Book of Ill Omen [First Words]

In the beginning, there was the wind. And in the black depths, in which jade shadows, faded golden remembrances and crystalline stillness gave nothing but color and sight, the wind gave life. It soothed and pulverized, a steel rose of ambiguity and lust inside the bizarre tapestry of chaos, and the stars cut the heavens with joy. It spoke. It moved. It brought forth that white closet of bones and said, “let it be”, and the darkness answered.1

Ch. 12

“"Do something!" Naith shouted at Jonas. A part of the swirling mass touched Leah's face, and she collapsed to the ground wordlessly. 3

"How can you destroy evil if you cannot even harness your own power?" Jonas shouted back. Naith slashed at the mist desperately with his sword. The vile mist parted before his blade like water. How can I fight this? he thought, his mind racing. He felt the cold of the amulet against his chest that the angel gave him. The deep voice from the pool came rolling back to him: Thou shall be called Naitharrin, or The Sword. He looked down at his naked weapon. Doing the first thing that popped into his mind, Naith took his sword, reversed his grip on the hilt, and, letting go and blindly trusting God's power, slammed it into the ground. Immediately, a peal of blinding white light erupted from the place where the sword had split the ground, causing all of them but Jonas to throw their arms over their faces to avoid being blinded. Naith's blade was blasted upward with terrific force, and it was all Naith could do to keep his weapon from being flung away. The first wave was followed by a second, brighter one, and finally a third. With each new burst of light, the swirling vortex became quieter, smaller, and feebler. After the final wave, the purple mist was sucked violently into the blazing hole, and, silently, everything vanished, save for Jonas' ever-steady light hovering above his palm. When they were still trying to determine what was had happened, their surroundings began to change. Slowly, enormous pillars carved or derived from charred, black rock were revealed from within the blanket of darkness by a dim purple light which seemed to come from the ground itself. A few more moments, and they found themselves standing in the middle of an immense hall: monstrous pillars lining each side of the hall stretched in either direction for what appeared to be an eternity. 4

Leah was still laying motionless on the floor. Without hesitation, Jonas rushed to her side, made a sign on his chest with his hand, and marked an cross-shaped symbol on Leah's forehead with his thumb. After a breathless moment, she began to stir. She sat up, in a daze at first, but her senses sharpened as a sharp scream echoed towards them from somewhere in the distance.5

"What-- was that?" Blake said nervously. Before anyone had a chance to answer his question, however, mocking laughter began to ring ominously throughout the vast chamber. The group began wheeling about nervously, trying to determine the laughter's source, each of them dreading what would meet their eyes.””6

“A book!” Her voice was incredulous; an strange expression of curiosity and disgust flashed across her weathered face, interrupting the faint orange morning mist collecting about the docks. “Be ye from th’ gov’nor’s estate or be ye a pirate?”7

I looked up, disgusted myself that my ship’s captain would interrupt at such a captivating moment. If I had been wise, my reply would have been “A sword? Aye, ye be a pirate I can see, yet what crime be it to indulge in a good Christian literature?” Yet I remained silent, knowing only that my captain was the means of two ends, and the only means at that. It WAS disgusting that she would interrupt this sublime moment of metaphorical indulgence with no dignity except her swag of swill and fat lip of cheap tobacco. Instead, I glanced away from her eyes respectfully, passed my glance briefly over her her torn, blazing orange jacket which did nothing to compliment the perfect morning dews down to her scummy black boots and tried to change the subject. 8

“It be a good mornin’ fer sailin’.” 9

“Aye,” she replied shortly, spitting tobacco ungracefully onto the planks. I watched it fall near my bare feet, noticed the brown liquid ooze as a living pest, and said nothing in reply.10

