The Legend of the Phantom (16 page)

Having dropped the man at the fringe of the jungle the captain turned his attention to the woman. Growling he lunged at her, eyes ablaze with hatred, yet knowing he couldn’t kill her… yet.

Miya, frantically searched for escape and instead caught sight of Christopher as he leapt from the jungle fringe.

As Christopher broke out of the jungle, all he could focus on were the two at the edge of the ravine. He cared little whether there were other dangers around. Even as he rushed forward, he could see the captain advancing toward his wife… gaining ground until the captain was finally able to tackle Miya to the ground.

Red flashed through Christopher’s eyes as new energy pulsated through his veins. Rushing forward he passed
the fallen form of Pierre. Without a backwards glance at the fallen man he launched onward, his entire attention focused upon his beautiful wife… and the captain he vowed to kill.

“Christopher!” she screamed out, pulling away from the pirate captain, dodging him as he tried again to grab her. The name of the pirate captain’s nemesis caused him to halt his advance long enough to see if Christopher were yet still alive. Unbelieving, he spotted Christopher bearing down on him, acting as if he never were shot.

An expletive escaped his lips as he missed the girl and fell forward, catching himself on the edge of the ravine.

Miya used the chance moment to break away and raced quickly toward Christopher.

Quick as a cat, the captain rolled with the fall and pulled himself back upright and was after her in a flash.

Christopher was close, but the captain was faster, and diving for Miya, brought her down just yards in front of the other.

Bringing out his sword, he pulled one of the girl’s arms tight across his chest pulling it hard behind her, and swinging his sword out he laid it across her throat.

Christopher came up short, pulling his sword out as he did so. “You will eventually have to kill me, pirate, if you want to live long enough to get your gold back,” he said as he came closer to the pair.

“True,” the pirate captain replied.

“Then come out from behind the skirts of my wife, and show some steel,” he taunted.

“Perhaps I won’t need to,” replied the captain, grinning wickedly as Miya’s eyes widened. “It appears that the tide has turned.” Then
, indicating behind Christopher, the pirate called out, “Pierre! Come join us!”

Walking forward, Pierre waved about his pistol. With his other hand he clutched his hat to his side as he made his way to the trio, blood oozing from
it, as he used it to cover the area where he had been shot.

His eyes unglazed and glazed over again as he recognized each in turn, “Miya… Christopher… Captain.”
His eyes hardened as he repeated the names of each. Pierre cocked the pistol. Swinging it around, he took aim at Christopher.

“Drop your sword Christopher,” sang out the pirate captain with glee. “It is over for you!”

Realizing he had no other option for the moment, Christopher spread his fingers from the hilt. As he did so, the sword gently pulled away from his hand and gravity pulled it down.  

The point dropped into the ground and stuck there as Pierre advanced. Waving Christopher aside, Pierre reached down and snatched up his weapon.

The pirate captain, certain of his superior position, began moving the girl back to the edge of the ravine, in an attempt to find some way across.

But the movement sparked something in Pierre’s eyes.
With it his mind cleared for the moment and he realized why he recognized the captain. With an accusatory wave of the pistol, said, “You tied me up to the tree. You left me for dead.”

The captain realized the man had regained a bit of his senses and started to worry. Quickly he lied, “No! You have me wrong! He is the enemy. Christopher is!
It was Christopher who tied you to the tree.”

Pierre swung the pistol back to Christopher who had been
slowly advancing toward him. He swung Christopher’s sword and Christopher took a few steps back.

“I cut you free, Pierre. I cut you free. Remember?” Christopher spread his arms, showing that he was unarmed.

“He is the enemy!” shouted the pirate captain, dragging the girl toward the fallen tree that crossed the ravine. The movement caused Pierre to swing the weapon back to towards the pirate. “Not me, you fool. Shoot him!” shouted the captain, pointing at Christopher.

“Captain Roberts,” said Pierre
in a low husky growl as recognition crossed his face. “You tried to kill me… I relieve you of your command.”

To the captain it appeared that time slowed as he watched
Pierre bring up the pistol. Even as the pistol was raised and pointed at him, wavering but not firing.

