They Sang for That Island E-Book

Jani Ojala

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: New Sand for Old Glass
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 291

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

It's 1887 and Marshall Marston is hiding from some sour after-effects of the American Civil War with his family in Mexico. He decides to impart wisdom on his oldest son and heir, Lori. These are turbulent times, the South has gone crazy and only further South, is where the misunderstood family can regroup and get their last chance at redemption. These are the beginnings of the Marston-dynasty, and of their control over the magical entity, the Absolution-Spear. As the journey points them southwards, Lori and his friend Gonzo Rains set sail for the Saboga-island in Panama. This island has been devastated by a terrible wave, and little life is left. Life, that the sailors see as a new prospect; new resources up for collecting. But they have only learned what the tide has taken away; they will take years to understand just what has survived. It's been over a thousand years since the events of WHAT MYNOS SAW, and the Seers are helpless when they watch a lightning hit the Earth from the Moon. What begins from a chase down in the Mexican forests, sets the stage for a battle where lives and entire lineages are at-stake. During this years-long pursuit for power, a battle is fought with bullets, betrayals, spears and conspiracies. Two families are in a race for an absolute prize and their offspring are born into this race. Their children grow up in this race. They wear crowns, and wield weapons that hold such power they couldn't conceive of, even if it was explained... And the island sees it all.

Leseprobe

Jani’s books:

Coleman-Tarinat (2014)Coleman-Tarinat 2 (2014)Artner-Enkelin Multinotaatti (2014)Ylipurema (2015)Ice Road(Oulunsalo Fiction, Pt. 1) (2016)Talisman(Oulunsalo Fiction, Pt. 2) (2017)Helicopters(Oulunsalo Fiction, Pt. 3) (2019)Oulunsalo Fiction: The Complete Trilogy (2019)The Oulunsalo Gallery (2019)The Coleman Stories (2020)The Top 100 Albums of the 2010s (2021)Overbite: Notes of a Summer in Captivity (2021)The Top 100 Albums of the 1960s (2022)Broken Shadows: New Sand for Old Glass, Part One (2022)What Mynos Saw: New Sand for Old Glass, Prequel #1 (2023)They Sang for That Island: New Sand for Old Glass, Prequel #2 (2023)

Saaren painajainen was the name of the first story I ever wrote. I was 10 years old.

CONTENTS

FIRST WORDS – by Adrian Marston

1887

1882 – ”A Life”

1884 – ”A Life”

1867 – ”A Life”

1908

1910

1913

1923

LAST WORDS – by Adrian Marston

FIRST WORDS

My name is Adrian Marston. My father was Lori, and I have two brothers Kenneth (older), and Stanley (younger). Kenneth has one son – Otis – at the time of me writing this.

You will see no mention of me or my brothers in this story, or any other story we’ll tell. This is the story that I may not have wanted to tell you about my father – but that needed to be told.

When it comes to us three brothers, we have all realized what a treasured lineage we belong to. Writing down this family’s great deeds is a much more valuable use of our time than maintaining little kingdoms on little islands. No matter the Absolute power we have. We HAVE to know, that later generations will know about us.

That’s why Ken always called us the ”archivers of Marston-glory”. Ken said, that his son can conquer lands again, just like his father did. But he will be the one that makes sure, great men in our family will KNOW what they are holding, when they hold the Absolution-Spear. The Marston-family’s destiny, duty, responsibility, and PROMISE TO THE SKIES.

Our generation is the storytellers. Or, WAS the storytellers, when you read this story.

Kenneth was always heir to the Absolution-Spear. A weapon that wipes life off of every living thing it interacts with. It also manipulates the fate of what happens to that living organism’s CORE and ESSENCE – when it is a person. It is a power that can be controlled only by the strong wills of Marstons.

I was never to inherit our family’s heirloom. It passed from Lori to Ken. When Ken dies, Otis will gain possession.

Ken says this is our responsibility. To tell these stories. Ken also says that we will win no glories, defeat no great enemies, but we will make sure the future-generations NEVER FORGET my father. NEVER FORGET THE SACRIFICES HE HAD TO MAKE FOR THIS POWER.

