Eternal Peace
Cemeteries were odd locations the world over. Every island had them, each one different in its own way. But they all shared something in common. A feeling of being in a sacred site, a place of contemplation. A divine place of rest.
If there was a single place in all the world that was holy, it was this island. Here, on Eternal Peace.
Written for the OP Marines Week!
DAY 6: Peace
If there is life after the earth-life, will you come with me?
Even then? Since we're bound to be something, why not
Together.
-Mary Oliver
Mist beaded on the sleeves of Smoker's coat, on the railing of his warship, damp against his face. Near silently, his ship glided towards the small port, the island pale white and ghostly as it peaked through the fog.
All sounds seemed too loud here, all voices hushed, like within a cathedral. Smoker solidified on the old wooden dock, turning to look back up at his ship. Tashigi watching him, her gaze drawn tight and tired.
The box in his hands was heavy, the burden of responsibility weighing it down far more than the simple undressed wood. Slowly, his warship pulled out of the harbor, vanishing back into the mists. Back towards the raging sea and the bright and vibrant sunlight.
Smoker looked away from the ocean, and began the walk towards the village. The trees, white leaved, white trunked, like living fossils, rustled gently along the old well worn stone path. His steps were loud in the midday air. He wondered how many had made this timeless pilgrimage. This wasn't his first time here, nor would it be his last.
But this was, so far, the hardest.
The village itself was quiet, small, unadorned. The buildings, ancient homes and shops, were made of the simple white wood that was found on this island and no other. A small number of inhabitants were going about with their daily routines as he reached the center. A few men with a pale wooden fishing boat passed him, giving him a quiet nod, heading for the docks he left behind. Strangers of every type were the norm here, they far outnumbered the natives, though they never stayed.
In the center, ringed by the other ghostly structures, stood the only stone building. White granite and alabaster stretching up to a tall roof with high curved windows inlaid with stained glass. A holy place. The heavy wooden doors were open, and Smoker wondered if they ever closed.
Up the stairs he walked, and over the threshold.
The living room was too small for him. The ceiling too close, the furniture too low to the floor, and the gravity of Smoker's reason for being here too heavy for such a place. The pale curtains fluttered slightly in the breeze, inviting the mist inside.
A hearth sat in the middle of the space, the wooden floors worn by generations of use. Old shelves with pots of herbs climbed the walls. He stepped carefully close to the lit hearth, the warmth of it seeping through the fabric of his jacket.
The smallest thing in the room however was the woman sitting on the wooden bench before him. Her speckled gray hair covered by a traditional scarf, her elderly frail body sunk inside her dress. In her hands, held gently, was the box. The top was open, a small plain standard Navy urn nestled inside, resting upon a flag.
Her gnarled hands shook as she gripped the sides of the box, slowly turning to look up at him. Her pale, snowflower blue eyes gazed out at him from a face weathered by years of hard work. The same eyes as her son. "I would ask that you stay for the ceremony," her voice was craggly with age. Smoker nodded slowly.
She dipped her head in response, then stood up to show him out. As the door closed behind him, the sound of a low wail through the wood reached Smoker's ears. His shoulders hunched.
He walked away, every step weighed down with the knowledge that he was the cause of so much grief.
"Vice Admiral Smoker, reporting for duty Sir!" the young Marine, bright blue eyes and short cropped hair saluted, legs snapping together. Sheesh, this kid was more uptight than Tashigi had been. Smoker glanced down at the paperwork on his desk. Stellar marks and recommendations. A rare kind of transfer for G-5.
The grass was damp beneath Smoker's hands as he sat on a slope overlooking the village. Wind ruffled his hair, the mist blown out, but the sky a colorless gray. He could smell the rain on its way. From his spot, the village with its cathedral in the center looked toy-like. The forest stretched out to the east, the alien looking trees blending into the gray sea and sky. A barge was offloading a group of people onto the docks, a pirate ship waiting patiently to do the same thing a ways beyond it.
And all around him, graves.
Neat markers set in the ground, statues and mausoleums scattered across the land. Small pops of color here and there from lovingly placed flowers. He wasn't the only visitor, a small service was taking place down below him, and higher up the hill a man sat before a grave drinking a bottle of something.
He watched two people, one in a suit, the other dressed in flamboyant shorts, make their way through the massive gates on the other side of the cathedral. The two monks dressed in white robes on either side of the gate looked like spirits welcoming the faithful.
Cemeteries were odd locations the world over. Every island had them, each one different in its own way. But they all shared something in common. A feeling of being in a sacred site, a place of contemplation. A divine place of rest.
If there was a single place in all the world that was holy, it was this island. Here, on Eternal Peace.
His cheek stinging, tears flowing down Tashigi's face, her hand slowly coming back to her side. The hurried footsteps and hushed voices of doctors and nurses echoing down the hallway. The smell of antiseptic strong in the air, too recently wiped across the walls and floors. Smoker watched her walk away before he leaned against the wall, willing his knees not to buckle. The urge to smoke coursed through him, but he couldn't bring himself that brief moment of comfort. He didn't deserve it. Not right now.
Smoker ran a hand through his hair and got to his feet, resuming his trek up the hill. A restless living ghost among the home of the dead.
