Chapter 20
The Price of Victory
Wooly, still wearing Riley's mask, staggered to the head of the plateau trail just in time to see Clay disappear in a ball of fire. Not sure of what to do at the moment, he ducked behind a nearby rock where he found Matt, barely conscious.
"Matt?" Wooly whispered in horror. His friend's skin was an unhealthy shade of red, and the more severely burned patches had turned white with blisters. His clothes were still smoldering slightly, and there was the definite odor of burning hair. Remembering that Madame Olwen had given him a bottle of soothing salve, Wooly reached into his pocket, pulled out the small flask, and began applying the ointment to Matt's burns. "Matt, are you still alive? Say something!" Matt could only let out a slight moan of pain.
Suddenly, Flameheart's voice could be heard on the other side of the rock. "What have you done?" His curiosity getting the best of him, Wooly cautiously peeked over the rock to see an amazing sight. Before the phoenix stood an ashen lord that bore a striking resemblance to Captain Grimm. When the skeleton spoke, its voice was a furious bellow like an ashen lord's, but there was another sound entwined with it: the voice of Clayton Ambrose.
"Your reign of fire and terror ends now, Flameheart!" roared Clay from his new form. "The Sea of Thieves belongs to the living, and we intended for it to stay that way!" Lunging forward with a quickness that was surprising for his size, he sprang at the black phoenix and clamped his bony hands around the creature's neck.
Normally, ashen lords would be able to hurl flaming palm-sized rocks at their opponents, as well as breathe fire and summon ashen skeletons to assist. They could even trigger a kind of armageddon event that brought meteors raining from the sky, geysers to burst open, and set any nearby water boiling like a cauldron. Clay, however, was unsure how to activate all of these abilities, and he certainly didn't have the time to find out. Therefore, he simply relied on his new size and strength to fight back.
In his new form, he hardly felt any of the phoenix's heat as he grappled with the beast. Flameheart began using his wings to try to beat Clay off, but every time he succeeded, the ashen lord simply leaped back to his feet and made another attack. Strangely enough, Clay was beginning to feel a new sensation. Every time Flameheart would attempt to lunge toward him for an attack, a surge of adrenaline would rush through Clay's body, signaling him to dodge just in time.
It's as if I can read his mind, Clay speculated. This was, in fact, the case. Just as Flameheart had been able to infiltrate his thoughts and dreams before, Clay was experiencing a reversed effect and could now detect where the phoenix would pounce next. Unfortunately, Flameheart was already well-aware of Clay's mind reading tactics, and he had just been waiting for an opening. As the boy tried focusing on Flameheart's intentions once more to guess his next move, a searing bolt of pain exploded through his skull that made it feel ready to split in two.
Although Clay had managed to suppress Flameheart's influence over his thoughts for a while now, trying to control his new powers had left him more vulnerable, and now it felt as though the black phoenix was tearing his brain apart. Clay staggered, dropping his guard, and Flameheart seized the opportunity to leap forward, knock him over, and pin him under both claws.
Clay's mind had gone foggy, and his skull throbbed with a dull ache that set his teeth on edge. He had suddenly felt as weak as an infant. Flameheart's sharp beak hovered just a few feet above Clay's face.
"Trying to play mind games with me?" Flameheart snarled. "That is a game you cannot win. All this time, I have been tracking you through your cursed thoughts. They are as clear as a beacon to me, and because of that, I knew where to send my ships to find you and the dagger."
Then it's true that Wooly didn't betray us, thought Clay with a sharp pang of guilt. Flameheart used my curse to track us down.
"I tried to warn you, Clayton Ambrose," Flameheart continued. "I told you that your fate was sealed, but you still tried to resist anyway. I'm through toying with you. Now I can kill you, and later, I can resummon you like I do the rest of my ashen lords. By then, every trace of your human soul will be lost, and the body that remains will serve me without question!" The phoenix drew back its head, ready to plunge its beak into Clay's chest.
Matt was barely able to struggle to his feet just as Flameheart pinned Clay down, and both he and Wooly watched from behind the rock in horror.
"Clay needs to use the dagger now!" Matt whispered. "Why hasn't he?"
"I don't know," Wooly replied nervously. As he turned to face Matt, he caught sight of a subtle glint over his friend's shoulder. His face turned white. The enchanted dagger was lying nearly five feet away from them. "That's the dagger over there! Clay must have lost it before his transformation!"
They both heard Flameheart screech, "... the body that remains will serve me without question!" Peering from around the rock, Wooly could see that the phoenix's back was turned to him, and his head was poised above Clay's inert form, ready for a lethal strike.
