The Red Sun

“General,” the lone soldier’s voice echoed in the great emptiness of the room he stood in, “I have information in regards to the ship you’ve been searching for. It’s just been spotted off the Caribbean coast.”

“The coast is it?” the General replied, as he lifted a small porcelain tea cup to his lips. “You’re certain it is the correct ship?”

“There can be no doubt sir, The Red Sun.”

“Hm,” the small sound of sipping echoed through the room, “make sail for Nassau. That’s where they’ll be headed. Send word, double the reward if a pirate is turned in on any of the islands.”

“Yes, sir.” the soldier saluted before exiting, leaving the young general alone once more with nothing other than his tea and his thoughts.

~~~

“I’ve got one, Captain Stark!” The Captain’s piercing gaze moved from the storm on the horizon to his first mate, who tugged his captive to the bow of the ship, “I’ve found a dirty pirate.”

A foul stench polluted the air and the sun became hidden behind a distant hurricane. The clouds sat still in their place, waiting patiently, as if they were a predator hunting its prey. The sea was silent. There were no distant thunder claps or rumbles, not even the sound of the lightning that struck. Everything seemed muted. Only the sounds of waves crashing against the wood of the frigate were loud enough to draw one’s attention, but decades at sea had dulled the ambience.

“Indeed you have,” the captain’s voice was strong, “a rather disappointing example of one, but a pirate nonetheless.” Captain Stark moved forwards, ripping the sleeves of the pirate’s shirt: the mark of treason. On the man’s shoulder sat a branded P, meaning Stark was not the first British captain to take this man prisoner. He stared at the sickly gray color of the pirate’s skin.

“What shall I do with this sea dog, sir?” his first mate asked excitedly. It was the question the entire crew waited to hear.

The Captain, instead of answering his question, looked into the eyes of his prisoner. A shadow lurked within the pirate’s gaze. There was a great and terrible secret hidden behind the emerald green of his eyes. Stark felt a chill run down his spine.

“What’s your name, boy?” Stark’s voice grew soft and filled with curiosity.

“My name isn't important, Captain, not to you,” the pirate finally said with a thick Scottish accent, “you’ll soon draw your last breath. Hmm, headed to hell like the rest of us.”

“You think that’s funny, mutt?” The first mate shouted as he pushed the pirate to his knees, moving to further the assault.

Stark grabbed the swinging fist of his first mate, pushing it downward. “That’s quite enough from you, Henry. Please, remove yourself before you wind up in the brig.”

“Yes captain,” he muttered as he hesitantly stood back. “Apologies.”

A violent and cold breeze whistled against the ropes and sails. The crew felt a shiver crawl down their spines as any warmth seemed to be pulled from the air. It felt as though suddenly winter had come, mid July. Some began to mutter, swearing they could hear the sound of a shrieking laughter coming from within the wind. Then, all sail was lost. The voices on deck seemed to die out all at once.

“What’s after you?” the captain knelt to meet the pirates gaze more sincerely, attempting to learn the secrets hidden in his eyes. It only puzzled him further; the once resilient green had turned to an ashy gray.

“There’s no hope left for you, Captain,” the pirate confessed.

“By that you mean?”

“It means, they've come for me. It’s been this way, well since as long as my memory cares to venture,” the pirate’s voice emptied suddenly, trailing off, “I was a mortal man once. Like you. Now, I don’t know what it is you could call me. I search, that’s all. Perhaps a scout?”

“Search for what?” the captain asked frantically as he watched the near black hurricane approach the ship at an incredible speed. He held his hand to the air, feeling for the gust that drove this storm, pulling it back into himself almost immediately. He felt nothing, not even a soft breeze. His heart began to quicken as the pirate laughed in his face. The laughter seemed to carry on the gustless air, echoed by dozens more. It was decayed laughter. One that any living man could not utter.

“I’m the cat,” he added, cackling louder than before, “you’re the mouse. We’re searching, always searching for men like you. Those who hunt others for sport. Ha. Now you’re all going to die.”

