The Adventures of Pocahontas and John Rolfe: Book I

Chapter 5: The Devil's in the Details

The wind carried the cries of men, women, and children over the bay. Pocahontas fell to her knees, watching helplessly. John Rolfe grasped his chest as he struggled to process the unfolding atrocity. Meeko, Percy, and Flit stared with their mouths open.

The pirates fired another cannon, setting off a violent explosion. It was hard to tell due to the distance, but it appeared to be a French ship in the harbor that was hit. All the vessels bearing the French flag were in flames. The main mast of one fell heavily on the deck of an adjacent ship, causing great damage. The Blood Draw and stolen English supply ship both continued to bombard other burning galleons with more cannon fire.

It appeared to John Rolfe that the town had been attacked first by way of ambush. The evil crewmen were rampaging through the colony on foot killing, maiming, pillaging, and God knew what else. The diplomat knew that the pirates had to be searching for him and Pocahontas. Rolfe bit his lip in melancholy. How had he not foreseen this?

Then again, John Rolfe had been led to believe that St. Augustine was too fortified to be attacked. Why would Bleud and Flame besiege such a heavily-armed settlement that bore little treasure just to capture two hapless deserters? Were they truly that vindictive? And how had they succeeded with only a few hundred men and two ships?

"This is all my fault," Pocahontas whispered below her breath. John Rolfe turned his abrupt attention to her. Tears were streaming down her face. She knitted her brows in anguish and shook her head violently, burying her face in her hands.

"Pocahontas, what do you mean? I…" John Rolfe began, tapering off when she peered up at him with profound grief in her eyes. She truly believed herself responsible.

"There are children. I can hear them crying, John," Pocahontas expressed, devastated by the catastrophe. "If I hadn't gotten my shirt caught on that stupid hook, we could have stuck to your original plan. We could have gotten there first and warned them about the pirates. All those people are dying because of me. Why didn't I just go to bed? If I hadn't been moping around on deck so late, this never would have happened."

John Rolfe shook his head, fervently rejecting the sentiment. He lowered himself to his knees at her side. "Pocahontas, that was an accident. There's no one to blame for this but the murderers responsible," he insisted. "This is what they do. If they hadn't done it here, they would've done it elsewhere. Those men have no honor or regard for life."

Flit buzzed over, landing on Pocahontas's shoulder, and Meeko cooed at her sadly. John Rolfe promptly took notice when Percy raised an ear. The pug dog stared at the battle scene and began to growl. The Englishman looked up as well when his own ears detected a different sort of noise hidden beneath the distant chaos—barking dogs. He jumped to his feet and took Pocahontas by the hand, pulling her up as well. "Come, love! We must leave. Their lives are in God's hands now. There's nothing we can do."

Pocahontas wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pulled her other arm out of John Rolfe's grip. He peered back at her. "Go where, John? How will we get home now? They've burned all the ships!" she wailed, indicating the devastated port.

John Rolfe planted his hands on his hips, his eyes full of grit. "If they think that's going to stop us, they've got another thing coming. Now come along. We're heading north," he announced, turning tail. He began to trudge back the way they had come.

Pocahontas blinked, launching herself into a jog. She caught up and followed alongside him at a fast walking pace until they hit the mangroves. They had to crawl through the dense limbs again, though they went slowly this time to avoid getting scratched up. "Is there another settlement?" the Powhatan princess blurted, her heart fluttering in hopeful optimism. John Rolfe shook his head and kept going. Pocahontas frowned, immediately disheartened. "Then why are we going north? What's the point?"

"Sailing is not the only way to get home. This is one large landmass, Pocahontas. If we head north along the coast, we'll eventually reach Virginia and therefore your tribe."

"What? Really?!" Pocahontas cried out in surprise. John Rolfe gave her a swift nod. She had not been the one to look at the map and had not realized they could get to Virginia on foot from their current location. "But what about food? We're all out!"

"We'll have to find it, love. We'll do whatever it takes," John Rolfe retorted as they pushed through the brush back into the forest. He was more surefooted now. Though he did stumble now and again, his face never wavered as he kept plodding along.

"But how long will it take? Winter is coming! It will be harder to find food and we do not have any warm clothes with us!" Pocahontas pointed out fretfully.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," John Rolfe returned. When she tilted her head at him, he added, "It means we need to stay in the here and now and we'll solve future problems as they crop up. Our first priority is to get as far away from here as fast as possible because they're going to hunt for us. I heard the dogs over the bay."

Pocahontas gasped and stopped in her tracks for a brief moment. When John Rolfe failed to slow down, she spurred herself back into a jog and trailed after him.