"If Clay can't use the dagger, it's up to one of us," Wooly decided grimly. Knowing that Matt was still severely suffering from his wounds, Wooly dodged out from his hiding place, scooped up the dagger, and charged headlong at the flaming beast. With a final battle cry, Wooly rolled under Flameheart's burning tail and leaped to his feet beneath the monster's stomach, stabbing the dagger upward with all the force in his legs. The phoenix gave a final ear-piercing shriek of pain and fury, followed immediately by a deafening explosion. Even though Matt was still hunkered behind a rock, the concussive force of the blast hurled him backward for several feet and sent him sprawling into the dirt. Embers and ash fell from the sky like rain, and the air was choked with the foul smell of sulfur.
Down on the battlefield, the humans were losing. Every time one skeleton collapsed in a pile of bones, the ashen lords would summon two more in its place. Worse yet, the ashen lords were inflicting them with a constant barrage of flaming projectiles. Several ships had been sunk, and with all those cannons lost, the humans were finding it more and more difficult to clear out enough skeletons on the beach to allow more people to safely reach the shore.
Just as the faction leaders were ready to call for a retreat, everyone felt an explosion shake the ground like a small earthquake. A billowing cloud of smoke appeared above the plateau and rose up into the sky like a smoke signal. Every ashen skeleton on that island, and every other island on the sea, froze for a moment before some invisible force seemed to drag them below the sand and back into the earth. The ashen lords each collapsed and vanished in a burst of ashes and flames.
For several seconds, everyone just stood where they had been fighting, still trying to process what had happened. They had won! Finally, the member of the Gold Hoarders who had been chosen for Clay's council bellowed at the top of his lungs, "We've won!" The dam burst, and everyone sent up a great hurrah, slapping each other on the back and firing their pistols in the air in celebration. Those still on the ships circling the island heard the jubilation and began shooting fireworks from their cannons. Sprays of all the colors of the rainbow danced across the darkening sky: blue "Call of the Sea", green "Distant Shores," and fiery red "Kraken Killer." There were even a few shapes, such as pigs, palm trees, and monkeys.
Tasha, Madame Olwen, and Oliver had been on the Golden Pondie caring for some of the wounded, but now they piloted a rowboat to the shore where Chester and Anthony were attempting to help the rest of the injured to the edge of beach.
"We've done it, Tasha," Chester whispered, clasping his wife tightly to him.
"So we have," Tasha sighed. She suddenly looked worried. "We must find Clay and his two friends! They went to face Flameheart, and we assume they were successful, but that explosion…"
"We'll find them," Oliver vowed, and he sprinted for the trail to the plateau.
Tasha looked worriedly at the injured sailors. "There are still so many wounded that need help getting to the boats…"
Alexander, Flash, and Vote approached the group. "We'll help the wounded," Vote promised Tasha. "You go and find Clay."
"We saw the explosion as well," Flash added, "and he could be in dire need of help." Tasha nodded and followed her husband and the others.
When the five of them reached the top, the smoke had not yet fully cleared, leaving them hardly able to see ahead. Through the dark cloud, they spotted a prone figure lying a dozen feet away. Anthony rushed up to the body and knelt down to examine it. "It's Clay!" he cried. Sure enough, it was Clay, but he was no longer an ashen lord. Once Flameheart had been vanquished, Clay had been reverted to his human form. His clothes were singed and slightly smoking, and his face was covered in soot.
Chester gently lifted his son's head off the hard ground and cradled it in his lap. "Clay?" he whispered, his voice beginning to choke. "Clay, are you alright? Say something, me boy." At first, there was no response. Then, the boy gave one weak cough, and his eyes slowly opened.
"Pa?" he whispered in a hoarse voice. "Is he… is Flameheart gone?"
"Yes, he's gone, son," Chester replied, his voice flooded with relief. He helped Clay slowly back to his feet and steadied him as he wobbled slightly.
"What happened?" Clay asked next. "I didn't have the dagger. I must have dropped it-"
Tasha gasped. "Clay! Your scratch!"
"The scar is still there, but it's not glowing anymore!" Madame Olwen observed. Sure enough, the large abrasion on Clay's back was still plainly visible and starting to form scabs, but it no longer gave off that dull orange glow. The ashen skin that had started to form had also disappeared, as well as his glowing fingers and toes. Even his left eye was back to normal. Clay was ecstatic. Now that Flameheart was vanquished, all traces of the ashen curse had vanished.
He gave a whoop of joy. "Wooly! Matt! We did it! Flameheart is gone, and so is my curse!" He squinted through the falling darkness, searching for his two friends. "Where are they?" he asked the others.
Oliver pointed off to the side. "I think I see someone over there!" Clay rushed in the direction Oliver indicated and found Matt, kneeling near the rock where he had been hiding. Clay gasped as he saw the awful burns and blisters that marred his friend's exposed skin. "Matt! Are you alright? Where's Wooly?" As he drew closer, Clay could hear Matt sobbing quietly. "Matt?" Without looking at him, Matt slowly held up something in his left hand: Captain Riley's mask.
"This is all that's left of him," Matt whispered, his voice choked with grief. "He's the one who used the dagger to defeat Flameheart." Clay was stunned into silence. Moments before, his heart soared at the thought that the Sea of Thieves was safe. Now, his eyes grew blurry as he was struck with the realization that Wooly was dead. Worse still, he had died because Clay had failed to carry out his own plan.
