THE JARL AND THE PIRATE

Corneal, as he insisted we call him, led us down a hall and through a doorway into a parlor. Paneled in oak like the rest of the first floor, it boasted thick drapes of red velvet over the windows and furniture upholstered in the same. As we entered, the room’s two occupants rose to their feet.

The first was an old human, his hair quite obviously dyed black, sporting a dark mustache trimmed to look like a pair of levers on either side of his upper lip. His weathered face had wrinkles so deep I doubted the bottoms ever saw the light of day.

The Eldarion beside him, wearing a suit tailored for his frame, was far older, judging from the ear spirals drooping forward. He had streaks of white hair among his blond, which in their race signaled approaching death.

His face remained ageless. “A pleasure to finally meet all of you,” he said in a strong voice. “Since both the winners of last year’s Ragnarök Games took my advice and joined the expedition that Mr. Stephens,” nodding in his direction, “had advertised in the Copenhagen Review, you must know who I am.”

When my grandfather glanced at Mr. Stephens, he shrugged. “While most of the trip will be underground, the last part is in an area known to be frequented by strange beasts. So, I thought, who better to take with us than warriors who had faced strangeness.”

“A good point,” my grandfather said. “Yet, would it not be more prudent to take army veterans instead?”

“Ze Maya would not permit such men to enter their lands,” the old human said. He gave us an elegant bow. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Captain Jean Lafitte of ze ship, ‘Jean Pierre’, ready to bring your expedition to Campeche City in safety.”

I stared at him with a mixture of surprise and wonder. “Jean Lafitte the pirate? The hero of the battle for New Orleans?”

“Is this a jest?” My grandfather’s eyes had narrowed. “Jean Lafitte is supposed to be dead.”

Corneal strode over and clapped the old man on the shoulder. “He’s been living in Louisiana with his mistress, the half-blood Eldarion gal who healed him over thirty years ago, until this whole business with the Confederates began.”

“Ze Confederates wanted to arrest me for Texas sympathies, so I fled and received a letter of marque from ze republic to raid Confederate ships.” He smiled at Corneal. “Messier Vanderbilt provided a ship for a share of ze profits, so when this little problem of yours came up, I said I was delighted to assist.”

Mr. Stephens asked, “Are you sure you can get us to Campeche safely?”

“Don’t worry,” Corneal said. “Jean’s got a wealth of experience and a seasoned crew of French speaking Texans, all of them armed with brand spanking new Henry repeating rifles. Shoot, we’ve even got an automaton armed with a Gatling gun, which can fire continuously as long as it keeps cranking the mechanism.”

“We are also arming ze Jean Pierre with rockets of our own, on ze chance that this airship pirate finds us.”

My grandfather’s suspicious expression remained on his face. “While I am grateful for all your concerns for our safe passage, I must note that, in my considerable experience, nothing in this life is free.”

“Then please have a seat and I will explain why we are ensuring your safety.” The Eldarion motioned towards the upholstered chairs, and we all found seats as he continued. “Before we begin, I insist everyone drop the honorific of Jarl and just call me Aran. The Olde Norse Empire has a long tradition of independence among its people, with titles being earned and not given out like party favors, along with the ingrained habit of never giving ourselves airs.”

“Then I insist you do the same for us,” my grandfather replied. Jarl Aran inclined his head as my grandfather leaned back in his chair. “So, why is a Jarl with direct ties to the royal family so interested in archeology?”

“This has far less to do with the ancient past than with saving our race. The Eldarion-Norse have maintained a stable population because Emperor Sargon rigidly enforces the laws against Terramagica, yet its influence is still creeping in around the edges of our society.”

He glanced at Catherwood for a moment. “What you have done, my friend, is the most exciting achievement for Eldarions since the Enlightenment, and I refuse to let an insane band of cultists destroy any chance for our race’s salvation. I would have funded the Jean Pierre to escort your expedition even if young Jonathan had been left alone in peace.”

“Yet, he was not,” my grandfather said, “and although Professor Alar from the University of Edinburgh provided some insights, I still do not know what the cultists hope to gain.”

“When you hear what I have to say, you will realize why your grandson is worth the trouble and far more.”

My grandfather sat up and turned towards me. “Jonathan, I want you to wait outside in the lobby.”

“Sir, this is not fair,” I protested, “I need to understand what I am.”

“He does,” Jarl Aran said before my grandfather could order me out. “Shabaka, I understand your desire to shield him from danger. However, the danger is coming after him, regardless of anything you do, and I have found that in life, the best shield against such people is knowledge.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“I have to agree with him,” Catherwood said.

“And I do not,” Captain Lafitte said. “Instead of shielding my son, Jean Pierre, I threw him out to ze wolves like I was thrown at his age. He paid for it with his life.”

My grandfather held my gaze as I held my breath. “I am not throwing my grandson to the wolves. And yet, as Aran says, the wolves are coming.” I let it out in relief as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes once more on the Eldarion. “Very well, sir, say on.”

Jarl Aran inclined his head. “To fully explain this, I need to go back to the time of the Great Rebellion. Jonathan, in school, do they still teach that, thousands of years ago, all the other races rebelled against us and threw the Eldarions down?”

“Yes sir… well, more or less. Supposedly the Ogres remained loyal and were driven into the mountains, while the Orku sided with the Koncava, and I know a few human families like ours shielded Eldarion clans and helped them survive. But otherwise, that is what we are taught.”