…

Adahy shifted his feet in the sand by the riverbank. The tracks appeared relatively fresh, but he could not be certain how far the escapees had traveled since they had been here. The copper-skinned man knew they would find their destination an inferno of destruction and chaos if all had gone according to Bleud and Flame's sinister plans.

He could recognize two distinct boot tracks, but they appeared to be accompanied by a small dog and a raccoon. Adahy raised a brow in curiosity. The dog could be a problem if it detected his scent and warned its human companions. But the wind had begun flowing in the easterly direction, meaning that concern would not be a problem for now.

With hound-assisted hunting parties coming from St. Augustine, the fugitives would most likely head back north to evade them. Adahy had to cut them off and he was betting, given their previous pattern, that they would follow the same body of water when going back in the opposite direction. All he really had to do was lie in wait, although he was too impatient for that. He wanted the man who had severed his hand immediately.

Adahy took his time loading the rifle. It was more difficult without the use of both hands, but he could still manage it. He began to head downriver. The firearm was not for the fugitives. It was only for personal defense against hostile tribes and wild animals. Adahy carried a very different kind of weapon for use against the Englishman and his friends, but mostly for the Englishman. John Rolfe was the real threat after all. As far as Adahy was concerned, the woman and her little animal friends were harmless.

The dragonfly blackstone dagger lay in wait deep in his satchel. He could feel its impatient spirit voice whispering to him, spurring him to quicken his pace. The starving being fed on pain—of which it had been deprived for over three weeks.

Make his anguish so great that he will renounce his deity to stop the pain. Deliver me his pure soul and my full power will be unleashed. Do this deed for me and I will reward you with a wish of your choosing, the malevolent voice whispered in the back of Adahy's consciousness. He trembled in a mixed feeling of awe and trepidation. The dagger did not speak to him often, but he always became instantly entranced whenever it did.

While Adahy knew nothing of John Rolfe's strength of will, he was well versed in the blackstone torture methods of his recently extinct people—the Copichicans. Their ancient gods designed the three-bladed weapon as a manifold torture device at the dawn of man. As a direct descendant of the first Copichican man ever created, he had inherited the first dragonfly blackstone dagger—the only one ever imbued with a powerful spirit. At least, that was what Copichican legend claimed and the blade had never contradicted it.

The weapon's strength had seen him through many hardships and he intended to repay it in full. Adahy felt further motivated by the fact that he could use the promised wish to restore his lost extremity. The blood in his veins burned hot in anticipation of the coming ambush and his feet spurred to life. He raced down the riverbank at a nearly superhuman speed. The impatient dagger lent him strength and stamina. It was out for blood.

…

SEPTEMBER 22, 1613

John Rolfe collapsed to his knees after several hours of jogging alongside Pocahontas. The first hint of dawn had just reached the horizon. The noise from the dogs was farther away now. The hunting parties appeared to be moving slower than they were so the Englishman saw no harm in them taking a rest. With the easterly winds, Pocahontas had pointed out that the dogs could not have picked up their scent yet. They still had time to escape to the far northern territories, but they would need food to do so.

Pocahontas collapsed next to John Rolfe, though she looked slightly less winded. Rolfe had begun to feel lingering pain from his side wound, even though the bleeding had stopped. The hard scab over his ribcage did not take kindly to the turbulence involved in jogging for so long, despite how soft the lake beach sand was under their boots.

The Powhatan princess noticed twilight emerging in the eastern sky over the canopy. "I can't run another minute without food," she confessed, sprawling out in the sand.

Still heaving, John Rolfe nodded in agreement. "So, um…" he began, readjusting his position so that he was sitting on his rear end in the sandy soil. "What do you know about living off the land, Pocahontas? I don't really know where to begin other than to look for more edible fruits," he bashfully admitted. "Maybe Meeko can help us."

Still lying in the sand, Pocahontas shook her head. "We need meat."

John Rolfe frowned, her statement making him feel pretty inadequate. He had never hunted before in his life and was worried what Pocahontas would expect of him.

When Pocahontas saw his expression, she knew she would have to take on a traditionally male role. He did not have the knowledge or skill yet to hunt for their sustenance. "Stay here," she gently instructed, rising shakily to her feet. She patted his shoulder and kissed him on the forehead. Then John Rolfe blinked in surprise as his ladylove strutted off into the pine flatwoods that ran along the lake. She paused a moment, peering at him over her shoulder. "You said that you have flint and steel?" she suddenly inquired.

John Rolfe smiled and nodded. "Yes, in the pack."