Lighting began to crackle in the now not so distant clouds, revealing the silhouette of a ship. It was much larger than the one they currently piloted. The sails hung tattered and torn but still it carried on with great speed. There were holes through the deck and the bow. Captain Stark could have sworn he smelled embers fresh enough to have still been burning, yet no flames were lit. Stark’s eyes made contact with those of the man he assumed was the pirate Captain. He stood fiercely at the helm of his ship. Stark heard the screams of his crew, the sounds of terrified splashing - he heard the eruption of sheer chaos. And even still over the clamor of his panicked crew, he heard the echoing laughter of the pirate Captain who stood aboard his ship.

“Thank you for your kindness, Captain. I’ll see you again,” the first pirate was now standing, his face had decayed as well as various parts of his body, “as we sink into the endlessness of this watery hell Captain Harper has created.” He whispered to the captain, as he plunged his fist through Stark’s chest, drawing from it his still beating heart. Captain Harper, who watched from his own dead ship, smiled as the breeze began to heighten. The pirate marched forward, holding his hand over the water and crushing the heart into muck. The slime slid down the bone and flesh of his hand and into the water it puddled.

He breathed out in euphoria as his gift was received by his God. Thunder crashed deafeningly loud, lightning struck the sails of the frigate they had intruded upon. Beneath them, a whirlpool of unfathomable proportions materialized. The captain met his mate’s dead eyes as the ship and its crew were swallowed by an angry God. Their cries echoed in the breeze, harmonizing with the dead cackling of their assailants. Then it began to rain.

The pirate extended his arms to receive the gentle bombardment of his God’s enchantment. He felt himself becoming whole again. The decayed flesh on his body began to heal, he could feel blood rushing in his veins, air in his lungs, and the spasms in his nerves. A sigh of relief escaped his mouth as he pulled himself aboard the ship he called home, taking his place as first mate beside his Captain. The roaring sea gorged on the British ship and the sacrificed souls of its crew.

“At last, it is time. We are whole again, my brother. For now at least,” Captain Harper’s hand set itself upon his first mate’s shoulder, “we head for land, for Nassau, the pinnacle of piracy!”

A cheer was drawn from his crew as they hoisted the sails. Their ship slowly regenerated the atoms it had lost - the atoms blown into the ocean, the ones burned into ash, the ones stained with the blood of Harper’s victims. The black flag bearing a white skull and crossbones was restitched as it fluttered valiantly against the breeze.

“Captain, I'm not so sure this is a good idea. Who knows how much time has truly passed, these waters become polluted by the British more so every day. I can only imagine what the world on dry land looks like. We must be cautious or it can mean all of our ends.” his first mate said softly, not loud enough for another soul to discern.

“Mr. Weaver, you’ve come to earn my respect and trust through these endless days.” Harper's voice turned cold, “do not make me regret that.”

There were no more words exchanged between Captain Harper and Weaver, only a silence as ominous as their very existences. The hurricane that followed them began to dissipate as they neared the land. Once it was gone, they headed toward the island and docked on the first and most expensive dock off the coast of Nassau. They spared no expense. The crew hurled themselves over board and split off, headed to taverns, weaponries, and brothels. As captain Harper stepped ashore, Weaver grabbed the upper part of his arm.

“Please sir, land is our only vulnerability. I beg you to stay nearby the ship.” his voice was sharp, but Harper’s gaze was sharper.

“I will see my son, Mr. Weaver,” he nearly growled as he pulled himself out of his mate’s grip, “I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

And so Captain Harper took his first steps on land for the first time in what he would discover, had been twelve years, almost to the day. The feeling of the sand beneath his feet was euphoric. He tossed his head back in glee as he walked as a free man in the streets of the island he once called home. His long coat flapped against the wind, his hair twisted itself into locks, and his sense of caution blew away with the island breeze. His gaze was pulled by his crew, who had already begun to fill the nearest outdoor tavern. They purchased ales and cheered as their glasses clanged against each other. He couldn’t help but wander toward the celebration. After all, today was a celebration of life.

