Gray dusk had slipped into brilliantly silver night as Chariset sat against one of the outer pillars of her Greek temple and looked up at the black moon. She had coaxed a few additions into her environs of late--more bushes and small trees, a low hedge, various night-blooming flowers with sweet perfume, and a small fountain which trickled noisily into a waiting pool. The central figure was a short man in a large toga, wearing a monocle. He was holding an armload of rolled maps which were in the process of getting away from him--from each dangling end trailed a stream of water. She found her little cartographer-fountain amusing, though she doubted the original would feel the same way about it.
Songbirds and swallows flitted in and out among the columns, singing in the bushes. Long hours spent motionless in front of the Gazing Pool in the center of the forest had convinced the wild spirit-creatures that she was harmless. Two days ago, some of the birds had actually come to perch in the willows surrounding her as she watched events unfold below. Yesterday, a handful followed her back to her tiny domain. They were a slightly poignant reminder of Elijah, her scarlet parrot in the world of the living, but they were also company, just as she suspected she was company to them. So she saw to it that her bushes had spirit-berries on them, and they responded by filling her little home with song. She thought they had a good bargain.
Angus was sitting in mid-air just over her roof, his feet dangling to either side of her own position. She didn't like to think about how far he towered over her, but he, like the little birds, was good company. At present, she was listening to his version of the Threepwood family history while resting from her latest efforts to defeat Big Whoop and return to her true home. All the watching somehow drained the excess substance from her spirit-form--she needed experiences and memories in order to build up the kind of mass she was going to need to make her plan work....
Angus Traaephood was Welsh, but the Threepwood family was one of almost all European nationalities, from Spanish to English to French to Italian. The version of the name Chariset was familiar with was actually Scottish. In fact, a near-legendary married couple of the Scottish Threepwoods had lived to a ripe old age, and one had actually died of natural causes before Big Whoop's curse caught up with them. The remaining member, the wife Casheryn, had been the first to suicide in the woods. Perhaps some part of her remained in these songbirds. However, while she had lived she had been a fiery-haired woman of equally fiery spirit. Once she and her mother, Terese came to visit a jail where her father Ferdinand was imprisoned, on the pretense of bringing him food. However, once out of the guards' sight, she and her father exchanged clothing, and he left disguised as his daughter. Once the error was discovered, Casheryn expected the worst, but the guards were more amused than angry and let her go. Chariset had to admire this kind of bravery.
"She was never meant for this world, any more than you are, la. But, unlike you, she had no way to escape, and so her spirit died as well."
"How sad," was all Chariset could manage, feeling strangely guilty.
"Now, myself, I was meant for this world. When I arrived, I just knew that this was the place, and I started over from here." His tone was oddly strained.
"Angus..." Chariset did something she rarely did--she moved in a way that would have been physically impossible on Earth. She raised herself from the ground, soaring up to hover at his eye-level. "When are you going to stop blaming yourself for what happened centuries ago?"
"Oh, la," Angus actually seemed close to tears. "I cana help it. You shouldn't be here. They shouldn't be here." His gesture took in the entire sad land, under the glistening night sky. "If I'd just been a little more responsible, none of this would ever ha' happened. The Traaephood family might have been a flourishing name, not a tiny branch down to two last members and one unborn chile..."
"And I would never have met you."
"Chari-la, I'm proud of you, never doubt't. But I would rather have watched you live a full and happy life from Heaven than meet you down in Hell."
She allowed just a thread of scorn to color her voice. "And of course you deliberately and with full knowledge overworked the daemon that became Big Whoop, just to put us all down here..."
Angus blinked at her, puzzled, and she pressed on. "Maybe we're all stuck here, but so are you. You've been here longer than anyone else. You were here before anyone else was."
"And that's the way it should be, la."
"According to Big Whoop's rules."
"Right."
"But why does he have the right to make the rules? The law isn't on his side."
"How do you mean, la?"
"Well, suppose he was in the right to punish you. You wronged him, so maybe a case could be made. But he extended the punishment out to every Traaephood or Threepwood alive--that's not within his rights. The punishment doesn't fit the crime."
He blinked as though this had never occurred to him--or as if no one had ever thought to put it this way.