"Okay. Your job is to build a fire then," Pocahontas decided. Then she was gone.

…

"Take a tally of all the survivors in our crew. We might not be able to sail both ships if we haven't enough men left," Flame told Legless as they boarded their ship. The Irishman was in a foul mood. He had not been expecting such heavy losses. The French colonists had put up a ferocious fight, though ultimately they had been vanquished.

"Some men are still chasing down runaways, sir. I won't be able to get a full headcount until they return," Legless replied as he began counting the men that were present. The remaining pirates shuffled about—some carrying pillaged food supplies, others carrying hysterically sobbing French maidens down to the brig over their shoulders.

They had started with well over two hundred men and now Legless counted just over fifty. Three hunting parties were sent north with dogs, which accounted for nine men in total. The rest were either dead or they were pursuing French escapees into the Florida wilderness. Legless had no idea how many had gone after survivors, but there certainly were a lot of dead bodies all around the settlement and floating in the bay.

Captain Flame screamed and punched a wall with his bare fist. "I was expecting twenty, maybe thirty percent loss, but this is ridiculous! The men were careless," he spat. "Rolfe is going to pay dearly for this," he seethed through clenched teeth.

"Aye, sir, but we've got to find him first. Ah, here comes Bleud," Legless announced as the Blood Draw approached from the other side of the decimated port.

Flame turned and saw the ship, cursing to himself under his breath. Unlike the Irishman, Bleud appeared to be having a jolly good time after the great pillaging spree. Copious quantities of French rum had turned the Draw into a shipload of drunken singing idiots after they had raided a galleon stocked with alcoholic beverages of all kinds.

"Ahoy, mates!" Bleud called over to them as the ships fell side by side. "Where be all the lovely young wenches? Aren't ye going to share with your pirating brethren?"

Facing away from them, Flame clenched his fists as Legless called back in a tone laden with victory. "Aye! The men are loading 'em into the brig for you, cap'n. You get half, just as we agreed. Now, where's our share of the rum?" Legless replied.

"Right o'er here on the deck. Get the ramp and we'll exchange," Bleud declared. The few men on the deck of the Blood Draw were boisterously drinking and dancing around. One of them got so carried away he lost his balance and tumbled over the railing.

Flame rolled his eyes. This was why the men had elected Bleud to be their leader in the first place, though it had been well over two decades ago. Bleud gave them what they wanted and rarely made use of the bosun's cat. But his sense of naval discipline had been slipping more and more as of late and Flame simply could not allow it to slip any further. Revenge had to remain the top priority. The Irishman's black soul cried out for it.

Bleud was the only man on the high seas who could best Flame with the sword, so the scarred man knew he would have to think up an alternative method of ousting him from power. He watched the men load French bakery items onto the ship and a thought came to mind. He knew Bleud to be half-French and also knew his favorite food was the cherry tart. A wicked grin lit up Flame's gnarled face as an idea popped into his head.

…

John Rolfe walked along the edge of the forest and picked up dried palm fronds, Spanish moss, and any other light material that looked like it would make good kindling. The emerging morning light helped him find what he was looking for more quickly. He had collected a large pile of dry logs and branches on the beach but had discovered that they did not burn the way he wanted them to. They refused to pick up the spark from the flint and steel, so he figured he would need something lighter to start with.

Once John Rolfe's arms were loaded with as much bone-dry kindling material as he could carry, he walked back to the hearth he had made near the calm water and dumped it all onto the sand. The fire pit was a circle lined with a wall of piled-up sand all around. He kicked the small logs and branches out of the pit and piled up some kindling. Kneeling before it, he grabbed the flint and steel out of his pocket and began to strike them together over the Spanish moss and palm fronds. Sitting a few feet away, Percy watched.

"Come on!" John Rolfe urged in aggravation. His hands were getting tired, but the spark still refused to catch. He desperately wanted to get the fire started before Pocahontas got back, lest he prove himself to be completely useless. Percy whimpered lightly, watching the posh English gentleman struggle to perform a very basic survival task.

Meeko and Flit had gone to assist Pocahontas with her objective. The diplomat was pleased about their absence, preferring to have the smallest possible audience witnessing his repeated failures. He sighed and sat back in the sand to rest his arms. After a few minutes, he started again. He was about to give up and chuck the flint into the lake when he saw a wisp of smoke. Rolfe fell to his knees and blew gently on the burning spot. Percy yipped and ran over, helping him blow on the growing flame. When the fire burst to life, Rolfe stood up and started jumping up and down. "Yes, I knew I wasn't totally incompetent!" he blared in victory—until something very heavy fell on his foot.

