The Betrayed Marionette
~.~.~
The more Ikuto saw of this isle, the more he came to realise that this whole place was a contradiction.
He couldn't quite figure it out, for truly they'd never thought to find such a civilisation here. Well, perhaps the term 'civilisation' might not have been appropriate and he used it in the very loosest of terms, but it made little difference because, no matter which way he looked at it, here on this seemingly desolate, deserted island, Ikuto could not deny that there was to be found an advanced, if small, society, tucked away from the eyes of the world and left to prosper in peace in a manner that defied all traditional expectations.
And it truly stumped him. It might have been easy at first to dismiss them as mere wild men. Isolated; outcast; alone in the woods and armed with spears, but no - the very notion just didn't quite fit. But they could not have been natives. They were not like those mysterious ancient tribes, tales of whom still were whispered softly over roaring campfires, that one might have expected to find in the isolated corners of the world - ruthless and feral, like the last lingering remnant of a world truly untamed. No… These men defied all expectations.
Because, even though their huts were crude and half-swallowed by the forest, these men were almost… Refined.
In fact, Ikuto found himself now reeling as he stood in what he could only describe as an imperial war room, outwardly disguised as but a meagre little hut, a jumble of driftwood planks topped by a flimsy thatched roof made of dried reed and palms.
Yes, this place was an entire contradiction - bare-boned right down to the loose-leaf roof and the reeded floors and the rough-hewn timbers that held this hut together, yet, like its inhabitants, there was to be found the most unexpected touch of luxury - the echoes of some lavish, long-lost culture, rich and vibrant - in the most untoward of places.
Tiered, bronze lanterns with filigree doors and pagoda-type tops hung from the rafters overhead. The walls were patchworked in fine, velveteen tapestries and silken ceremonial robes, shadowed by the unforgiving presence of ornamental suits of armour - empty, cold warriors of obsidian steel with gilded headdresses and painted, grimacing faces - stood as sentries in every corner, grim and menacing. Beneath their feet, the floor was carpeted in the most remarkable, most exquisite dyed rugs of deepest reds and boldest greens, so vast and extensive that Ikuto could barely have made out the scenery it was meant to depict unless he'd had a higher vantage point. He caught a corner of grey-blue clouds, their edges twisting like clawed, smoky tendrils about snow-capped mountaintops. There were red and white faces with horned skills and glaring yellow eyes. Beneath the feet of the low, wide desk where the Shadow stood he found the golden trimmings of pagoda rooftops, enshrined by branches of what looked like white orange blossom… The list went on.
And, silhouetted in the light of the hanging lanterns, his captor - (Saviour?) - stood before him. His helmet sat empty on the low, wooden table - oddly soulless, yet utterly menacing. Unmasked, yet no less unguarded. His hair was of deep, sea green; his fance unusually fair. His eyes were of dark teal and lush myrtle, but no less unforgiving as he looked calculatingly up at the Captain.
Between the two of them lay abandoned an ink-brushed outline of the island itself, taken down from its hanging place between what looked to be two ceremonial robes, spread-eagle and stretched across the wall behind the armoured guardians, their hemmed sleeved brushed with black at the occasional misfortune of one of the open lamps. But the warrior was not interested in them. Nor this map.
Beneath his fingertips, Ikuto's map - Kazuomi's map - fluttered and fettered lightly as he reached down to observe it and, as the lanterns brought all its secrets to light, the accursed thing sat tauntingly between them. A chill ran down the Captain's spine. The rasping of dried parchment fell like sinister whispers upon his ears. The warrior's touch lingered, his fingertips brushing tentatively against the scribble of ink that marked his own domain.
"Yes…" He said at last. "You are in the right place."
Ikuto said nothing. He was too busy trying to shake the unbearable feeling that he was being watched; trying to ignore the invisible gaze of who knew what even though he had already ascertained that he and the shadow were truly alone in the room - that the suits of armour were in fact empty and the rustling of forest leaves outside was simply the wind as the last of the gale died down to the breeze. Outside the hut, Ikuto heard the distant rumble of the tide returning to shore beneath the 'pitter-patter'-ing of the wet, leafy fronds. The seaward storm was over. The squall had died and now left naught but the drizzle to contend with.
