Hidden Island Chapter 44, part 1 of 4

Hidden Island
Chapter 44, part 1 of 4

Will had a moment of conflict in his mind. He'd just met Shae. It seemed a little soon to be calling him a pet. He wasn't sure he liked the implications, but he brushed his concerns aside.

Talking to her about it now might throw off everything they'd negotiated. People in power were often oblivious to how their words came across. She probably didn't mean anything by it.

Maybe it was just the sort of thing she was into? That was a good enough reason to indulge her if she liked it. What could it hurt?

He gave Calli an appreciative smile and pushed himself back to his knees. The tavern girl was a mess. She was covered in Shae and Will's mixed juices. Her hair was plastered down, and her freckled face was red from irritation by the dark hair between Shae's legs. Her swollen lips were still gently suckling on Will's slowly softening manhood. He gently pulled himself free of her mouth. She made a sound of disappointment. He laughed and stroked her messy, wet hair out of her face. "Sorry, I'm all out."

She pouted at him, then smiled. "Maybe if you're good, Miss Shae'll let ye give me more later."

"Maybe," Shae interrupted.

Calli's green eyes were wide and happy as she looked up at him and started collecting his cum from her face and pushing it into her mouth. Will could only laugh in surprise at its sheer lewdest. As her fingers drifted down to her chest to continue collecting white strands and droplets, something strange slowly came to him. Through the alcohol and pipeweed, it took a while for Will to figure out what seemed odd.

Calli's thick, wavy hair was black as night, but it was a pale copper red between her legs. His brows knitted in confusion momentarily, but Shae cleared her throat. He and Calli both looked up and started moving again.

Calli carefully rolled off the bed and stood up, taking care not to get any fluids she was coated with on Shae's blankets. She opened her eyes wide and clasped her hands in front of her expectantly.

"You did well, Calli," Shae said warmly as she adjusted her bustier back into place over her breasts. "Show Mister Sterling to his room, clean yourself up, and bedhead. You may pleasure yourself to completion, once."

"Thank you, mistress," Calli grinned happily as she collected her scattered clothing. Rather than getting dressed, she wadded everything into a ball and tucked it beneath her arm.

Shae stood up, took Will's hand and carried it in front of his face, presenting her fingers to his lips. "I've very much enjoyed our negotiations, William."

"Likewise," Will said, politely kissing her hand. He felt a bit taken aback at the sudden dismissal but was not sure what to say about it.

Behind her, Calli turned down the bed. Shae slid into it lazily with a contented sigh. She stretched her arms over her head and gave Will a satisfied look. "Goodnight, William. We will speak again tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it," Will said as he tucked himself back into his trousers and did up the buttons before gathering the rest of his clothing. "Goodnight."

"Calli, wash my bedding in the morning and air out the room," Shae added.

Calli gave Shae a slightly awkward, naked curtsey before taking Will's hand and practically dragging him out the door.

Leaving Shae's opulent quarters was like entering another world. The back halls of the Red
Door were a maze of rough-hewn tunnels carved out of the stone. Calli chattered constantly, pointing out tripping hazards and gesturing down halls to tell Will where they went. They passed occasional people, squeezing past them in the narrow confines. They grinned knowingly at him and eyed Calli's messy, naked body. She was still covered in drying love juices but seemed to enjoy the attention. She smiled back proudly and put an extra strut in her step whenever someone leered at her. It was all a blur. His head was happily adrift on the cocktail of alcohol and more exotic drugs Shae had plied him with.

He moved more slowly, looking at the art Shae had on display. Tapestries and paintings hung on the walls, and rugs covered parts of the uneven floors. Occasionally, Will could make out faded paintings and carvings between the wall coverings. They looked like Akula decorations, but it was hard to tell because of their age. Mismatched lanterns, sconces, and braziers lit the passages, but some had sputtered and died, leaving stretches of swallowing darkness. Calli knew every rise and crack. She talked non-stop, telling him where they were and where the branching corridors went while pointing out things he might bump into or trip on.

Finally, they reached a door haphazardly hammered into a crooked frame made of wooden support beams. They looked similar to what he'd seen in old mine shafts, with a door to a ship's hold nailed into it.

"Here ye go," Calli chirped. She turned the knob and threw her shoulder into the door, forcing it to pop open. The hinges creaked angrily. "It sticks, so ye have to give it some attitude." She pulled a small tapir from a cup next to the sconce on the wall and lit it before entering. He followed her and looked around as she lit the lantern inside the door. She put what was left of the tapir back outside, then turned around in the doorway, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him on the cheek. "I had fun tonight. You're nice."