Then he began hopping around for a different reason. "Ooh! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow! What on earth?" John Rolfe raged, glancing down at what appeared to be a giant nut. He plopped down next to it, still holding his aching foot. When the pain eased up, he turned his attention to the item and looked up at the coconut tree overhead. The dangling fruits were rather precariously positioned twenty or so feet above his fragile skull. He scooted to a different position around the fire and rolled the coconut along with him.

Percy came over and sniffed the item as John Rolfe examined it. "It's got a tough shell. If there's anything edible inside, it's not going to be easy to get to." He turned it over to the opposite end and poked at the part where the stem had detached. "Then again…"

John Rolfe reached into his satchel and brought out the razor and strop. He sharpened the blade and applied gentle pressure along the grain of the coconut, making a small slit from the stem. The Englishman rotated it slightly and made another small slit and then used the tip of the blade to separate the section from the rest of the shell. He put the blade down and used his fingers to tear the section straight down to the bottom tip of the coconut. The inside of the shell appeared to be a very fibrous material. He started tearing it apart piece-by-piece, tossing long fiber strands aside as he dug deeper into the fruit. Eventually, he reached another hard shell and blinked in surprise as he tapped on it lightly.

He dug his fingers under the fiber around the inner shell and tore the other half of the outer shell off, leaving him with a big nut about the size of a small cannonball. He shook the item and heard something slosh around inside. Percy raised an ear in curiosity. "I think it's hollow with some kind of liquid inside. The question is how to get to it," John Rolfe thought aloud. He soon discovered that there were three small indentations on one end. Poking at them with his thumbs, he discovered that they seemed soft compared to the rest of the nut. He found a sharp spiral seashell and jabbed at them repeatedly. They gave pretty easily and he poked three holes in the top of the nut with the shell.

John Rolfe brought the nut to his face and sniffed it. He poured some of the semi-clear fluid into the palm of his hand and tasted it. "Oh my, that's delicious! It's even better than rose wine. Want to try some, Percy?" Rolfe offered. The canine yipped and stuck out his tongue. The diplomat poured some more of the sweet milky liquid into the palm of his hand and offered it to the animal. Percy lapped at it enthusiastically. "Like it?" Rolfe asked, drawing back when Percy had finished. The pug nodded as Rolfe finished the rest of the beverage. "I want to see what the inside looks like," he expressed, rising to his feet. Rolfe found a big heavy branch to use as a club and smashed the nut repeatedly against a hardwood tree, effectively breaking the shell in two on the thirteenth strike.

The inside was a thick white material that appeared to be edible. John Rolfe licked it and then shaved a small strip off with his incisors, chewing it thoughtfully. Percy panted up at him. "It's a bit hard to separate from the shell, but it is rather tasty," Rolfe admitted. He broke some pieces off with his fingers and shaved the inedible brown lining off with his razor before offering them to Percy. The canine was very hungry and gobbled the pieces up. He waited for Rolfe to prepare more. Together, they ate all of the coconut meat before the Englishman turned his attention back to the tree from whence the flavorful fruit had come. "I've got to get more before Pocahontas gets back. I think she'll like it."

John Rolfe slammed his shoulder against the trunk of the odd limbless tree to shake more of the fruits loose. One of them fell, but the others refused to let go. He frowned up at the tasty treats and then shrugged. "Oh, well. I'll just get Meeko to do it when he gets back. He's a good climber," he said as an afterthought, picking up the one coconut that he had successfully acquired. He got to work de-shelling it as he had done with the first.

Pocahontas was poking around the different trees with her machete about a quarter mile into the forest, trying to find wood with just the right physical properties to be fashioned into a bow. While Flit was trying to help her with the task, Meeko was preoccupied. The raccoon had climbed high up in a tree to stalk tasty anole lizards—of which he had found quite a few. He spotted a really big one and pounced on it. The Powhatan woman sighed in frustration. Suddenly, she heard something shuffling in the nearby brush.

She crept over quietly and peered through the leaves to find a land tortoise digging a hole in the sandy red soil. The creature was about Meeko's size. Pocahontas's mouth watered as she snuck up behind it. She sprung forward and grabbed it around the shell, dragging it out of the hole. The animal immediately retreated into its thick casing, but Pocahontas knew the underside of the shell would be no match for her machete. She chanted a prayer of thanks to the spirit of the animal before she got to work butchering the meat.