Ken thinks that telling the story, of how the GREATEST power IN THE WORLD was bestowed to ONE family, should be done ”a certain way”.

A way that favors Lori.

But I see things different.

I see that Lori was a human being as well. Lori was not a character, even though he grew up to affect the lives of future-generations. He was a GREAT man… But complicated.

Ken didn’t want me to tell this story this way. But if this is the only story I make – I, the second son – it will be worth it because THIS STORY, will show what my father was REALLY like.

The reason I’m writing this story is that I caught a wooden doll on a fishing-net one day. There was writing in it.

”Merry Christmas Mom. I love you.

Dennis Rains, 1908”.

I showed it to my father – who’s now an old man – and he still remembered.

He remembered a family called Rains, and a former friend from the past, who turned into an enemy.

The man I was named after.

Chapter 1

That(Lori Marston)

April 1887

SABOGA, PANAMA

It was rising.

The Pacific Ocean had been conjuring up this wave for some amount of time, and people of the village on the coast of Saboga had no knowledge. They’d heard the earth shake this morning, but to call off all daily routine just because of that would be ludicrous. Yesterday, at this time, people were doing what they do. Some going on about their work, some tending to their homes, some being too sick to do either thing or some being too small to live a regular life yet.

Today, bells were ringing at the town’s center-tower as loudly as they could. Warning of a great danger that requires immediate attention; most of the village’s people knew that a tidal wave was really the most likely concern.

Lo’ and behold, it was rising. Only one look to the coast, would give any resident the clear, quick and uncomplicated affirmation to their suspicion; this is a giant wave.

Big carriages on wheels were packing up with people – the ones who’d be deemed inept at running. There were only some horses kept by this town’s successful farmers, and for the most part everything went amicably, in terms of letting the sick and the elderly on-board first. Some seats were stolen, two people killed by getting them trampled under riled horses’ hooves, but this beach-village on the Panamanian island, pulled it together.

It wasn’t enough though. This wave was unike anything any resident had seen in their lives. This wave, was running through the entire island destroying trees and buildings, nevermind people, in its’ path. Likely none of them knew before, that water could get that high, and the island was so small in area that it got covered all the way. Through and through.

There weren’t many cave-systems in Saboga; the ones that there were, would not be public information because the group of travelers that’d discovered them, were weary of a danger just like this. Nature’s anger just like this. Raging water was already washing away all those people that’d successfully ran away from the town. Screams of agony and mortal fright could fill up the ears of people dwelling in these caves, for safety, but they would not ever share where they were. Not even when a child’s scream was heard, from the soil over the cave-roof, screaming for help with what objectively was their last force. It was survival of the fittest. This cave was the only place where water couldn’t enter in such an insurmountable amount. This was the only place where something could be done in this kind of a disaster.

But nothing was. Because that would risk the lives of the only people who had a remote change to survive this. Everybody was dying, everybody that they knew and didn’t know, from back home, was getting killed.

In this cave there were crevaces, prepared for water-flows. In this cave there were four survivors. Four men, whose consciences couldn’t be said that much about. They’d just heard an entire people, an entire islands’s inhabitants be taken out with such force and frighteningly natural ferocity – without rhyme or reason – and they couldn’t allow anyone into their cave which was their solution. Not even if it was the most discreet person imaginable, not even if it was a beautiful woman. Nobody, nobody’s family even gets in. That’s what Homer, Ernest, Archie and George agreed upon. Because one person could be seen by another person, as they were rescued. That person could see a third person, and that third person could be too slow to get in and the water could fill up the cave and everybody could drown. No, this wasn’t about wanting or not wanting to save lives. This was about doing the bare minimum; holding on to the four lives everybody knew could be saved.

The four men’s solution worked.

They might’ve just killed them all, by not letting them in.

But yet, nobody would’ve survived if even the first person was allowed in. This, the men knew, in their broken minds.

Nothing would ever be the same after this day.

ZIHUATANEJO, MEXICO

A 23-year-old man called Lori Marston took a seat inside the dining-hall of luxurious living-premises.