Will blinked and smiled, feeling a few seconds behind the sudden conversation. "Uh, thanks. I had fun, too."

The door shut, leaving him in dimly lit quarters that was little more than a bed, a dresser, and a chamber pot. He slumped down on the bed. The blankets were rich and soft but stained, and the mattress felt stuffed with straw. He had a sinking feeling like something was wrong, but he was too tired and too addicted to put his finger on what. He'd think more clearly in the morning. Port space for the Kestrel was secured. The captain would be able to negotiate a price for repairs. Jack was safely away. Their earlier talk had gone fairly well. His curse hadn't caused any apparent disasters.

Shae was delightful and intriguing. He would have to think about it in the morning. He laid down and closed his eyes.

The dreams that took him were full of chains and spiders.

Soft lips pressed against Jack's. She couldn't see, but she could smell rum and pipe smoke. A velvet-gloved finger traced down her neck. "Such a good girl," a throaty alto voice purred. "So loyal."

She struggled to move. It felt like she was bound by something. Ropes, but softer. Velvet's hands cupped her breasts and brushed her nipples. She groaned as that familiar fire grew within her.

"Jack?" Bella's voice called to her.

The ropes around her arms and legs tightened, and those velvet hands trailed slowly down her stomach. "Don't answer."

"Jack?" Bella called again.

"Not now!" Jack called.

"It's important!" Bella called.

"She managed without you for years," that soft voice whispered in her ear. "A while longer won't hurt."

"It's about Will," Bella called.

Panic and sadness welled inside her. "He sent me away."

"You don't need to feel that way," the voice told her. "You're here with me now."

"He wants to talk to you," Bella called from somewhere in the dark. "I do, too. Where are you?"

"I... don't know," Jack said. The dark was warm and gentle. She felt like she was floating. Or was she suspended by those soft ropes?

"You don't want her to see you like this, do you?" the voice said as it slithered behind her.

Velvet's hands slid around her waist, one teasing upward, the other down.

"She..." Jack said weakly. She was so turned on she was practically trembling. Bella would love to see her that way. It was the helplessness that made Jack balk. She couldn't let Bella see her bound like this.

A realization dawned on her. "Why am I tied up?"

"You did it to yourself," the voice breathed as a tongue licked her ear. "Don't you remember?

You wanted someone else to be responsible. You wanted to be punished. You wanted to be sure you'd never hurt the people you love."

"Oh," Jack muttered.

"She'll never understand," the voice said with a kiss on her neck.

Jack nodded sadly. "Bella, go away!"

"Can you at least tell me where you are?" Bella called. "I can't see you!"

"It's better this way," Jack said quietly.

"Good girl," the sultry voice praised her.

Caine and his glowing twin moved like one entity. Even when they separated like this, their minds were still connected. It wasn't always a helpful sort of connection. The strange sensation of simultaneously processing two different points of view was distracting, but they'd spent a long time getting used to it. Their ability to feel each other's presence and intent made up for it. That was how they trained. His nightly meditation wasn't simply a way to maintain some sense of distinction between his two souls. It helped them keep their edge. Fighting someone who was just as skilled as he was and could read his intentions led to beneficial innovations in approaching a fight. It also made them highly effective partners when faced with a mutual enemy.

Old Man Teach had seemed prepared for everything, but there was no way he could have prepared for the onslaught of two Caines in perfect consort. They only had one sword but passed it back and forth between them as they'd rehearsed it. They parried for each other while the other threw wicked punches. One would draw him into a bind or grapple to give the other an opening. As if outnumbering him and possessing such perfect coordination wasn't enough, the Young Man quickly discovered that the glowing Caine could overpower him. He was solid, fast, and skilled, and now his unleashed spirit was tireless, but the chained Caine was more rapid. The glowing Caine was stronger. They were nearly his match as swordsmen, and they far surpassed him in fisticuffs. At the very precipice of completing his revenge, he was on the defensive and losing.

The newly formed phantom bled green fire. He retreated. Fury and frustration welled up inside him. He was still outmatched after a lifetime of dedication and planning, the sacrifice of all he loved to turn himself into something that could defeat his hated enemy.

His eyes flicked to the brief outline of Caine's physical body, still sitting slumped on his knees in the mortal realm. An idea formed. He retreated, focusing on quick defenses and circling steps, much like Caine had earlier. With profound will, he forced his own body to move.

Looking like a foggy ghost to everyone in the Ways, the Old Man's corpse lurched to its feet and began staggering forward, dragging its saber behind it. It was imprecise and took surprising effort, like controlling a heavy puppet. There was no way the Young Man could have animated his dead body and continued to fight simultaneously, but he still knew something Caine didn't. A few more quick steps backward, he had the pair of Caines right where he wanted them.