In the darkness, under the moon, it was said you could hear the spirits that lived in the trees. They said the wood was white from the lost souls who made them their home.
The night air, full of the scent of damp earth, was cool against Smoker's skin. A blessed relief from the dusty air of the cramped room at the bed and breakfast in the village. Splotches of moonlight reflected off the dew gathered on the grave markers.
It was strange to traverse a graveyard at night. Smoker glanced around, the shadows only shadows. No mythical creatures of the night, no flashing fangs in the dark. Instead, just a quiet, windy vastness. Flowers decaying on gravestones, a few with carefully burning candles like fairies. Parting gifts from those left behind.
The large mausoleums that dotted the hill, torches burning at the entrances, felt more like welcoming homes than the ghostly white village down below as Smoker made his way towards the only part of the island he knew.
Smoker's footsteps echoed off the marbled floor as he entered one of the mausoleums, the huge doors engraved with the Navy insignia catching the torchlight. Tall columns of shining white held up the ceiling, each one the start and end of a long row filled with the names of the fallen.
Smoker walked the halls, bare fingers reaching out to brush against names and titles, birthdays, and death dates.
His jitte clanged loudly, locking against its twin. They strained against one another, pushing back and forth, sweat dripping down between Smoker's shoulder blades. Exuberant blue eyes sparkled at him. That eagerness would be Lieutenant Toyt's undoing. Quickly Smoker dropped his jitte, those blue eyes going wide in shock as he pivoted and elbowed his subordinate right in the solar plexus. Unable to recover his footing, Toyt collapsed onto the ground, Smoker snatched his opponent's jitte and pointed it at him.
Toyt waved his hand in a gesture of submission before rolling over and sitting up gingerly. "That was good Sir! Can you show me again?!" he smiled hopefully. Smoker took in his disheveled blonde hair and slightly swelling left eye. "That's enough for today," he grunted, helping him to his feet. The Lieutenant gave him a rueful grin as Smoker gave him back his jitte and grabbed his own.
Smoker clenched his jaw as he turned, making his way down another hall, the aimless wandering better than staring at the ceiling in the dark, self recrimination coating his skin.
A dark figure at the end of the row made him stop. Hair so black it swallowed the torchlight, gold earrings shining like molten tears. His black feathered cloak made him look like an apparition as DEATH touched fingers traced an engraved name gently.
Smoker wasn't sure how long he stood there, watching. He wasn't going to break the only rule of Eternal Peace, no matter which pirate he encountered. This was holy ground, and he was no sinner. After a time, golden eyes met his before walking away, steps near soundless. Smoker went slowly down the hall, stopping to look at the name engraved upon the wall that apparently held such meaning to the Surgeon of Death.
Donquixote Rosinante. Donquixote…? A marine? Smoker furrowed his eyebrows before turning his gaze towards where Law had disappeared, knowing the pirate would be long gone before he could catch up.
Rumor had it that Eternal Peace was the first island. Before Mariejois, when the seas were one. Whispers in old taverns, in back alleys, in the ruins scattered across the Grand Line said that all of us came from the isle of ghostly trees, that the earth itself was the bones of our ancestors.
Smoker sat on the stone rim of the well in the center of the village, watching the slow workings of the inhabitants. Rain dripped down his jacket, the droplets running through the grooves and creases of the fabric, down his shoulders, his arms, before joining the water that would one day wear away stone.
Most towns and villages, hamlets and pueblos had a rhythm. A local watering hole, a local old drunkard. Children and chickens, wandering cats and dogs. Flower shops and a place with a decent breakfast menu.
He watched for the rhythm here, in this village that had no name, at least not one shared with strangers. The economy of The Village ran on the business of death. Smoker watched a group of women use a loom to create an intricate burial shroud. A man on a pottery wheel creating urns, the white clay smeared up to his elbows. The steady sound of tools used to engrave stone.
There were very few people younger than fifty. That isn't to say there weren't children. He saw them, gathering white wood, tending to crops, walking the shore line. Giggling behind their hands, showing one another sea shells, pointing and whispering at the different ships that docked. Serenity suffused every building, every stone, woven into the air itself.
Like living in a library.
Smoker could not understand how someone so boisterous, so lively, could have been born here. Grown up here.
And would now be laid to rest here, far before his time.
The door to Lieutenant Toyt's mother, Balibte's, home opened. Life in the village stilled. The women working the loom went quiet, the man working the pottery wheel stopped its spinning. Only the sound of stone being chipped away remained. The small woman emerged, clothed in grief, dark and austere. Slowly, she began to walk towards the cathedral.
She did not look up, but placed each foot in front of the other as if walking on a tightrope. As she neared him, Smoker could not meet her eyes. The grief upon her face was too raw. Too much his fault.
She stopped on her pilgrimage before him. Smoker found his eyes drawn to her hands, going still as she reached for him. A flash of silver in the corner of his vision, and the sound of tearing cloth.
He turned to look at his shoulder, a raindrop falling on his now bare skin through the rip in the fabric of his coat. "To reflect what we have lost," came her frail voice. She pointed to her own shoulder, the same tear mirrored in the fabric of her shroud.
