon after, indeed, the Alabaster was confronted by a fleet of dozens of warships. The Great Armada, so they called it. Jack Sterling climbed the main mast, raised Bloodfang toward the sky. There and then, the Dark unleashed a taste of its presence into our world. A storm of smoke and fire swirled above. Lost souls ― you captain, and you lad, aye, the very likes that you saw on Cabo Diablo, the ghosts, as you called them, the poor sods slain by Bloodfang ― they came to existence in the very air, every one of them at Jack's command. Some formed a shield around the Alabaster, and carried her sails to unmatchable speed. Others dove into the sea... where they reclaimed their rotted corpses.
"The Great Armada had unwittingly sailed into the devil's own lair, as like. While hell's fire burned their ships from the sky, while their cannons could not harm the Alabaster, the dead climbed upon their hulls and dispatched the rest. All but one survived the ordeal, and you lay to it, that was only because Jack allowed it. One maddened sailor left to tell the tale, who prattled on mindlessly about the White Witch that gave Blackmane his power.
"Then, lads and lass, came my part. Ol' Captain Flynn and his crew of two. My dear Marys. I believed at the time it was Jack's good will toward me, but we three were given the offer to partake in the Alabaster's sudden outbreak of immortality. We accepted at once, at the cost of but one simple task: we were to recruit others. Other pirates, that is. We were grateful to do it, matter of fact, and took to the task earnestly. One by one, by my honor I tracked down every pirate captain on this side of Spango-Pango. Flintlock, Ol' Diamond Davey, the Black Swan, on and on. After a brief, er, demonstration of our gift, they were each cordially invited to Cabo Diablo to have the same for themselves. They accepted, vowing secrecy, though some rumor had no doubt gotten out about our intentions of allying with Blackmane, for this is how our lot are today known as the Pirates of Cabo Diablo, though the reason behind our alliance seems to have remained obscured. Blackmane and his first mate had designs in mind, designs for every pirate to live immortal, and between us all, we would rule the world as gods.
"The fool I am, though. When Jack presented the sword to me, laying out the offer to live forever, I of course was skeptical. But the sword was unlike any I've ever seen crafted, shining so, there had to be something to it, aye? And the writing on the blade." Flynn made a subtle gesture at the tome lying on the table in front of Katie. "A style of letters I'd never seen. I asked Jack what they meant. Now, Jack wouldn't say a word about how she landed her hands on such a weapon, or how she knew such letters, but thus she read out to me, proudly:
'I shall raise the dead to devour life,
Turn earth to ash in fire storm;
I shall bring the Dark to end this strife
And rest in Nothing, when Nothing takes form'
"A gibberish, old chant, so I thought. I disregarded it entirely, greedy only for what I could gain. Ah, such a dark verse mattered not to me, nor how many were slain by that damn sword. I had my life eternal, so what should I care of those not as fortunate. All that mattered to me, by thunder, was myself. I was a terrible fool. By the powers, what happened next, I richly deserved.
"There were hundreds of us who arrived at Cabo Diablo. Captains and crew, all anxious to receive the gift, a rambunctious pirate gathering of the likes you've never cast your eyes on. The drinking, the singing, the fighting… ah, it was beautiful. Blackmane's residence, if you like, was an ancient hall left standing through time, though only the sun and moon could ever remember who built it. That's where we gathered, all packed in. Me and my crew, we had ours already, but were happy to look on while the others received theirs, and see for ourselves our invincible pirate fleet come to realization. Despite having looked into the abyss myself, knowing there was a terrible power behind that sword ― I was yet a cur enough to trust Jack.
"The chamber became stone silent as Blackmane entered, for his was a presence which with not to trifle. A chill filled the room. The firelight dimmed, as if a shade had come upon it. He said nothing, but only stepped aside and let Jack through. Jack, who carried Bloodfang, had all attention upon her and the blade.