By the time Pocahontas, Meeko, and Flit returned to the lakeshore, the morning sun was peeking through the canopy. Though she was pleased to see that John Rolfe had gotten a fire going, she was most surprised to find that he had striven beyond that basic duty. The sand was littered with strips of fibrous husk, some of which he tossed into the fire as fuel. When he caught sight of her, he offered her what turned out to be a delicious sweet milk-like beverage. "There's food inside the shell as well. Percy and I ate the other one. You've simply got to try it," Rolfe raved, taking the nut after she had drained it dry.

As John Rolfe got to work cracking it open with a club on the hardwood tree, Pocahontas realized he had not even noticed the tortoise meat she was carrying. She had butchered and gutted the animal in the forest, leaving the inedible entrails behind. The shell, she used as a bowl to carry the prepared raw meat. As Rolfe was distractedly preparing the coconut meat by the tree, Pocahontas padded over to the fire and placed the whole turtle shell on top of the flames. She added wood and palm fronds around the sides. Then she tended the fire by poking at it with a stick to help the tortoise meat cook faster.

As the meat began to crackle, a delicious scent permeated the air. Pocahontas watched out of the corner of her eye as John Rolfe's olfactory senses gradually awoke to the presence of roasting flesh. He turned around to see the tortoiseshell she had set on the fire. Inside of the hard green shell was cooking meat. "You caught something? Seriously?" he cried, running over with the pieces of coconut in his hands. "It smells wonderful!"

Pocahontas nodded, flipping over the sizzling-hot strips of meat with a two-pronged stick. "Thank goodness for big slow animals," she humorously remarked.

John Rolfe laughed and scooted over to her side, offering her a piece of coconut. "Dinner and dessert. Is there anything we're missing? Try this. I, for one, think it's delightful."

Pocahontas took a piece of moist coconut and ate it. "It is good! I wish there was more."

Meeko snuck up behind Pocahontas to snag some of the fresh coconut meat out of her open palm, but John Rolfe spotted him. He snatched Meeko up by the scruff of his neck and shook a finger at him. "No, you don't! Hairy thief, you've got to earn your keep this time," he ordained, rising to his feet. Meeko purred innocently as Rolfe carried the raccoon over to the coconut tree and pushed him up the trunk. The animal climbed up out of reach and peered down at the cross Englishman with a questioning expression.

"Knock all the big brown nuts out of the tree and you can eat with the rest of us. Don't bother with the little green ones. I don't think those are ripe yet," John Rolfe instructed, pointing to the top of the tree. Meeko glanced up and saw seven ripe coconuts hanging overhead. He purred and licked his lips, racing up the palm tree as fast as his paws could take him. "Good boy," Rolfe praised as the raccoon enthusiastically went to work.

Some of the nuts were easy for Meeko to knock out of the tree, but, with others, he had to chew on the stems to loosen them. Thanks to the masked creature's climbing prowess, the group now had enough coconut meat to go around. As Pocahontas roasted the tortoise flesh on the fire, John Rolfe used his strength to husk all of the nuts. Even Flit wanted a taste of the sweet milk inside one of the coconuts. Pocahontas figured it had to taste much like nectar to the little bird. When the food preparation was completed, Pocahontas and Rolfe exchanged some from their respective products and began eating.

Percy feasted on the tasty tortoise flesh, whereas Meeko had taken much more to the coconut meat. Pocahontas and John Rolfe ate equal amounts of both. Before they had a chance to finish all the food, Rolfe spoke up. Though the barking of the French hounds had dissipated for a while as the distant animals rested, they had started up again and were certainly getting closer. "I think we need to avoid overstuffing ourselves at the moment. It will only slow us down. We can carry this food with us and eat when we get hungry again," the diplomat decreed, packing up what remained of his meal.

He wrapped the tortoise and coconut meat in a palm frond and swaddled the leafy bundle in linen, stuffing it into his satchel. Pocahontas yawned in John Rolfe's peripheral vision. "I'm tired too," he admitted, "but we need to get farther away from our pursuers before we rest again. They still haven't picked up our scent, but they seem to know intuitively that we're heading north. If we get far enough, perhaps they will give up."

Pocahontas nodded, stretching her back. "Hold on just a minute. I'll be right back," she announced, stretching once again as she gingerly pushed herself up to her feet. Placing her hands on her lower belly, she felt as if her bladder was about to burst.

"Alright, love. Hurry back and I'll snuff out the fire while you're gone," John Rolfe replied. He got to work as Pocahontas retreated into the forest to take care of business. The three animals followed to do the same. Worried that the winds might change, the Englishman went to bury the fire hearth in the sand to mask the smoky scent.