"But if you want to talk guilt, I think you take on too much. I get the sense you feel you're personally responsible for every time one more person enters this world, and so you deserve the pain." This next part was tricky...she would have to be careful with her wording. "But if Big Whoop isn't doing this out of any sense of justice....if he's just holding a grudge...then how can you be the cause of all this suffering? Aren't you just a victim like the rest of us, a victim who is being made to feel guilty for the very reason he's suffering?"
"La, I...I don't know.." He didn't seem able to grasp this concept...quite.
She hovered closer and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Angus, for what it's worth, I don't blame you for this. You didn't know what would happen to your family. But Big Whoop does, and did. If he has a soul, I'll happily put all the blame on it, not on you. You are the noblest person here, in my opinion."
He actually blushed, which was amusing since she was about the size of Tinkerbell to him. "More than your parents, la?"
"My parents...." She sighed. "My parents don't seem to understand why I'm so fixated on life. They want me to settle in and get used to this world."
"Ah, yes...Ardel and Keith Threepwood. They were always quick to adjust."
She shook her head, frowning. "That's so unlike them. I never knew them when they were adventurers, but neither of them were great conformists."
"Death is an event that greatly changes the personality sometimes, la."
She settled on the roof, relieved that her hair was finally getting long enough for what she had in mind. She had just begun to braid it when her parents appeared below.
"Speak of the devil," Angus murmured.
"Chariset, dear? Are you still up there?" This was from her mother.
"Yes, Mom," she called back.
"It's really not good for you to be up there all the time, Chari. You should come down and talk to your relatives. All that brooding can't be healthy."
She fought down a snort of disgust and tried to sound reasonable. "Mom, I'm dead. What more could happen to me? My health really can't get any worse."
"Is that the way you should talk to your mother, Chariset?" Dad to the rescue.
She committed another physical impossibility and leaped down from the roof, eyes angry. "Mom, Dad, I will always love you dearly, but we're all dead here. More than that, I'm a full-grown adult and I have been ever since you left, almost five years ago now. You forced Guybrush and me to become grown-up long before we were ready to...now we have. You can't come to me now that I'm dead and expect me to go back to being your little girl again."
"Now Catherine..."
"'Now Catherine' nothing. You relinquished the right to rule my life when you left us. I won't let you rule my afterlife."
"But we're your parents!" Her mother approached her, arms wide, and instinctively she backed away, not wanting them to touch her.
"You were my parents when we were alive and I was a little girl," she replied making her voice cold. "But I'm a woman now. And you are no more to me than anyone else here, even if I was your daughter in life. We're just dead people, you and I, nothing more."
"Chari--" began Ardel Threepwood, face and voice imploring.
"Don't listen to her, dear," interrupted her father. "It's just the grief talking. Come on." He put an arm around his wife and turned to his daughter with Total Understanding written all over his face. "Chari, hon, if you don't want us to call you by your real name, that's okay. We know you're just upset at being dead. You spend some time alone, maybe have a good cry, and then come down and talk, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer.
Chariset stared at their departing backs in puzzled frustration. "They've never called me 'Catherine' since I was a toddler. What's going on here?"
"They seem like the stereotypical concerned parents ta me, la," commented Angus from above.
"I know...that's what's so odd. They're acting completely out of character. It's almost as though they're two completely different people."
"It's like I tol' ya, la. Death changes people."
"Yeah, no kidding." She shook her head, slipped into the quiet environs of her temple, and began the first step in her plan for freedom.
Big Whoop reclined in his throne, feeling relaxed and pleased. He had finally arranged his throne room to suit him--bone furnishings everywhere from his expendable skeleton soldiers (in other words, all of them), thick and irregular stone pillars supporting the ceiling, candles burning with an eerie green-gold light. Around the room were some furnishings designed for humans as well, complete with two shallow alcoves containing beds. Pillows scattered around the walls served as beds for the other human occupants.
Asleep in one bed was a red-haired human woman, Elaine Threepwood, over four months pregnant with the very last of the Threepwood line. He was seeing to her health very carefully, ensuring that she had enough to eat, plenty of rest and exercise, and several human attendants to wait on her every need. She was important to his plans, at least at this stage.