She stepped away from him, and he watched her continue to the Cathedral. A number of the other villagers, her kin, wearing bands of black on their wrists, on their arms, their ankles followed after her.
Too much.
Smoker placed his hand over the rip in his coat, blood thrumming too fast through his veins. He turned to smoke and vanished into the mist.
It's whispered that ghosts walked the woods of Eternal Peace. That spirits dwelled within the trees, lost souls finally able to put down the roots they never had in life. Scientists say there was a special compound in the soil that turned the trees white, though they had yet to discover it.
The woods, despite their coloring, didn't strike Smoker as particularly different from any other woods he'd walked. Old leaves and twigs, needles and cones crunched underfoot. The trees closest to the village were younger, grown for use by the people who lived here. But the deeper in one walked, the old growth trees began to appear. Like ascending a mountain range. Taller and taller.
"Lieutenant Toyt captured over fifteen men on his own, despite my misgivings… and orders," Tashigi shot him a look over the paperwork on her lap as they sat in his office. He grunted, eyes roving over his report on the collection of illegal arms they'd seized from the pirates in question.
"It's what I would have done," he muttered, circling one of the inventory items that had caught his gaze. Third crate of guns from Koloch Island… the third of five, if the robbery report he had spread out on the table was correct. That meant two crates left to recover.
"Yes, I'm aware..." Tashigi giggled.
"What?" Smoker looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. The cigar in the corner of his mouth flared, an extra plume of smoke rising towards the ceiling.
"It's cute is all. The hero worship, I mean," a mischievous grin turned the corners of her lips up. Smoker gave her a flat look, more smoke huffing out of his cigars.
Movement out of the corner of Smoker's eye made him come to a halt. This deep in the forest, the crowns of the trees blotted out much of the sky, turning the forest floor to shades of gray. There, weaving between two enormous trunks, was a person.
Law.
Smoker raised an eyebrow, curious as to his reason for being this deep in the woods. Law walked with purpose, and unbidden, Smoker found himself following.
The woods skirted the coastline, massive roots and branches breaking up the earth. The smell of moss and lichen, damp earth and growing things in each breath. The pirate walked along a small path, a game trail. He had to be aware of Smoker, the marine wasn't being subtle. But it appeared the pirate didn't care, unfazed and unafraid. Intent upon his destination.
They made their way up the coast, occasional gaps in the treeline showing the fog bank, sea hidden far below. Smoker wondered how many people had walked this part of the island. He felt like an intruder here, among the ancient trees, undergrowth long ignored, the makings of humanity nothing but a myth.
A larger gap near the cliff side appeared, the death place of what was once a giant, its trunk lay broken across the ground, new life sprouting along it, turning it to mulch. Law came to a stop, facing the sea. Smoker tilted his head, leaning against a lichen covered boulder, scanning the clearing.
It had been cleared of grasses, a shallow depression dug in the middle. An axe and a shovel were sprawled on the earth. Law looked over his shoulder, eyes falling on Smoker. They stared at one another before Law rolled his eyes and removed his coat, placing it carefully upon a log.
His jeans were filthy, the shirt he was wearing stained with sweat and dirt. Out of his pockets, he pulled a pair of working gloves, before he bent and grabbed the shovel. Smoker furrowed his brows, watching him jab it into the earth, over and over.
The corner of Smoker's lips turned down. What was he digging a hole for? And why wasn't he using his powers to do it?
"I'm not up to anything if you must know, Hunter-ya," came Law's voice after a time, as he wiped sweat from his brow. The hole was less a hole now, more of a ditch.
"I'm just supposed to take your word for that?" Smoker growled. His voice sounded funny from disuse. He crossed his arms, and gave Law a mild glare, recalling Law's shitty lie to him in regards to the Straw Hat presence on Punk Hazard. Smoker had no intent to start anything, but it would be foolish not to keep an eye on this particular pirate.
"I," Law turned his head, golden eyes directing their full force at Smoker, "don't care what you do, as long as you don't get in my way," his voice took on a distinct hiss before he resumed shoveling.
"And what are you doing?" Smoker asked.
"What are you doing Smoker-ya?" Law retorted. Smoker grit his teeth, going silent.
Law continued to dig until the light got shitty, the mist turning to a dribbling rain. He gave Smoker a last look before using his powers to vanish, leaving Smoker to walk back to the village alone with his thoughts.
"Smoker-san, the doctor says you're supposed to take it easy!" Tashigi glared, cornering him in the medical tent.
Smoker ignored her, pouring over the report he'd just received. Another crate down. One left. High quality explosives, sea stone ammunition, and high capacity rifles… something to fetch the attention of a powerful pirate.
"We'll get them soon, right Sir?" came Toyt's voice from behind him, leg being bandaged for a bullet wound. Smoker glanced at him and nodded, getting up before the doctor finished rolling on his bandages and headed for his office.
If he was right, they had had sightings of the Fire Tank Pirates recently. A likely buyer of the final crate. He could take them down with an ambush at the exchange-
"Smoker-san!" He blinked, Tashigi jumped in his path, the look in her brown eyes too much like Hina's. He moved to step around her, but she blocked his way.
