Israel felt the sweat running down his back as he shouted. His booted feet landing on the deck as he cast about with his sword, and wished to hell and back that he had a dozen more pistols than he had.
Salty air whipped around him, as he knocked back a rifle, and turned the owner’s throat into a red fountain. His heart pounded in his ears, as the adrenaline made his hands tingle.
He had no idea if what he had witnessed was a ghost. It could be. Flint would be one evil enough that hell itself would spit him back out. If there were any who had sinned worse than the original sinner, it would be Flint.
With each swing of his sword, Israel’s muscles strained, his focus unwavering. The weight of the weapon felt heavy in his hand, a constant reminder of the impending danger. As he parried a blow from an enemy, a drop of sweat trickled down his brow and stung his eye, but he blinked it away without missing a beat.
The sound of the battle, of rifle and sword clashing, rose up like something out of ancient history. Screaming out a primal song, a last song for so many souls.
> Þat mælti mín móðir,1
With a powerful swing, Israel knocked an assailant to the ground, momentarily creating space around him. He took a brief respite to catch his breath, his mind racing with the realization that victory would require more than brute strength. His eyes darted around, assessing the situation, as he spotted a crate of spare pistols nearby.
> at mér skyldi kaupa2
The battle raged on, and Israel fought like a man possessed. Shots rang out, mingling with the clash of steel, as their combined defence gained momentum. With each fallen enemy, his resolve grew stronger, fuelling his determination to protect his ship and crew.
> fley ok fagrar árar,3
Israel knocked back his latest assailant, and kicked open the crate of weapons. Scattering them towards his compatriots, and renewing their will to fight.
> fara á brott með víkingum,4
He swore to himself as he fought. He swore to the skies that he would not let this be the final fight. He would regather the crew, invigorate their spirits. He would return here, and he would find every trace of Flint and burn it to the ground until he found the blasted gold.
> standa upp í stafni,5
The relentless pounding of boots and the cacophony of shouts filled the air, drowning out even the crashing waves. Bullets whipped by his head, speaking to some deity that wasn’t yet done with him. Luck alone was not enough.
> stýra dýrum knerri,6
The spirits of the redcoats seem to waver, as the pirates began to spread out across the deck. They forced them back, step by step, towards the bridge of the ship. Cussing as they swung their blades.
> halda svá til hafnar7
A man in a blue coat stepped in front of Israel, pressing their swords together at the hilt and growling into his face. He responded with a headbutt, and a snarl of his own.
The commander fell backwards for a moment, before flicking his blade out and knocking the sword out of Israel’s hand. He closed a fist and punched forward, trying for the man’s throat.
Israel’s face twitched, his cheek tensing up, as he suddenly felt a sharpness piercing him right through.
> hǫggva mann ok annan,8
The man growled into Israel’s face, and shoved him backwards. He toppled to the deck, unable to do more than flinch a hand. The man stood over him, pointing the sword downwards towards his throat.
“You fall, by the blade of Inspector Trent Dance.”
> hǫggva mann ok annan.9
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The sunrise found the bay empty, and Taylor standing on the top of Lookout Hill. A small gathering of stones in front of her, and Laure standing a polite distance off.
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Taylor gave a bitter laugh, “You never did make it easy, did you? You couldn’t make at least this one thing easy.”
The name wasn’t deeply hewn into the stone. She expected that the wind would take it in a few years, but she hadn’t known him that long. She hoped by the time his name was gone, his memory didn’t feel so very painful.
“My first.” Taylor shook her head, “I gave that to you, and… You’re such a bastard. I gave you my first, and you tried to just set me up as your bloody bride? Fuck that. I am my own woman, Edward motherfucking Vernon! I am my own.”
She took a heavy breath and sighed, “The worst part… The worst part is that I miss you. Your arrogant little swagger. The sound of you hopping across the deck. The offer of an apple. I… I miss you.”
She crouched down in front of the headstone, “Buried you. Would you have buried me? I don’t doubt you would have put that pistol to my head and pulled the trigger. If I got between you and the gold… You would have taken the gold.”
