Enrique Journal, Entry Twenty-seven?
Journal Entry Twenty-seven?
Out of the Frying Pan! Journal Entry Twenty-seven? They are celebrating now. The survivors. And who can blame them. Many of them had been on Purgatory for years. Some of the younger ones were actually born there. No, who can blame them. Watching them dance and shout and drink. I long to join them from my isolation. I long to, yet I cannot bring myself to it. Sitting on the bow of the Merciful Theus, I must force myself to look away. Away from the party, and towards our destination, towards Avalon. It’s a sight to behold, the Avalonion coast. A beautiful sight indeed. Almost comparable to that of my native Castille….almost, but not quite. We are still nearly a days sail away, but even at this distance, I can “see” Carleon. It’s all in my mind I know, but just the same, I can see it. And because I can see it, I fear it. And because I fear it, it is not a beautiful Avalon that I see now, but a hideous one. Wha…who’s there? “Wake up!” is the response. A voice, vaguely familiar and my current state. Asleep, but not quite asleep. Awake, but not quite awake. Enrique… The voice uses my name now. Sleep! That’s all I want. Just let me sleep. As I roll over and bury myself deeper in my cloak, I can’t be sure if I responded to the voice, or merely convinced myself that I did. Shock. Cold. My cloak has been ripped from me. Damn it let me sleep! A the voice returns, again telling me to wake up, recognition finally dawns on my. Immediately I roll and grab my sword. William! He just stands there, unfazed. It’s almost as if he expected my response. Wake Talen, and bring him here. I have to suppress a quick flash of annoyance. After a pause, he turns and begins to wake Reynaldo and Patrik. Hmm. Seeing a cold stare from Reynaldo, and a questioning one from Patrik, I realize I’m still holding my rapier, and quickly sheath it, before I head off to get the boy. Upon returning, I see that William has lit a lantern and drawn the hood almost closed. The others are gathered around him and speaking in hushed tones. Dread. I know I’m not going to like where this is going. William continues to speak. Something about we have a problem. Oh so now you’re concerned about our problems? Now you want to involve your self with the duties of this crew? Of course that proceeds to draw glares from the other officers, even Talen, seems slightly annoyed. Still unfazed, William only apologizes and agrees. Who are you, I think, and what did you do with William. The problem, as it turns out is rather serious. Deadly serious. Bosun McBride has uncovered a small cache of muskets, powder and shot, enough to supply a score of men, almost half of our crew. Mutiny! That damned Aeric! I will have his head for this. In typical fashion, Reynaldo and I immediately begin arguing as to what to do. Reynaldo wants to wet the powder, I want to replace it with soot and sand. Something to cause their weapons to misfire, but not alert them to the fact we know. William I note, just watches, as Talen tries to speak up. Surprise. A new voice. Whirling around, Reynaldo and I draw steel. DuBois? The speaker is out Avalonian passenger, DuBois! We’d better act quickly he says. A group of men entered the jungle heading in the direction of the weapons stash. Damn, we’re out of time. Before anything further can be discussed, William just charges off, in Typical William fashion. He is quickly followed by Reynaldo and DuBois. With a sigh, I look over at Talen. Go get McBride, let him know it’s begun. Taking a small lamp, I run off in pursuit. Theus, why me? Shouts! Damnit! William’s recklessness has alerted them to our presence. So much for doing this quietly. Sprinting past DuBois, I can hear the clang of steel up ahead. They’ve caught up to them. Or least one group. Possibly a holding action. Oh this is going to be bad, I hope those guards McBride posted on the weapons are any good. Oh Theus, please don’t let McBride have posted the Vesten on the cache. He couldn’t hit the broadside of the Venture. Whaler my Castillian ass! A fight! Just on the outside the edge of my light I can see William and Reynaldo dispatching several mutineers. Seeing me, William turns to continue the chase. Good, he left me some. Leaping to the attack, I weave in and out, letting loose a series of strikes and parries. And all without breaking stride. The short time I studied with Pablo is paying off. More shouts and clashes of steel! At least I’m heading in the right direction. Damn Purgatory and it’s starless night. Even with this tiny lantern I can still barely see. Finally catching the others, I enter the small clearing. William, Reynaldo, Bentner, the Vesten, and a quintet of bodies. Wow! That has to hurt. Aeric seems to have a harpoon sticking out his back. There is one other mutineer