The Angel swung its ghostly saber, confident in another opening created by their teamwork, and felt a strange tug. As he followed through with an expert cut, his sword was gone.

The Young Man thrust through the dissipating spectral fog that had been Caine's stolen sword an eyeblink earlier. The chained Caine snapped a kick into the Young Man's wrist, barely managing to ruin the counterthrust. Instead of taking the glowing Caine through the chest, the Young Man's saber tore open his shoulder. Golden light pulsed from the gash. The pair didn't look at each other, but they could each feel their mutual surprise. They retreated, frantically dodging the Young Man's wild advance of thrusts and slashes.

Meanwhile, the Old Man's corpse continued to lurch towards Caine's unconscious body.

Feelings of confusion passed back and forth between the Caines. Neither knew what had happened. Two pairs of eyes snapped around as they separated and tried to stay out of reach of the Young Man. The green ghost opted to follow the glowing Caine.

"What's wrong?" the Young Man laughed. "Afraid now that your sad copy can't die for you?"

The Angel quick-stepped into the swing of another wide, uncontrolled slash and caught the Young Man's wrist. "Even when I am right in front of you, you still do not see me as I am," the glowing warrior said disdainfully.

The Young Man tried to free his sword but focused on moving his corpse. His golden foe was too strong to be overpowered, so every attempt to break free was countered. They resorted to footwork to try to out-position each other, punctuating their steps with a one-handed boxing match.

Chained Caine looked back and forth between the combatants and the lumbering corpse advancing on his wounded body. A faint flicker of greenish fire caught his eye. The sword! The corporeal blade was still clutched limply in his physical hand, and now the foxfire glow had returned.

Caine's mind raced. With a mad dash he ran, then threw himself into a diving roll, reaching for his corporeal hand as his spirit tumbled through his own body. Just as he suspected, he felt the grip of the ghostly saber as his spirit hand passed through his physical one.

The phantom blade hadn't vanished. It had returned to its host.

Why? He rolled to one knee and turned to assess the fight between the vengeful spirit and his guardian angel.

"Catch!" he called out, hurling the green blade at his partner. He didn't have to shout. The Angel knew what he was doing. He wanted the Young Man to know. The sword twisted end over end, leaving a looping trail of green fire. The Angel ducked beneath the Young Man's sword arm, turning his enemy into an arm bar and pivoting him into the path of the spinning green blade. The Young Man's eyes widened in shock, but just before it struck the spinning saber vanished again.

Both Caines shared a moment of amusement, disappointment, and triumph. The thrown blade hadn't worked but distracted their enemy and told them something important. While the Young Man was still recovering from his surprise, the Angel wrenched his arm further behind his back and began raining savage punches down on his head.

The other Caine reached through his body again and felt the spectral sword nested within the physical one. Understanding dawned. In the same way both his souls were connected to his body, the ghost sword was tethered to the mortal one. It could only go so far from its host. An idea took shape.

The Old Man's corpse brought its saber down like a butcher's cleaver. Caine let his consciousness snap back into the mortal world, dragging the Angel in a flood of light. The Young Man's laughter at his sudden freedom faded as his perception of the Ways was replaced by the Mortal world again. He did his best to ignore the flood of pain, weight, and disorientation. He forced his arm to lift to intercept the dead man's cut.

With second sight, he could see the angel's glowing arm wielding the spectral blade. With his wounds and disorientation, he wasn't fast enough.

But the Angel was. In an act of sheer desperation, his guardian had wrenched his spirit partially free of his physical body. Somehow, the ghost sword had parried the physical one.

The shock of it reverberated through him. The angel was strong, but spirits in the Ways were always much weaker when they tried to influence the physical world. The Old Man's metal blade struck the ghostly one like a hammer. It barely deflected, missing Caine's skull but battering down on his half-raised saber and driving his flesh-and-blood hand into the stones again. Numbness and pain shot through his arm.

Neither of them had expected the ghost blade to be able to interact with the mortal one. The Angel had been trying to help raise their wounded arm but had painfully torn halfway out of their body instead. His other soul wasn't fully merged with him now, so he felt and saw both worlds. It wasn't pleasant.

Vertigo rose through him as his mind tried to reconcile the conflicting sensations. In the Ways, the spirit and the physical were reversed. What was solid in one was ghostly in the other. A thing of one world could interact with the other as the angel had just done, but everything on the other side was heavier. To the angel, the Old Man's sword had weighed a ton.

Caine glanced down at himself, looking at the barely closed hole where the ghost sword had pierced his heart. Further understanding dawned on him. The blades existed in both worlds.