Taylor twirled a thread of her hair, looking down at the grass and dirt, “… I lie. Gotta lie. Have to lie to myself… Because… If I asked to leave with you… You would have. Given up the gold, and taken me. All the prize you needed.”
“Don’t… Don’t hold it against Laure. She’s… She’s good for me.” Taylor whispered and took a heavy breath, “Hell’s bells, she even helped dig your grave. Not a word of complaint, French or otherwise. I do… I do love her. Both of you.”
Taylor stood up, touching the top of the grave hesitantly, “Sorry you lost. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow, old man.”
She turned to face her wife, stepping over and grabbing her in a hug. Planting her head into Laure’s neck and bursting into ashamed tears.
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The village was active when the two of them emerged from the cave. Though the pirates had taken lives, there were survivors. The people had been prepared for the attack.
More than one or two of them gave a sideways glare towards Taylor, and she did feel the guilt of their losses.
Laure and she did what they could to assist the cleanup, the preparations for the next day. Taylor did what she could to serve drinks, prepare lunches, and assist the men and women trying to remember what their daily schedule was like.
Strangely, the man who had married the two of them seemed to be the one who held things against Taylor the least. He helped her where he could, and smoothed things over whenever anyone went to raise a word against her.
That first day passed quietly enough, and found Taylor collapsing tiredly into a bed in the house where she and Laure had… Shared their first night. There were others, now. The village didn’t have enough houses for privacy.
Laure waited until Taylor was very nearly asleep, the world black and blurred, before she poked her harshly in the cheek.
Taylor gave a little moan and tried to shrink down under the sheet. Her wife poked her again. She cracked open one bleary eye, to find the woman in a nightgown, grinning down at her excitedly.
“Wha…?”
Laure shook her head, and pressed a finger to her lips, before nodding towards the ladder. The woman went up quickly, and Taylor was instantly awake. Laure was not wearing anything else beneath that nightgown.
The two of them moved silently across the cold and wet grass, soaking into the bottom of her feet as Laure took her hand and dragged her.
Taylor looked at her with confusion as Laure led them down and into the cave, and to the small metal chest, surrounded by the skeletons of her father’s victims. Not the most romantic place in the world.
Laure knelt in front of it, and pulled a key from around her neck, unlocking and opening it. She smiled up at Taylor, “Regarde.10”
Taylor looked down into the chest, and then stared. She grabbed excitedly, finding a small wooden block inside, with roughly chiselled characters across it.
She turned it over twice, but there was nothing obvious, apart from the words. One final hint from Flint.
> Determined pirates are gone dye
> Eat shit you callous pigs
> Aren’t getting my shit
> Too stupid to find it!
> How about you stick your
> PISTOL up ya ass?
> Ern’t getting me gold!
> Aren’t ever.
> K?
Taylor burst out laughing, “Seriously? His other one was better than this. Your dad… Was petty.”
“Oui.11” Laure nodded.
She stood up and dusted her hands off, “Well, I think I know where to dig. You up for a late night adventure?”
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“One year.” Taylor said sadly to the air blowing by, “I… I don’t think I got a chance to say goodbye. Everything happened at once. Losing you, and then the captain, and then… All of this.”
Laure passed her a small circle of flowers, “On se souvient bien de lui.12”
“He’d be annoyed at your French.” Taylor smiled sadly, “Father was… So very easy to annoy. Not to anger, but to annoy. I… I miss him.”
“He would be proud of what you do here.” Laure said slowly, carefully, squeezing her around her shoulders. “My father… Not so much. He would be quite annoyed, I still choose you.”
Taylor kissed her cheek, “I love you.”
“Je t’aime.13”
They threw the flowers off the cliff, to the sea below, together.
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1. My mother told me,↩︎
2. Someday I would buy,↩︎
3. Galleys with good oars,↩︎
4. Sails to distant shores.↩︎
5. Stand up high in the prow,↩︎
6. Noble barque I steer,↩︎
7. Steady course for the haven↩︎
8. Hew many foe-men,↩︎
9. Hew many foe-men.↩︎
10. Take a look.↩︎
11. Yes.↩︎
12. He is well-remembered.↩︎
13. I love you.↩︎