“Captain!” he heard one of his men cheer, “come, drink with us!”

“Lord the ale here tastes heavenly. Can’t we just stay here forever?” The crew laughed and drank more. Harper indulged. He chugged down one, then two, then three and so on. When Weaver found himself among the crowd, he was surprised to find his Captain was almost completely sober, despite the stack of emptied cups at his feet and the chants of his counterparts. They egged their Captain on as he chugged down another ale.

Weaver sighed and began to make his way through the crowd of drunken pirates hollering and singing. He tossed a single coin upon the counter and asked for a bottle of rum. His lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle and he sipped ever so gingerly, making sure to savor his first drink in years. It practically melted in his mouth, prompting another drink.

“Alright lads, let me through to the bar,” Harper beamed as he pushed past the crowd. He sank into the stool beside Weaver and smiled at him warmly, the sun beaming against their skin. It felt incredible. Though Weaver tried his best to remain weary, the feeling of joy was too much to toss asunder.

“I hate to admit it, but you were right Captain,” he confessed as he poured his superior a glass, “I think we all needed this, a break from the gloom of the sea. How long can we stay?”

“There’s no limit, Weaver, but we should not stay long. I imagine The Red Sun has had quite the following as of late. I’d say no longer than a day, perhaps two,” the Captain’s smile faded. “I fear what I may find when I venture home.”

“A heaviness weighs on my heart Captain, something feels off.” Weaver confessed himself. The Captain’s gaze fell just behind Weaver, where he spotted a small orange barn owl staring directly at him. It’s wings were spread apart, as though it was trying to ward the man off. It’s large black eyes shot bullets at the Captain.

“That there’s a bad omen, Cap,” he urged his gaze away from the bird, “bad omen indeed.”

“I should go now,” Harper whispered softly, never breaking eye contact with the bird. Weaver raised a glass to his Captain.

“Here’s to finding the truth and making peace with it.” They drank together before the Captain took his leave.

He made his way deftly toward the cabin where he used to reside. He was sure to avoid the glance of any Englishman who stood posted in various locations along his route. As he approached the run down wooden shack, he could feel his heart growing heavy.

The door hung loosely off the hinges, flapping against the wind. There was a large P, printed in black ink. From the window hung a noose with a warning to all else who dare engage in the sin of piracy. No one was meant to know that this shack was his. They were only to know he was a sailor, whose wife had been unfortunate enough to birth a son during his time as a poor man. Anger began to replace his excitement as he pushed past the door of the shack.

There, sitting at the table, was a general clad in British red with a cup of steaming tea rested in his hand. The sounds of guns loading and being shifted echoed through the small empty building, as Harper found himself surrounded by pirate hunting British soldiers. The general sipped his tea once more, before standing with the rest of his men. His face was young but Harper could see it had been aged by some distress.

“I figured you might wash up here sooner or later,” his voice was bold and sturdy, “I've heard so much about you. Nassau’s own pirate ghost legend, Captain Alistair Harper.” the general scoffed at the name.

“You seem to know quite about me, but pity, I can’t say I know you at all.” Harper retorted. His thoughts began to go violent and aggressive as the seas he tread.

“Tell me Captain Harper,” the stranger lifted his glass to his lips but did not drink, “the name of the ship you pilot?” Harper remained silent, sensing he was being tricked into some sort of confession. “Surely you must know the name of your own ship. Come on then, out with it.”

“The Red Sun,” he admitted. He heard the screeching cry of an owl overhead. His eyes shot upward, again making eye contact with the orange barn owl. The black of its eyes stood out against the brilliant white of its face. The bird circled overhead, as though it were a crow waiting for an inevitable death. Harper’s heart began to pick up as he broke eye contact with the bird and placed his gaze back on the general.