They could affect both worlds. The Angel's golden arm lashed out in a quick slash and thrust.

The phantom blade passed cleanly through the walking corpse's neck and pierced its heart.

Flesh parted. Blood dripped but didn't spray. The Old Man didn't notice. It brought its blade down in another heavy chop, forcing the Angel to evade again. Caine could feel the effort of it.

The spectral blade could clash with the real one, but one was weightless, and the other may have been a sled.

Caine managed to throw his wounded body to the side as the Angel deflected the blade again.

Through the vertigo of his split vision, he could see the Young Man standing behind the fight with a look of amused discovery on his face. He was moving and watching as the Old Man copied him.

The corpse's movements had become noticeably faster and more fluid now that the Young Man wasn't preoccupied.

"That's not going to work. This one's dead already, and the other one is learning fast," Caine managed to say through the blood in his lungs.

"Well, what then?" the angel said briefly in his head. The Young Man's ghost advanced on them with a triumphant grin and raised his green saber. The corpse's mimicry was slower and more awkward, but it dragged its saber up for another blow.

"Switch," Caine growled.

In the moment of shared understanding, the Angel gasped in his head. "No!"

"Just fucking do it!" Caine snarled, then lunged out of his body, leaving the angel inside.

Behind him, golden light flared. He ignored it and bore down on the Young Man.

They clashed once, then retreated again. Their ghostly blades rested gently against each other, and green flames flared brighter where they touched.

"You're a clever son of a bitch," Caine snarled. "You did figure me out."

"I'm glad you noticed before you'll die," the Young Man said sarcastically.

"How? Divinations? Omen reading? Calling spirits?" Caine asked with a probing thrust.

"Everything you can think of, and more," the Old Man sneered. Their blades clashed again and again.

"All that work, and you thought you'd just copy me? Weaknesses and all?" Caine asked.

"Oh, I've corrected for your limitations," the Young Man assured him with another set of cuts. "I am not a shadow of something else. I am entirely myself, and the body I leave behind is a mindless puppet. It will never diminish me like you do to him."

Caine ducked and parried. "All that understanding of how without ever asking why," he mocked as he feinted and lunged. "Reminds me of myself when I was a kid."

"Is there a point to your rambling?" the Young Man asked, rolling his burning eyes as he sidestepped and deflected.

"You're not the only one who can run his mouth to buy time," Caine grinned.

On the other side of the balcony, the dead man continued his relentless chopping, but the bloodied man kept intercepting the blows. Where the chained Caine had been unable to overcome the pain and weakness of his wounded body, the Angel had no such limitations. The deflection was a little higher and more decisive until the dead man's saber stopped cold against Caine's guard. His eyes blazed with golden light, and he stood up.

"And the swords, too?" the Angel said.

"Mumm," Caine grunted in affirmation.

"So, he anchored the binding to his body to keep his spirit from getting lost. So, when I kicked his corpse over the railing, his spirit was dragged along." He could feel his Angel nodding in his head.

"Yeh. Ghost sword... too," Caine said, tapping near the wound in his chest. He coughed painfully and spat out more blood.

"Wish I'd thought to grab the other mortal sword before Anton fell. Another of these would be useful," the Angel said.

"I bet... we'll have... another chance to take it," Caine said slowly.

"This is why you should not let your enemies live," the Angel said tersely.

"Not very... merciful," Caine rasped.

"Mercy is the alleviation of suffering," his twin said flatly. "It has nothing to do with whether or not you spare a life. That is a mortal concept."

"Semantics," Caine muttered.

"Yes, your language is profoundly imprecise," the angel said. "Mercy is mine. I know exactly what it means. If you want to talk about sparing people who try to kill you, use a different word."

"Quarter," Caine suggested.

"Yes, much better," the Angel agreed. "It still has the ambiguity problem, but a far more contextually obvious one."

"Better not to kill," Caine mumbled. "When we can."

"That is most definitely not my nature," the Angel disagreed. "Today's nonsense is why. I am rather tired of old enemies coming back to haunt us."

Caine groaned and looked even more pained. "No puns."

"Fine," the angel asked. "I suppose I'll have to annoy you in other ways while I heal us up."

"Why annoy me at all," Caine said with a painful cough. Slowly, he tested his limbs to see if they were usable yet.

"Because it always works to occupy your mind," the Angel said. "And it's entertaining."

"You and Tonya," he muttered. "A lot alike."

"No wonder you like her so much," the angel smirked in his head.

Caine grunted, knowing better than to deny that accusation to someone who shared his thoughts. He tried to move again. Some parts felt better, which let other sources of pain make their presence known.



To be continued