Chapter 13

Oliver's Sacrifice

Wooly pulled out his own speaking trumpet and fired back at Captain Grimm. "Give ourselves up? This war against Flameheart has hardly begun, and we have no desire to give up now!"

"But we know you have the enchanted dagger!" Red Ruth cackled. "Now that you have found it for us, you are too much of a threat to be allowed to live." She turned her flaming eyes directly on Clay and pointed at him. "Especially that one." Clay was stunned. How had they been tracked down? And more importantly, how did they know about the dagger? According to Madame Olwen, only a few elite members of the Order of Souls knew the story about the dagger. This was why Flameheart had resorted to using rituals to summon the phoenix.

Matt took the speaking trumpet from Wooly and addressed the ashen lords. "What dagger?" he asked, trying to sound innocent. "We were simply here to catch some devilfish."

"Don't think you can deceive us!" Red Ruth snapped. At that moment, the three sirens appeared at the surface and swam to Captain Grimm's boat. One of the skeletons on board climbed down the ladder, grabbed the obsidian dagger from one of the sea creature's outstretched hands, and climbed back up again. Seeing that the dagger was now secure, Captain Grimm motioned to more of his crew, and a treasure chest was brought forward. He opened the lid to reveal a sparkling heap of sapphire, emerald, and ruby siren gems.

"Your reward," the ashen lord smirked down at the sirens waiting eagerly below. The creatures were so distracted by their newfound wealth that they didn't notice the net falling down on them from above. It snared all three at once, and the sirens screeched in fury and thrashed around wildly to escape. With a signal from Red Ruth, the unfortunate victims were hauled on board her ship and left swinging in their net four feet above the deck.

"No sense in letting a perfectly good cache of siren gems go to waste," chuckled Captain Grimm, setting the chest back on the deck. He then picked up the enchanted dagger and twiddled it to and fro. "A fine weapon," he purred, "but obsidian just isn't my first choice." He pulled out a small dagger of his own, stuck the tip of the blade beneath the edge of the amber brimstone, and gave a strong, quick twist. The gem popped out and landed on the boards with a clatter. Captain Grimm bent, scooped it up, and held it above his head so that all the other skeletons could see it. There was a raspy chorus of cheers from both boats.

"Such a shame you came all this way just to have your prize torn away," the ashen lord sneered down at the three humans in the sloop below. "Well, we won't be needing this anymore." And with that, he hurled the obsidian blade like a throwing ax out over the sea. It spun end over end as it fell until it landed in the water with a final splash.

"No!" shrieked Clay, and he was just preparing to make a wild dive after it when Matt sprang into action. The man had secretly feared some kind of ambush all along, so in case of such an emergency, he had made sure the ship was moored with the sail fully furled and the anchor raised. Matt had already tested the breeze and realized it was blowing towards the east. A sloop was the fastest ship when sailing against the wind, and sailing against the wind meant traveling west: the one direction they would have a chance for escape. Now he dove for the ropes and loosened them, sending the sail snapping open.

With no anchor holding her back, the Splinter instantly leaped forward and careened on a collision course for Red Ruth's galleon. This maneuver caught all the skeleton's by surprise, so Matt had just enough time to grab the wheel and point the ship in the right direction.

"Don't let them get away!" Red Ruth bellowed. Her minions rushed to comply, and soon the sails of both galleons were down, and the vessels began plowing after the sloop. "You won't escape again, Seth Asbury!" she bellowed at the fleeing figures ahead. "You will join us once more, and this time, we will make sure your loyalty will never waver!"

Clay shot Wooly a surprised look. "How does she know your name?"

"My reputation precedes me, I suppose," Wooly answered with a shrug.

"Stop gabbing, you two!" Matt snapped over his shoulder as he stood at the wheel. "Keep making sure that the sails are angled into the wind properly!"

A sharp, cool breeze ruffled Clay's hair, and he peered ahead to see a foreboding sight. A billow of dark, ominous clouds was forming in the sky above. Lightning flickered inside of them, and an occasional rumble of thunder could be heard.

"Matt, we're sailing straight for a thunderstorm," Clay pointed out.

