Chapter 8 – Help
Charnaiz woke up finding himself beside a campfire. He couldn’t move though – not even his head – and he soon discovered why. His entire body from the neck down was buried under the sand. He felt that his hands and ankles were also chained, and that there was something biting at him from below.
“Sand fleas.” he murmured groggily.
The team was all there – in the same situation as Charnaiz – some unluckier than others. They had all been found lying near the Peregrine when Bangsawan’s men blew a hole in it with a charge of explosives. Shruiken was a special case, though.
Datu Bangsawan abhorred the Japanese. He hated them because they were the ones responsible for competing with the activities of his men in waters outside the Philippine islands. They were also the ones who killed his parents – by crucifixion, nonetheless, because they were Christian – and he thought that it was appropriate to give the same treatment to Shruiken. Midori was excused – she was a woman, and women were highly respected in Bangsawan’s society.
The unconscious samurai had been stripped of his armor and had been tied to a large cross, with an inscription placed at the head which read, CONDENADO PARA EL ASESINATO or “Convicted for murder.” There were no nails in his hands or feet, but there was something else – a bucket of leeches. These would be placed on him and then he would die of blood loss – very slowly.
Kazansky looked up at Shruiken’s cross from his place in the sand.
“Poor dude. I wish I knew him better.”
“He cut your leg open, remember?” said Charnaiz.
“Yeah, but that was a long time ago.”
“It really is a shame for him to die.”
“Yeah. Wish there was something we could do to save him.”
“Yeah I – wait a minute, where’s Nicolette?”
“Nicolette? I thought you saw her.”
“No, I didn’t – that means there’s still hope!”
Oh, the Scorpion was very much alive – but there was a minor setback – she had lost contact with her entire mercenary team and had now run out of ammunition.
She stood on top of a cliff overlooking the pirate hideout. She could see the heads of Charnaiz, Kazansky, Natasha, Valeri and Kyurdin sticking out from the stand. The pirates had made the mistake of placing Natasha next to Kyurdin, and the watchmen could no longer stand the war of words they were waging against each other. They decided then and there to cover their mouths with banana-leaf gags and sit back.
Nicolette knew she could not do this alone, and set off into the jungle in search for help. The vines and trees were not exactly alien to her, but she did not feel comfortable walking around in them. Her strong desire to find civilization somehow led her to a little village in the middle of the jungle. Smoke rose from the bonfires lit near houses to ward off mosquitoes. The people walked around with scarcely any clothing at all – but they seemed contented nonetheless.
Nicolette made her way towards the village carefully, but was spotted by a village sentry, who immediately yelled out,
“Kastila! Kastila!”
Confused, the Scorpion decided to turn and run back into the jungle, only to encounter a hunting party just returning from the village, armed with bows and spears – while she herself had a submachine gun with no ammo, which was about as useful as a heavy stick in a swordfight.
The Frenchwoman raised her hands in the air and put her weapon on the ground, allowing the natives to crowd around her, brandishing their spears.
“C'est lui.” she said. “C'est où je meurs.”
She held her breath and closed her eyes, waiting for the final blow to strike, but it never came.
She opened her eyes to see a woman clothed in a Spanish Civil Guard uniform – but with a tribal red cape. She took Nicolette’s hand and helped her up, saying to her,
“I can help you and your friends.”
“We’re all going to die.” grumbled Rodion, his head sticking out of the sand. “And that poor sap on the cross is going to be the first one, too.”
“Keep your head up, dedushka.” said Kazansky. “We’re one member short. That Frenchwoman might still be alive.”
The admiral turned his head over to the man whom he now – albeit with extreme doubt – thought of as a distant relative.
“That was a bad pun, Alexei.”
“Izbineniya, dedushka.”
Suddenly, the pirates were running from the prisoners, towards the shoreline, grabbing their bows and rifles and any other weapon they could find. Rodion could sense what was wrong.
“They’re under attack. I can’t hear any gunfire, but I’m very sure of it.”
He was right. And it was no ordinary assailant that Bangsawan and his crew were up against – but the resurrected Sosulka itself – returned from its watery grave.
The distant roar of cannons could then be heard as the Sosulka approached Bangsawan’s cove, with its icy ammunition landing just meters away from the coast.
Bangsawan, thinking quickly, rounded up his own flotilla of kumpit and sampan warships and unfurled the sails of his own Buwaya – a medium-sized warship and a hybrid between a kumpit, sampan and a caracoa.
Most of Bangsawan’s fleet had now set out to see to engage the enemy, and the only thing that stopped the team of fighting men and women from leaving was a meager force of six guards.
Suddenly, a spear fell from up above, landing at the feet of one of the remaining guards. The guard looked up to see – much to his terror – a large group of heavily armed Negrito warriors, being led by a babaylan wearing the blue uniform of a Civil Guard accompanied by a Caucasian in a white uniform.
There was no engagement – the remaining pirates turned yellow and fled to the safety of the cave. The Negritos then ran down to the base of the cliffs and started to dig the team out of their sand-pits.
Hitteru Midori was the first to be released. She ran towards the cross where her brother hung and proceeded to undo his ropes. The samurai fell on the ground, unconscious. Midori helped him to his feet and slapped him in the face. His eyes opened slowly.
“What did I tell you about being foolish?” she scolded.
“Silence, sister – you speak like you are my mother. And what are these things on me?” he said, removing the leeches that had crawled out of the bucket and onto his legs.
“They are leeches, brother. They suck your blood.”
“I can see that.” he said, removing a fat, bloody leech from his thigh.
“Hurry and cleanse yourself. We have to be gone from this wretched place.” Midori said, taking a careful look around.
By this time, Nicolette had descended from the cliffs herself, brandishing a Filipino-made crossbow.