On the opposite side of the ivory-table, stood his accomplished father Marshall Marston at perfect posture. It seemed like serious discussion was about to unfold; cups of wine were in front of each, and the father had made sure beforehand that nobody else is in this room, and nobody else in proximity could possibly come and interrupt them. He had that type of authority. — Father.

Lori knew not to ask direct questions from his army-bigshot father, because living to this age had taught him that the directness of the answer would most likely never be what he looked for. It fascinated the younger man often; but usually just frustrated him.

He knew however that this leave to Mexico, that the family took from the United States years ago, was about something that Marshall particularly didn’t like to discuss.

Lori had been thinking for quite some time, while his father looked at a paper and wrote one sentence there. He had sat down at one point without Lori realizing. The son couldn’t discern what it was the father was writing – and to whom – but it made him look busy.

— I wanted to be here alone with you, Lori, because you’re the heir to everything I will pass down after my journey here ends. And I don’t know when it will end. Whenever that time comes – near or far – and whether they’ll write about me… remains to be seen. I asked you here because you’re enough of a man already to hear these things. Appreciate this reality. There was a war. A war with real weapons and real death. My side won, but the rest was… controversial. War is more than you read in your history-books. Only a percentage of the actual events of war, ever get written down, and it’s always the winner who gets to write them.

— ”Father…” Lori was fully aware that all he was doing was repeating one single word, while his father had a world of things to say… but he found it difficult to do anything else.

He felt like a child again.

He hated that feeling, and made it as though something had just gotten stuck in his throat, clearing it and continuing:

— …Death comes for all of us. Do you want to tell me what crime exactly they’re accusing you of?

— ”Why? Why do you wish to know that?” Lori could clearly tell that his dad was pulling away from the question.

— I know you, I know what is true and what isn’t. You have fighting-men, don’t you? Sworn guards around the premises? We will keep this stronghold, and we will hold fast. I am your son, yes, but as you already said, enough of a man to pick up arms.

— I never wanted you to pick up arms. I wanted you to do that as little as possible, ever throughout your life. Men in battle are the ones that fall, for the sake of someone else’s story being told. — I promise you, father, our family will write the histories! But… for us to do so, I’d need to know the accusations.

Lori could tell that his father liked what he was hearing. Not just the words, but the voice carrying them… Lori knew he was about to hear one of those direct answers again.

— They’re accusing me of spying on my own side and trading information with the Confederation when it really looked like the war was going to end in their favor. This is punishable by death. I fear, Lori, that my days are numbered. But it is not late for you to do all those things you just promised me. Will you remember the promise?

— ”I will.” The authority and might in Lori’s voice made the air boom. ”Through death, through storms and rising tides I will carry the promise with me, father.”

Lori was getting a look from across this expensive table – which only stood in the dining-area to establish that these are indeed wealthy folks staying here.

I was here.

He watched back, as Marshall quickly examined him, then admired his spirit, then inhaled and exhaled and it became nigh-impossible for Lori to predict the next thing he’d say:

— You need to understand that life is full of storms and tides. You might know what they look like, but you haven’t been in one. Lori… you’re my eldest child, you might be the last to carry the Marston-name, or I might be. A whole country’s gone crazy just now, and it isn’t gonna be safe for years. Nobody knows what the future holds. And no matter how in-control you are, how complete the mission looks, how sage your advisors and clear your mind… there is always something, someone, up there, watching.

— ”Who’s that?” Lori asked a question that he thought sounded stupid.

Marshall didn’t, though. He took it seriously, turned to look behind and pointed his hand – pointer-finger-first – out from the dining-hall’s window and to the moon. Its’ white rays came through the clouds, green on the other edge of what could be seen and blue on the other; forming a gradient-color somewhere in between.

Chapter 2

Saboga(Homer and Ernest Pomroy, Gonzo Rains, Lori Marston)

SABOGA

A MONTH LATER:

May-flowers were being trampled under the steps of one foot, as two brothers, Homer and Ernest Pomroy walked along a path.