"What Tashigi?!" He snarled. He was losing valuable time!
"The doctor needs to finish your stitches, Sir," she glared, lips pursing.
Smoker rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, don't fucking coddle me Tashigi," he pushed past her to his office, not expecting her to follow him. She shut the door behind him as he limped to his desk. He slapped the folder down on the wooden surface as he placed a cigar in his mouth.
He glanced at her as she leaned with her back against the door, biting her lip. Great. More time wasting bullshit.
"Spit it out Tashigi," he growled.
She eyed him, sizing up his mood or gathering her courage. One feeding into the other. "Permission to speak freely Sir?" she asked.
He gestured at her to go on. The sooner this was over the sooner he could focus on what really mattered.
"You don't have to prove anything to anyone," she said quietly, hands nervous fists at her sides. He stared at her, gritting his teeth.
"What the hell are you on about?"
She gave him a flat look, adjusting her glasses. "You've been...you still haven't fully recovered from...Punk Hazard. You don't have to prov-"
Hot anger flared up under his skin. "How many fucking times do I have to tell you idiots that I'm fine?!" He roared, slamming his fist onto his desk. The sound made her flinch.
"With all due respect Smoker-san… you're really not," she said gently, gaze flicking down to his side. Fresh blood oozed through the bandages.
"Dismissed Captain," he hissed. She almost looked like she was going to fight him but nodded tightly instead, going for the door.
"I get how you're feeling too, you know," Tashigi muttered, looking at him over her shoulder before closing the door behind her. He clenched his jaw, cigar fibers grinding. At last some quiet so he could focus!
Another day enshrouded in mist and fog. Smoker looked up at the sky as he passed beneath the gates, wondering if the locals forwent clocks and traditional methods to tell time because it all looked the same here, day after day. Rolling fog and cool mist, rain and green grass. If the sun came out, the whole place would sparkle like gemstones. But he'd never seen the sun here.
The bottle of Jerez felt heavy in his hand as he walked, passing no one. Most people arrived in the afternoon rather than the early hours of dawn. The first time Smoker had come to Eternal Peace, he'd walked this same path up the hill. He'd passed the same graves, the same deep green grass. Hina had been at his side, Kuzan in front, flowers and sake in his arms. Drake had been there too. Smoker grit his teeth, the scar on his collarbone twinging as it always did when certain old memories resurfaced.
He recalled Hina being furious she couldn't carry anything because of her broken collarbone as he passed a statue of a woman kneeling in prayer. The engraved text was so weathered now he couldn't make out the words. It wouldn't have made a difference, the language was long dead.
He'd been here a handful of times since then, carrying flowers for Tashigi because she was crying too hard to see and kept tripping. Hina leaning on his shoulder after placing a beloved sword on an altar. Kuzan telling him where he'd want to be laid to rest on the island because he had no other place to call home.
But now, he was alone.
As Smoker crested the hill, the downslope that met his gaze made his breath catch as it always did. Through the fog, hundreds, thousands of grave markers stretched as far as he could see, right out to the ocean, a gray void on the horizon. This was where the Navy buried soldiers with no homes to claim them. Or, in the case of the grave he was heading towards, the final resting place of their most honored.
Smoker approached slowly, the marker tall and relatively recent. He'd been unable to bring himself here until now. His old mentor's grave was a simple altar carved with his name. A fresh bouquet of deep blue flowers sat before it. "Looks like I'm not the only visitor you've had Zephyr-sensei," he uttered quietly.
He sat down, leaning his back against the altar. If his old mentor was still around… well Smoker would probably get the beating he deserved.
It appeared that Law had finished shoveling for the most part. He'd dug a space a good six feet in diameter, a few feet deep. The man responsible sat on the ground, breathing heavily, taking a break. Smoker leaned against a tree, saying nothing. The pirate ignored him, taking a drink from a canteen.
The wind rustled through the trees, a few white leaves like large snowflakes drifted down from the canopy, one landing on Law's thigh. He picked it up and twirled it between his fingers before letting it go. It caught the breeze once more, drifting up and away, past Smoker's shoulder. He watched it vanish into the forest behind him.
"Watching me again huh?" came Law's voice, closer than it should have been. Smoker turned back, the man on his feet and walking towards him, an empty sack thrown over his shoulder. Smoker stiffened as Law passed by, stepping over a tree root.
"You're a pirate," Smoker grumbled, curious as to what Law was up to now. He followed after him, a few feet behind.
"Yeah, and? This is the Isle of the Dead, Smoker-ya," Law stooped down, grabbing a pale white rock the size of his fist and placing it in the bag.
"So?" Smoker raised an eyebrow. Isle of the Dead was the colloquial name for the island, but not the one Smoker preferred.
"So, don't you have something better to do?" Law's golden eyes shot to him. Smoker scowled back. Law continued hunting through the forest floor, finding more rocks and shoving them into the sack.
The trees whispered above them, the lone cry of a bird high above startling them both. Mist covered the ground at their feet, sleepy tendrils curling up around their calves, around their knees. Smoker wondered if Toyt had run through these woods as a child, loud laughter echoing off the trees. For a moment he saw a child rushing through the mist in the white robes of his people.