But now Ikuto was alone with a new foe, or so it seemed. Through the darkness this mountain man had brought him here. Blindfolded; bound; guided only by the sound of his captors' voice and the jarring reinforcement of something sharp at his back, though perhaps with less vehemence than there had been before, and so through shadow Ikuto found himself drawn into the waiting care of the warrior himself who had cast off his ties and from there on out had treated his charge with a cautious, but appreciated sort of respect.
Though it was hard to buy into such a façade, Ikuto found, when one had just come to in chains and been roused by knifepoint - not to mention that this entire place suggested something far more militant than he had ever thought these forest-dwelling people to be capable of. Ikuto had never been inside a war room of course, but it was the only comparison he could think of. Or, perhaps, that of a military man's study. He vaguely remembered capturing a glance of the Admiral Hotori's private library back in their seaside home - back when when the summers were golden and the skies clear and the most inconvenient occurence to befall his little life was to suffer through the day-long coach ride down to the coast for their frequent little visits. But the times had changed. There was far more now to be fearful of in this world than the anticipation of boredom on the winding road and, whilst Yui Hotori's study had been immense and lofty - all red-polished wood and stained-glass windows beneath stone-cut alcoves, glittering with a hundred hues of coloured light as the sunlight settled softly upon the bookshelves, tomes chained and stacked to the shelves in the medieval way - this place was anything but. It was dark and damp and, of the warrior himself… Well, there was something untoward about him. Like the unusual lull before the charge of the storm; the misguided sway of a ship becalmed; like the gentle, deceiving calm of the tide before the typhoon thrums its way towards the shore. In his eyes, Ikuto thought he saw a beast just barely tamed - a wild malice only just drawn back by the barest of chains and tethers. With every step and every breath, by every beat of his heart, the young Lord reaffirmed his stance as the very picture of decorum. Wild and tempestuous, yes… But restrained. Disciplined. A true warrior of the east and a formidable opponent both in war and wits.
The warrior spoke; "How came you by this?"
His eyes flashed jade in the dim light, his hand still placed protectively against the sacred scribble of his own domain, for this place, even Ikuto could now see, was a pure place. A cultured place. A refuge wiped from common knowledge, enshrouded gently by the wash of the surf and clouded skies…
There was something solemn now creeping into the Shadow's otherwise cool composure - something long pushed back and buried, brought at long last to light as the bright white of the Diamond Sail shone at last upon the shores once more. Whatever chaos his stepfather had brought here nigh on decades ago, he did not know… And perhaps it was a shame that he'd been to young to accompany the crew of the Shining Black to this very place nigh on decades ago, he thought. After all, if he was determined to ultimately deal out justice unto his former Captain, it seemed only right that he ensure the blaggard pay for each and every crime he had committed against these people - one by one.
"It was given to us." Ikuto responded. "By an old associate of our former Captain. I did not chart that map."
"No." The Shadow said. "I do not believe you did. The Diamond Sail last sailed these seas near an age ago. I may not follow the passage of time as do those in the wider world, but nevertheless you are far too young to have been at the end of a sword in those days." And he looked Ikuto up and down curiously. "In fact, some might argue that is still the case."
Ikuto fought back a most indignant scowl. He straightened, trying to ignore the nagging impression that his boots were growing too big and his jacket too loose for his liking. Luckily, his captor was not finished.
"A fine voyage you have set out for yourself, Captain." said the Shadow. And he held the map before his face, lifting it up as though the speckled firelight would shine upon whatever secrets his eyes could not discern and lay them bare for all to witness. Through the worn, thin parchment, Ikuto saw the glow fall as tainted starlight upon the little inked smudge that marked their current abode. "My people… We are on no map that I have seen. It was the way things were, you understand. None sought nor were given the bearings to this isle unless in great need… And undisturbed we have been ever since. Until, of course, the Diamond found our shores."