It was the night before last in which I was selected out of the rats of this backwatered isle to be an agent of piracy. Should I feel privileged? Like so many, I was here for the glory, fame and riches, but unlike many, not by choice. My father, as a high ranking Admiral in the Royal Navy, had chosen to take me on one of his naval expeditions down to these isles in order to show me of the “infallible ramifications of sin”. He was a pious man, a devout Anglican; it was my upbringing to be well read and versed in scripture, book and pen. And, looking back, I do realize that it is not my privilege but my duty to record these events to the best of my memory. And so we have the tale, with many parts glorified, many parts forgotten, all in the tradition of legend. I will call this the Legend of Ill Omen, but my reason why shall be discussed later, and for your benefit, exemplified.11

As we sailed along the coast of this rat-infested isle dubbed, Locke Isle by the good King, a shot of cannon pierced the air. I watched my father scream the orders, and I set fast the lines as I had been taught at my sailing academy, hoping for the best but fearing the worst. 12

Pirates. Vile, malicious, the most of them either insane or genius, some both, some none; a strange breed between the Religion of the Deadly Sins and oppression, of lust and greed, of sunset and blood; pirates are, nothing more, nothing less, the manifest in a soul (or lack thereof) of what one would expect one’s greatest fears met with the most beautiful opportunity to overcome them gloriously would be like; in short, of life. 13

Life, as I soon learned, in its most dangerous and most cutthroat relief. From two sides the two ships cut in, from the north and south as we moved along the eastern coast; one swift cutter and another a makeshift and near-death brig. A dagger of ice shot through my heart as I saw the black-skull-on-white-flag emblem atop the brig from the north off the starboard bow; pirates. I jumped in fear as I heard the fine frigate’s stern splintering apart from the forces of fire and iron; the cutter had put forth a miraculous maneuver and send off a swift broadside perfectly into the naval ship and, more readily, into the Crown’s pride. 14

“Make fast the marks, and by God let them taste our steel!” Our frigate maneuvered slowly against the pirate brig, and the white-knuckled sailors prepared for a broadside. I waited in anticipation for the monstrous thundering of our ship’s cannons. Yet, as the gunners waited in quivering anticipation for my father’s orders, an extreme jolt from the port stern sent the entire crew into disarray. Guns fired at will, and a confusion of smoke, thunder, steel and pain dominated the side of the isle that was only moments before tranquil and bloodless. Someone then shouted “To arms!” and a truly strange sound arose from the stern of the ship. My blood ran cold as I heard the sound that could be nothing less than the collective cry of a ship full of pirates dying to split open the sides of a ship full of English navy dogs. Flintlocks, muskets and sabers were employed, and the deck was a rush of nervous eyes and hands. I had but my small dirk given to me by my father, and I reached for that now. I saw the grappling hooks now on the starboard side; our ship was turning into the cutter and its grievous occupants. I would not approach the side; I stared with horror at the hooks, waiting for what would ascend them at any moment. A thrown sword pierced the first navy sailor as he ran to the ship’s defense, and my heart was almost rent out with terror. It was at this moment when the pirate brig’s broadside hit in full. I caught one glimpse of a pirate with skin black as night wearing only rags swinging two cutlasses like a kamikaze before the planks below my feet gave way to fire, and then nothing.15

~16

How I remained alive, I do not know. What by some twisted action of Providence or what else, I was now in the hands of pirates and doing their bidding. The details will arise in my mind as I write, so I will come back to them. Now, I will focus on the present. The captain and I walked slowly back towards the inn from the dock. I put my book in my blue navy jacket pocket, felt my sword and ran my filthy hand through my short black hair. As we reached the door of the inn, what noise was there the night before was now replaced by strange silence and songs of gulls. The sign, half torn by a foil stuck into its parchment, read:17

The Year Of Our Lord Seventeen-Thousand and One. This Isle of Locke, Condemned For and By Piracy. Wanted by The King, Lord and By God. Conspirators To The Throne. All And Any Acts of Piracy, Punishable By Death.18

The captain looked to me. It was then that I realized my name was no longer Richard Landon. Verily, the sun peeking tropically and blazingly over a palm could have spoke it. 19

“What shall I call ye?”20

“Call me Crovv.”21