Oswald waited until the skiff was pulled up onto the deck and then turned to him. “You okay, little brother?”
“Fine. I’m sorry about your men.”
“Don’t be. They knew the risks. Death is part of the life of a pirate. You lost more men than me today, by the looks of it.”
Smith nodded. He’d felt the same about the men he’d lost earlier. They’d all chosen this life. “All the same. I’m sorry.”
Oswald shook his arm. “It’s good to see you. I was starting to think you weren’t coming back. You could have picked a better time though.”
“Why, what’s wrong with the timing?” Smith asked. “I cut it fine, but I made it.”
“We were about to set sail. There’s a storm coming, and if you’d waited another hour or two, we’d have had no choice but to leave you here. Either that or the Emerald Star would have been smashed to pieces along this frightful coast!”
Smith smiled. “Another hour and you’d have been picking up our dismembered pieces. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not alone.”
Oswald looked at him, appraising him in a new light. “My goodness, you did it, didn’t you? You actually stole their damned relic?”
“Yes. And what’s more, I know why it’s so valuable to them.”
The Emerald Star was a Spanish Galleon sporting four masts, and armed with a total of sixteen cannons — seven to the port and starboard sides, and one each in the forecastle and aftercastle. Smith’s brother had captured the Spanish galleon while it was heaved to, making repairs, off the coast of Gibraltar ten years earlier. Since then, Oswald had her refurbished so she would be unrecognizable to her original owners. Her sail canvas was increased to make her fast, and her load kept light so she could be used as a pirate ship.
His brother had been successful in his endeavors. He was an extremely lucky man, and it had made him rich. Smith smiled as he saw Oswald admire the ancient relic. Neither of them had ever made such an incredible haul. It was the first time he’d gotten away with such deceit. His brother appeared calm. After all, his brother was a pirate.
Oswald studied the evil looking skull. “I can’t believe you went through with it!”
Smith said, “There will be plenty of time to admire it later. Now let’s bring up the anchor and get away from this God forsaken place!”
“Soon.”
“No. Now, it can’t wait. We have an angry army after us!”
“Don’t worry. It won’t take long. We’ve struck the sandbar and are trapped for the time being. The tide is coming in and she’ll float free, soon. Within the hour, for sure.”
“We don’t have an hour.”
“What are you worried about? We have a crew of 120 men armed with muskets. I think we can take a few natives. Besides, you saw how rough the surf was coming out here — it’s impossible to think they’ll be able to swim through it. And, even if a few might get lucky, they’ll never have the strength to then board us.”
Smith stared out at the darkened shore. “There might be a thousand out there. They’re driven mad like wild beasts.”
“My god, you really stole it, didn’t you?”
Smith pulled the golden skull and handed it to him. Its wicked smile stared at him, as if to say, I told you I could get away with all of this, didn’t I?
Oswald undid its leather satchel and admired the ancient relic. A wry grin on his face. “I can’t believe you got away with it!”
“We haven’t yet!” He glanced up at the darkened sky, from where he’d come. In the night Smith couldn’t make out the shape or movement of his pursuers. But he knew they were out there, driven by rage. He shook his head, it was going to be one hell of a storm.
The sudden gust of wind bellowed from the shore, sending painful specks of sand shooting towards them. It passed as quickly as it had struck — only a teaser of what was soon to come. Oswald looked pleased.
Smith asked, “What are you so happy about?”
“This wind is going to be perfect. It’s going to blow us off the shore, instead of into it. As soon as the tide lifts, we’ll be blown out to sea.”
He breathed in a sigh of relief. It was going to be okay. He’d committed a terrible crime and stolen from the very people who’d saved his life, not more than ten days ago. But he was going to get away with it, and he was going to be a very wealthy man. Smith’s heart started to race again — because along the shore the fearsome and hypnotic battle cry started again over the roar of the angry sea.
The portside of the Emerald Star was quickly lined with men aiming muskets toward the beach. Smith noticed the battle hardened pirates seemed unfazed by the angry war-cry resonating from the shore. It was amazing to see so many of the native warriors preparing to attack. Despite their massive numbers, they were outmatched. Oswald’s men had superior weapons and the advantage of being up high on the deck of the ship, whereas the warriors would need to swim through the impossibly rough surf, then climb the hull to reach them.
Smith forced himself to relax. There was nothing the attackers could do. The screeching cry from the shore increased pitch until it became deafening. He pressed his hands over his ears. The sound was unimaginably loud, and like nothing he’d ever imagined — and then it stopped completely. Carrying simple weapons of wood and fractured obsidian the army advanced into the deadly sea.
“Hold your fire!” Oswald ordered. He walked along the deck, making certain that each of his men felt his presence and maintained discipline. “They’ve a long way to swim before they can harm us. There’s nothing they can do. So keep calm. We might still have to pick off the few stragglers who survive the swim, but they’ll be easy targets.”
Smith followed his brother. “You’re certain your men can keep hold of the Emerald Star?”
Oswald grinned. “You can’t tell me you’re afraid?”
“Afraid? Of course I’m afraid.”
“Why? There’s nothing they can do?”
“Look at them. They’re driven crazy by the need to return this damned relic.” Smith cursed. “How much longer until we’re off the sandbar?”
“Not long. Not long now.”
Smith watched in horror as his pursuers were driven into the deep water by their religious fervor. Few were capable of swimming. Terrified and relieved, Smith felt his gut wrench at the horrible sight of men, women and children drowning to reach them. Not all of them could swim and those who could were unlikely to make it past the breaking waves.
It was a pitiful sight, and made Smith feel sick to the stomach. He watched a young man, no more than twenty, walk into the water until his head dipped below the surface and then never return. Followed by an adult warrior, nearly six feet tall, who simply ran into the surf, and was swept away by the first wave that reached him.
Not a single shot was fired, and still they came. Warriors advanced into the sea by stepping onto their drowned brethren with the sort of fanaticism that made them believe that with enough deaths they could build a bridge with their dead into the sea. Smith wanted to vomit as he watched the first hundred or more people become buried beneath the waves.
Oswald glanced at him. “Why don’t they stop?”
Smith shook his head. “They’re as powerless to stop as we are to move off this damned sand bar. They’re driven by a higher power, to return their precious relic. Its loss eats at them and tortures them so much that the pain of death pales by comparison.”
“And now it’s going to drown them.”