"She looked at me, that smile of hers. And then toward my crew, Mary and Mary. She asked them to come stand by her, and they of course obliged. We all thought there would be a good deal of merriment to ensue with good ol' Jack. And indeed! Jack Sterling finally let us in on the jape.
"In front of all, she swiftly slayed my Marys, one slash left, one slash right ― cut them through easy as jelly. Their flesh turned to smoke, leaving naught but their bones collapsed on the floor."
Flynn had to pause, to swallow the emotional lump making his voice croak. Then he continued,
"They were good lasses, my dearest friends. All for one and one for all, we were, and would be 'til the bitter end, we swore. I was the one who insisted we take the offer. Truly, all I wanted to do, even if the day should come I hang my pirate boots up for good, all I wanted was to spend eternity with them.
"Perhaps some yet thought Jack's actions were but another odd demonstration of the power of immortality. But Blackmane and I... no, we knew at once we'd been had. The sword would kill us like any mortal. And ― it ― was ― killing.
"It was bloody chaos, it was. In a bat of an eye, Jack had transformed into… into a great, ghoulish abomination. Something like a demon. Everywhere, dark phantoms sprang from the walls, howling and wailing, moving like a hurricane gale. So many tried to run, falling over themselves. And the only thing I could think of ― weren't even the fate of my dear friends, so selfish I was. I could only think of my immortality, and how very much I wanted to keep it. Crews made for their ships, but the demon tore into those as well. They were trapped ― and no matter where they ran, fated to await their turn to be cut down.
"I'm not proud to say it, but I fled, tail tucked firmly 'tween my legs. My Calico was one of the ships others had tried to escape upon, and not an unwise choice, being as fast as she was. But Jack leapt in front of them, my Calico was no more. I observed there were naught but two ships left, anchored well apart from each other: Davey's frigate the Diamond Dame, and Blackmane's Alabaster.
The Dame was much closer to where I stood, and I ran toward it. Jack had already intercepted a lot trying to run for the same ship, but she had her attention toward others now, and I had my chance. Heaven help me, for it takes a full crew to make off with a ship the size of the Dame, and I had myself. Didn't stop me from trying, you can lay to that. I zipped around that deck like I had lightning for feet, trying to raise anchor and unfurl the sails from her masts. It was useless, really. But alas, a projectile suddenly struck the deck, nearly put a hole in it. T'was Blackmane ― he had apparently attempted to assail Jack himself, but though he managed to evade a slash from her sword, the licking he received threw him halfway over the isle.
"There were no words spoken 'tween us. He saw my intentions clearly, and I could tell from the look on his face, he agreed escaping on the Dame was the best course of action. Though, it was still only the two of us now, and that were still hopeless means to get a fridge out to sea anytime quickly. Then I saw for the first time, what was possible for me and him, for until that moment we did not know. We had to find it for ourselves, within ourselves, to dig into the endless pit which held our very souls. For Blackmane, it was his limitless fury. As he stared upon the sails, I observed his eyes grow black as onyx, a sight that straightened my immortal fur, you can lay to that. And he let out a roar, one that cracked my ears, and I swear upon the soul of my sweet mum it made the air shimmer. The phantoms that yet stormed over the isle, a portion of them came to his will, though he spoke no commands. At such time I myself didn't fathom that I too could conjure power as like, and I'm certain, for Blackmane's part, he was surprised, figuring it out as he went along, and he was riding with it. The ghostly hands raised anchor and let loose all sails at once, then carried the Dame to great speed in a dark wind.
"We gained distance from the isle, with the cries of the bloodbath we left behind echoing in the firmament. It seemed for a while we might escape altogether, but alas we were not forgotten. Jack, in demonic form, took wing and sprang upon us. She landed on her feet as to perch herself upon the taffrail, and there transformed back into, well, herself. Her smile ― I read it quite differently than I ever had before, and now it was a revelation. I've never seen someone take such a merry loathing to those to have beating hearts.
"I called out to her, 'Why?'