The other alcove was occupied with a man named Murray, no known last name. He was a bodyguard for Elaine and Big Whoop's lookout, making a daily sweep of the island for incoming ships or wanderers afoot. He was vigilant and did his job with all the enthusiasm a charmed being could muster. Big Whoop himself had very little to do even in the way of day-to-day housekeeping, thanks to the efforts of his other two servants, Largo LaGrande and Horace Deadeyes. They were both from checkered pasts to say the least, but, thanks to Big Whoop's Song of Calling, they were as loyal as he could ever have wished.
At present, it was Largo's turn to sleep while Horace remained standing by. Thanks to another subtle Song, the Song of Listening, he was able to maintain contact with Big Whoop's various operatives (undead or simulacra formed from his own lava-substance) and act as herald for them when they wished to report in person. As now.
Big Whoop was currently in the middle of a long discussion with three or four operatives, currently orchestrating the destruction of all which had been dear to the Caribbean Threepwoods. This was the last phase of Big Whoop's revenge on a given member of that hated family, but the one he enjoyed the most.
One of the Little Whoops was indirectly prodding and encouraging a certain corrupt Governor of the island named for him, Phatt, into mobilizing his navy and devouring the Tri-Island Area formerly governed by Elaine. The man was as greedy as the figurative pig (and strongly resembled same) and could surely exhaust every resource from Melee, Booty, and Plunder before tiring. Elaine's power as Governor was severely weakened thanks to Big Whoop's former efforts (a series of notes indicating that she was not fit to govern) and her public departure from Plunder Island on very short notice. Her Lieutenant-Governor, Guybrush Threepwood, and all her soldier-sailors, had also left on the same ship without setting anyone else in charge. Plunder was open for armed attack, and when it fell, the other two would come under Phatt's control as well.
Two more of his agents had insinuated themselves into a large (and active) volcano on Blood Island and were trying to persuade the resident volcano god, Sherman, into a violent eruption which would destroy the island and its chief family, the Goodsoups. This family, though harmless enough, had adopted Guybrush as a sort of honorary member, and that was enough to merit their destruction in Big Whoop's eyes. They were meeting with difficulty, however, as Sherman had nothing against the Goodsoups and actually rather liked them. Big Whoop might have to travel to Blood Island himself to deal with this 'Sherman' personally.
Myth Island--for helping the Threepwoods create the famous Mask of Medusa (now destroyed) which had been instrumental in defeating LeChuck, and because the Feed twins, Wally and Holly, lived there (both of whom were guilty of aiding and abetting the Threepwood twins). Sable Island, the home of the mysterious Necromancer and his lethal Amulet. Scabb Island, where a ferryman who once helped Guybrush and Chariset had set up shop. And finally Dinky Island, just because.
The only island Big Whoop planned to leave intact which had influenced the Threepwoods in any way was the island on which he had exiled Guybrush. He needed to leave the man alive, at least for now.
Best of all, his two operatives in the land of the dead reported that his newest addition to his little community was settling down nicely--was overcome with grief, in fact, and showed no signs of recovery soon, though she was keeping her distance from them. According to their report, she had done nothing but brood on her temple and nervously braid and rebraid her hair. Perhaps she had gone insane. Whatever the reason, he hadn't felt the drain of energy which indicated that a spirit had passed through into this world since she entered it. Perhaps she had sensibly decided to listen to her beloved parents, accepted her fate, and given up. It had happened before.
Big Whoop was growing restless. He had enough simulacra to sing for his little birds while he took a brief walk around the Caribbean to see his plans completed in person. This was his greatest regret--he had to have everything accomplished through intermediaries. But perhaps he could burst out of the Blood Island volcano himself and destroy the hateful Hotel de Goodsoup personally...
He debated, but the decision was already made. Leaving a spike of lava in the center of the throne to sing the Song of Calling, he carefully set a ward around his lair and sank deep into the molten rock beneath the sea, flowing as fast as thought toward the Blood Island volcano.
She could hardly believe that her window of opportunity had come so soon, but she was going to take advantage of it.