Never veering off too far to the side from known, established trails that lead back to the cave – the cave… our default home – Homer silently understood that he was the more gifted one when it came to directions. Or at least, that’s what playing together as children in these forests, had taught him.

— We really are out of games to play, aren’t we brother?

— ”Since mother and father were swiped away by that wave… yes.” Homer could tell that Ernest was swallowing some of his abundant sadness, even though a majority-melancholic tone of voice could not have been avoided. He’s been like this for a while.

Ernest looked good, with black hair, white clothes and a necklace made from a seashell. Good physique, too, lots of things to do on a daily basis, but there was a walk about the brother that demonstrated to anyone within eye-sight, that the left knee was recovering from a bad injury. He was younger than Homer, by only some years – years whose difference was more diluted after they’d both reached 20. Both started living our own lives, even though we live in the same place… And what lives. Washed away, ruined and re-set.

— There’s probably not gonna be any more families in here anymore. We’re the last two Americans and George hunts so much, so long into the night… it seems like all he wants to do is work.

— ”We all want to forget. We all had everything irrevocably changed.” Homer used a big word, and thought he’d have to clear up what it meant.

— ”Ain’t gonna be no mothers or fathers. Probably not too much in way of rescuers either. Nobody might even know. Or they might. Then they’ll see this and think about it as too much work to clean up. And I don’t blame ’em. They’ll probably figure it was our choice to get wiped away out here anyway.” Ernest said something he had been preparing to say. He knew the word his brother had used by context; by heart.

His brother could tell he had regrets on his mind.

— Do you still think about those screams a lot?

Ernest didn’t answer.

— I asked you--

— ”FUCK!” Earnest interrupted, screaming and turning to grab his brother by the collar. ”THOSE VOICES! We never see George anymore, he stays up so late in the woods because he wants us to go to sleep so he won’t scream us awake! He STILL SCREAMS! He just doesn’t remember it! Nobody wants to tell him that all he does is scream and talk in circles while he sleeps.”

— ”I know that, Ernie”, Homer didn’t know what else to say. He was lifted up into the air by the collar. The situation forced some speech although he was mostly out of resources in that area.

— How do you fix it?

— Why should we fix this island? We didn’t make that wave crash here.

— It killed us just as much as it killed everyone that’s no longer breathing! I still hear their screams, they all still scream in my head and my heeeh-eh-hea-he-heeh.

Those stutters forced Ernest into stopping what he was doing with his hands, tumbling down into fetus-position into the ground and crying – bawling at the tragedy he had no way to explain or make right or justify or nothing. It happened for no reason. All of this was just reaction to the mass of lives being lost; though he was sad, he never even began to confront the fact that his 6-year-old son had been one of them.

Homer put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, unbothered by that earlier nasty physical contact. As if it never happened at all. It was what he needed to do so he could cry.

— We all need to cry and scream, to get that fucking shit out of our system but I don’t regret it for a day that we took cover in that cave. Neither does George, neither does Archie. We’re all in this together! You and me are walking back to town, and whatever haunting things we see there – however many corpses, bones, blood--

Ernest stopped his brother again by swinging his fist. It was futile, he didn’t land the punch, and didn’t care to try it again. Ernie’s moves became slobbery like a drunk’s; Homer had no idea whether he’d started thinking about his son for the first time.

— It will all be alright in the end. This just happened to happen. It just happened to happen to us. We’re gonna make it through this and a year from now, there’ll be less nightmares.

— How the fuck do you know?

— Because my mom promised me. And he promised you. Remember? When we were little? She said all our nightmares go away. That wave has gone away. There’s no need to live in it anymore.

— Mom always favored you more than me.

Homer didn’t answer, instead walking the way he was walking on the path. After thirty seconds of walking, he allowed himself for the first time to turn back and look – only now sure, that tears won’t shoot out of his eyes this time – and Ernest was following him indeed.

— ”It will all be alright in the end. It will all be alright in the end.” Homer mumblingly told himself – not sure if he really believed.

Out on the waters of the Pacific – close enough to see land anyways – a 23-year-old man named Gonzo Rains steered a big wooden ship.