"I'm sorry for your loss," came Law's voice suddenly. Smoker started, tearing his eyes away from the mist and back to the black haired pirate.
"What?" he said.
"I said I'm sorry for your loss," Law said quietly, looking at another stone on the ground, the moss on it green and plush. Smoker's eyes widened, not sure what to say. Law watched him out of the corner of his eye before setting the sack on the ground and sinking to his knees, apparently deciding the stone was worth digging up.
"...What are you doing, Law?" he asked again.
"And again, what are you doing Smoker-ya?" Law's hands scrabbled at the rock, dirt obscuring the letters Smoker knew lurked on his skin. He stayed silent, the idea of returning to the village, to the sound of Toyt's mother praying in the chapel, made his chest constrict. The rock came free, the force of it rocking the pirate back on his heels. Stone collected, he moved on. They walked between giants, over mulch and decaying logs. Fungi of all kinds, some taller than Smoker, sprouted among the damp.
Slowly, the bag filled up with stones, Law beginning to struggle for breath from the weight of it slung over his shoulder. Eventually, they made their way back to the coast, back to the site Law was digging. The pirate placed the sack down, then picked up his axe.
The sound of it hitting the enormous dead log echoed everywhere. Smoker stood back and kept watching, baffled. If he wanted wood, he could have easily used his powers to get it. He didn't need to go through all this effort. Law's golden eyes were intense, focused, but Smoker could tell he wasn't used to this kind of hard labor, half the force of each blow going to waste from unskilled hands.
"Why aren't you using your powers?" he asked, in between two loud thunks. Law let go of the axe, shaking out his hands, gasping for breath. A shadow crossed over his face as he looked down at the small cut he'd made.
"...Because the most important things should be done by hand," he said gently before grabbing onto the tool once more.
He continued hitting the log well after night had fallen.
Around a curve in the shoreline, a little ways away from the village and the main port, was a small cove. This was the dock used exclusively by the natives. The currents swept by, away from the busy throughput of ships. The beach was smooth with rounded stones, dark and light, forming patterns under the clear water that only the heavens could understand.
At the far end of the cove was a small wooden pier that stretched out into the fog. The sound of hammering and sawing echoed out over the water. A small group of villagers, all wearing black bands of fabric around their arms, were hollowing out a freshly cut white log. Shaping it into a long narrow boat. A small procession of women from the village brought collections of items and cloth, setting up the contents around the pier. Ceremonial decorations for the ceremony that was to take place the next afternoon.
Smoker had perched himself on a boulder, out of the way. He didn't know what the funeral would entail, every island had its own customs, traditions, last rites. But no one had stopped him from watching them work. He wondered at the few women who hid their faces behind a black slip of fabric connected to their head scarves. They seemed closer to Toyt's mother. Perhaps aunts or cousins. He didn't know, and he was… too ashamed to ask.
The villagers stopped for a moment as Balibte appeared along the path that led to the cove. One of the women with the face covering approached, taking her hand and bringing her to the middle of the cove.
Going over preparations Smoker assumed. The old woman walked slowly around the cove, the only one dressed in all black. Smoker wondered what had happened to Toyt's father. Had he passed long before? No siblings to speak of either. Just his mother, left all alone. His fingers clenched tightly, a burning sensation starting low in the middle of his chest.
She approached the unfinished boat last, running her hand over the rough wood, the intricate carvings unfinished. As she reached the prow, her hand dropped and she stumbled away, hands pulled tightly to her chest like she couldn't breathe.
A low moaning filled the air and her knees gave out, her small figure crumpling to the sand. Quickly, a few women approached, surrounding her, touching her. But they couldn't soothe her pain. No one could.
Bile rose in his throat, he couldn't breathe.
She stumbled to her feet, letting one of the girls help her back to the village. Work resumed on the boat, and Smoker found himself near running from the cove, unable to escape from the sound of her sobs echoing in his ears.
Law had managed to chop off the portion of the log he wanted, slowly hewing it into a large, flat, rectangular shape nearly as long as he was tall. Smoker leaned against the tree, watching him through half lidded eyes. The wind was strong, and had slowly been gaining in intensity. It would rain soon, he could feel the charge in the air.
Carefully, the pirate carved the edges of the wood, his lack of skill in wood carving obvious but what he lacked in skill he made up for in dedication. Around midafternoon, it appeared he was done with the outer edges and was now intensely carving a somewhat familiar shape into the wood. A look Smoker was not familiar with crossed the man's face as he worked. Sad, or lost, maybe something in between. The rain began not long after, but didn't deter the lanky pirate. Slowly water soaked into Law's jeans and dark hoodie, running in rivulets down his neck.
As Law's project began to take shape, Smoker began to feel guilt sit low in his stomach. Quite clearly, the man was building a grave marker. What else would you place on Eternal Peace, the Isle of the Dead, if not a tribute to someone you've lost? Law dragged the massive hunk of wood to the ditch he'd dug, trying to settle it in place. A heart-like shape was engraved in the middle, leaving the center open for something.