"I know," Matt replied shortly. "We'll have to brave it since it's blocking our only way of escape. Just get ready to start bailing."

The wind rose, and the surrounding waves became higher with more whitecaps. The rain began falling, first as just a sprinkle, then quickly turning into a drenching downpour that obscured nearly all vision. The Splinter was tossed roughly from wave to wave, and her timbers groaned horribly. Matt was desperately trying to keep the wheel from spinning out of control while Wooly and Clay were bucketing water out of the hold as fast as possible.

They had been fighting the gale for nearly ten minutes before Clay realized something. Shouting to be heard over the roar of the surrounding storm, he asked the others, "Where's Oliver?" At that moment, an enormous wave slammed into the Splinter's starboard side, causing Clay to stagger to port. Before he could maintain his balance, another wave crashed over the deck and swept him overboard. The boy was immediately yanked below the water and spun around and around as though he were caught in a whirlpool. By the time he managed to struggle back to the surface, another wave was waiting to push him back under again.

Clay could feel his strength rapidly fading, and water was gushing into his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. Another wave pushed him under, and this time, Clay did not have the strength to resist. As the water engulfed him, his vision blurred, and a strange sense of tranquility came over him. I'm drowning, was his last thought before the world went dark around him.

Where am I? was the first question Clay's mind posed as it returned to a conscious state. The boy slowly opened his eyes, which still slightly stung with salt. He was lying upon a mattress on a wood floor spotted with knotholes. Moving only his eyes, Clay could see that he was in the back left corner of a small but cozy one-room cabin. A fire was crackling merrily in the hearth across the room, and dim, evening sunlight shone through a single window in the left wall. To Clay's right, between him and the door, stood a roughly hewn table and two matching chairs. The table was littered with a fat candle, a few wooden plates, a tankard, and a bowl of somewhat decayed fruit. Closest to the fireplace sat a high-backed rocking chair and a stool. A cooking stove squatted in the corner to the right of the fireplace with a heavy frying pan sitting on top. Above the stove hung a collection of small white drawstring satchels. A short bookshelf lined with volumes thick and thin was positioned in the back left corner.

Beneath the single window lay another mattress, and Clay could see a familiar face poking out from the top of the thin blankets.

"Oliver!" he whispered. He leaped to his feet and was instantly awash with feelings of nausea. He braced himself against the wall and stood there for a few moments until his sense of balance returned. Looking down, he saw that he was still dressed in his original clothes which were now stiff with seawater. He crept to Oliver's bedside and gently shook his shoulder. "Oliver?"

His friend moaned slightly, and his eyes slid open. "Clay? Is that you?"

Clay nodded. "I was worrying about you just before I got washed overboard. What happened to you?" He was suddenly struck by a thought. "Do merfolk need to stay in water like fish? Do you need to get back to the sea?"

Oliver shook his head. "No. I mean… I don't have to worry about that anymore." Then, before Clay's disbelieving eyes, the merman pulled away his sheets to reveal that he too was still dressed in his clothes. But what instantly caught Clay's attention was that, instead of a tail, Oliver's body was now supported by a pair of human legs. Clay jumped up as slowly, delicately, Oliver managed to get to his feet and make a few timid steps towards him. Clay found himself taking an instinctive step away, and Oliver smiled shyly. "It's still me, Clay. Don't worry." Clay looked closer. It was still Oliver. His skin had lost the merfolk's bluish hue, and now he was a shade or two fairer than Clay. The only things that hadn't changed were his shoulder-length brown hair and his sky-blue eyes.

"But… how?" was Clay's next question.

"When we were ambushed by Captain Grimm and Red Ruth," Oliver explained. "I stayed behind the hull of your boat so I would not be spotted. When the ship started moving, I began to follow but cast a final glance over my shoulder. That's when I saw the sinking dagger. For a moment I was torn. Should I follow you in retreat or risk going back to retrieve the weapon? I finally decided to take the chance and swam downward.

"The dagger had settled on the sea floor by the time I reached it, and after I had grabbed it and resurfaced, your ship and the two skeleton galleons were traveling westward. I tried to follow, but you entered the storm before I could reach you, and the ashen lords had to veer off course to avoid it.