Chariset looked down on the two ships docked below, in the shelter of the Monkey Island harbor. Spying through the wood of the deck, she saw the crew of each, all asleep. Poor security policy. Eight men on one ship, seven on the other...fifteen total. She looked at the small pile of items next to her, made a quick count..yes..all nineteen were there. Down she swooped, silent as an owl, to hover over the head of the first man on the first ship.
Gently, she picked up a small circlet from the stack and slipped it over his head. It was a collar of braided hair--her hair--with a tiny glowing stone in front. Her substance. Her memory. And the memory contained within was the sound of the Song of Awakening, with a tiny speck of the Amulet's stone for extra protection.
She did not want him to wake up. He did not. She moved on to the next man.
The Seahorse lay quiet behind her, waiting for her command to awaken. She hovered over the Sea Cucumber, drifted among the sailors. Eight more collars. All was going well.
She held the four remaining collars in her hands and through them willed the memory contained in the fifteen to awaken. In one instant, fifteen men awakened at once and looked around them, bewildered.
Be still, she sent. Wait. I will send your Captains to you shortly. But you must be ready to sail on a moment's notice.
They responded at once, rushing on deck in a manner that was busy yet bewildered. It was a credit to their discipline that they responded instantly, but it was greater credit to their instincts that they kept the lights low and voices hushed. All seemed to be well. She fled into the mountain itself.
Around the throne room, she sensed a wall of blue-green power. It didn't hamper her access through the Gazing Pool, though it did seem to know she was there. Time was of the essence now.
She slipped two more ordinary collars over the heads of Horace and Largo, then paused long enough to sort the last two out. Both had slightly larger braids, because they contained the memories she had taken from Guybrush of the pregnancy, Big Whoop's plans for their daughter, the fate of the Threepwood family, and the outline of the island on which he was imprisoned. They also held more of the Amulet's power. One glowed 'pink' to her spirit-eyes, the other glowed 'blue.'
She tried not to look at Murray as she placed his blue collar around his neck, settling it on his shoulders with all the time she could spare. This was no time for distraction, not even by him. Lingering too long here might cost her all hope of reunion in the land of the living.
She darted away, quick as a trout, and lifted Elaine's head so she could slip the other braid over it. This was it. If her plan was to succeed or fail, she would know now.
Chariset withdrew all of herself from the living world and willed the collars to life.
Horace leaped to his feet as if stung, Largo likewise. Elaine shot out of bed and then staggered, hands to her temples as she tried to absorb the weight of a load of new memories at once.
I'm pregnant?
Where am I? Where's Guybrush?
Then a new line of thought, tinged with urgency. I'm a prisoner and this is a breakout.
That was all she really needed to know.
"Come on, Murray, Largo, Deadeyes! We're getting out of here!" She grabbed the disoriented Murray and hauled him roughly towards the only exit, shoving him along before her. Largo and Horace had already hit their stride and were in a full run across the threshold.
No skeletons appeared to stop them, no roar of outrage exploded from the throne. Elaine didn't pause to wonder about their good fortune--pirate instinct insisted that it was run now or hesitate and be lost. She ran.
A blue-green wall was the only obstacle between themselves and freedom. "We can make it," she yelled, setting her shoulder into Horace and shoving him on by brute force as he faltered and tried to slow.
Had it not been for the Amulet stones, all four would have hit the barrier and fallen back, but they ran through unimpeded. Largo, Horace, Murray, now Elaine stretched her legs to the utmost and sprang across-
-and felt a jolt, a slight backwards tug from someplace deep in her gut. She staggered, stumbled, nearly fell, but caught her stride and ran on.
Up the ramp, into rowboats, and onto their ships. They raised the sails, hoisted anchor, and were gone before dawn. To Myth Island, to pay a visit to a certain cartographer....
If this is a dream, may I die before I wake up... Whatever happens, I'm not going back to the darkness again.
Chariset, unable to believe that her rescue mission had succeeded without a hitch, stared at the blank pool for almost half an hour before breaking out of her trance and stumbling back to her temple, drained to a thin gray slip of her usual self. Her parents watched her unsteady progress through the gray with thinned lips and unhappy expressions, but she was in no state to care. It had worked.
Now maybe there was hope for the rest of them...
Meanwhile, on the little circle of land Guybrush was beginning to call Two-Tone Island, the hero of the series was making a careful exploration of his prison.
