Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Into the Silent Sea ❯ Past and Prologue ( Chapter 1 )

Historical Notes:

Port Royal, Jamaica: (Taken from notes written in 'Upon a Painted Ocean') Known as 'one of the wickedest places on earth', Port Royal was a nesting ground for criminals and the lower element when it was first established around 1650. The city has a disaster-ridden history. Originally governed by the Spanish, it was taken over by Admiral Penn and General Venables of England in 1655, a gain for the British as Spain slowly lost its monopoly on the Americas. However, on June 7, 1692, an earthquake that sent half the town beneath the seas hit Port Royal, providing the basis for wonderful stories of sunken pirate treasure since this place was rumoured to be where pirates stored their loot. Although it was rebuilt, disastrous fires in 1704 destroyed most of the city again, leaving nothing but old forts standing. For the purpose of this story, I've taken the liberty of playing with history and have established Port Royal as a city 50 years sooner than it's supposed to be (the story takes place in 1597, but I thought the city suited my needs so I used it!).

Valencia, Spain: During the fifteenth century, the city of Valencia experienced an unparalleled period of economic prosperity due to rapid development in agricultural and industrial production, which made it one of the major trade centers of the Mediterranean. In fact, during the reign of Alfons the Magnanimous, the city was considered one of the richest capitals of Europe. However, in the time that this story is set, economic turmoil had began to set in since Valencian bankers and merchants griped to the Spanish Crown about not being reimbursed for funding the discovery of the Americas, a problem that would indirectly lead to the war known as the 'Guerras de Germaines'. Therefore, the conversation that Schuldich overhears is not entirely unbelievable since money and the Americas were a primary concern for Valencian residents. Of another note is La Lonya (or the 'Silk Market') situated in the Plaza del Mercado. Built in 1483 by Pere Compte, it consisted of three parts - the market, the interior garden, and the consulate - and was intended to be a center for sea trade.

The Myth of the Fountain of Youth: The Fountain of Youth myth may be found in the folklore of many ethnic cultures of Europe and the Middle East, some associated with the Prester John myth of Ethiopia (thus, I didn't see any harm in Crawford hearing about it), and some even saying that Alexander the Great had actually found it. The European myth talks of fabled miraculous waters that preserved life and renewed vigor, the tale likely a fusion of the ancient Hindi myth of a magical fountain that could restore men to their prime, and the Semitic legend of the Lost River of Immortality. Once Europeans started trading with the East, it was very likely that the tale spread and became distorted.

Don Juan Ponce de Leon: Upon hearing the indigenous people of the New World claim that the Fountain of Youth existed in the Americas, a Spanish explorer and aristocrat by the name of Don Juan Ponce de Leon became intrigued. When his king heard of this as well, he immediately ordered de Leon to lay claim to the Fountain for the Spanish Crown. In 1513, de Leon commenced his first journey with three personally provisioned ships, and in his pursuit of the Fountain, inadvertently discovered Florida. When he first landed in Florida, he met with the native Calusa Indians who seemed docile at first but who then turned hostile. Scared for his life, de Leon buried his personal fortune of gold and jewels, and fled to Puerto Rico with his crew. In 1521, Charles V commissioned de Leon to set up a colony in La Florida and again, the Calusa Indians attacked, wiping out the colony, and wounding de Leon. With only six survivors, the Spanish aristocrat sailed to Cuba where they all died. The Fountain of Youth was never found and de Leon's treasure was never recovered.

The British colony of Virginia: 'Virginia' was the name that England's Elizabeth I gave to the land that Sir Walter Raleigh discovered in 1584. In May of 1607, three British merchant ships (Susan Constant, Godspeed, and Discovery) reached Virginia carrying men and boys. In 1619, the first women and slaves arrived. This is probably where I've taken the most licenses with history. In the context of this story, the year would've been approximately 1578 for Crawford's family to be firmly established in a plantation when he was a child, a good six years before Raleigh's discovery of Virginia and almost forty years before the arrival of the first slaves. But I needed a catalyst for this story's plot so I've taken the liberty of altering history! ^_^

(***)

Into the Silent Sea
Chapter 1: Past and Prologue

(***)

Port Royal, Jamaica
1597

"Double or nothing."