Seeing Pierre’s indecision,
Roberts let go of the girl as he grabbed at a small dagger that he had hidden in his belt. He hurled it at the Frenchman, who seeing him throw, flinched at the last second as he pulled the trigger of his weapon.

Christopher lunged forward as this act played itself out and
, realizing what the other had done, screamed, “NO!!!” as the bullet tore into his beloved’s chest, marring her incredible beauty and dimming her eyes from this earthly world forever.

As Miya collapsed
, the dagger entered Pierre’s side. His eyes widened as he realized he was a dead man. Christopher snatched the sword from Pierre’s hand as he ran screaming toward the pirate captain.

The pirate Captain Roberts grinned an evil grin as he saw the man about to die,
but then hurried backwards as he realized that Christopher was coming for him. His grin turned to a yelp and then to a scream as his footing gave way and he found himself falling over the edge.

By the time Christopher arrived on the edge of the pr
ecipice the captain’s body was nowhere to be seen, having been already carried downstream by the current of the river far below.

Turning
, Christopher returned to Miya’s side, and prostrating himself on the ground next to her, broke down into great sobs of emotion at the loss of his true love.

Chapter
20

…1535…

Christopher knew it would only be a matter of time before the pirates organized themselves enough to hunt him down. It had now been so many years since his wife’s death, and every moment of it had been in the pursuit of wiping out piracy from every shore. Even though he had a fleet of ships now to choose from, and rotated them often, the pirates had become wary; constantly on the lookout for him.  At nearly every port he used a different variation of his name, yet every one of them was his: Kit Walker, Christopher Standish, Chris Columbus, even Sir Gerald Nelson after his mother’s relatives. But every use of his various names was always with the intent of surprise. He did not desire any of the evil men to disappear without earning their just rewards. He savored the look upon their faces when his death’s head belt was recognized and they knew he was a man to be reckoned with. Yet even with all those precautions, Christopher knew his days were numbered. He felt the twinge of guilt at keeping his son with him on these later runs, but he wished to be with his son as much as possible… especially in that knowledge of his limited days.

The voyage back from
Siam started out as a joyous one. The trading had been great, the gifts to King Ramathibodi were well received and the talk between them was long.

A
s they sipped their cinnamon tea (a personal favorite of the king), conversation flowed from the dealings of King Henry to King Carl’s expanding reign from Spain through Italy and beyond to simpler topics such as travels, foods, and commerce.

Although Christopher held no poli
tical agenda, he was better informed about the world and its dealings than almost anyone else. Though not mentioned in the conversation, he could have gone on at length about any part of the world, including the newly discovered Americas. He kept up on Mendoza and his exploits in Argentina and knew about how Pizzaro was doing among the Inca as much as he kept up on the European scandals such as the twelve nude Anabaptists who ran through the streets of Amsterdam in deference to King Henry’s claims of being the Head of the Church in England and his two edicts which were issued against Anabaptists and Sacramentaries, to the social dealings of the same man with the Boleyn girl.

The conversation lasted well into the night.

The next day, Christopher found his ship had been visited by the royal guard and slaves. King Somdet Phra Ramathibodi II was ever the gracious host and this time loaded Christopher’s ship with so many extras that it was truly overburdened. The king rightly interpreted the gratitude in Christopher’s eyes.

But
what really moved Christopher was watching his son, Kit, as he made the formal thanks and goodbye to the king and the royal escorts. Christopher’s own son was finally of age to trade, a man of his own, and a captain of his own ship (in command of the second ship in their small trading fleet, under Christopher’s watchful eye). It was with emotion that he watched his son work the family trade. Time could never erase the pain he felt when he had lost his wife so many years before, but he reveled in the equal joy he felt in Kit. Never had a father been so proud of his son. As a final bestowal of pride and as a token of manhood in taking over his father’s work, Christopher gave his son the belt he had been given in the American desert. As his son Kit donned it, Christopher couldn’t help remembering his own youth and the time he spent with his beloved Miya.

They chose an early morning departure, as they were guests of the
king and had spent the night in luxurious comfort.

Kit graciously allowed his father’s ship to depart first, but being the lighter ship, soon passed him up as he raced along the coast. The next stop was a familiar one, and Christopher knew he would shortly meet up with his son, so he allowed his son to race ahead and
laughed at Kit’s youthful appetite for adventure and speed as he gloried in the joy that Kit had brought into his life.