It was far larger than he had first imagined, and roughly diamond-shaped, crowned with an inactive volcano. Standing atop this central mountain (after a lengthy climb) he could see that the lava floes had run primarily down the west side of the island, eventually weathering down into black rock and black sand. The other side had sand which was the usual white, creating an unusual look. Two-toned.
It was a tropical forest, as usual, full of trees and wildlife, including monkeys, birds, various reptiles and some fish humans had never disturbed, so they were almost too tame. He was just lucky he'd taken to carrying some essentials around with him, such as a small knife and a fire-starting kit, so he could have roasted fish. The large yellow kind were bitter, but the smaller bluish variety were excellent. Eating his own cooking was starting to get old, but at least he had some protein, something to vary his current diet of fruit. If he never saw another banana again, it would be too soon.
The sky was darkening, signaling the end of the day's exploration, but he was in no hurry to return to camp and gut another salty fish. Instead he leaned on a tree, contemplating the land below without really seeing it. Two months here--it seemed like only a fraction of that time. He really had quite a collection of memory lapses by now, Guybrush reflected wryly.
Not that this was a perfect blank--he knew he had lost at least an entire month, occupied with wandering up and down the black side of the beach, lost in a daze of grief and loss, intermixed with sporadic attempts at suicide. He leaped off a cliff, only to land in soft sand ten feet down because his depth perception thrown entirely off-kilter. He drank sea water, trying to go insane, and only heard monkeys chattering in his ears for nights on end. He resolved to drown, but got bored after five minutes and resurfaced. He ate and drank nothing--but the entire next week it poured rain non-stop, leaving him hungry but still very much alive. But this time, he persisted, avoiding water for days, until finally he collapsed on the beach one afternoon--where Chariset found him. If he had remembered the knife he was carrying around, perhaps it would have been too late.
And she would have been furious with me, once she caught up with me.
But now he knew that she knew where he was--it was only a matter of time before someone got him off the island. Then he was going to find the Voodoo Lady on Plunder Island and rescue his family.
Guybrush gave in to his growing restlessness and paced, thinking hard.
If I've got the story straight, LeChuck was my uncle all along--how could she not have known that? And he was under Big Whoop's control the entire time, delivering pirates over to him to create an undead army. LeChuck was nothing more than a tool, sent out to make my life miserable. Chari's too, once she came to Big Whoop's attention. Before him, there was probably someone else to harass my parents, and before them, someone else. For all I know, every enemy I've ever had was controlled by Big Whoop.
Egotistical, but there it was. Guybrush changed directions, still thinking.
But that assumes no one is corrupt on his own. LeChuck might have been evil by nature--he's family, but that doesn't necessarily matter. He might have been the kind to be corrupted by magic, even without Big Whoop's help. Like Largo--he might just have been a man with a petty spirit. Chari had power, but she didn't let it corrupt her.
The memory of his sister reminded him of his yet-unborn daughter, whose future self was going to come after him and kill him unless Guybrush could somehow save Elaine before her baby was born. Odia--a girl named 'hatred...'
He couldn't let that happen. He had to get off this island. About five months from now, his baby girl would be Big Whoop's to raise. And Elaine....Elaine would probably be dead. He had to find the Voodoo Priestess.
I hope she knows how to make another Am--hello, what's this?
Guybrush peered into the western sky, scanning the seascape below. He'd thought he'd seen...yes..there it was. A black, irregular shape on the horizon, difficult to make out because of the glare of the setting sun. He squinted against the reflected light, but it was impossible to determine the shape. It could only be a ship, but whose? And was it coming this way?
He stared into the gold light until green afterimages burned into his eyes and he could hardly see. Blinking in a vain effort to clear them more quickly, he dropped his gaze and waited, safely hidden among the trees on the westward side of the island, cursing himself under his breath for getting his hopes up. The odds were ten to one that this ship was what he was hoping for. It could be a passer-by. It could be a band of pirates who might or might not mean him any good. It could be René Rottingham--hadn't Chari said she sent him to the ends of the Caribbean? It could be one of those accursed cruise ships, full of tourists.
It could be Odia, magically aged to adulthood, come to kill him...