The rain seeped through Smoker's coat, through the tear in the shoulder, the tree he sat under not providing cover for long. He could have left, returned to the room in the village. Sat in the dark, listening to the rain hitting the roof like the dull hail of bullets. But the idea made his chest feel tight.
The wind picked up in earnest, the rain beginning to lash down, the dirt turning to mud. The hole Law had dug started filling up with water. The massive hunk of wood wobbled ominously.
Bullets whizzed overhead, cannonfire resounding off the broken walls and steel struts. Gunpowder and burning timber choked the air. He'd been right about the Fire Tank Pirates, and he'd been right that they would be the ones trying to purchase the final stolen crate!
What he had underestimated was the sheer number of the bastards. They just kept coming, and Smoker had only brought one unit for this strike. He'd needed speed in order to ambush them before they took off with the stolen goods.
The ground rocked as a mortar detonated not thirty feet from his position. "We need reinforcements Sir!" yelled an ensign, peeking around the corner to fire his rifle, then ducking down again. A hail of gunfire came from Smoker's left, Lieutenant Toyt diving into cover next to him, the bullets just missing.
Smoker grit his teeth. They didn't have time for reinforcements! If they didn't make a move now, Capone Bege would escape!
Law cursed as he splashed through the mud, digging a drainage ditch as fast as he could. The wind howled, the trees creaking and groaning, white branches near shrieking. The clouds rumbled ominously above.
He turned to smoke, providing cover, Toyt slightly behind him to his right, a few others to his left. The fuckers weren't expecting them to make a full frontal assault. The warehouse was in flames, a few crates of guns and explosives catching fire, bullets ricocheting in every direction. The heat seared Smoker's eyes, but he could see a number of pirates fleeing towards the exit. In the middle of the warehouse was Capone himself, with a few men trying to unload the sea prism guns.
Smoker launched himself out of cover, surging forward. They wouldn't escape, not while he was here!
Cursing, his feet slipping ankle deep in the mud, Law was trying to prevent the memorial from toppling over. Why didn't he just leave it? Why didn't he just return to his ship and come back after the storm let up?! A flash of lightning cracked the dark sky wide open, illuminating Law's face, his eyes furious, mouth set in a grim anguished line.
Fighting a losing battle, but fighting anyway.
The gunshot was barely heard over the support beams cracking and snapping as the east side of the warehouse came down. But Smoker felt it, his abdomen flaring with pain as he tried to dodge it and failed. His shoulder shrieked with the impact. Weakness coursed through him, rage bellowing from his throat. Sea prism. He couldn't move fast enough to get back into cover! A rifle pointed right at him, he could see the muzzle steaming-
In a split second that would haunt Smoker for years to come, he saw Toyt out of the corner of his vision, barreling towards him. The muzzle flared, the bullet, death's arrow released into the world, unable to be undone. Hands shoved against his back, Smoker's world tilted, the floor rushing up to meet his face.
Law slipped, legs going out from under him, losing grip on the white wood as it leaned precariously over him, beginning to fall-
The sound of metal entering flesh at high speeds, a body toppling, blood splattering-
Smoker moved forward, his boots splashing in the mud, splattering up his thighs and onto his coat. Reaching out a hand towards the wood, the weight hard and solid against his shoulder, the pain from the still healing stitches making him snarl.
"Smoker-san! Smoker-san! Please answer me! Smoker-san!" Tashigi was calling for him. Reinforcements had arrived. The burned remains of the warehouse all around him. He'd barely managed to get out before the whole place came down. Toyt lay in his arms, not moving. The Fire Tank Pirates had escaped in the chaos.
He heard her skid to a stop as she spotted him through the smoke. Her hands were on his face, on his hands, tugging at his fingers. But he couldn't let go. He couldn't-
This was all his fault. All his fault. And for the first time, in his entire life, Smoker prayed.
Law panted for breath, staring at Smoker, shock written across his face before he splashed to his feet and began trying to secure the slab, grabbing rocks from his bag and shoveling dirt until it seemed stable.
He collapsed heavily onto the ground, Smoker next to him. They said nothing, just let the rain wash the dirt from their skin.
Smoker followed the procession, keeping to the rear so as not to get in anyone's way. Slowly, the entire village, each person dressed in their finer clothes, arms banded in black began to walk to the cove, Toyt's mother walking behind the Priest.
Her face was covered behind a black veil. A sister beside her. In her arms, she held the urn Smoker had given her. A number of the villagers carried small objects or bundles of herbs. In the early morning light, they looked like ghosts.
Lanterns had been lit in the cove, their warm light comforting. The boat was completed, designs carved along the sides. They appeared to be telling a story, though Smoker wasn't sure. As everyone filed in, the elderly woman stepped up to the boat and carefully placed the urn in the center. She then stepped off to the side.
Each person, all the people who had known Toyt in ways Smoker never did, never could, stepped forward. The boat began to fill with small objects, small carved animals, cloth, flowers. Offerings to his spirit Smoker supposed.
As the offerings were placed, the arm bands were removed and placed in the boat as well. Then the face coverings that some of the women wore. Everything felt like it was in slow motion to Smoker. Unreal. How could anything be real in this mist? They were all just ghosts.