Ikuto felt a pang of remorse, though he was not sure why. Perhaps it was the unmistakable edge - as sharp and as bitter as the cold blade of a knife - in the formidable man's voice. Or, perhaps Ikuto thought now, it was the familiarity. It was in the memory of the firelight in the faces of frightened townspeople; in the glimmering of torches and the shine upon steel pitchforks gathered about a bustling town square…
Kazuomi seemed to spark fear wherever he went.
"Then," Ikuto said steadily; "you understand why we are seeking vengeance."
Ikuto continued;
"I may be a pirate, My Lord," Ikuto uttered; "We might sail the same black ship and fly the same black flag, but I am a man of my word." (At this, the Shadow's gaze turned upon him, but he said nothing.) "This map was drawn and charted by the man who visited your isle long ago and you know as well as I that he is a man of malice. He has enslaved us. Wasted us. Abandoned us in naval waters and left us to die, but, above all our Captain stole something from us. Something dear - something precious…"
The warrior's remained stoic. But Ikuto was unperturbed;
"Ten long years I spent in his service and I tell you the truth when I say I've the scars to prove it. This map is all we have left of him. It lists what are potentially his last remaining refuges in this world. And therefore for all his years of torment, we have taken his ship and one by one we will scour them in search of him, for we seek revenge."
The warrior's face was unreadable, his eyes burning steadily as the glow of the dimming lantern light. Ikuto almost wondered if his plea had fallen on deaf ears, but there was something shifting in the Shadow's countenance now.
"So, My Lord, understand me when I say that we did not sail to this isle to bring you harm. Our only ill will is reserved for the man who has wronged us both."
An age seemed to pass.
"You wish to end him?"
Ikuto nodded.
There was a pause. The warrior seemed to scrutinise him up and down - from the top of his sodden, blue head to the waterlogged soles of his old, scuffed boots.
Finally, at long last, the warrior's voice returned.
"My name is Musashi." He said. And he held out the map, now folded and tied with a new string of leather. "This isle is my home and the sanctuary of my people. I am its protector. And until you reach your journey's end, we are utterly at your service."
~.~.~
"Ikuto!"
There was an almighty 'CLANG!' and the horribly familiar trail of chains as the pirate Captain entered the prisoners' wing - or, at least, what apparently passed for a prison. Before him lay a vast, dim corridor, lined by bars of what looked like bamboo, but stronger, sturdier, each marked at regular intervals by the unmissable, immovable figures of armoured men who each bowed diligently as their Lord passed by. Each was armed with a mighty longbow and an array of unfamiliar blades, all standing stark against the gloom.
Briefly, Ikuto wondered how often such a prison was used on an island like this, but he paid it no matter. He sighed. All around him his men arose in a clamour, his name running like a tide throughout the hut, echoing off the walls. They were struggling; fighting to reach him through the bars. But Ikuto, though he paused to utter reassuring words as he passed, went straight for his sister.
"Utau, you'll take the whole hut down." He scolded. Red-faced and indignant, Utau's knuckles tightened against the bars, but she piped down reluctantly, looking like a spoiled child who had just been denied something she'd never wanted nor needed before that particular moment. She hissed;
"Ikuto! Release us! An armoury lies at the end of the corridor! We can take them!"
"The blonde has resolve." Musashi chimed in behind them, pacing into the low light where break in the rafters opened up and allowed a small sliver of light to trickle in through the rooftop. He cast his gaze calculatingly over the throng of pirates held locked in his keep. "And a fiery temper to match."
"We shall need extra bonds, for this one, My Lord!" An unfamiliar voice rang throughout the hut. A young man with glowing eyes of deepest indigo and a long, woven braid to match was striding towards them, his armour clinking and clanking with every step. "I'll see to it that she has her own cell! If we leave her much longer, I fear she'd tear down this hut and all within it!"
The flame of her ire rekindled, Utau rattled the cell door with such force that a tremor ran throughout the floor. But, thankfully, Musashi held up a hand in dismissal.