Complete silence greeted the casually spoken words as hefty, bearded men and lusty, half-naked tavern wenches alike froze at the arrogance and audacity of the blonde who'd just challenged the most vicious looking man in the room.

Ken sat straighter in his rickety chair and turned shocked brown eyes toward his crewmate. Youji didn't even spare him a glance as he nonchalantly waited for a reply to his offer, amused half-smile on his lips and twinkling green gaze on the barrel-chested man across from him. With his sun-spun hair of burnished gold tied back loosely and his open collar lawn shirt sitting lazily on his wiry frame, the blonde cut enough of a dashing figure to attract every female in the room - as apparently the heaving bosoms that had gravitated toward him had proven - but staring at the man, Ken would've liked nothing better than to give the self-assured ass a good swift kick.

'What in the world is the idiot doing?' he wondered, eyes still riveted on his companion's reclined figure. Ran had explicitly ordered them to come to this tavern, bargain with one-eyed Maven for some important document, and leave without any trouble. Even when they'd discovered that said one-eyed Maven stood a looming head taller than the both of them and had a penchant for gambling, they had remembered their captain's commands. That was why they'd started the card game in the first place - to obtain that wanted piece of parchment from Maven fairly and legitimately, or as fairly and legitimately as a band of pirates could make it.

But now ... now Youji had undoubtedly irked their opponent with his ill-conceived challenge and that 'without any trouble' order Ran had issued was as good as disobeyed. Of everyone in the tavern, only he and Youji hailed from the Redemption, while it seemed as if Maven's entire crew had decided to partake of Port Royal's shady hospitality with their captain.

Youji had definitely chosen the wrong time to do this.

The silence perhaps lasted but a brief moment, and yet, in that one fleeting second, Ken heard a chair scrape, a corset rustle, a man cough, and his own heart accelerate. It felt as if all stimuli around him had amplified, assaulting his already strained senses and pushing them beyond their limits. He registered the glaring midday sun that shone through the open entrance, he smelled the stagnant odour of fermenting ale and sweating bodies, he felt the rivulets of perspiration that glided down his back, and he literally tasted the tension that had thickened the air.

Never had Ken regretted leaving his weapon behind more than that very moment.

Then, a deep-throated laugh echoed throughout the room, spurring the scene back into motion as if nothing had ever occurred. And suddenly, Ken discovered that he could breathe again. He quickly pulled his eyes away from Youji, across the scarred wooden table, and to the man on his right who'd diffused the whole situation with his amusement.

Maven leaned forward in his chair and glared at Youji with his one good eye, dark greasy locks of shoulder-length hair swinging forward as he did so. "Ye must really want this thing, then?" the pirate asked in a scratchy voice, his words slightly slurred by the inordinate amount of ale he'd just consumed.

Youji remained as carefree and as charming as when he'd first stepped into the place, and Ken had to give the man credit for masking any nervousness he might have felt. The pirate was reputed for taking victim ships without quarter or survivors, and just by sitting at the same table as Maven, Ken sensed the threatening presence that emanated from the outlaw. He couldn't imagine what Youji must be feeling, staring that weather-beaten face dead on.

The blonde straightened and glanced down at the cards on the table. "It's not so much a matter of wanting as it is a matter of my wounded pride," he said in a cultured tone. Then, with that same unwavering half-smile still in place, he looked up. "What do you say, Maven? Another game, double or nothing this time."

Ken thought he heard two feminine sighs following Youji's daring words, indication enough that the man had a natural magnetism for the fairer sex. The brunette almost rolled his eyes.

Did females actually like this type of man?

In Ken's opinion, the man was nothing but a foolish, albeit charming, reprobate who was taunting one of the most dangerous men this side of the hemisphere. And women found this idiocy attractive?

Maven's chuckle once again brought Ken out of his musings. After giving Youji another quick assessment, the dark pirate smirked. "As ye know, I'm a gamblin' man. But let me ask ye this, ye dandified whelp, what're ye goin' to bet? I've cleaned ye clear out."

Ken looked back at Youji, wondering how the blonde would respond. Maven had a point: when they'd decided to challenge the outlaw to a game, he'd given the blonde the sum of their money as well as his faith. Admittedly - and for good reason - Ken didn't gamble, and didn't even know how to play.