…

Daylight had emerged. He could sense that they were close. The spirit voice seemed to grow stronger and Adahy slowed his pace as he approached the end of the river. A vast lake lay ahead, though he could not see along the shore with all the cattails and other high marsh grasses. Looking down at the footprints, it appeared that John Rolfe, his female accomplice, and his pets had crossed the river at this point. The western side was flatter and less populated with brush. Hence, it was naturally easier to navigate through.

The wind changed angles and began to blow in a more northerly direction. Just then the scent of a dying campfire came upon Adahy's senses. His heart pounded as he glanced silently through the brush, the dagger lending him more strength in preparation.

Adahy spotted the Englishman forty paces away near the edge of the water. John Rolfe was busy dousing the campfire with sand. The Copichican was surprised to see that he had no visible weapons anywhere on his person or around him. Adahy had been warned that Rolfe had escaped with a sword—the same one that had been used to sever his hand. But there were no signs of such a blade anywhere in the campfire's vicinity.

Adahy grinned in delight. This was going to be far easier than he had expected. He darted through the brush and headed straight for John Rolfe. The Englishman yelped in alarm when he heard rapid footsteps approaching him and spun around just in time to be tackled to the ground. Adahy's sheer speed knocked the breath out of Rolfe's lungs. Fortunately for the diplomat, the soft sand had prevented any further injury from the fall.

John Rolfe felt his luck was about to run out as the man on top of him used incredible strength to pin his neck to the ground with a handless forearm. He recognized the man's features instantly. Though he had never learned his attacker's name, Rolfe knew the assailant was a member of Flame's crew. Rolfe had previously wondered if the fellow originated from the same lands as Pocahontas, given his copper-toned skin, but he had no way to know for sure. Naturally, he had been too timid to ask. Unfortunately though, this was the very same brigand he had maimed just before escaping the ship.

Had his windpipe not been compressed, John Rolfe would have gasped in shock. Instead, he began to kick and struggle, using his free hands to punch, slap, and scratch at the assailant's face. Though the pirate was no bigger than Rolfe, he seemed to possess supernatural strength. In the Englishman's asphyxiating state, however, he could barely process what was happening. His lungs demanded air as he fought to escape.

Adahy's eyes gleamed in a mix of vengeful rage and gloating satisfaction. Given John Rolfe's terrible predicament, Adahy's remaining hand was free to reach for the dragonfly blackstone dagger buried deep in his boot. When his flesh came in contact with it, his strength doubled and the English diplomat's struggles began to weaken.

Adahy laughed wickedly before releasing the pressure from John Rolfe's neck. The aggressor drew back but positioned the ebony dagger by the Englishman's jugular to keep him down on the sand. Rolfe coughed and wheezed madly as his windpipe opened back up, feeling the sharp blade pressed lightly against his exposed gullet. It burned as the dagger came alive, glowing red as a hot iron in the morning sunlight.

…

Pocahontas rapidly buckled her belt and peered around the forest, eyes dilating in trepidation. Though she had never met an evil spirit face-to-face, she recognized the signs of a dark presence in the instant a smothering pall of dread and depression washed over the forest. The birds stopped singing and all the wild animals began to flee.

Meeko and Flit huddled together in fright. Meanwhile, Percy raised an ear and tried to gauge what the hubbub was all about, as he was less attuned to the earth than his wild brethren. All four glanced back in the direction of the lake. The dark aura was emanating from there through the dense forest, pulsating like a heart of evil. Pocahontas drew in a sharp breath when it dawned on her that John Rolfe was still by the lake. "John!"

Pocahontas took off, racing through the dense hammock with a level of agility even she did not realize she possessed. Though fearful, her loyal companions trailed after her. Meeko, Percy, and Flit simply could not allow her to face the threat alone.

…

John Rolfe gasped, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized the precariousness of his situation. "You will feel great pain this day," the pirate hissed at him. The burning heat from the blade increased and Rolfe had to grit his teeth to avoid crying out. The last thing he wanted was to attract Pocahontas's attention with a madman on the beach. He dreaded what the villain would do to her if he found her, even more so than to himself.

"Release me, you dog! I've no quarrel with you. My only desire is to get home," John Rolfe hissed through a stiff jaw as the pain increased. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Adahy scowled. "I should cut out your tongue for the lies you speak. Every Survivor knows your kind thirsts for the nectar the gods feed upon. You are an insatiable breed, a plague on the earth!" he spat, drawing back. He buried the tip of his glowing blade beneath John Rolfe's belt. It sliced clean through the tough leather with very little pressure applied by the wielder. "When I am done, you will be unable to spawn more of your kind! Then I'll hand you over to the crew to do with you as they will!"