Jarl Aran gave me a sly smile. “History is written by those who get to their impose their version of the truth on everyone else. The Eldarion version, however, is far more interesting. The Harada family preserved many old records, and we have done archaeological research of our own, which show there were quite a few humans who still revered the Eldarions and did not want civilization to implode like it did. They wanted a way to fight back and stem the tide.

“Thus, Eldarion mages all over the world created a massive Aethyr spell we would not be able to understand, let alone create today, that altered those families, giving their blood the ability to create… not monsters, but creatures loyal to the one whose blood created them. Allies to help them with the fight.” He motioned towards me. “This is the origin of your family’s birthmark, the same birthmark carried down from generation to generation by a number of families, including the Harada’s.”

My eyes widened. “But Professor Alar said the star-cells in my blood protected me from becoming a monster… though he did admit Professor Bella might have used that Artifact hand to wake them up.”

“Yes, I understand a Hand of Shadow was used in her attack on you, and I am sure waking them up was her intent. Star-cells in all the families remain dormant until something triggers a reaction, which for some reason known only to the ancients, has something to do with the birthmark. Have you seen what your star-cells look like?”

“He saw the drawings my friend Catherwood made under an eye-scope,” Mr. Stephens said, giving my grandfather a pointed look.

My grandfather frowned at Mr. Stephens as Jarl Aran said, “Then let me explain how it works. Star-cells in your blood, or for example, Sargon’s son, Prince Dernhelm’s, work to protect both of you from invaders, no matter what. However, when a small amount of Prince Dernhelm’s blood is placed in a medium of liquefied Aethyr, then mixed with a compound containing a catalyst called in old Norse, Blod Skapning, the prince’s star-cells are transformed by the catalyst in the compound. Once injected into a human, over time they transmute the human’s normal blood cells into cells much different than the original ones. The physical changes begin soon after.”

I struggled to comprehend what he was saying. “Sir, you are telling me my birthmark is like Prince Dernhelm’s?”

“The only thing I am saying is that your star-cells can be used to change men into creatures. Beyond this, I do not know, because your birthmark was created in a different way.”

He shifted in his chair to look at my grandfather. “Let me explain the spell in a way a man of business would understand. As an analogy, let us compare Aethyr energy to gold Sovereigns. I am considered the most powerful mage in our empire, yet the greatest amount of Sovereigns I have in reserve is about ten or so. Even the Eldarion-Pict Merlyn, considered the strongest mage since the fall of our ancestor’s thrones, had no more than one hundred, if you believe the wildest legends told about him. My guess is somewhere between fifty and seventy-five. However, each of the spells to create the birthmarks used one thousand Sovereigns at the very least, and possibly several thousand.”

Jarl Aran nodded at our expressions of surprise. “There is more. Humans, for reasons no one understands today, act like a bank does for the gold Sovereigns you deposit, accruing interest. Now, in every family except the Goldspears, Sovereigns were taken out at the beginning and throughout history, the remainder still making interest but not as much, until the fund was depleted or the family died out to the last member.”

Mr. Stephens gasped. “The Inquisition used to examine witches for the mark of the evil one, as it was known in those days.”

“That is one example. Most of the families with the birthmark were killed off at various times and in various cultures, due to fear. Even in families like the Harada, the amount of Sovereigns is almost depleted. Dernhelm is Sargon’s youngest son, and while the emperor and the older children have very little ability, he has much more, as if the remaining balance was transferred to him. None of Sargon’s grandsons have the birthmark.”

“I understand your analogy,” my grandfather said, “yet fail to understand why our family is different.”

“Think of it as a Trust fund. The Eldarion Nile-Mandrake clan’s ancestors did not think they could stem the tide; rather, they wanted to do whatever they could to preserve their family. Think of it. Alone among all the Eldarions and humans who sided with them, those who eventually became the kings of Nubia put their family first. That is why Jonathan is different. He is the Nile-Mandrake clan’s revenge for their destruction.”

My grandfather’s eyes widened. “Aran, a thousand or more Sovereigns at what percent interest?”

Jarl Aran leaned back in his chair with his elbows on the upholstered arms and his hands folded. “That is the question no one knows the answer to. Sargon’s blood yielded men little different from the condemned criminals offered a chance to fight for their life, while Dernhelm’s blood gives us larger creatures with strange appendages, fur, fangs, and so forth, who survive the process more often than they die. Imagine what kind of creatures Jonathan’s blood will yield.”

Fear grabbed me by the throat, and it must have shown on my face because he leaned forward in his chair. “I understand how terrible this must seem, yet consider this: every monster created by the blood of someone bearing the birthmark, is loyal to the one whose blood created it. Dernhelm, who is something of a gentle soul, treats them as his children, and the creatures follow him around like puppies.”

His eyes, blue as the sky on a deep winter day, locked onto mine. “Jonathan, of all of us, you alone have nothing to fear. Whatever your blood creates belongs to you.”

When the Confederate states were allowed to secede from the Union, it stirred up a lot of anger which Lincoln used to propel himself into the White House. Had Texas not decided to secede from the rest of the Confederacy, or if the Confederacy had let them go rather than provoking a fight, there would not have been a valid reason for the Union to go to war.

Machiavelli once wrote ‘Wars begin when you will, but do not end when you please’. The Confederacy believed they could whip the Texans well before Lincoln took office, but had not counted on the Union secretly supplying the Texas republic, or the staunch courage of the Texas soldiers. Once he had won the election, Lincoln crafted an alliance treaty with the republic that went into effect the day he was sworn in.

The following day, articles of war against the Confederacy were formally drawn up.