Youji widened his smile and nodded knowingly as if he'd already thought about that obstacle. "On the contrary," he said good-naturedly. "I still have something of value."

Maven raised the eyebrow over his patched eye, willing to take the bait. "Oh? And what might that be?"

"Him." Youji nodded in Ken's direction so easily that the brunette wondered if he'd heard right.

Him? Had the blonde just put him up as ante?

This was beyond unbelievable!

Instantly, the offended man clenched his hands into fists, ready to knock some sense into his own crewmate.

Captain's orders, be damned. No one, absolutely no one, had the right to play with his life like that. The past seven months as the Redemption's first mate had taught him that much.

"Done."

The gruff reply from the hardened pirate stilled Ken's impulsive action before he even had a chance to stand. He glanced helplessly over at Maven, who was giving him an appraising look.

"I could use 'nother able body on m'ship. The last raid, I 'ad to rid meself of two men 'cause them bastards were too soft when it came to killin'."

At this, the brunette turned and glared angrily at his blond companion.

'What have you gotten me into?' his look practically demanded.

Youji kept his infuriating smile in place. 'Relax. I know what I'm doing,' the blonde's expression replied.

Ken seethed. When they went back to the Redemption - or rather, if they made it back to the Redemption - he'd personally tie the feckless man to the foremast and flay him alive!

"Same rules as before," Youji said in his obscenely eloquent tone as he moved to shuffle and deal the cards. "You win, you get Ken. I win, I get my money back and the document."

Maven nodded as he eased into a more comfortable position in his chair and grabbed his dealt cards off the table.

Thus, the game progressed, the tension that had dissipated earlier now beginning to build up again as both players maintained a stony façade throughout their cards' assessment. Ken watched with helpless fury as barely two words were exchanged and cards were thrown across the money-covered game field. He didn't understand how the game was played but even so, he definitely understood his life was at stake and that was enough to make every move more important than it already was. The first thing he needed to do when he got out of this was learn how to gamble. As much as he detested the idea, learning the craft would ensure that he wouldn't be put into this kind of situation again.

Suddenly, the one-eyed pirate's frustrated grunt drew Ken's attention back to the game at hand. Although he could not decipher the meaning of the cards laying face up on the table, he could easily read Maven's dark glare and Youji's triumphant smile.

For the second time in the past hour, Ken felt an unabashed flood of relief wash through his body. Eagerly, he stood up to gather the money Youji had lost in the previous games, and casually tossed the blonde his lost portion when he did so, inwardly grateful that the nervousness and anxiety he'd felt earlier didn't visibly show. Once he'd re-collected their funds, he turned serious brown eyes onto the greasy-haired pirate whose sour look more than emphasized his displeasure at the loss.

"The document, if you will," Ken stated solemnly.

Grumbling, Maven reached into his less-than-clean shirt and managed to extract a piece of brown folded parchment out of nowhere. Even from where he was standing, Ken could smell the rancid odour of unwashed clothing and days old sweat emanate from the outlaw as he was handed the prize. The brunette tried not to gag as he took the offered thing, gave a pleasant acknowledging nod, and turned toward Youji.

The blonde stood, and gestured toward the exit with a slight tilt of his head. For once, Ken couldn't have agreed with the older man more, and after tucking the procured document into the pocket that lined the inside of his vest, he started toward the opening. Youji fell in step with him fairly quickly, and as both men exited the seedy establishment, Ken let his stiff muscles relax.

He squinted his eyes until they adjusted to the bright sunlight, and let out a cleansing breath.

"We're not completely free yet," Youji mumbled to his companion.

"What?" Ken glanced over at the blonde and it was then that he noticed the other man's still tensed posture and quick gait.

"Youji?" Suspicious brown eyes bore into the tall blonde.

"Run," Youji whispered.

"What?"

"I cheated. They'll figure that out soon. Now, run!" And with that, the man pushed off and began weaving through the crowded streets of Port Royal.

Mouth agape, Ken watched in shocked confusion as his companion left him. What in the world ... ?

And then, Ken heard it - the angry shouts and breaking wood coming from the tavern they'd just left.

Bloody hell!

He didn't think. He just reacted and did exactly what Youji had done - he ran away from the place as if the hounds of Hell were at his heels.

(***)

Ran heard Ken before he even saw him.