After everyone had placed something in the small canoe, they all stepped back, taking one another's hands. Balibte, face still hidden by the veil, stepped forward, but instead of taking the empty space left for her, she began walking towards him.
Smoker stiffened as she held out her hand towards him. She was so very small in comparison to him, tiny and frail. He let her lead him to the boat, now filled with mementos. The urn, standard military issue, looked out of place. Smoker hadn't known if Toyt would have wanted a different kind of urn. If he'd wanted to be cremated at all.
He'd barely known him, and yet Toyt had made the ultimate sacrifice for him.
"I...don't know what to offer." Smoker said gently, feeling slightly dizzy. Balibte gazed at him, her eyes barely visible through the veil. She reached into her long dress, pulling out a pair of dog tags. Smoker's heart started pounding. A low humming began to fill the cove. The Priest was leading the mourners in a quiet hymn.
He nodded at her, taking the tags and gently placing them in the boat, on top of the urn. He stepped back, not sure if he should join the circle. Balibte reached up and removed her veil, her blue eyes shining with tears and placed it in the craft. She stepped back and looked at Smoker, a gentle smile on her face.
She took his hand and led him to the circle.
Voices rose and ebbed, singing into the mist. A slow song in a language he didn't know, but felt deep down somewhere within him. Tears streamed down faces, a small bell lent it's mournful cry into the air. Balibte said nothing as Smoker squeezed her hand.
As the singing reached a crescendo, a few of the men broke from the circle, lifting the boat onto their shoulders to take it to the edge of the pier. Balibte let go of his hand, "There's a place for you," she whispered, pointing to the corner of the ship. He swallowed, his legs shaking and moved forward to take the empty spot. Balibte walked behind the soul bearers, the Priest praying behind her, the procession behind him, singing. Their voices echoed off the waves.
Carefully, the boat was lowered into the water at the end of the pier, the mist clearing enough to show the waves stretching out beyond them. The bearers stepped back. Toyt's mother stepped forward, a torch handed to her by the priest. She stood for a moment, the smoke rising into the air, the smell of traditional herbs mixing sharply with the scent of the sea.
She then leaned down and lit the brazier filled with tinder at the end. They pushed the boat out into the current. Prayers and cries filled the air, but this time they were tinged with joy. Calls of good luck and hope for a safe journey echoed off the waves.
Balibte stepped next to him, watching the flames grow as the ship drifted farther and farther away. "We don't bury our dead here," she said softly. Smoker looked down at her. "We believe that at the end of our lives, our souls should be released to travel the winds…" a tear slid down her face. "He always wanted to see the world, to help people, was always so loud, so alive," she whispered.
"I… he did. He…" Smoker took a deep breath. "I owe him my life."
She slid her hand into his, squeezing tightly. "What a wonderful gift he's given," she smiled.
Beyond the flames, Smoker thought he saw a patch of blue sky.
He walked slowly through the forest, his time on Eternal Peace coming to an end. Tomorrow, his ship would return. Smoker followed the now familiar path up the coast, the fog beginning to clear. A few birds chirped among the branches above, the air cool and clean the way it always was after a storm.
He reached the clearing and stopped. A simple chest was open on the ground, all the white rocks Law had collected were laid out at the foot of the wooden slab. Law didn't look up as Smoker approached. He was kneeling before the completed memorial, wearing his black feather coat and jeans.
Smoker came to stand by his side. There, in the middle of the heart shape, was a plaque.
In Memory of Mother, Father, Lami
and all the
people of Flevance
Smoker looked down at the man next to him. His golden eyes looked tired, drawn. His fingernails were torn up, arms scratched from labor. Taking a breath, Smoker knelt, his knees in the fresh dirt and offered a whispered prayer. Law stiffened next to him.
They sat there for a time, the wind rustling the tree leaves before Law slowly got to his feet. Smoker did the same. He supposed the pirate would be on his way now. An unexpected pang of loneliness thrummed through him.
"Walk with me, Smoker-ya?" Law asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. Smoker's eyebrow went up, and he shrugged.
They made their way back down the game trail, between the trees. "I'm sorry for your loss," Smoker said, his low rumble more felt than heard. He felt strange saying it, wasn't sure what one was supposed to say to a survivor of a horrific plague. Law glanced at him, looking oddly bare without his hat. "It was a long time ago," he stepped over a tree root, a fern brushing against his arm.
"Doesn't make it any easier," Smoker ducked below a low hanging branch, a drop of water rolling down the back of his neck.
"No… but sometimes it's lighter," Law responded. He turned down a trail leading up the hill towards the graves instead of the village.
Gradually the trees thinned out, replaced by bushes and shrubs, then to long rippling green blades of grass. Up they climbed, past ancient markers and statues, towards a bluff that overlooked the sea on the other side of the hill. They saw no others. Only the two of them and the wind.
It was oddly comfortable to walk in step with the pirate. Smoker's eyes flicked over Law, noting the way his dark hair near blended into his coat. The marine watched Law, noting the way he slightly favored his right arm. That hadn't been the case the last time they fought, and wondered, like him, if he too had scars from Doflamingo. He only knew what the reports stated, though Issho had filled him in that Mugiwara had brought the stringy bastard down. Donquixote… there was a story there, but it wasn't Smoker's place to ask.