"I was almost within shouting distance of the ship when I saw you get washed overboard. When I found you, I could tell you had been rendered unconscious, so I started towing you towards the nearest landmass I could see through the storm. We finally reached the shore, but then I was faced with a new problem. There was no way for me to pull you up onto land and out of reach of the waves. It was then I knew what I had to do: exchange my tail for legs."

"How did you do it?" Clay asked, intrigued.

"When we merfolk become old enough to choose our own path in life, a special incantation is revealed to us. No one tells us the words: they simply appear in our minds like some kind of instinct. Most parents are quick to remind their children that, once the words have been uttered, nothing can be done to reverse them." Oliver sighed. "Once I had managed to get you safely amongst the trees and bushes, I must have passed out from sheer exhaustion. Waking up here was the next thing I remembered."

"What about the dagger?" Clay prompted. "You said you found it after Captain Grimm threw it away."

"I did, and I still had it once we reached the island, but I fear that whoever has brought us here has it."

Clay lapsed into thoughtful silence. "Perhaps they simply hid it in this house somewhere."

"But where exactly?" Oliver reasoned. "This is a very humble abode. I don't see-" The door unlocked with a click and swung open to reveal a figure silhouetted in the fading daylight. It was a fair-skinned man about Clay's height and build but a bit more muscular with short sandy hair and a chevron mustache. He wore a simple jacket, white shirt, trousers that reached to his knees, and a rough pair of leather sandals. The most outstanding part of his garb was his hat, which bore a large bright green parrot feather. A leather satchel hung around his shoulders, and it seemed to be filled to bulging. A cutlass was tucked into his belt, as well as a couple of ammo pouches for the eye of reach rifle he was holding, a water canteen, a hunting knife, and… the enchanted dagger.

Around the man's ankles lurked the low, slinky form of a fox. Its fur was completely black except for the insides of its ears and the tip of its tail which were white. Both newcomers studied the two castaways: the man with his dark blue eyes and the fox with its deep golden hazel ones. The animal began to growl in a low, fearsome tone. Clay and Oliver were both frozen with fear, their eyes flicking between the fox and the rifle in the man's hands.

After five seconds of tense silence, the man harrumphed. "Looks like you're both awake now. That's good." He propped his gun against the doorframe, hung his canteen on a hook in the door, and pulled off his boots. "I shot some nice, fat boars for dinner, so I hope you two are hungry." He stepped in front of the cooking stove, lit a fire inside, and reached into the satchel hung around his shoulders. Out came several large slabs of fresh meat which were dropped into the frying pan. Next he brought down one of the drawstring pouches above the stove, opened it, and sprinkled something on the cooking meat that instantly sent a delectable aroma wafting through the air.

The fox had stopped growling now and had plucked up the courage to approach Clay and Oliver. It rubbed its head against Clay's arm, and the boy could feel its rough tongue lick his hand. Timidly, Clay reached out his other hand and stroked the beast between the ears. The fox stiffened slightly at the unfamiliar touch, but soon relaxed and proceeded to ask Oliver for some affection.

Since Clay could tell that Oliver was feeling particularly uncomfortable about the stranger's presence, he decided to be the first to speak.

"Umm… excuse me, Mr…"

"Anthony," the man answered shortly without looking away from the stove.

"Very well, Anthony," Clay continued. "Where is this place?"

"Devil's Ridge," the man named Anthony responded.

"Are you the only one living here?" Clay probed.

"Of course," came the reply. "And I prefer to keep it that way."

Clay decided to try another approach. "I noticed you have a very interesting dagger. In fact, I think it's the one my friend and I found earlier today."

"You don't say," replied Anthony, stone faced. "You may have found it, but if anything, this dagger belongs to me."

"And why is that?" Clay demanded.

Anthony picked up a slice of cooked meat on the tip of his hunting knife, laid it on one of the wooden plates, and sat down at the table. He fixed Clay and Oliver with his serious blue eyes. "Because I know that this dagger was entrusted to my great-great-grandfather, Thomas Kaliber."