John Rolfe widened his eyes in horror as he realized the man's true intention. Thinking fast, the Englishman went straight for the pirate's only visible weakness—the scorched blackened wrist-stub. He grabbed a hold of the healing wound and squeezed, digging his fingernails sharply into the charred flesh to elicit as much pain as possible.

Adahy let loose a howl loud enough to rival a wolf's. He tore himself out of John Rolfe's grip and elbowed the diplomat harshly across the face. The dragonfly blackstone dagger glowed brighter all the while. Before the copper-skinned aggressor could do anything else, however, a small dog burst through the forest brush and bit his leg hard. Adahy cried out and kicked the animal away, turning furiously back to his human victim.

"Percy, no!" John Rolfe shouted. Adahy would not let weaklings distract him. When he saw the screaming woman burst from the forest in his peripheral vision, he ignored her and raised his dagger to mutilate Rolfe. Pocahontas reached them as he was bringing it down, but it was too late. Rolfe's face and shirt splattered with crimson blood.

Adahy cackled in delight until he realized that the Englishman was not howling in pain as he expected him to be doing. Then he saw his own wrist and recognized that the red blood on the white man's face was, in fact, his own. He bellowed in horror when he observed that his one remaining hand was gone. Blood rapidly spurted out of it. His eyes darted around as lightheadedness set in. Peering over his shoulder, he spotted his severed hand and the demon dagger lying some distance back in the sand. The blade's glow faded as the spirit cried out in rage. Fool! You let a woman best you in battle!

When Adahy turned back, he received a knee to the face that almost broke his nose as Pocahontas kicked him off of John Rolfe. The Powhatan princess grabbed her downed suitor by the wrist and dragged him away from the outlaw. The English diplomat yelped as his trousers began to descend down his pelvis. He caught them with his free hand and yanked them up as he struggled to get back to his feet, gasping in bafflement. There was a ton of sand in his knickers, but he would have to deal with that problem later.

Pocahontas flicked the blood off of her machete and hooked it back onto her belt, turning John Rolfe towards her to examine him. "Are you alright? Are you injured?" she cried, wiping the blood off of his face to see if he had any wounds of his own. Before Rolfe could even answer, she snatched him and the tortoiseshell and towed both over to the water's edge. Pocahontas filled the carapace with water and offered it to him. "Quick, wash your face. Did he cut you with his weapon?" she rapidly interrogated.

"I-I-I, um…" sputtered the stunned Englishman. Pocahontas furrowed her eyebrows and splashed some of the water on his face to snap him out of his stupor. John Rolfe blinked. "Pocahontas, what was that thing? It was glowing!" he cried, letting go of his trousers to point in the direction of the aforementioned weapon. He yelped as his pants started to fall down again, using catlike reflexes to grab them by the rim and pull them back up.

Pocahontas cocked an eyebrow as she glanced downwards. "Did he… what… what happened to your belt?" she asked. John Rolfe's face went crimson. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Taking note of his flustered demeanor, the young woman paused, shook her head, and put the shell bowl down in the sand. She angrily trod over to the barely conscious assailant, kicked him in the head to knock him out, and stole the belt from around his waist. Then she handed it over to the red-faced diplomat.

John Rolfe struggled to meet Pocahontas's gaze as he shakily accepted the pilfered gift. "Th-thank you, love…" Rolfe barely uttered as he threw off his severed belt. The skull designs on the pirate's dark leather sash disconcerted him, but he knew he could not just walk around without a supporting strap. He put the intact belt on and covered the skulls with the rim of his shirt so he would not have to look at them and feel creeped out.

"Wash your face and I'll tell you what that thing was," Pocahontas promised, offering him the shell full of water again. She waited until he started splashing the water on his face to repeat her previous question. "Did he cut you with his weapon?"

"I don't know. He touched my neck with it. It burned like hellfire," John Rolfe replied, placing a hand on his throat as the water rinsed the blood down it in dark red rivulets. "What was it? That can't be natural!" he cried, splashing his face again.

"It isn't," Pocahontas returned. She nipped her bottom lip, trying to think of how best to explain the phenomenon such that John Rolfe would understand. She recalled that his people did have a concept of supernatural evil. When one of the rude men in Jamestown called her a heathen on one occasion, he had also shouted at her that she would 'burn in hell' for being one. She discovered what hell was later on when she asked a kind elderly white woman. Satan reminded her of the evil snake spirit from her people's mythology. There were a striking number of similarities between the two of them.