"'Oh, come now, luv,' she replied, I believe addressing me, but her cold, blue gaze was upon Blackmane. She held out the sword to her side, blade flat to us, as like to show us the writing on the blade. 'I told ye plain as day what was a-comin',' she said. That she did, I admit. Then it occurred to me why she looked at Blackmane so. He had found himself a harpoon.
"The sky darkened with black clouds, from nowhere, glowing with rolling fire. The phantoms that had aided us thus far turned to Jack's will and halted the ship, swarming around us with their dark whispers: 'Die with us,' they said. 'Die and feast!' I tell you, I recognized some of those voices as those of the very pirates I knew! Blackmane, he held the harpoon as to throw it. Jack, though, she stood calm as can be. She puffed her chest out, held out her arms, made herself a right easy target. She only laughed at him, and lay to it it was real laugh. She was enjoying herself. She taunted him, ''Ave a go at it, captain my captain!'
"And aye, Blackmane threw. I don't believe Jack expected what would happen, but too lost she was in her own hubris. The harpoon took her straight in the heart. She must not have known ― not enough experience dying while immortal, not like me who had given plenty a demonstration." Flynn here made a pistol gesture with his right hand and put it up to the side of his head, pretending to fire it. "But she must not have known that such a blow could drop us like any mortal, at least as the heart struggled to recover. She seized up, dropped the sword on the deck, then fell overboard. The smoke and fire in the sky vanished, as did any trace of the dark multitudes around us.
"A true wind had caught our sails by then. Jack was left flailing in our wake, trying painfully to release herself from the harpoon. Blackmane, meanwhile, went at once for the sword. Its razor edge sang mournfully as he swiped it through the air. He raised it toward the sky as he had seen Jack do afore, trying to summon the power that Jack did, but alas, the sword did naught for him.
"We agreed at once that the harpoon would inevitably only delay Jack. Blackmane declared his intention to wield the sword against her. He wagered that the sword could cut her down just like did the others. I held that theory was too uncertain to act upon, and I tell you, arguing with him on that point took courage, as one thing I was certain on was he could have taken that sword and ended me on a foul whim. But, thank the powers, he listened to reason when I argued that that was indeed a wager. We had no idea of the extent of Jack's witchery, and what differences there may be 'tween us. She had already made us her fools, fodder to feed her evil designs. We truly knew nothing about what we had been entangled in. We at last agreed, that the best thing at the time was to keep the sword away from Jack, as far as possible.
"We lost Jack in the distance, not knowing what became of her. Blackmane sat and brooded in fascination with the sword. I steered the Diamond Dame due North, which I don't believe he took notice of. I had an inkling of an idea, you see, one that I dared not discussed with Blackmane at the time, for it would provide that he be willing to part the sword. Cutting through the arctic was our shortest route to my inkling: Olde Victoria. Specifically, the Havenshore warrens." He tapped his fingers twice on the table. "Now, that thought we were holding…"
"Th-the murders?" ventured Kit, uneasily.
"Aye, laddy. See, when the constables found the bodies, they never found the heads. Wasn't exactly a large investigation, not worth the time, so it went. It was only squalid ol' Havenshore, if you get my meaning.
"But I had paid a visit there, you see, shortly before the gathering on Cabo Diablo. Part of my own investigation into the magic of Bloodfang. I saw Jack's old stomping grounds. But I happened upon something much more. Jack had discovered something in the underground, although the more I think of it, the more I'm convinced it was Something that whispered out to her, drawing her to the warrens in the first place, wanting to be discovered. Not discovered by just anyone, but by her alone. A person who had already heard its whispers. A person who had already judged life to be only worthy to wither and burn until none was left. A person... who was willing open the door between our world and the Dark.
"What I found was a viking hall, long, long forgotten. The museum-wench here has brought along her own tale to tell on that matter, but―"
Katie, scowling, cut him off, "I'm an archeologist, thank you."