He had a good outer appearance about him, he knew but didn’t wanna overstate. This certainty was imprinted by the wind’s forceful impact on his glowing skin and his hair – long and blond, with sides that used to be short so they don’t connect to top-knots when he ties it up. Wind like this would particularly roughly cause the inconveniently-long side-hairs on Gonzo’s head, to get erect. Long, but not long enough to tie together with the back of the-- hair of the back of the head. My only flaw. He smiled.

He was at the wheel and although minimal work was required to make the sailboat do anything – the shore of the Island of Saboga was in plain sight – he still felt a little bit glorious standing there at the wheel.

His ship-crew’s leader, Lori Marston was approaching him on the deck. Just as Gonzo had imagined he would. Just moments before hitting the shore he’s coming to the wheel and looking all-preoccupied… it’s no wonder the captain would wanna come in here and look like he’s doing a captain’s job, right at these important moments and after all those boring sea-miles when I was the only one steering the thing.

Why do I concern myself with what I look like, or anybody looks like? Isn’t the whole point of being a crew, that ”if you don’t look good, I don’t look good”? Maybe. I also don’t need to think about that right now.

Lori approached the helm, having walked past Maeka the rudderman. Good guy, from his town. Lori had high esteem for this fairly-quickly-gathered crew and everyone that’s in it. And on top of that I really needed this sea-breeze today…

He saw Gonzo, who’d been steering the ship for the last third of this sea-leg. A pale-featehred waterbird flew by – it was a precious piece of this atmosphere and its’ ambiance to Lori, but he didn’t feel like looking too emotional right now, and shoved the thought away.

Gonzo was Lori’s age, a former classmate of his. Somehow, in a way, he was the subject of much more appreciation – even admiration at some moments – by Lori. Had leadership-quality.

Gonzo was understanding to step down from the roost now, though.

— ”Here’s the wheel, captain.” Gonzo had no confusion about the fact this is a mere gesture to him; anybody could’ve been on the wheel for these last moments, but it just needed to be Lori. That Marston-pride… hey, let’s focus on better things. We’re here at last, and might get something other than fucking bread to eat.

— ”Aye aye.” Said Lori – noticing that the way it came out sounded tired and worn-out, but not minding. It’s formal enough.

Nothing else was said between the two old friends. They both knew what needed to happen next.

Half an hour later, all six crew-mates aboard the ship had come down and landed on the Sabogan sands. It didn’t take long for the coastal village – devastated by the tidal wave a month ago – to catch everybody’s eyes. How devastated it indeed looked. How wrong. How post-apocalyptic.

To Gonzo’s surprise, he saw two men approaching on-foot. Two men that looked eerily similar to each other but had different styles they walked in. Somebody survived that? was first in a list of silent questions Rains asked himself. This was all new to him, and he expected himself to have questions about a whole slew of other stuff, but no this sufficed.

— ”Who are you?” Ernest Pomroy asked Gonzo and Lori, who’d approached at the same time.

Homer stood behind his brother, calmly observing. He saw that Lori was the first to answer as if that question had been directed to nobody else at all:

— ”Just came to see the kind of wreckage that’s going on here…” Lori tasted his words as they came out with a proud low tamber. ”This is just as bad as the stories have said.”

— ”Where are you from?” Homer piped in before Ernest could make a follow-up-question.

— ”Mexico.” Said Gonzo Rains, with a matter-of-fact tone. He caught a curious look into the eyes from Homer, then from Ernest, but didn’t pay mind to either. ”We’re not governmentofficials, but not pirates either. We’re just on an expedition… and we need food.”

— ”Well that’s good for you”, Ernest replied, ”because had you been coming to loot this island you would be even more disappointed than you are now. There’s nothing here – not even women.”

— ”Alright, I’m going back to turn the ship around boss!” Another shipmate – Ollie – made a cavalliere crack, to which Gonzo was the first to laugh.

Lori was feeling serious. Too serious to laugh. Night had set fast – too fast for his taste, and he didn’t like it the more close to the equator he got. Seems to only polarize the sun and how quickly it goes down. I don’t like it. I wanna see this place for what it’s worth and get the fuck outta here.