Sitting behind his desk and attempting to make the numbers from the Redemption's latest run balance, the young redheaded captain was more than receptive to an interruption ... any interruption. Give him a storm at sea and he would smile in the face of Mother Nature. Give him a ship full of bloodthirsty pirates and he would be more than in his element. But give him a ledger with rows and columns of numbers to balance and he squirmed as much as an eel out of water. Thus, when the floorboards outside the captain's cabin began to shake from the stomping footsteps of an angry crewman, Ran immediately dropped his quill and looked expectantly at the door.

"Here's your damn document!"

As eager as he had been for distraction, the redhead was not prepared for the angry brunette who stormed into the room without a by-your-leave. Ken stood before the desk, breaths heavy and body sweaty, as he carelessly tossed a piece of folded parchment onto the hated ledger. And for a moment, Ran was entranced by the earthy grace and beauty that radiated from the man's sleekly muscled arms and slightly bared chest. That was, until he looked higher up and noticed the murderous scowl on his first mate's face.

"I certainly hope that thing is worth all the trouble I went through to get it," Ken added as the sitting captain began to unravel the item on his desk. "What's so important about it that I had to risk my life for it?"

Ran kept his gaze on the document he was unfolding, for some reason, frightened that he would become ensnared in the younger man's spell again if he looked up. For a full seven months, Ken had been on board the Redemption as his first mate, and although the captain had grown accustomed to having the brunette at his side, there were still moments when he could be rendered completely speechless in his crewman's presence. The only thing to do at times like these was to hide his temporary loss of composure until it disappeared.

"I'm assuming it's quite important," Ran answered as he made a show of perusing the meticulously inked lines on the now open parchment.

"You're assuming?!"

The redhead looked up just in time to watch Ken roll his eyes in exasperation.

"I could've been killed for an assumption? What, pray tell, Captain, did this assumption that is worth my life pertain to?"

The first mate's angry sarcasm was not lost on the young captain. During the past seven months, Ken had changed, his eyes less shadowed and his steps lighter ... as if the weight of the past had been lifted from his shoulders. But also in that time, Ran had discovered the younger man's temper, and as endearing as that sometimes made the brunette, it was almost impossible to calm the man down through direct intervention.

Sighing inwardly, the young captain stood up and refolded the recently procured parchment. "It's a map," he supplied belatedly. "A close friend asked me to acquire it at any cost. What its purpose is and why it's coveted, I don't know." Seeing no visible reaction to his response, the redhead walked around his desk and stopped a mere step away from the angry first mate, leaning casually on the sturdy wood and crossing his arms as he did so. "Now, are you going to tell me what happened?"

Ken didn't answer immediately, and if Ran didn't know any better, he could've sworn that the brunette actually 'huffed'.

Then, like a caged bird that had just been captured, the younger man began walking restlessly about the moderately sized cabin. Ran watched with a patient gaze as his companion paced the entire length of the room before stopping and answering.

"It was Youji," Ken said grudgingly. "The man actually had the nerve to wager me in exchange for that map! Can you believe it? You, of all people, should understand how much that affected me. It reminded me too much of ..."

Ken let the sentence trail off but he didn't have to finish for Ran to comprehend its meaning: it reminded the brunette too much of his father and his time with Crawford. At the thought, the redhead was grateful that he had never told Ken about his encounter with Crawford. If the younger man found out that he'd played with his life just as his father and Youji had all those months ago, he knew that Ken would never look at him the same way again.

"Why didn't you just order Youji to stop? You know you outrank him," the young captain asked in hopes of diffusing the atmosphere of regret and melancholy that hovered in the room. There was one thing he refused to be responsible for and it was bringing that sadness back into Ken's eyes.

"Christ's Blood, I know that!" Ken exclaimed. "But remember what happened in Puerto Rico the last time I tried to order him around?"

Ran's lips quirked up at the recollection. "If memory serves, you had a plump little blonde in your arms at the end of the night, didn't you?"

Deep brown eyes narrowed and pink lips thinned at the captain's insinuation. Ran called upon all his willpower to maintain a calm façade and not burst into laughter at the odd expression.

"As did you, Captain," the brunette threw back, nostrils flaring. "In fact, I think you might have ended up with two blondes that night. Am I correct?"

At the comment, Ran let a good-natured chuckle escape and maintained a distant fond expression. "That I did, Ken. That I did."