Flynn hmph'ed at her. "What church you go to is hardly of concern. In any event, Jack was carefully hiding a passage in the warrens that led to, what I could only call, a magic portal. On the other side was the Dark, and I felt down to my marrowbones its cold, ghoulish sorcery. The entire thing was lined with a circle of skulls ― Jack's doing, and there were the missing heads, by the powers. How she knew how to do it, I don't know, but with the sacrifice of many she opened the portal. It was all coming clear, of course. Jack's frequent leave from the Alabaster, heeding a call home as she said, was to commune with this dark power. She washed her brain in its will, its visions, to devour all life. She yearned to be its instrument, and through Bloodfang she was given that.
"But my inkling, as I was saying, was that I could not help but think that it was possible to take the sword out of the world altogether ― hopefully leaving my immortality intact ― by casting it out of our world. The portal could be the way.
"Alas we never made it half as far. As we reached the fringes of the arctic, Jack had emerged on our heels, steering the Alabaster in a conjured storm of dark wind. I urged Blackmane to do something; after all, we discovered earlier he could do some conjuring of his own. But he was absent to all but his wrath for Jack. Gripping the sword, he only stood there and stared down the chasing ship. The Alabaster gained on us fast, and my only path forward was to steer between two walls of ice, with hope that there was no dead end. I wondered if I could conjure some magic of my own, something to aid us, but I knew not what and never got to find out.
"I looked back, Jack had walked out upon the Alabaster's prow, knelt as if about to leap. Blackmane growled at her, and his clawed hand gestured, 'Come!' All I know is she leapt, and Blackmane roared, furiously, once more so unnaturally loud. There was a brawl behind my helm that I'm sure would have been fit for the ages, but...
"Well. With all the magic being cast around, would it not have been keen if one of them was able to stop the avalanche of ice that fell over us! That was… it. For my part, I knew nothing of what happened outside of my own conscious, but I was stuck thoroughly, crushed and frozen.
"Let us move the clock forward now, two hundred and fifty years, where Bloodfang has been recovered from the shipwrecks, exchanged a few hands, and here we are!" Flynn smacked his palms against the tabletop. "Where presently, at this very moment, Jack Sterling has your flying airship, and thanks to your involvement in these affairs, my good pirates, not only can we not attempt to get rid of the sword ourselves, but she now knows exactly where it was dropped, has an unbeatable head start on us, and thus we can all hereby look forward to a small matter called the end of the world. The earth to burn, the seas to boil, and the living to be eaten by the rising dead, until nothing remains."
"I hate when that happens," frowned Don Karnage.
"Ugh," groaned Flynn, cupping his eyes. "I suppose I should ask at this point, if anyone has questions that I might be able to answer."
The room was silent and still, but one hand after the other suddenly went up, everyone… except for Kit. His mouth was wrought in miserable squiggles. His chair fell over as he bolted away from the table and made haste out of the room.
"Boy?" Karnage got up to go after him.
In one of the adjacent rocky tunnels, Kit leaned his hands against the wall wearily, shaking his head. "I can't stand it. You see the way everyone's lookin' at me? This… this doesn't feel good. What does he mean that I'm not here? What's gonna happen to me?"
"I don't know," said Karnage, a string of words that did not come easily. And as far as the strange looks the boy had been given, he had noticed them, and knew he was one of the parties giving the looks. He just couldn't help it. Nor could he help wanting to know, "Can you… you know… do things?"
"Do… what things?"
"You know." Karnage waved his hands in the air, some semblance of a spell-casting gesture. "Magic things."
Kit was frightfully sickened at the thought. He looked at his hands, which were shaking, like they were two ticking timebombs. Unhelpfully, the captain had taken a long, cautious step backward as for his own protection, though he was watching earnestly for the boy to try something. Kit gulped and tried something… which amounted to a swift, short swipe at the air, but for how scared Kit was he didn't know if he'd sink the whole island. Nothing happened, and Kit exhaled, "phew!"
"Oh, well," shrugged the captain. He leaned on his shoulder against the wall, looking down at the kid. "Scared?"
"A little, maybe."