After thinking that thought, he saw that Gonzo and the slightly-taller brother – Ernest, who he didn’t remember the name of; but could tell he was the brother of that man right beside him – were striking up a conversation that seemed nice and comfortable. There’s a certain gleam in a man’s eyes when he’s caught up in nice, well-flowing conversation – even better when it is peppered with a sense of relief. Lori believed that he sees that in men.

Gonzo laughed at Ernest Pomroy, the brother of Homer Pomroy – who had peculiar-sounding surnames… but I suppose I’ve heard stranger ones in my life – because the recent joke he’d made, about baking your own bread, had delighted him so much.

Lori had missed the joke.

His eyes were fixated on the open sea, the ocean, above which was a clear view of the moon. The moon was almost full. He remembered what his father had said to him about the moon, just five days before an American cavalry came and executed Marshall Marston for his alleged war-crimes.

”And no matter how in-control you are, how complete the mission looks, how sage your advisors and clear your mind… there is always someone up there watching.”

Chapter 3

Bullets from Windows(Ollie Rubio, Gonzo, Lori)

Days had passed, morning had come.

Ollie Rubio raised an eyebrow. He’d woken up at this hold of the ship – refusing to take refuge along with the big huddling bunch of shipmates, in those small village-huts where you don’t go to sleep to dream.

His discomforts were too many to count, his neck most pressing. He didn’t know how to put any of them – or subsequent feelings – quite into words. It was all at the tip of the tongue.

He opted to yawning loudly – alarm-settingly. He knew his buddy would hear him.

— ”You’re up.” Ollie’s buddy, Maeka, kinda just stated because he was caught by surprise.

— ”Have you already started getting her sea-ready?” Ollie referred to this big boat. I’ve got no intention of stayin on this shitty island, but I guess Gonzo and Lori haven’t told me about any plans but still I will not let a day gone by-- no,go by, fuck-where leaving this place is not my first thought.

Ollie forgot what he was talking about.

— Yeah pretty much all the work that there is to do – silently – is done.

— You’re doing this in secret from Marston, huh?

— No, why would you float an idea like that? We gotta follow our captain! Plus he helped us.

— ”Yeah yeah, I know.” Ollie didn’t care. ”Where’s my bun?”

— Bun?

— Yeah, top-knot. Bun. Hair-tie. I’m tired.

— You’re holding it in your hand.

Ollie was holding it in his hand.

He looked at it and physically resisted laughing at himself for a solid three seconds. Don’t wanna come off silly to Maeka here and now I still gotta--

— ”I took a bath yesterday”, Ollie interrupted his own thoughts, via words escaping his mouth. His eyes were caught on a lantern whose black stains all over the glass – poor construction – obstructed half the light it was supposed to shed.

— ”Oh you did?” Maeka answered with an ironic remark:

”That’s good that you remember to do that too sometimes.”

— Yeah I was really really scrubbing these things and getting them caught up between my fingers constantly, time after time. Just, had to be really fucking precise. You know how hard it is to blow long wet hairs out from between your wet fingers?

— No, but I know you’ve sat up now and that’s good because I need your help lifting that crate once I get up from here.

— ”Well it is really hard, Myke.” Ollie decided to pretend he didn’t hear that.

— Oh yeah? Harder than lifting that crate?

— What crate? I’m sorry, I’ve got this sickness that doesn’t allow my ears to hear it when people tell me to work.

— ”That’s funny, you’re funny.” Maeka said, so plainly nobody could have told if he meant what he said or not.

It sounded nice-enough for Ollie anyway.

— When are you gonna tell Lori you’re preparing to get this ship into the water again?

— Lori knows already, you thick fuck!

— Oh! You told him?

— We’re not betraying Lori and leaving him on this island, relax with all that.

— Aye aye, sailor.

— You’re so fucking annoying.

— I’m annoying? Try getting these long hairs out of your asshole when you’re done bathing and your whole body is finally dry and you realize your asshole is full of long hairs.

HALF AN HOUR LATER ON THAT SLOW MORNING, Gonzo Rains was running hurried steps along a tight hallway inside the ship.