Ran didn't try to defend himself. Never mind the fact that he had taken those two blondes up to a rented room and had let them go without ever touching them, it was all worth the defamation to his character when he had the opportunity to see Ken like this. Although it wouldn't have been visible to an outsider, Ran amusedly noted a hint of both possessiveness and jealousy in the brunette's tone.

At the redhead's airy reaction, Ken breathed another exasperated sigh. "This conversation is going nowhere," he said with finality. "I still have things to do so if you'd be so kind as to speak with Youji, Captain, I would be ever so grateful." With that, the brunette turned and stomped out the way he had come, his mood as irritable as when he'd first entered the room.

Ran shook his head and listened reflectively until the echo of the slamming door faded into silence. It would definitely be quite some time before Ken calmed down but it couldn't be helped, he guessed. At least the map had been retrieved. What he had told the first mate was the truth: he did not know what the thing was for, but he owed his friend a favour and if there was one thing he never reneged on, it was his debts.

Resignedly, the redhead finally pushed off his desk after a brief pause and tried to ready himself for another bout with his account books. Now that the pleasant distraction was over, he had nothing else to do but return to that draining task. Slowly, he walked back to his chair, sat down, and pulled the ledger closer for further inspection. Almost immediately, his mind began to wander. A long list of tasks yet to be done before setting sail - and images of the first mate who would help in its completion - flittered before his eyes ...

Damn!

Defeated, Ran rested his head on his desk.

He should've asked Ken to do the books when he'd had the chance.

(***)

Valencia, Spain

"The whole fortune, I tell ya ... Ol' man Sancho knew where it was and tol' the capitán just afore he died. Was a part of de Leon's crew, Sancho was ... as a cabin boy over seventy years ago. Saw where the man buried 'is treasure, he did. Now the capitán and us, we're sailing over and finding this treasure."

Schuldich took another sip of his wine as he listened halfheartedly to the three Spaniards sitting at the table behind him in the open-air marketplace of the Plaza del Mercado's La Lonya. The late afternoon sun beat lazily upon the busy merchants of the so-called 'Silk Market' but any uncomfortable heat that may have resulted was easily dispelled by the refreshing Mediterranean breezed that swept in from Valencia's port. All in all, Schuldich knew that the scene he resided in was a painter's depiction of an idyllic summer day, but even so, he couldn't seem to stop his nasty habit of eavesdropping long enough to enjoy it.

The guttural voice of the man he'd been overhearing and his own limited knowledge of the Spanish language made it difficult to understand what was being said, but he managed to catch the general meaning. Apparently, an unintelligent Spaniard by the name of Ponce de Leon had been ordered by the king to lay claim to some place called La Florida over seventy years ago. As luck would have it, the man had been met with hostile natives, and forced out of his own colony with all his men. But during that time, he had thought he was going to die and had buried all his treasure somewhere in the New World. Now, this captain that the Spaniard had mentioned was intent on finding it.

Schuldich sighed quietly, and took another sip of the sweet liquid in his hand.

Treasure hunting.

It had the potential to be quite enjoyable, he thought. Then, reality set in. He had promised himself over seven months ago that he would never step foot on another ship again ... not after what had happened on the Valiant ... not after Crawford. His relaxed look slowly gave way to something darker as he set his goblet down on the table before him and turned his right palm up. The burnt flesh had scarred over now, leaving a lasting imprint of a cross on the previously smooth skin and reminding him of the weakness he had given into not very long ago.

His very own cross to bear, seared into his soul as well as his flesh.

No, he would never step on board another ship again.

The past seven months had shown him the life he'd originally sought when he'd left home. He'd answered to no one, and with that freedom, he'd traversed the roads of Europe from Italy to Portugal without thinking of any yesterdays, or tomorrows. In the beginning, he had tried to go home - had traveled halfway there, in fact - but then, the screaming voices began to echo in his head, voices of men and women long dead, voices of those he had killed in cold blood ... And without thinking, he'd turned around and ran the other way, not knowing where he was going but not caring either.

The dead should remain dead, and that would only come to pass if he stayed away.

"But aren't you afraid of them pirates and privateers over there, especially the English? I hear that bitch queen of theirs is out for the king's blood."

Pirates and privateers ...