Law trailed his fingers across a stone monument as they passed, an old bouquet of flowers nestled at the foot of it. Their eyes met before they continued on and Smoker wondered if any of it, this, them, mattered. Their pasts and histories, their ideas and beliefs.
He stopped for a moment, staring at a headstone that had once been broken, but been lovingly repaired. The great crack resealed with gold now covered in growing vines. Law looked back at Smoker, waiting for him to catch up. His golden eyes were surprisingly open, no plans sequestered in their depths.
Maybe… Smoker looked at the damaged gravestone, and shifted a few vines off of it, clearing debris away. Maybe, he thought, turning to rejoin Law, all that mattered were acts of kindness, acts of humanity in a world that was so often brutal and cruel. Toyt's blue eyes flashed through Smoker's mind.
Eventually, they reached the bluff and came to a stop. The sea stretched out before them, the sound of the waves far below echoing off the cliff face. Smoker could hear the distant shrieking of gulls. The pirate settled back onto the damp grass, staring at the sky. Smoker sat next to him, an arm over his knees.
Words bubbled up in his chest, the urge to speak surprising. But perhaps after seeing a part of Law's soul laid bare, he felt he had to make them equal. "I laid one of my men to rest this morning," the words floated on the wind. Law didn't say anything but Smoker could tell he was listening.
"...He gave his life for mine." He ignored the way his voice shook at the end, the burden of speaking it aloud after carrying it inside for so long made his stomach clench. Law went rigid next to him before turning to look at Smoker's face.
"The other night, in the mausoleum...the grave I was visiting…" Law trailed off.
"Donquixote?"
Law nodded, then sat up, running a blade of grass through his thin fingers. "He did the same thing. For me." Smoker turned towards him, then looked back out towards the sea. A gust of wind picked up, ruffling their hair, the grass swaying.
"All he asked...was for me to live, but…" Law ran a hand through his dark hair. "I don't entirely know what to live for." Cool air filled Smoker's lungs, Law putting to voice what he himself had been feeling.
Smoker gazed out at the water, the wind rippling over the surface. The villagers calling good luck out to the sea, holding Balibte, touching Smoker's hands, his face. Toyt grinning brightly after a spar. Tashigi smiling at him as he saved her from dropping her coffee as she tripped. Hina leaning on him as jazz music played on stage. Kuzan, his mouth full of rice trying to explain his latest thoughts on philosophy.
Law building a memorial with his own two hands, his own blood, sweat, and tears.
"Love," Smoker said quietly. At that moment, for the first time, there was a break in the clouds overhead. Sunlight, bright, all consuming. Shining like a blessing from heaven itself covered the island, the grass glowing like jewels. The ocean turned from gray to breathtaking blue.
Law let out a small laugh, the sound warm, alive and turned towards Smoker. "How poetic," he smiled, golden eyes suddenly close.
Their lips touched, the sun caressing their skin, the whole world vibrant, ringing in Smoker's ears. The wind caressed the grass as everything fell away and he let himself go. Let himself be understood.
Skin to skin, breath to breath. Fingers intertwining, heartbeat to heartbeat, synapses firing through nerve endings, the process of creation, of life , sweeping all things away with the sheer force of it.
The clouds passed by overhead and the waves lapped against the shore. Two small human beings laid back in the grass, just watching.
The village resumed its normal life as Smoker began walking back down to the docks, the old cobblestone path beneath his feet. This wouldn't be the last time he walked these stones he knew. The white trees were bathed in early morning sunlight, shining like beacons. A figure in black leaned against one of them, looking at Smoker, arms folded.
Smoker stopped. A few white leaves twirled in the breeze. Law smiled at him, gave a small wave, then vanished, a small white rock dropping to the ground in his place. Smoker stepped forward and picked it up, turning it over in his hand before slipping it into his pocket.
His warship was waiting for him in the harbor. With a breath, Smoker vanished and reappeared on deck. It was mostly empty up top, but there was Tashigi watching him. A week before, her eyes had been full of fury. He held her gaze as she stepped towards him.
Her arms wrapped around his middle tightly. He froze. Gently, he returned the embrace. "Tashigi…" Smoker trailed off. She let him go, wiping her eyes quickly.
"I know, Sir." Smoker looked at her for a moment, something finally easing in his chest and nodded.
His ship lifted anchor, leaving Eternal Peace behind, heading for the wide open sea.
Notes:
I have been wanting to write something like this for a long time. I took a lot of inspiration from different grieving practices for the funeral/wake. If you're wondering about the torn cloth thing, that's from my culture during Shiva. It's traditional to rend a garment to reflect what has been torn from us. It's a religiously sanctioned act of destruction I suppose. I took inspiration for the memorial Law created from my own grandfather, who after World War 2, chopped down a tree and carved the names of those we lost into it by hand. He didn't want them to be memorialized in "cold, unfeeling stone."
Anyway, this fic was written for One Piece Marines Week (check out the fic collection and all the artwork on twitter under the tag #OPMarinesWeek!)
Let me know your thoughts!
As always, thank you for reading and you can find me on twitter at buggyisbest