The sun set with unusual sloth. Guybrush had to restrain himself from pacing again as the shape grew larger, unmistakably a large ship, equally unmistakably headed for this island. What was more, the closer it came, the more it began to look like not just one ship, but two.
The sun finally sank below the horizon, casting the profiles of the two ships into sharp black relief against the orange sky. But the sky continued to tease him--it still cast no light on the ships themselves, deliberately not illuminating any kind of flag or identifying marking. All he could see without revealing himself completely was that they were frigates at full sail, running before the wind.
The ships drew up to the island, slowed, glided into the island's shallow harbor and dropped anchor. Only then did one drift broadside to his position, revealing her colors.
He froze in place. Green and gold.
She was the Sea Cucumber. And with her, the other ship, was the Seahorse.
He actually forgot to breathe as the crew disembarked, revealing a full crew of sailors each, plus a few more. A woman with fire for hair, blazing auburn curls, stepped into the boat on the Seahorse side, while a thin man with nondescript brown hair climbed down from the Sea Cucumber. Murray.
Elaine.
Even while his heart did a strange little leap, he felt a cold terror at the sight of her red hair. Big Whoop would never let her go. What was she doing here?
Concealed in the jungle, torn between longing and fear, he forced himself to remain where he was, watching them come in to the shore. But once they were on sand, he gave in to his need to move, slipping through the trees toward them, trying to be quiet while probably being as stealthy as a charging rhinoceros.
They were wandering on the beach, on the light side of the island. He crouched down among the bushes and peered out, listening.
"Are you sure this is the right island?" That was Elaine, sounding worried. "There's no sign of him."
"Oh, I'm sure, all right. The outline you drew was just classic...it had to be this island." Guybrush blinked, wide-eyed. The voice was male, with a trace of British accent, and familiar. He ventured a peek through the trees and nearly fell over with astonishment. Wally!
He wanted nothing more than to run out there and reveal himself, but even now he couldn't quite be sure. What if it were a trap?
What if they leave? You want to be stuck here forever? Chari must have sent them!
Elaine wandered further down the beach, while Murray paced in the other direction, so close Guybrush could have reached out and touched him. "Guybrush! Are you here?"
Wally joined in. "Mr. Brush! We've come to look for you! Your sister sent us!"
His resolve nearly broke, but he gritted his teeth and stayed put. That's what Big Whoop would have told them to say.
:Guybrush, get out there.:
He whipped his head around and saw her. Chariset. She was nothing more than a face in the shadows, dimly lit, but she was visible. "Chari..." he breathed. "You really are alive."
She glanced behind her, as though expecting to be interrupted. :I can't stay--it's against the rules. But it's safe for you to come out. I helped them escape from Big Whoop's lair, they got Wally to draw a map of this place, and came right here. Go on. Elaine's worried about you.:
He would have responded, but she vanished. Another hallucination?
No....if she wasn't real and this is all a trap, what good is life to me anyhow? I just want to be with Elaine...
He stood up slowly and stepped out into the open. "Elaine," he called out hoarsely, speaking with a voice that hadn't been used much lately. "Plunder Bunny, I'm here."
She whirled around, and the expression of absolutely incredulous joy on her face was suddenly worth every moment of pain or fear he had ever known because of her. Feeling unexpectedly weak in the knees, he managed only a few forward steps before she barreled into him with enough force to knock him to the sand.
"Guybrush! Oh, thank God! I was so afraid you were dead!" she babbled into his shirt, while he finally managed to sit up and get his arms around her properly. The familiar texture of her hair was enough to erase the last of his doubts.
"It's really you," he croaked. "I can't believe it."
"It's really me," she said in a tone close to a sob. "And I'm never leaving you again. Never."
He was beginning to feel damp-eyed himself. "Elaine, I used to lie awake at night, just dreaming about you," he said into her hair. "I've been so afraid for you. I was sure I'd never see you again."
The entire crowd--Holly, Wally, Largo, Murray, and the rest--was gathering around them at this point, but neither noticed. "Every star was your eyes," he continued, while his shoulder became suspiciously damp. "I couldn't sleep....all I could think about was how I left you in the hands of that monster.."