still standing. Uh-oh. Dive. BOOM! There’s a ringing in my ears, and I’m covered in sand and shrubs but I appear none the worse for wear. Pain! So I’m not totally the worse for wear. My ribs are still tender from where that shark rammed me, and being thrown by the blast didn’t help. What in Legion possessed someone to blow the weapons stash. Picking myself up and brushing off the sand and other debris, I look mournfully at the blast crater. That shot and powder will be sorely missed. The explosion killed only one. Reynaldo called him Henry I think. A mutineer. I suppose he deserved his fate. The mutiny is over. With only one casualty, thus far, we fared well. Very well indeed. There are several injured, on both sides, but they’ll live. McBride discovered another six mutineers and defeated them with the loyalists. He suspects there might be an additional group of five or six. The roused late and didn’t participate in the fight. It’s not matter. They won’t dare side with Aeric now. Looking at the faces of the mutineers I recognize many. More than a few have sailed with us before. It pains me that they would throw in their lot with Aeric. Desperate times I know call for desperate measures, but surely not this. Not this! We’ve gathered the officers about, along with McBride, and strangely enough, DuBois. He’s making suggestions on how we handle the mutineers. Hmm. I don’t know what to make of him. Without his warning, we might have been caught off guard, but then why was he spying on us in the first place? So we face a dilemma. We’ve decided to execute Aeric and his lieutenants, but of the rest, we cannot agree. Strand them on the hulk of the Venture? Kill them? Leave them under guard? Throttle them? We’re still debating when we are interrupted by one of the Raleigh boys. It seems one of the mutineers wants to speak with us about an urgent matter. Can things possibly get any worse? But of course. I am damned after all. The mutineer, Jacob, I think was his name, told us that there was a large group heading towards us. They were to attack at dawn. It looks as if the Montaigne Captain gave Aeric more than just weapons. Outnumbered, outgunned. This is going to be bad. Well, we have defensive positions. Two cannon and some cannonades. Unfortunately our larger gun isn’t reader. The ship’s carpenter hadn’t finished the carriage and it’s going to be a few hours yet before it’s ready for battle. Those few hours may be more than we have. As dawn, hits, the sunrise is a beautiful red. Poetic I think. Also, approaching from the east is a small party under a flag of truce. Through a spyglass, it’s revealed to be the Vesten, Sven. The right hand of The Captain, and a formidable warrior. William and I decide to go out and meet him, with Reynaldo, DuBois, Talen and our own Vesten in tow. As expected, Sven feigns ignorance of supplying the mutineers with weapons. He claims that his little war party was on maneuvers when they heard the explosion and came as fast as they could to “assist” us. It seems the good Captain has decided I shall not have a week to consider his proposal to join him. Sven is here to “recruit” us. Peaceably, or by force if necessary. He’s also willing to guarantee my entire crew passage on the ship if we give him the location of the outcasts. Obviously, not something I wish to do. We discuss terms more and Sven “allows” me to consider the options until noon. That’s not enough time, but I’ll take it. Now are war council convenes. DuBois and Reynaldo want to take the fight to Sven. He has about a twenty or so “soldiers,” along with a cannon, in front of us to the east. A similar sized group behind us to the west. A group of unknown size awaits us in the jungle, and there is a launch in the lagoon with a cannon. They argue that we are sitting ducks. We might as well merge into the jungle and try to flank Sven. I don’t like it. Too many unknown factors. In any case, we need help. I send Talen to the rebel camp. He is to try and bring them as quickly as he can. We have a common enemy after all. I’m certain he’ll succeed. After more preparations, and with time running out, William and I finally agree on a plan. We’ll take a small strike force into the jungle to search out and destroy that contingent. Afterwards, we’ll make out way towards Sven’s contingent to flank him. Just before noon, McBride will fire the cannons attempting to destroy the launch and Sven’s cannon. As a precaution, if we cannot quietly dispatch those forces in the Jungle, I give McBride instructions to start his attack should he hear sounds of combat in the jungle. So it begins. William, Reynaldo, DuBois, Quinn, the Vesten and myself, head off, cautiously into the jungle. We make it a good distance when the plan goes to hell. Ambush! Cries go throughout our little band as each of us is struck with