image [https://i.imgur.com/BRAKkHG.png]

The plumed hills of the Mournful Isle came into view just after sunrise of their third day at sea. It was a small island, one of the smallest in the surrounding archipelago. It had been given a bad name by the locals, called accursed for the sake of a bygone captain of the free men, Vagabon Doughty. Legend had it his treasure cache was secured in the bowels of the island, though no man had ever found it. Few would even believe it existed save for the marks of his passing upon the island.

For generations, the cursed treasure of the Mournful Isle attracted the bold and the reckless. Those who ventured there often didn't make it back, and if they did they were forever changed. Their babblings revealed no clues. For all the sake of sanity, the Mournful Isle and its treasure grew into myth and legend. All but the locals, who kept a wide berth, stopped believing the tales.

Ye ‘Ol Marigold eased itself into the bay, and Silvertime weighed anchor. "I'll wait for yer return, captain."

Valgur nodded and gathered his search party into skippers. "Grit, Atrocius, Scuttle, with me. Pick two men for each of you. And Picaro, too," he said.

Scuttle's face drooped into a scowl, but he collected the boy nonetheless. "Don’t do anything stupid this time," he said, pulling Picaro along by the collar.

The party pulled their small boats onto the beach and watched the palm trees dance in the morning breeze. Then, they heard something melodic waft to their ears. It was faint, like a bird call, but seemed to grow in strength as its notes hung in the air. There was something curious about it, provoking. It spoke to the sorrow of a man’s soul, and made him want to hear more.

“Whats’at. I never heard a bird call like that before,” said Tentold, one of the crew.

“Sounded almost like a woman, didn’t it?”

“If there’s a woman on this island, I’ll drink a gallon a seawater,” said Grit.

"Keep your wits about you. They say large birds pick the bones of wayward men. And who knows what else might be lurking in the trees," said Valgur. And so they went on.

The tropical air was tinged with the smell of rotting fish, but that was soon replaced with the green smell of dense foliage that hung all about the island. There were no paths for men to walk, for ones there were had been long overgrown. Valgur and Atrocius took the lead, hacking through the undergrowth, parting branches for the others. "Split up. Take your men with you. Look for any mark of Vagabon or his treasure. ‘Member, the sign of the whale. Might be a carving, something etched in stone. Some secret passage. Search far, but be careful," said Valgur to Grit, Atrocius and Scuttle, the leaders of each search party. "Meet back at the boats by afternoon. If you see something before then or run into any trouble, call out."

"What about the boy?" said Scuttle.

"He’s with me," said Valgur. He cast a baleful eye upon his men. They nodded.

Picaro couldn't help but feel a tinge of self-importance. He puffed out his chest a little as he brushed past Scuttle to follow Valgur deeper into the tangled jungle. The ship's thief scowled deeply at him, and some of the other men gave him jealous looks. The boy was quickly gaining favor with the captain, and it showed.

"Keep an eye out for anything. I'm not sure what we're looking for, but we'll know it when we see it. And don't go disturbing the place. Like I said, we don't know what's out here beyond the reach of men," said Valgur in a low voice. Then he nodded to his men and they slipped off into the trees.

Picaro followed silently behind Valgur, keeping his eyes peeled for any clue, any glint of gold, any carved etching or wayward possession. For a time, the canopy above them blocked out the sun and the air was dark and cool. All he could see was the evidence of Valgur's passing. All he heard besides was the calling of birds and the buzzing of insects. Flies flocked to his face, interested in the moisture he provided. He swatted them away continuously.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Then the trees parted and the sun shone, dazzling. He blinked and stepped off the path that was made for him. In the underbrush he nearly tripped over something that felt like a log, but was softer to the touch. Waving a hand before his face, Picaro knelt to feel the object. He took in a sharp breath when he realized it was a booted foot attached to a severed leg, lying on the ground. Long dead, it had begun to rot.