"The good news is, as far as I can tell… you are still you. Then there's the bad news." Of that, he turned his nose up at the boy.
"Wh-what's the bad news?"
"Tsk, you being you, is still nothing really to brag about, no?"
Kit blinked; his unsmiling face blurt out a chuckle, then came the grin. Karange cackled at his own joke, which made it hard for Kit not to keep laughing. Their laughter carried loud through the island's chambers, making everyone else wonder what the hell was so hysterical. When the chuckles finally died down, and they caught their breath, they both started to say something at once, then stopped.
"Go ahead," said Karnage.
"Uh, that's okay. You go," said Kit. "Captain's always first, right?"
"Well, I, erm… was going to say…" Karnage was looking at the ground, fingers uneasily massaging the back of his neck. His face ticked like there were gears in his head trying to crank out whatever the words were he meant to say, and they were stuck. "Never mind," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not the time." He suddenly turned as if about to walk away, but then stopped almost as immediately, growling. Growling at himself.
"I want to... say something," he said at length. He shifted uncomfortably into forced air of being nonchalant, leaning his shoulders against the rocky wall and his arms crossed. "Don't really want to," he mumbled very quietly, "but also… I want to."
"Um, okay. Shoot." Kit mirrored the captain's pose on the opposite side of the tunnel. It was the thing to do at a moment like this, he thought, when you had just two guys doing some man-to-man guy-talk.
Karnage would stare at the floor, the wall, the ceiling, anything but Kit. His mouth was open like he was about to say something, but only a rattle came out of his throat. Kit waited, puzzled and curious.
"Something I was thinking," said Karnage at last, his voice low, "when I thought you were…" He stopped as if set upon by a sudden pain in his gut. Then he sniffed sharply, puffing up his chest. "Bah, is no big deal, after all. What is stopping me, I can just say it! So, listen. I just want to… perhaps mention that, I… I maybe want to say, that… you see, when I was a boy… no, wait. I start over. What I'm telling you is, something, that sometimes the big ones don't say to the small ones, and that is… that..."
"Wait, this isn't birds and bees, is it? 'Cause it's a really lousy time."
"No! Now shut up and don't rush me!" Then, wincing, Karnage smacked his hand over his brow and ran it down his muzzle, then sighed. "I don't always mean to yell."
"Yeah. But they say to stick to what you're good at, though." Awkwardly for Kit, that joke not only fell flat, but it had the opposite effect of what he intended, for Karnage only grimaced deeper.
"Don Karnage is a noble pirate of his word," muttered the captain, absently as if to only himself. He looked left and right, making sure no one else was within earshot. "And I said, if I could ever make sure you knew this one stupid thing, boy, I would. So listen! Here it is! You believed in me, and I…" The words caught in his throat. He swallowed and tried again. "What I mean is, you… grrm." That didn't go far, either. Nor was the third time a charm: "I…" though he didn't up on it that time, "... do not suppose, that… you perhaps already know what the stupid thing is that I want you to know? No?" There was a look of desperation on his face, like he really, really, really needed the boy to make him say nothing more.
Kit was looking down, watching over his toes studiously, where he was carefully flicking invisible dirt off of one foot with the other. His shoulders shrugged to his ears and he cleared his throat. "I might. I mean, yeah, no big deal. Nothin' to get soft over."
Karnage snorted. "Of course not. No sign of silly sofitiviy in here."
An attempt on Kit's part at a mature, tough-guy face was betrayed by a grin he couldn't help.
Karnage finally looked at him in the eye, albeit shrewdly. "What were you going to say?"
"Me? Nah, don't remember. I think it was just... ya know. Somethin' stupid."
"Hmph. Good thing we are too smart to have time wasted on saying stupid things."
"Pfft. Yeah."
Karnage gestured with his open hand down the tunnel, toward the dining area. Kit walked with him. They had their hands folded behind their backs, sauntering in a no-big-deal kind of fashion. "Mine wasn't gonna be as stupid as yours, though," the kid muttered aside.
"Shut up, boy."