darts. Suddenly, I feel strange. Of course, the poison from the frogs. Rage! No, I will not succumb. Fight it! My blood feels like it’s boiling and every fiber of my muscle feels like fire. I will not fail! With a scream I charge headlong into our onrushing attackers. My eyes glaze over as I let my rage and instincts take over. It is only seconds before I’m fully engrossed in the Baile de Muerto. I am surrounded, but I do not care. The only thing that matters is the Bailar [dance]. I weave in and out. My sword swinging about. Slash, strike, parry. The intensity of my movements increases with my tempo. My steps are as precise as my strikes. Each one finding it’s mark. For a moment, I emerge, from the fight. I hardly the notice the few scratches I’ve taken. Argh! More darts. The poison in me courses through my veins trying to destroy me from within. Theus grant me strength! I cannot fail. My mind clears momentarily as I emerge from the dance. Seeing my assailants, I leap over a pile of bodies and begin the dance anew. It was a short combat. And a successful one as my body count hits thirteen. William announces the total at twenty-four. Successful, but not without cost. Each of us is wounded, and many of the others are feeling the affects of the poison. Boom! The camp. The true battle has begun. We rush back flying as fast as we can. Chaos! Our trenches have been overrun. Bodies lie everywhere and the smoke of musket and cannon fire is thick. The situation looks grim. We are loosing. Nooo! McBride! He takes a blow to the head from Sven. I hear a scream and William charges into the fray, calling him out. Flashback! An Eisen forest! A Vesten longboat! A friend’s grave! With my own battle cry, I charge into the melee. A group of the Captain’s men is converging on William. This I cannot allow. Screaming, I leap to intercept them. Catching them off guard, I strike down two before the others turn and face me. Falter! I’m struggling now. My own wounds, compounded by the poison are taking, their toll. My strikes are not coming as fast they were and I cannot seem to lose myself in the dance. Fatigue affects my enemy as well. I see an opening and I exploit it. Two more go down. Charge! I look up at the sounds of new screams. Talen has arrived with reinforcements. Thank Theus, he succeeded. We have a chance. The fighting continues, but we now have the edge. Losses on both sides are high. An unholy scream! William has felled Sven. And with his loss, the Captain’s men surrender. Suddenly William collapses. Talen is quick to his side. He is exhausted and bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. The battle is won, but the war continues. The launch, McBride hit, but didn’t sink. It retreated back to the Captain’s fortress. He most likely will begin to preparation to leave. We cannot allow that to happen. We convene a new council of war with our allies, but exhaustion and desperation have fueled our tempers. After some time, we send Quinn on a scouting mission. He will assess the situation and in the meantime, we can tend to our wounded. Knowing we cannot spare the men to guard our prisoners and that we have too few to assault the fortress, William gives a rousing speech and rallies our former enemies to our common cause. Escape! With our new recruits comes new hope of victory. Excitement spreads trough our beleaguered sailors turned soldiers. Hope is a fickle creature though. Just as quickly as it comes, it can go. And ours went up with the wisps of smoke we saw on the horizon. A fire! A large fire, and that could mean only a things; the ship, or the spare wood, or both were burning. Everyone that can run charges down the beach. We refuse to be stranded on this island any longer. I don’t know what I expected to find when we finally made it to the Captain’s fortress. Whatever it was, though, it certainly wasn’t what I found. Death! It was everywhere. Almost all those not involved in the attack on our camp were dead, or dying. Poisoned by a madman. The fires were coming from the supply of wood and his ship. His own means of escape. To prevent us from leaving the lunatic killed his own followers and attempted to burn his own ship. Quinn, amazingly enough stopped him. One clear shot killed the Captain. He alone extinguished the fire on the ship. We owe our salvation to him. Always on the brink of damnation. I know that I escaped it once more when we left purgatory behind. Now I must face my “crimes” in Avalon. What does it hold for me I wonder. I’ve seen their “justice” before. So no, I can not celebrate my escape from purgatory with the others. As I sit here on the bow, watching the distant shore grow closer. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I can’t help but think, that maybe it’s sometimes better to stay in the frying pan.Return to Uncommon Valor