Suddenly, Pocahontas gasped and dropped the shell full of water onto the sand. "Meeko, no! Don't touch it!" she bellowed, bolting over to the raccoon as he curiously examined the now-impotent blackstone dagger. She used her thick boot to kick the malevolent item far away into the lake, where it immediately sank to the bottom. Meeko screeched in startlement and ran over to Percy, hiding behind the small canine. Flit started squeaking harshly at Meeko, admonishing him for his dangerous sense of curiosity.

John Rolfe rushed over and stared out into the lake after the dagger had disappeared. He turned his dilated eyes, wild with fright, back to Pocahontas. "What was that? What do you know that you're not telling me, Pocahontas?!" he fervently demanded.

Pocahontas panted and massaged her chest with her hand, trying desperately to still her rapidly palpitating heart. She peered over at John Rolfe. When he drew his brows together impatiently, she swallowed and took a deep breath. Then she bobbed her head. "It was possessed, John," she finally divulged. "That knife is bedeviled with something much stronger than us mortals. A demon of some kind. Kekata back in my village can explain better," she said. "He knows much more about these things than I do."

The Powhatan princess watched in dread as John Rolfe froze solid. The whites of his eyes were more striking than she had ever seen them before. He slowly opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. It was then that Pocahontas realized she was trembling. "I honestly don't know much more than you, so please do not bombard me with questions I cannot answer. This is the first time I have ever encountered such a thing in person. I had only ever heard tales before," she added as Rolfe's silence jacked up her anxiety.

John Rolfe turned and stared back out at the lake in horror. He peered at Pocahontas again. "You speak of Beelzebub? The Prince of Darkness? That was one of his wicked angels?" he spoke in a hushed tone, pressing a hand firmly to his chest.

Pocahontas breathed a sigh of relief when he finally spoke and nodded. "Probably," she replied. "If you value your soul, pray you never encounter such a presence ever again." Without a moment's hesitation, John Rolfe made the sign of the cross over his chest, clasped his hands together, and fell to his knees in the sand. He hastily began to recite an Our Father prayer under his breath. Pocahontas watched him in silence. She could not blame him for being so alarmed, as she herself was still reeling from the encounter.

The Powhatan woman took another deep breath and trod back to the turtle shell, picking it up and tossing it toward their other belongings. She approached the pious gentleman, kneeling down to examine his throat. "Where did it touch you?" she inquired, briefly interrupting his prayer. He pointed right to his jugular and then re-interlaced his fingers, continuing where he had left off. She looked closely, observing that the skin remained intact and unblemished. Then she breathed another relieved sigh just as Rolfe finished his Christian invocation. "Thank goodness!" she exhaled. "It did not break the skin. You will be alright. Let's get out of here!" Just then, a howl sounded in the distance. One of the French hounds from St. Augustine had finally picked up their scent.

Staring south, they both gritted their teeth in alarm. The flustered Englishman jumped to his feet and bolted over to gather their belongings, avoiding the body of the fallen pirate by at least a ten-foot radius. It was unclear if the man was dead or alive and John Rolfe was afraid to find out. He stuffed all their belongings in the supply pack. A minute later, Pocahontas, Rolfe, Meeko, Percy, and Flit were moving north again at a brisk pace.

After they traversed the brush at the mouth of the river, they discovered the brigand had dropped a green pack. John Rolfe rummaged through it and found food, a loaded pistol, and plenty of ammunition. A matchlock musket lay in the sand nearby. The diplomat put the supplies back in the green pack, but the rifle was too heavy for long-distance travel. It would just slow them down, but he did not want to risk the other crewmen finding it. The pirates were dangerously armed enough already, so he tossed it in the river.

"This extra food will last us a few days," Pocahontas spoke in optimism. "We'll save a lot of time if we don't have to stop to hunt." She glanced around to see if the pirate had dropped anything else. Finding nothing, she slung the green supply pack over her own shoulder and peered at John Rolfe. "Here," she said, placing the tortoise shell on his head like an oversized helmet. It effectively shaded his visage from the hot Florida sun. "Your face was turning pink again," she remarked, turning north to continue their trek.

"Pocahontas, this looks silly!" John Rolfe fervently protested, imagining how ridiculous he must look with a big turtle shell on his head. He did not think such a thing would ever be considered fashionable by London standards—or by any standards.

"Trust me, John—you'll look way sillier with a red face," Pocahontas countered, earning a big pout from the Englishman. She pretended not to notice and started running ahead, forcing him to sprint to catch up with her. Meeko, Percy, and Flit followed suit and soon they were all traveling back up the river from whence they had come.