Waters of Prophecy: The Pirate Legend Chronicles

Chapter 1- Shaw

 "Excerpt meaning a short extract from a film, broadcast, or piece of music."

"There ain't no grave that can hold my body down, hear when I hear that trumpet sound, I'm gonna rise right out of the ground, Ain't no grave can hold my body down. Well, look way down the river. What do you think I see? I see a band of angels, and they're coming after me." 

- Ain't No Grave A song by Johnny Cash released on February 23 2010 on American Recordings and Lost Highway Records.

The man dreamt of battle as he sailed gently over misty waters. Last rays from the evening sun cast shadows on his pale angelic face, as it twitched. He watched as scenes of war painted themselves on the back of his eyelids. The sounds of cannons erupting, followed by distorted and inhumane cries of valor, were as clear in his mind as they had been all those years ago. Swiftly to be silenced by the swing of black blades. Wielded by the headless dark creatures that not even hell itself fancied for company. He watched as one of the hellish cacodemon made a march towards him. A black blade in one hand stained in the blood of Shaw's friends and brothers in arms. The anger he felt in his sleep was a fragment of the rage he had wielded on the battle field, all those years ago. It was quickly replaced with confusion when he cut the man in half. He turned, insanity in his eyes and a wicked smile spread across his face. His shoulders raised in victory, his heart pounding like a war drum. As he waited for blood to spill from the creature. But where the blade had hacked through the mercenaries abdomen, smoke spilled. The thing turned with a blood freezing wheeze of a laugh and in one motion brought his sword up. Shaw heard the thud of his own head separating from his body. A terrible sound louder than any thunder.

He screamed himself awake, and sat up immediately his hands going to his chest as he violently gasped for air. He closed his eyes and placed his head in his palms, as he tried to cast the images of the battle from his mind. His clothes were drenched in sweat, and the cold night was beginning to settle in all around him. The gently crashing of the twilight waves against the bow, brought his mind away from the smell of blood and roasting flesh. He focused on the Flakjurom ocean.

The vastness of the cold tranquil light blue waters, was beyond any peace most men could come to know. The dark bare purple skies seemed to overpower the ocean in the distance. Changing the waters to a dark blue. Small fireflies of bright vibrant colors danced in the distance. Their light reflecting in the water and resembling shooting stars. He brought his jacket around his shoulders and began to paddle humming as he did, now that the skeletons had been pushed back into their closet. He hummed an old ballad to the waters, his eyes looking to the sky searching for stars. He sang about woman with eyes that can see into a mans desire and transform themselves to it's image. Of men who could tame the wildest of beast with a simple whistle. Grifyns and neadreas sunbathing on floating islands guarded by marble golitho's often mistaken for white mountains. He made sure to steer clear of ballads about love and sex, which were the funniest of all ballads. However on waters like this you never knew who was listening, and comedies drew in a certain sometimes dangerous audiences especially on open waters when you were alone miles from land.

After a few peaceful hours of paddling he began to search his jacket. He opened his flask and discovered he had indeed finished the last of the fine wine. In desperate times he thought to himself as he reached for one of two small barrels next to his feet. With very little effort he pried the nailed top off the barrel. With a merry whistle he put his flask into the nearly black liquid. Gagging as his nostrils were violated by the smell of the western rum, if you could even call it rum.

He squinted his eyes as the dark spiced and searing hot beverage crawled down his throat. At least it will snuff out the cold from my bones, he thought to himself as he gasped and pounded his chest. After a few deep raspy coughs he put the flask away. Now what did I do with the map, he thought as he quickly looked up to the sky seeing one very small white star in the distance. He began to search every pocket of his jacket bringing out several odd things and throwing most of them over his shoulder and into the water. It had been sometime since he had cleaned out his pockets. He had a terrible habit of picking things up and storing them away only to forget about them. Finally he pulled out a very ornate tin box. The lock on the box was odd made out of moving silver. Shaw held his thumb against the lock and a small needle pricked his finger. The moving silver wrapped itself around his thumb, turning red as it mixed with the blood.