"Do no such thing." His voice was low and steady - the mark of a man weighed by years of continued command; dignified and distinguished as Ikuto had only ever seen amongst the likes of the King's own men. He needn't have said any more, for without another word the man would have left them be, but he continued; "Release these men-" - (A wave of awed whispers swept throughout the prison block as the pirates pressed their faces to the bars, holed up like rats, pushing up against each other to catch but the barest glimpse of the Lord of the isle.) - "-and have them clothed and watered ere evening falls. They are of no threat to us."
The armoured guard blinked, a flash of bewilderment striking across his features, but Musashi uttered something short, yet brusque, in his native tongue and at once the men about them were compliant. Before the crew could even blink their wrists were untied, their chains abandoned. Very soon the guards were bowing as if in reverence and duly they were allowed to pass. One by one, the pirates were being funnelled out of their cells, breathing sighs of relief, rubbing their red, raw limbs and shaking off their shackles. Ikuto regarded them with concern.
Apparently, Musashi sensed this. "Be at ease, Tsukiyomi. My men were under strict orders to bring them back into custody intact. No more nor less, for we have had eyes on your ship ever since she crested along the horizon."
Ikuto's lips curled drily. "Quite merciful of you." He began cautiously, speaking above the growing cacophony as his crew were slowly freed. "Should I ought to be in your debt? Few hold their blade on the prospect of invasion."
He'd only spoken such a thing in jest, but, to Ikuto's unwelcome surprise, something grim passed over the warrior's face then. Something ice cold, touched by what might have been the beginnings of an almost imperceptible, morbid sort of humour. Obscure, and immovable it was, but Ikuto could not quite put a finger on it.
"A good warrior learns from his enemies, Captain," he said; "before he disposes of them."
Musashi moved on, leaving Ikuto with that lingering feeling of dread that had overcome him from the very moment that he'd woken up under the Shadow's gaze, but, thankfully, it was short-lived.
"What is this?" Utau hollered, interrupting Ikuto's train of thought. She was just stepping over the threshold of her rotten cell, throwing the last of her chains squarely in the indigo-guard's face. She stormed over. "An ambush in the forest!" She cried. "These men, Ikuto- These savages-!"
"Calm down." Ikuto narrowed his gaze, appalled at her choice of words. "Hold your tongue and listen, Utau, or, so help me God-"
"There is no need for threats," Musashi said then, though in truth it could not be said which one of them he was talking to. For all his wisdom, the Lord did not seem to gather that this was not precisely the best moment to try and reason with the girl; "Please, my lady, this is hardly any way to address your Captain."
Utau snapped; "I'm his sister!"
"Utau."
She huffed, her cheeks still flushed with fury, but at the very least she bit her tongue. She averted her gaze almost sheepishly in a manner that told the Captain he'd definitely won. Ikuto fought the urge to snigger.
"Confines are not worthy of such a crew!" Musashi declared, loud enough for all to hear. "Cast off your bonds," Musashi said; "and, please, accept my apologies." And he bowed low before them, graciously as though in reverence. "My name is Musashi Miyamoto. Protector of the Hidden Isle. And I am at your service. On my honour you shall be fed and clothed and quartered as you may require, for your Captain is as good as his word." And, whilst his audience were quieted - shocked into silence - he turned back to the Captain. "Your craft must require attention. How many are you?"
"Near two-fifty." Ikuto said, if uncertainly. "Less, now that my stepfather and his men have deserted us. We were once three hundred."
In short, Musashi looked astounded. So astounded even that it was almost a shock, for Ikuto had rarely seen him so expressive, save for their very first meeting, of course, and he was not surprised. The Shining Black was, in fact, probably closer to two hundred, yet any average ship of-the-line (with three whole gun decks as she had, no less!) would have required near four times the amount of naval men, if only to accommodate her sheer number of cannons. Five to a gun, it should have been, for the Shining Black had perhaps a hundred. But no. They could barely keep her afloat as it was, never mind even dream of engaging in battle.
"Not exactly the formidable force you'd have us believe." Musashi responded critically. Ikuto could do little more than reluctantly agree. He could just feel all lingering caution fading in the warrior's mind as they went about releasing the last of the pirates. After all, what formidable threat were they now in comparison to all those years ago?