Picaro quickly backed away, looking around wildly for his captain. He saw the man ahead, hacking with his scimitar. He wanted to call out, but before he could find the words he heard a hissing close to him. Frozen, the boy cast his eyes about. Suddenly, he saw eyes of coal glinting at him from under a large leaf close to the ground. He stared curiously before adrenaline kicked him into action. A reptilian face snaked out of the brush toward him.

Slavering jaws dripping with venom belonged to a squat, four-legged lizard the size of a large dog. Its body was long and its tail made it seem twice as such. It hissed at him as it charged, its fork tongue tasting his air. Alarmed, Picaro flew in Valgur's direction. A low hanging vine caught him in the chest, and he would have been caught and fallen into the jaws to be slowly digested had his instincts not told him to grab onto the vine and climb. Up he went, hand over hand with a fevered dexterity. He was just able to raise his foot out of reach of the jaws. "Captain. Captain," the boy called.

Valgur charged back toward him like a bull. "Careful, the thing's venomous," said Picaro.

"What is it?"

"A dragon," said the boy reflexively. He heard a confused grunt from Valgur, but the man did not slow. He came into sight of the beast, his scimitar in one hand and his pistol in the other.

"Ye vermin," said Valgur has he let a bullet fly. It caught the thing in the shoulder, tearing away scale and flesh. The reptile screamed and turned quickly on Valgur, charging him with open jaws. Valgur did not hesitate. He plunged his scimitar into the open mouth. Blood oozed out to mix with bile. The reptile took two more steps forward before it stopped, shook its head, and lay still.

Valgur reached down to pull the scimitar out of its mouth, but recoiled when he saw what the venom was doing to the metal. "Fascinating," he said. "A shame to lose a good sword."

Picaro still hung clinging to the vine, his heart pumping thoroughly in his chest. Valgur scowled at him. "What ye go running off for."

"It was the insects, then I tripped," said Picaro. He looked around for the foot he had seen. "There. By that bush. A man's leg."

Valgur went to inspect the scene. "It’s old, but not that old. This foot didn't belong to no local. Looks to me of a free man."

"Patmos?" said Picaro curiously.

Valgur raised an eyebrow. "Say, could be. But ain't enough left of him to tell. Maybe this lizard got him."

"What is it? A dragon?"

"Ain't no dragon, boy. You’ll never see a dragon yer life,” said Valgur, laughing so heartily that a tear welled up in his eye. “Ain’t no dragon, but dangerous nonetheless. What you still doing up there? We got ground to make."

Picaro thought to descend, but something else occurred to him. "I have an idea. Why don't I climb to the canopy and tell you what I see?"

"Not a bad idea. Go on then. Be quick about it."

Picaro gabbed hold of a nearby branch and hoisted himself along, then up the trunk to the top of the tree. It was taller than those near it, just enough for him to peak his head above the canopy. He looked out across the island. They were on the top of a short hill, but it was enough of a vantage point to see the ocean twinkling blue from the other side of the island. He could see the evidence of the other groups moving methodically through the forest, the branches rustling to mark their passing. They were moving deeper inland, where all the boy could see was the steep green of the jungle forest.

Then he saw, in the distance, a rocky outcropping just beyond the fringe of the forest. It rose like a mountain, and it seemed in days past that some of the stone had fallen away from the side of the ridge. "I think I see something," said Picaro.

There was something peculiar about it, something that did not seem like a natural phenomenon. And then, there, just visible to the eye from afar, was something etched into the rockface. It was partway up the ridge, just to the side of the cavern that had been created by the stone which had broken away. He could not make it out, but he believed it to be some kind of symbol. He marked the place in his memory and got down from his perch.

"Well, what is it?" said Valgur.

"Looks like the result of a landslide, but there's something weird about. I think I see something carved into the rockface."

"Aye, whats that then? Take me to it," said Valgur.

The trek to the ruins led the sun high overhead, and the heat was sweltering. They were drenched in sweat when they arrived at the base of the ruins. Valgur drew out the key and held it up to inspect the inscription, comparing it to the stone carving. It depicted the scene of a whale surfacing, and what might have been a gold coin hovering just above its mouth. The beast had risen from the sea in an attempt to swallow it.

"Oi. By it all, lad, this is it.”