“Did you miss me, ma chienne?” she asked Charnaiz, grinning.
“Thanks… I guess.” said the king, slightly embarrassed.
“People – we don’t have a lot of time here!” Kazansky said, walking up to them and brushing off the sand from his uniform.
“The enemy is coming back.” said Kyurdin, rising from his sand-pit.
“And they’ve brought a friend!” continued Natasha.
“The spirit of the Sosulka has infected Bangsawan and his flotilla.” said Valeri. “We are now facing an army of ice demons – including Bangsawan himself – all under the command of Led-Krovin.”
“Well we have no time to waste.” said the babaylan, whose name was Kalapati. She produced a bowl and placed it in the middle of the group.
“Admiral Rodion,” she said, “this ritual will forever rid your family of the curse of the sea. You will be free to wander these oceans as long as your health permits – but you must…”
“Excuse me, madam.” said the admiral, “But how exactly did you know my name?”
“…you must drink blood from the four corners of the earth.” she continued, ignoring his question.
“How the devil will I do that?”
“I will conduct the ceremony. Take the swordsman, the Amazon and the blond woman with you to protect us whilst we do this.”
“And what about us?” asked Kazansky.
“The rest of you are part of the ceremony.”
Suddenly, the Buwaya and its accompanying flotilla hit the shore with an icy clash. Half-frozen pirates stepped off, their weapons shining with a frost-like tinge and their teeth and eyes glinting in the sunlight. The Sosulka moved ever closer, its sailors yelling and cursing at Admiral Kazansky.
While Kalapati and Valeri prepared the necessary formulas for the spell, Rodion, Kyurdin, Natasha and Midori were standing on the shore, facing a company of about six dozen of Bangsawan’s now frozen men. Natasha drew a knife, while Midori and Kyurdin drew their own blades. Rodion held his pistol in his left hand with his Cossack shashka in his right.
“Come and get us.” Midori said, with a blood-lusty twinkle in her eye. The pirates rushed forward at the Japanese samurai, and she drew her blade – a katana with an emerald green blade and a blue and red handle. She then started swinging controlled, skillful strikes and slashes at her foes, taking down two to three men with every swing.
Natasha Kalashnikova rushed up to her enemies, giving each man a swift stab in the stomach, making him bend over, then a stab in the back. She advanced and withdrew according to her perception of the situation.
Rodion raised his pepperbox pistol and aimed at the oncoming pirates. Six shots were fired in succession, each bullet hitting an opponent’s head. When he ran out of ammunition, he drew his sword and rushed into the mass of men, slashing at them at every step he took. He did not fight badly for someone his age.
Kyurdin whirled his own blade in his hand while watching the others. At the correct time, he produced a gravity grenade and threw it at the oncoming multitude of aggressors. They froze in their tracks, and he leapt in and began cutting them down to size.
Meanwhile, Kalapati was busy together with Blanchfleur, Kazansky, Shruiken and Charnaiz.
“You must all spill your blood into the bowl. I will then mix it and give it my blessing. Please, hurry!”
The four looked at each other, shrugged and began drawing blood. The blood was then poured into the clay bowl, after which the babaylan sprinkled some powder over it while mumbling a prayer in her language. She then told Kazansky,
“Get your grandfather. He must drink this.”
Major Kazansky, groaning, rose from his seat, ran to the shoreline amidst the gunfire and arrows, and called out for Rodion.
The admiral was pretty busy. Bangsawan’s men had him surrounded, and his pistol was out of ammunition. Kazansky, seeing him in this predicament, decided to charge in to battle himself and aid his grandfather. The major took a deadly VX grenade from his belt, and without a moments hesitation, threw it into the group of pirates. Immediately, the men started to faint, while Kazansky himself threw on his gas mask and dragged Rodion out of the cloud of colorless smoke.
Rodion wasn’t breathing well. His heart was beating rapidly, and his pupils were dilated. He had been hit by a little of the gas.
“My bad.” Kazansky said as he brought the admiral before Kalapati.
“Tell him to drink the blood.” the witch-doctor said. “It shall cure him of all his illnesses.”
“You heard her, dedushka – drink up!” Kazansky said.
Rodion didn’t respond.
“Uh oh.”
“Pour it into his mouth! Quickly!”
Kazansky did as he was told and poured the bloody mess into his grandfather’s mouth. He waited a while, and nothing seemed to change. The enemy was still charging at them, and the heroes that they had stationed at the beach were being outnumbered.
Suddenly, Rodion coughed – a sign of life. The pirates then mysteriously started melting away into the sand, and Bangsawan’s ship started crumbling away. The sands of time and space then started melting away, and dissolving into a blur. The sky imploded into itself and the waters seemed to swirl inside themselves in this grand illusion.
Major Kazansky woke up in his office, dazed. A puddle of drool lay on the desk, and Natasha stood over him. “Awake already? It’s about damn time. Listen – the Red Army decided to scratch the idea of using the generator as a tourist attraction. It’s a bit too risky. The implications are deadly. Sobakov finally relented. Happy day.” she said sarcastically.
“Hey… that’s great. How are things with you and Kyurdin?”
“Who the hell are you talking about?”
“Wh…what? But you two…”
“No, sir, comrade major.”
“So it was all a dream?”
“What was all a dream?”
“Nothing, lieutenant. Carry on.”
“Yes, comrade major.”
Kazansky rose from his chair and smoothed down his crumpled red uniform. “It all seemed so real…”
“You didn’t do so bad yourself!” said a voice from out of the shadows. Charnaiz stepped into view, and patted Kazansky on the back.
“What the hell?”
“Long story. I’ll tell you about it in your civilian-bar. Vodka for everyone – my treat.”
END
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