However,
Christopher’s joy was short lived. As he rounded the cape many hours later, he came across the first sightings of wreckage in the distance. A hard tightening of his stomach belied his worry and bile crept into his throat.

Soon enough he had confirmation. His son’s ship was completely devoid of life; the men slaughtered and the cargo stripped.
Never had Christopher seen such carnage so distastefully displayed. Yet, every man was left with his head on or placed nearby as if to say, “See! This is not the one you are looking for!”

Quickly
, he searched the ship for his son’s body, but instead found nothing more than a parchment on the Captain’s bunk with the symbol of the Singh Brotherhood, ‘brothers of the seven circles’; local pirates that controlled all of Africa and South Asian coast around to the far reaches of Siam. They need not have left the parchment; the disemboweled and decapitated crew was signature enough.

A
ll knew who the Singh were. They needed no introduction, as their brutality left indelible impressions on the living far and wide. Few words could be conjured up to describe the extreme cruelty that they encompassed, yet all the words were synonymous with one another, each used to describe subtle differences in the same: atrociousness, viciousness, barbarism, brutality, heinousness, savagery, and ferociousness.  They were the Singh Brotherhood. They had finally caught up with him… and they had his son.

Chapter 21

The sea fog engulfed them.

Sea fog, is
caused by a warm, moist airstream blowing over cooler seawater which occurs principally in the late winter to early spring; when the sea is cold and the rising sun warms the moist winter land to produce saturated air.  One of the greatest hazards to sailors, it is very thick and persistent, even in the presence of a strong wind. It is hard to guess when it may disperse, as a wind change of drier air is oft times necessary to make that change.

Despite his ever
-growing concern for his son, Christopher heeded to the safety of his crew and ordered the sails lowered to half mast as the ship slowly sank into the thickening mist around them. Shortly, even his crew was difficult to spot. There they drifted along for half an hour while they waited for the fog to lift. With every second wasted, Christopher’s impatience grew.

The emergence of
a stiff wind blew past and as the sails billowed, the fog thinned with it.

“Ships!” shouted someone from the main deck. Before they could even be identified, Christopher knew who they were.

Christopher realized he had no means to outrun them, and frankly he didn’t want to. Like a wild boar caught in a snare, he was going to give it his all; come what may.

The lifting of the veil of sea fog from before their eyes allowed the
Singh to spot them as quickly as they were spotted. Ships were ordered to maneuver into position.

Then the flag dropped and the crack of
cannon fire sounded as the waves of sound bounced off of Christopher’s ship seconds before the blast hit.

Men flew like matchsticks.
Railings shattered and those not caught in the cannonball’s path were pierced with shards and splinters of wood and metal.

The sudden surge in motion caused the few that were standing to drop to the deck. Those that were dead or supporting themselves unsteadily by the broken railing
shortly found themselves without sure footing and slid off the broken side into the water.

Then as
quickly as the sound had dissipated, cries cut through the ensuing silence as it filled the air again.

A few were caught unaware during
a game of chance, a sport that was expressly forbidden during working hours. A dozen of these men were brutally butchered during the opening salvo, like a bolt from the blue, dispatching their souls to their final rest.

The wind that pushed their back, died at that moment and they were
stuck to fight where they were.

“To
battle!”

“Return f
ire!”

Two of the pirates hauled up young Kit to watch the destruction of his father’s ship.

It was at that moment that Christopher saw him. “Son!” he called across the waves. Yet Kit was too far away to hear his father’s voice.

O
ne of the two men that had dragged the young man to the deck allowed his attention to be momentarily diverted from the captive in his arms. Kit used that split second to step into the instep of the other, temporarily crippling him. As the diverted man turned back, Kit twisted and hit him hard on the nose with the palm of his open hand, giving him an upward blow. The blow forced a sliver of the nasal bone cavity into the man’s brain, killing him even before the man had time to drop to the deck. While the pirate’s body fell, Kit sprinted forward and dived overboard as another volley of cannon balls flew through the air.

The sea ran red.
Shark fins sliced through the water looking to feast on the dead and dying.