He really needed to see somebody quick, because something isn’t right. He’d seen everybody else this morning, except Ollie and Maeka. The only place left to look is this ship, the sleepingplaces here.

— ”Ollie get out on deck, right away, and take as many arrows as you can!” Gonzo gave an order to his buddy who barely had time to react, before it was on.

This hut was small, there’s a window in it but only for smokeletting purposes. The roof was black as tar at some points, there was freshly-baked bread on the counter, which Maeka was seated on. The good kind of bread, since these villagers were able to harvest yeast and that just elevates-- no. Gonzo stopped his random thought-process and left the host – assuming that Ollie and Maeka had heard his order and were automatically going to follow it.

He started taking running-steps.

Gonzo got off the boat and to the beach where there was an angry man. Not one he knew prior, but an islander. George.

— ”That’s how it starts. This is how it starts!” George exclaimed – clearly beside himself and looking hostile. ”First it’s the pets for meat, then little suppliances here and there from people’s houses in the village. You’re here to pirate our home! Only you think we won’t NOTICE IT WHEN YOU DO IT QUIETLY!”

This was what Gonzo had gotten Ollie and Maeka to guard the ship for. George had been following him, and accusing him of all matter of transgressions and such things. Where the fuck is Lori right now? He should be the one responsible for us, Gonzo barely had time to wonder.

— Whose pet? And I don’t know what my guys do out here at night but they have strict instructions when to get home and they abide because home is the only place they’re allowed to keep their liquor.

— Go shit in your hat! Archie’s tiger hasn’t been seen since last night and he comes back from his hunts like clockwork! You could set a clock to it!

— A tiger?! One of yous has a tiger and you never told us!?

— ”We never thought we’d need to fight you with it!” George answered Gonzo’s bafflement with more hostility.

— And you didn’t think it might have gone feral in this environment?

— ”I’ve had enough of your words!” George was more serious with every syllable his mouth pronounced. He drew out steel from his holster, beginning to back Gonzo up into the ship where he came in from and coming at him with that spear, intent to kill.

Gonzo backed up and drew a door shut right on time for something to hit it, strong and decisive enough to take off a board. The next half-a-second provided Mr. Rains with a choice, to either oipen the door and get that spear or run back in the ship where there is help. He was too slow to think that thought through, however, and knew that this is already too much time and he’s getting that back. I’m gonna get poked if I don’t run.

He followed his heart’s desire, and went inside, running thru those klaustrophobic, monotonous wooden hallways this time like his life – in fact – was depending on it.

Ollie had set up everything and had his eyes locked on the beach – that angry island-man was too tightly under the cover of the ship’s deck to get a good shot at him – pounding on the door and trying to take it down – and Ollie just knew that this fight was about to get more up-close-and-personal before it could end.

He saw that Gonzo had run up to see him.

— ”Did he break the door yet?” Maeka was asking Gonzo – intentionally instead of if he is okay. There’s no time for pointless questions like that.

— No but he might have done that as I say these words. He’s got a spear, and looked like a dagger as well! Get ready and load, there’s a good chance he didn’t see you two up here.

— ”Don’t worry boss, we’ll kill him.” Ollie said, drawing bow’s string with determination, and realizing after just five seconds that he called Gonzo Rains boss – even though Lori Marston is the man manning this ship – and didn’t even really know why.

Didn’t have time to fix the phrasing, though; or even give another thought to it.

He saw Maeka take a spear to the chest. Caving in so badly, with such hard knockback-force, that it took all patience within Ollie to take those two seconds he needed to aim. To aim.

Island-man George was here. He was drawing a blade after that successful lethal spear-throw on one shipmate. Ollie let go of bow’s string and sunk an arrow right into the eye, with confidence and precision. George had suffered knockback, too – not enough to fall like the man he’d just hit with a heavy spear, but enough to drop his dagger from his hand and produce agonized sounds.

That, gave Ollie enough time to lock in his arrow again and take a shot. This one went into George’s throat. George died choking on his last breaths, and it was almost instant, his blood pouring out on the wooden deck – some of it surely leaking downstairs from the crevices