Schuldich reprimanded himself for listening in at the wrong time.

Pirates ...

As much as he'd enjoyed his freedom in the past few months, there were times when he would lie awake at night, thinking about the last four years of his life ... and about a pair of golden eyes that refused to disappear into the shadows of lost memories.

His one weakness ...

"Bah, that's nothing compared to the greatness of Spain."

His one mistake ...

"So when does the capitán set sail?"

His one regret ...

"Tomorrow."

... was Crawford.

He stood abruptly enough to almost knock over the chair he'd been sitting on, and walked the few steps that separated him from the Spaniards he'd been overhearing.

The sitting trio looked up at him with curiosity and more than a little defensiveness. But Schuldich paid this no mind because in his mediocre Spanish, he looked the men straight in the eyes and asked, "Is your captain taking on any more men?"

(***)

The British colony of the Virginias

The drums were still beating.

Even now, after all these years, he could still hear the incessant pounding cut through the crisp morning air, and engulf him in a world of sound and fury.

Brad Crawford assessed his surroundings with impartial eyes, and ignored the distant drums that echoed in his head. The morning sun had risen high enough to cast its glorious light upon the dismal, charred remains of a once beautiful plantation house. Life had long left the home of his childhood, but if he closed his eyes, he could still smell the acrid scent of his burning youth, and feel the rising smoke caress his heated skin.

But destruction did hold its own merits ... for with the burning of the plantation had died the helpless weakling he had once been, and like the phoenix of ancient myth, he had walked away from these ashes a strong and ruthless man.

Having had enough of the reminiscing, Crawford turned to walk past the rotting rubble, and toward the crudely built shanties near the edge of the property. He hadn't come here to visit the past. He'd come here for an entirely different reason.

Decaying wood and dry dirt eventually gave way to lush green grass beneath his boots as he neared his destination, the beating of the phantom drums becoming louder as he did so.

He remembered running through this field once, golden eyes as soft and innocent as a doe's as he would search for the wise man who had dwelled among the slaves his father had bought. A shaman, Crawford recalled, was what the old man had referred to himself as. With his wrinkled face and wizened dark eyes, he'd wondered why his father had even bothered to buy the man, but all that had been easily dismissed when he'd heard the tales spun from that wise man's tongue. In broken English, the shaman had spoken of power and everlasting life, of unending prosperity and unstained health - all found within the magical waters of a hidden spring. For a child who had been born into a world of wealth and ignored by the very same, those tales had become his only reality. Thus, when the old wise man had claimed to possess a map that led to the mystical spring, he'd readily believed it. But then, life had intervened, and what once had been a child's innocent beliefs became a grown man's jaded cynicism ... until now.

/* 'Why, Captain? Why do you obsess over him so much ...?' */

Crawford paused for a moment at the entrance to one of the crumbling huts as the question blended in with the beating of the drums. He didn't know why Schuldich's question haunted him now. The man was dead, and in his opinion, a dead man's words were worthless.

Pursing his lips, Crawford purposefully stepped into the barely standing shanty he vaguely remembered belonging to the old shaman. Almost immediately, he was assaulted by the potent odour of damp earth and rotting wood.

/* 'Why, Captain? Why do you obsess over him so much ...?' */

Crawford wrinkled his nose at the pervasive smell and waited briefly for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the crumbling hut. For seven months, he had swallowed his pride, pretending to his crew and to himself that his defeat at that redheaded captain's hands had not affected him. And yet, the humiliation had simmered, quietly, unknowingly, and unsuspectingly, until pure unadulterated hatred had boiled over.

/* 'Why, Captain? Why do you obsess over him so much ... ?' */

He would not be denied this. With quick, no-nonsense movements, he traversed the three steps that comprised the length of the hut and kneeled down in the far corner.

And then, he started digging, bare hands plunging into the moist soil, oblivious of the dirt and insects that instantly coated his skin. The promise of power lay within a box buried in here, and Crawford was not willing to give that up.

/* 'Why, Captain? Why do you obsess over him so much ...?' */

"Because, Schuldich," Crawford answered the distant voice between tired breaths. "I don't lose ... I never lose ..."

And still, the drums beat on, played by the invisible hands of slaves who had once witnessed the innocence of a raven-haired child fade away.

End Chapter 1