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“Katrina,” I muttered, only to realize she was nowhere to be found in and around this desolate place. “Katrina!”
I called out her name, standing to my feet and taking in the strange coast where the waves had carried me. It was a clearing at a jungle’s edge. An opening lush with exotic greenery and twisting vines climbing rocky ledges contrasting with the white sands beneath. It almost seemed familiar, but then again, I’d seen just about every port in the Caribbean…even if it was three centuries ago.
I studied the untouched area, amazed at its wild beauty, already feeling the Caribbean heat I’d long forgotten as the white sun beat down on me. But a cold ghostly chokehold gripped me that no one else from the ship appeared to be here, too. I was alone. And I feared the worst.
As I walked around, surveying my surroundings and looking for any sign of survivors, I noticed a small sign of a campfire still smoldering beneath a lumbering palm. A joy rose within me, as I thought that perhaps they’d made it after all.
At least Katrina. God, Katrina has to have made it.
But one thing caught my eye that made me second guess. A rosary hung there on the sticks used for a hanging pot. My eyes followed the beads to the ground and noticed a small brown leather satchel. This wasn’t McKenzie’s or Noah’s, and certainly not Katrina’s. I glanced around, looking for any sign of the owner, and then reached down to see if there might be any fresh water at this campsite, driven by the coarseness of my parched lips. But as I leaned over, a man of my own size leapt down on top of me from the treetops above.
He collided with me, knocking me to the ground and pinning me there with his knee. A flash of silver glinted in the sunlight. I barely had time to glimpse the blade wielded as he plunged it toward my throat.
An instinct that I thought had long gone cold within me suddenly resurrected like embers from ashes. With speed I didn’t recognize, I blocked the incoming dagger with a jab of my elbow, and with my other hand caught my assailant’s wrist inches before his blade met its target at my neck.
My blood burned within me as I slung the man off me with and made a break out from under his weight. But he wasn’t willing to let me escape.
“What do you want?” I grunted, dodging palm fronds and rocks as I kept my distance from him.
“I want to keep my dealings free from the likes of spies.” His hoarse voice was like a snake’s hiss, cunning and threatening. He was closing the space between us quickly, a look in his eyes I’d seen before. This man aimed to kill me. And he wouldn’t stop until he had hit his mark.
He lunged at me, agile and skilled. This man was no brawler. His tactics demonstrated an adeptness best held by assassins or militiamen. Little did he know I’d had my fair share of stealthy combat. Valdez would send me aboard other ships to steal their maps or contracts often enough. If I was caught, I had to put an end to things quietly. This would be no different if need be.
The man leapt for me, curved blade in hand. I reached toward my hip for a sword that wasn’t there. Foolish mistake. I’d given him a split second of opportunity to take advantage of my distraction. He swiped his knife across my cheek.
The blood mixed with salt and sweat, singing my skin. I blinked to refocus, catching his arm just as it came down again. This time, he blocked me too. Then he shoved me backwards with a roar of determination. I fought the pain that reverberated through the back of my head as he pinned me against a large rock wall. Wedging my foot, between his, I knocked him off balance, just enough that I could grab the hand that held the blade, turning it on him in a struggle that intensified with each passing second.
“I’m not a spy,” I spat through gritted teeth. My jaw was so tightly clenched, my teeth ground together in pain. I could only see the tip of his nose and jaw, under the shadow of the hooded cloak he wore that obscured everything else above.
“You’re one of Kellem’s. I knew he’d stick his damn nose in this,” he grumbled, pushing his forearm against my hold to force his knife closer. “I’ll send him a message about meddling in affairs he won’t be likely to forget soon.”
“Kellem?” I knew that name. A rival of my father’s…long ago.
“Stop! Just listen to me,” I uttered under my strained breath, bracing with all my strength against the quivering arm pushing into me. A few more centimeters and he’d have my throat slit.
“Just face your fate like a man.” With one sudden burst of energy, he fought his way through my defensive grip. I had to make a choice. If I continued to hold back, I knew he would eventually overpower me once I tired out. I released my hold, sliding downwards below him as fast as I could manage as his upper body flew forward into the now empty spot against the rock wall. He turned, grabbing me from behind before I could regain my footing and get farther away. But a sharp metal clang against the rocks was music to my ears. He’d dropped the knife in his effort to seize me.
In our grappling, he held me in a tight chokehold from behind. I wrestled against him as he squeezed until my vision went blurry. My legs buckled and I used the momentum to toss us both to the ground, where his grip on my remained unbreakable. Prying his bicep from my throat was impossible in this position, so I blindly felt around me for the dropped blade. By some divine mercy, my fingers worked the blade into my hand as the last of my vision faded, and with the blade pointed back, I plunged it into the man’s side.
His death grip on me loosened, as a short breath of surprise escaped him. I turned to catch him on the way down, my own vision still spinning.
“I’m sorry,” I uttered, watching the life leave his surprised gray eyes. I eased him to the ground. This wasn’t what I wanted. I hated killing.
With fresh blood staining my hands, I walked back to the campfire without looking back at the body. I took the rosary into my hands and said my penance.
“Forgive me.” I clutched the red beads, staring into the ground as I thought of the final moments of the man’s life I had just taken. My stomach turned.
He’d spoken of Kellem. Kellem Thatch. I hadn’t heard that name in quite literally forever. Who was this man? I glanced over at his lifeless corpse meters from me. His clothing was old. Not in age, but in fashion. Beneath his leather baldric, the hooded vest cloak hinted that he wanted his identity concealed out here for whatever reason. His brown leather boots, loose tunic and breeches certainly didn’t look to be anything belonging in the modern world. In fact, they were exactly the sort of thing I might’ve worn...back in my adolescence.
With a chill, my jaw tensed as I took another look at the landscape. I took out my compass and noted the North just to the left of the tree line. The longer I studied it—the shore, the channel leading out into the sea, the foliage and the barely visible trail leading into the tropical forest flanked by rocks and boulders—I recognized it. This was a clearing I’d come to a few times as a boy playing with the other village children. We’d follow the trail and pretend it led to some new world. But we’d only be met with another variation of the same coastline we’d seen every day of our lives. Just another shore. And we’d turn back and follow the trail that would lead us back to the filthy buzz of Nassau.
So why was this man here? And what secret business did he have with a cheat like Kellem? Or rather his rival…my father.
I hesitated before walking back to the man’s body and pulling off his boots and the rest of his clothing. He was roughly my size. If I truly was where I thought I was, and when I thought I was, I couldn’t be drawing attention to myself in the cargo pants and windbreaker jacket I wore. I swapped out my clothing for his, refusing to leave him unclothed out of respect.
In the vest pocket, I found a note that I was quick to unfold.
Henry,