"That monster had just better watch out," she growled indistinctly, raising her head from his shoulder to give him her second-best scowl. "Because once we get back to Plunder Island, I'm going after him."
And her expression, tear-streaked though it was, was enough give even him a chill. Big Whoop was about to learn not to cross Elaine Threepwood.
"We'll all go after him. You and I....and our little girl."
Her expression softened into something meltingly warm, sweeter than he had ever seen before, but somehow timid. "You know?"
"I know. We're going to have a baby."
The crowd of onlookers, sensing sappiness, were beginning to drift away. "And..?"
"And I couldn't think of any better reason to get rid of Big Whoop, once and for all."
She hesitated, and he sensed that her head was satisfied, but her heart was hoping for a little more convincing. So naturally, as a good husband should, he drew her close and began to explain exactly how overjoyed he was, omitting not a single detail--
--non-verbally..
More mushy and romantic stuff followed in due course, but I see no reason to narrate that.....
Elaine's pregnancy was beginning to be pronounced when they finally arrived at Plunder Island, a few weeks later. The Voodoo Priestess was just as clearly delighted to see them again.
Guybrush had been planning an angry tirade for most of the journey, but she cut him smoothly off with "Elaine! I see you are expecting a child. Congratulations."
Since he was already coming to care for their little girl more than the moon and stars, Guybrush held his peace, hoping the priestess could give them more information. "A daughter," Elaine began. "But it's a long story."
"Can you tell us anything about her?" he added. "We've had some predictions about her life that are....disturbing."
"Hmm...let me see." She beckoned Elaine closer and laid her hands on her abdomen, eyes closed in concentration. Suddenly they flicked open. "How very odd..."
"What?" asked Guybrush.
"What is it?" Elaine, simultaneously.
She ignored them and must have done another reading. This time both parents sensed trouble in her slump-shouldered posture. "What's wrong?" Elaine repeated nervously.
The priestess looked at them with such sad reluctance that Guybrush instantly knew she was about to tell them something terrible. "Tell us," he insisted.
"Your daughter....she's perfectly healthy, developing just the way she should. But.."
"But?" chorused Guybrush and Elaine.
"But.....by this time in the pregnancy, she should have a spirit, a soul. But she has nothing... She has no soul, no living spirit at all."
The floor dropped out
from under his feet as he and his wife locked eyes in pure horror.
"Big Whoop," whispered
Elaine. "She's still in Monkey Island, in his prison. When
I ran over that barrier, I thought I felt....what are we going to do?
Big Whoop has our baby!"
Big Whoop has the soul of our daughter. Guybrush felt for a second that he was going to faint. She could still be Odia. He could still make her spirit evil.
"Tell us!" he demanded of the priestess, hands knotted into fists. "Tell us what we can do to get her back!"
"There is nothing I can tell you," she whispered sadly. "At the end of her term, Elaine will deliver a baby without a soul, a baby who will die probably within minutes of her birth, and nothing I can say or do will make the difference."
Big Whoop's words echoed in his mind. I have your daughter. I have your sister. Feast on defeat, Threepwood.....
"No. I refuse to believe that."
"Isn't there some way to go back to Monkey Island and get her spirit back?" Elaine pleaded. It was the first time Guybrush had seen her beg for anything.
The priestess seemed to sigh, though her face was as impassive as ever. "If you could make it down to Big Whoop's lair, and if she were willing to return, you could do it. But I do not think she will be willing to come back to the body of a baby, not now.."
"Why not now?" he demanded.
"Because Big Whoop has already offered her more power than she has ever dreamed," the priestess responded, causing a large pot to rise out of the floor with a gesture of her hand. "Look."
In the water was Big Whoop, holding the hand of a dark-haired child. She was squealing happily as she stomped her foot down, sending lava spurting up out of the ground. Elaine took his hand and groaned. Guybrush felt sick inside.
Another scene...the girl was in her teens, standing on top of the Blood Island volcano. She raised both arms in what looked like a temper tantrum--and the volcano responded. She laughed in delight as it erupted around her, spilling lava everywhere. Below, in the hotel, men and women ran in all directions, trying to avoid the flow, only to reach the edge of the ocean, where there was no escape.... The girl laughed again.