Kit swam strong, as a monster of a great white brushed passed him, pulled elsewhere by the overwhelming scent of spilt blood. Another smaller shark swam around him and decided to try a nibble
; however, a powerful hit to the nose sent it on its way. As he clambered up the side of his father’s ship, the sharks began their feeding frenzy.

As if the sharks were a similitude of the fight above, relentlessly the two factions tore at each other like beasts scratching and clawing for dominance.

Seeing his son ‘safe’ on his own deck, Christopher began to respond with more fury than before.
For every hole the pirates carved into Christopher’s hull, they returned two that carved theirs. For every volley that came, two were rained upon the other.

It wasn’t long before Christopher
had destroyed the pirates’ rudder and burned their sail… yet these ‘brothers of the seven circles’ came on. Cannon fire rained down upon Christopher’s ship and soon his own sails were ablaze.

Despite the flames
, the pirates came on.

With a solid bump the ship he stood upon
jolted as his and the pirates’ ships were connected and fastened tight. Like a tidal wave unchecked, an onslaught of men came pouring over the sides. They came on with inhuman horrors; brutal for the sake of savagery. Their scimitars cleaved swiftly and viciously.

Yet Christopher would have nothing of it.
He would not give up his ship. He saw his son take up the sword against the scimitar and smiled grimly to himself. Dropping his Captain’s coat to the deck to give his arms more maneuverability, he launched himself into the foray, working his practiced arm against those that stood in his way.

As he fought his way towards his son, one man stood aloof, watching him.
The one man that was Christopher’s equal: Kabai Singh.

Laughing out loud
Kabai exclaimed, “At last a worthy foe!”

Meanwhile, l
ike an unwavering oak Christopher stood against the onslaught. His well practiced sword singing in his mighty arm as he parted those scurvy dogs like Moses did the sea.

Kabai stepped forward, his opponent elected.
As he approached the captain, he scooped up the discarded coat and wore it on his smaller frame, showing his contempt for Christopher’s authority and as a means to infuriate and unnerve his opponent. Whether ‘friend’ or foe, all were threshed before his wrath as he approached the one man that he deemed worthy to fight him.

Kit moved forward to help his father but
as Kabai locked swords with Christopher, the sails fell, veiling them in flames. The heat of the fire was too intense to move forward and other pirates continued to steal his attention as engagement after engagement wore on him.  

Yet
, through the flames and scorched sailcloth, he could make out the two engaged swords, parrying, striking, blocking.

The rest of Christopher’s crew had been dispatched or were in the process of the same, as more pirates went through the ship and stripped it of its goods
; tossing overboard anything they deemed unimportant so as to make certain nothing was gone through twice. Gone were Christopher’s riches, his personal chests tossed into the boiling sea.

Yet, t
he fight continued, each a master of his own weapon, each equaled in skill and strength, the one fighting for the destruction of evil, the other attempting to promote the opposite.

The deck itself began to burn as the two continued in their eternal quest, each knowing that the outcome
of this fight would decide both their fates. Then, whether by fate or providence, Christopher’s foot fell through a burned portion of the deck; the wood splintering beneath, fire dropping onto the powder kegs below.

Kit looked up in time to see Kabai’s final thrust as he dropped his sword through his father’s neck.
His father continued to thrust as life slipped from him. Both opponents knew his time had come.

As Kit’s father slumped down, eyes wide as death approached, the Singh released the weapon and turned his back
from the man as if he were of lesser caliber, not staying long enough even to see Christopher’s body hit the deck.

The flames continued to climb, but Kit didn’t care. Leaving his sword in the pirate he had
just dispatched he hurried forward, ignoring the flames that were steadily climbing around him.

Unknown to him, time
itself was done with the fight, and like a pestilence, the inferno raging on the main deck had swept through the remainder of the ship; infecting the hull, the boards and the powder-kegs.

As
Kit ran and jumped through the flames, he snatched up his father’s sword, and with a wild cry of “Revenge!” he lunged himself at the retreating form of Kabai Singh and buried the sword in his back.

At that moment the powder kegs exploded. The ship blew apart into a thousand pieces and
Kit was thrown into the sea.