"We manage." Ikuto said drily. He tried not to think too much about the strain a simple storm had caused his men when Musashi interjected;
"No, do not mistake me, Captain. I am impressed. Come! I wish to survey your ship. Now that the Diamond is no longer an omen among us, we shall rebuild her. My men shall aid whatever required. They shall be of use to you wherever you see fit."
Such was the relief of the crew that many of the men at that moment broke out into song - into cries of triumph as they left the prison rejoicing, some laughing merrily, some stopping in the midst of the clearing beyond to breathe the air and relish in the last lingering mist of the rain. The hurricane was quickly becoming distant in their minds. Their peril was forgotten. Ikuto and Utau felt as though at long last they could breathe freely for the very first time as they were led by the waiting Shadow out into the compound where the mountain men's little congregation of huts and houses were gathered beneath the trees. Ikuto looked back only briefly, pausing but momentarily to reassure himself that the last of his men were safe and unchained.
What he didn't expect was to catch sight of purest, pastel pink.
His heart stuttered.
"Amu,"
Relief. It was relief, pure and simple, that rushed through Ikuto's body as he caught sight of honey-gold staring back at him from across the compound.
Amu reached out for him, only to draw back, placing her hand firm upon her hips. She looked like she was trying to keep from throttling him, casting her eyes up and down his figure, her gaze lingering on the bruises about his wrists and the pale white of his forehead. There must have been blood on his face. Ikuto felt like groaning. There was always blood on his face.
"You idiot!" Amu burst out of nowhere. "Can't you look after yourself for one minute?"
Ikuto didn't respond. Indeed, he was flabbergasted. Perhaps he was still in shock, he thought faintly, for to see her here amidst the drizzle, her wet hair glowing like a beacon against the dark of the forest, well… She looked completely out of place. A member of his crew she might have been, but…
And then Ikuto realised.
"You're supposed to be with the Shining Black." Ikuto managed, perhaps more forcefully than he'd intended. "You followed me?" Panic had flooded his senses. He thought back to his fight on the beach - to the echo of gunfire and the clash of swords - and, for a moment, he found himself overcome with fear. And, perhaps unfairly, he allowed it to get the better of him. "What happened to you? I told you to stay. Why can't you just listen to me?"
His voice echoed off the walls of the compound, but, to his amazement, Amu didn't so much as blink.
No… In fact, she looked furious.
Amu opened her mouth, positively fit to burst, but then, their timing impeccable, a band of women with pale, fair faces and long, embroidered robes were ushered in from a path leading through the trees. They spoke no common tongue, but one of the guards - the young man with the purple hair who had angered Utau so - translated and directed them towards her.
"Ah! My lady, please, allow us to escort you to your quarters!"
There was a pause during which Ikuto gave the guard a particularly withered look and Amu fixed her gaze firmly at the dirt beneath her feet.
"Of course." She said stiffly. "I'd be glad."
Head down, Amu stomped off across the clearing. Ikuto deflated, trying to settle his nerves, and, after taking a moment to kick himself, turned back to follow Musashi and Utau towards the coast.
~.~.~
A/N: Wow. Okay. It's done and I'm so disappointed. I'm genuinely ashamed to present this to anyone who's still reading, but… I couldn't wait to get this over with. I need to get ahead to the good content™.
This first island has given me more trouble than all the rest of them put together. I've been rewriting this document for months; iIt's had more redrafts than any other chapter; I've been staring at it thinking 'I can't publish THIS!' since about February. But I've given up. I keep looking at it and freaking out because when I put it alongside future chapters I've already written it makes me think I've lost my touch. This will definitely be rewritten one day. Maybe sooner.
But, on a more positive note… This fic has fanart now?
Tumblr user aiocho posted a set in the fandom tag called 'The Pirate and the Princess' which is based on some of the scenes from the first fic and honestly? I'm not over it? I can't believe this self-indulgent pirate fic of mine has inspired such beautiful artwork! I'm in love with it so please guys if anyone's still here go and give aiocho all the love for me!
Till next time ~