The third and final scene--a black-haired woman faced a young couple, holding hands. They pleaded with her to come home, but she spat in the man's face. Behind the couple was an army of men and women, forms insubstantial. Another woman led the attack, tears in her eyes, holding a seltzer bottle of some brown liquid. Root beer.
She confronted the woman and aimed the bottle. The couple below cried out in pain and tried to stop her, but she closed her ears and depressed the plunger. A spray of liquid snaked out--but the woman raised her hand and stopped the flow in mid-air. She blew casually on the stream, and the liquid flew back to cover the attacking spirit-woman, who cried out in agony before dissolving into nothing. Then the woman raised her arms, and burning rain fell from the sky, over the couple, over the spirits, root beer mixed with fire, until the entire world burned. And she laughed.
"Enough," cried a strangled voice he belatedly realized was Elaine's.
"None of this has happened yet," said the priestess. "But if Big Whoop's influence over the girl continues, she will surely become as evil as her tutor."
"Then we have to destroy Big Whoop."
"His power is far too strong for you, Guybrush. He has more magic than you could ever dream, stolen from his victims for centuries. You could not confront him directly and survive."
Elaine had been staring sightlessly at the ground, but now she looked up sharply, eyes bright. "Where does Big Whoop get his power?" she asked slowly.
"Why, from--" the woman halted, thinking. "From the voodoo spirit of the island itself."
"The island's magic," Elaine responded, even more slowly. "I thought that was just a legend."
"Wait a minute..." Guybrush fought to pin down an elusive idea. No, a memory. "Someone told me....something Big Whoop said...about magic. He said...that all magic has a price. You can't use and use it without paying something in return."
"He was very right," responded the Voodoo Priestess.
"Exactly! He's been stealing from the island itself!" burst out Elaine. "But for some reason, he hasn't paid for any of it."
The priestess shook her head. "But that's impossible. The island would have realized long ago that Big Whoop was stealing power and taken some action."
Guybrush thought of something else. "Could the price of the magic come from other people?"
The priestess pondered. "It's not the white magic way to do it, but it can happen. Why?"
"The Threepwoods!" Elaine made the leap to the logical conclusion faster than he'd expected.
The priestess looked puzzled, so he gave her a condensed version of the story. "Every Threepwood ancestor, including Chari, is inside Monkey Island," he finished. "Big Whoop claims that this is his revenge, but maybe it's just his way of paying for all the power he's stolen over the years."
"So if the voodoo spirit knew he was being cheated...." Elaine began.
"...he might react. He might even steal all of Big Whoop's power." The priestess looked thoughtful. "He might even take the power back retroactively."
"What would that do?" Guybrush asked.
"It would be as though Big Whoop had never existed."
"But....what would happen to us?"
"I do not know. That might be a chance you would just have to take."
"So we need to know where to find the voodoo spirit of the island, first..."
"Ask the Cannibals. Lemonhead should know."
"But what about Chariset and Guybrush's family?"
"If you can wait until tomorrow, the Necromancer will be here. But I'm warning you, resurrection spells tend to be fairly gray magic, if not actually black."
"How gray?" Guybrush and Elaine exchanged nervous glances.
"To raise the dead, often they require a sacrifice.."
A sacrifice. He cleared his throat nervously. "You see the future...is there any way we can make it to Monkey Island and back and save everyone?"
She closed her eyes. "I see you freeing every member of your family....save two. Two must be sacrificed in order to defeat Big Whoop and restore the Threepwood name."
"Do you see who they are?"
"Yes."
"Wh--"
"No, Guybrush," Elaine cut in. "Don't ask. If you know, we might not want to go...and this is too important."
"But what if one of the two is you? Or our little girl?"
She met his eyes with calm resolution. "Our baby is dead even if we stay. And if it's me...well...then it's me. I made my decision a long time ago that I would put my life in front of yours..."
"Oh, Elaine...I don't deserve you."
"You're an adventurer...you risk your life every day. Why shouldn't I risk mine?" She spoke with a smile, but her eyes were brimming with unshed tears. As were his.
"This is my life. This is my home, and my husband, and my baby. I'll die for you. But more than that I want to live for you. So that's why we're going."
He had no response to
that. But if anyone is sacrificed, let it be me...