Wooly didn't have to die, Clay thought guiltily. If I hadn't lost the dagger, he would still be here. Aloud, he said, "I'm sorry, Matt. I blame myself. If I had used the dagger at the right time, Wooly wouldn't have had to get in harm's way. I was trying to save everyone else, but in the end, he saved me… saved us."
Clay's parents, Oliver, Madame Olwen, and Anthony approached the two of them and overheard what had happened.
"Don't blame yourself, Clay," Tasha consoled her son, placing her hands on his shoulders. "You did all that you could and more. I'm sure Wooly knew the risks of what he was doing, but he was ready to accept the consequences if it meant saving those he cared about." She turned to Matt. "Seth always spoke highly of you, and I believe he considered it an honor to protect his best friend and mentor."
"We'll all miss him," sighed Oliver, "and we'll never forget his sacrifice."
"We can't forget the others who gave their lives as well," Anthony pointed out. "There are still many bodies on the battlefield, and we should give them a proper burial."
Before the group left the plateau and made their way back to the beach, Clay managed to find the dagger. The weapon seemed unaffected by the whole experience, and the amber brimstone was glowing even more brightly than before. Its color was constantly shifting from a dark, blood red to a bright sunny yellow and back again, indicating that both Flameheart and the phoenix were contained within.
By the time the five of them had reached the beach, all of the ships had been moored around the island, and everyone had ridden rowboats to the shore to pick up those who remained. Borrowing his father's speaking trumpet, Clay addressed the crowd.
"Before we leave this place, we must bury our fallen comrades. They made the ultimate sacrifice, and it is the least we can do to honor their bravery." Murmurs of sadness and solemn agreement rippled through the crowd, and shovels were passed out to begin digging hundreds of shallow graves. The work lasted for the rest of the day and well into the nighttime hours, and lanterns were lit to chase away the shadows.
The last body was finally laid to rest at nearly ten o'clock, and this time, Chester rose to speak. "I propose we now play 'Becalmed.' It was the song that played for the death of Captain Magnum after he defeated the phoenix, and it seems appropriate we should play it for those who died to keep it contained once more." Everyone drew out their instruments: concertinas, hurdy-gurdies, drums, and banjos. The ones with the drums beat out the rhythm, then everyone else joined in.
Our ship, she dreams of wind in her sails,
Of wind in her sails unfurled.
And shining as we cross the sea,
We cross the sea for home.
The notes seemed to weave themselves into the cool, evening air before floating up, up toward the twinkling stars above. Even the most sea-hardened sailors felt tears stinging the corners of their eyes as they played in memory of the ones they had lost.
Then we'll all raise our voices,
A song in our hearts.
And set our eyes on distant shores
With wind in our sails again.
There'll be cheering and calling.
No more squabbling and brawling
When we have the wind in our sails.
When we have our feet on the ground,
We'll sow our good fortune around.
There'll be feasting and pleasure.
No more rationing and measure.
When we have the wind in our sails.
As the final notes faded into the night, several moments of silence were held, permeated only by the chirp of crickets, the call of night birds, and the gentle lapping of the waves upon the beach. Clay stood at the front of the crowd and spread his arms toward the hundreds of mounds that marked the sailors' graves. "Your courage will not be forgotten," he called, as though the spirits of the deceased were watching and listening. "As long as the volcano remains active, it will keep civilization from coming here, and your graves shall remain untouched. This island is the eternal resting place of Fetcher Farley, and now it shall be yours as well."
He turned to speak to those still living. "Members of the Banishers of the Flame, I thank all of you as well. You have fought nobly, and tonight, we shall celebrate with a feast! Flameheart has been vanquished, and history has been made!" The crowd gave a hearty cheer, and the somber mood evaporated in an instant. Everyone was tired and hungry, and a good meal was just what they longed for most.
Cooking fires were set up along the beach in preparation for the feast. Since the sailors had prepared themselves for a potential siege, they had packed their supply barrels bursting with everything from pomegranates and pineapples to chicken and shark. Soon the mouth-watering aroma of the cooking meat filled the night air, and everyone sat cross-legged around the fires to enjoy their meal under a smiling moon.
Clay sat with his parents and close friends. The brothers, Trent and Preston, Alexander, Flash, and Vote had not yet been told of Wooly's whereabouts, and all expressed deep sympathy when they heard of his demise.
"He was a noble fellow," Preston reminisced.
"Aye," agreed Trent, "but I don't think he would want us to remain dark and gloomy over his death for long. He finished the mission, and I know he would want us to gladly reap the rewards of peace."
Clay tried to eat a full meal and engage in conversation with the others, but the events of the day had left him exhausted. Soon, he dozed off against Alexander's shoulder. His last thought before he fell asleep was, I wish you were here, Wooly, but none of us will forget you. We owe you our lives.