“My god, it truly is you,” he whispered, dropping his teacup. It clattered against the dirt floor of the house. “I presume you’ve come in search of your family? It's the only motive I can make any sense of.”

“What have you done with them?!” the Captain demanded, lunging forward only to be stopped by the raising of more pistols.

“Nothing that the slow decay of a decade didn’t do already,” he smirked, “your wife, dear Margret, was hanged for thievery. And when I found your son here all alone,” Captain Harper’s face contorted, “why, it was almost too easy to put him off his misery, to give him his last rites before sending him to a place that truly deserved him. Hell on earth.”

Harper turned his back on the general, “I don’t believe a word of it!”

“Have you any idea how long you were away from them?” his question was more blunt than the backend of his pistol. “Twelve years. Twelve bloody long years!”

“I won’t stand here and be humbled by some criminal disguised as a hero.” The Captain felt his heart being torn a million different ways. He wanted to be sad, to be anguished, disappointed, but all he could feel was rage. He knew he had to keep his composure. After all, he had a reputation to uphold. He turned his back on the young general and took his leave, never asking for permission.

As he began to make his journey back to the cursed ship that had stolen his life, he heard the steps of another trailing behind him. A vicious glance over the shoulder was all he gave to the soft footsteps that approached. The general smirked again, drawing his pistol and aiming it at the pirate. The sound of gunfire echoed in the area surrounding, followed by the sound of a body collapsing to the ground.

“Get up, pirate.” The young general held a crucifix rosary to the man he’d wounded, “let me teach you the wrath of God.”

Captain Harper chuckled, holding his hand over the hole in the back of his leg. He turned to the young general, his own smirk contorting the muscles in his face. The wind began to hasten, the trees shook violently, and the warmth of the sun disappeared entirely. But the general did not falter. Instead, he stood more steadfast than before. Weaver began to call out as he rushed along the dirt road. His captain’s gaze was quick to settle on him.

“Get the lads to the ship. I’ll handle the mess here.” his tone seemed more playful or even excited than anything else, “you take care of my ship, Captain Weaver.”

“Captain I-” they both knew there were no more words left to say. Weaver nodded his head and began to retreat, slower than Harper would have preferred.

“Don’t worry, they won’t last long without their Devil Captain.” the general stepped closer to the pirate, holding his crucifix tighter and higher. “May God forgive your heinous ways.”

“Ha!” the general was shocked as the pirate laughed in his face, “there are Gods much older and much more powerful than your own pathetic deity. Let me show you their power.” He lifted his hand from the gunshot wound to reveal a black ashy substance rather than blood. His flesh seemed to be slowly burning away, turning to ash, floating upward, into the atmosphere. The Captain stood with ease and thrust his arms outward. He looked to the sky as the same blood chilling echoing laughter that had consumed the general’s comrades began to echo on the breeze that seemed to surround them. The orange barn owl ceased its circling and fled, landing on a distant tree.

“What is this devilry?” the general whispered to himself, watching in shock as bits of the pirate’s flesh turned into this black ash. He watched helplessly as it filled the air.

“You never told me your name, lad. An adversary such as yourself should be named and remembered, don’t you agree? The Great Slayer of Captain Alistair Harper!”

“Mock me not, pirate. I’ve lived a life of valor. You’re the criminal. You!” the general seemed to become flustered by emotion, “I’ve spent my entire life trying to right your wrongs!”

“Not much of a life to live, boy.” Harper mocked further as his body dissipated into flakey black ash. Only the upper half of his body remained intact, “don’t worry. It’ll be over soon.”

A tornado of darkness began to form as more of the pirate captain was pulled into the atmosphere. The laughter grew louder as the pirate’s physical being began to lessen. Soon, it consumed all but the pirate’s face, which remained to watch until the tornado had swallowed the general’s flesh.

“You wanted to know my name?” he could feel his own demise approaching, “it’s Alistair Harper II. May God forgive my sins and look upon me in favor.”

Captain Harper’s victorious smirk turned quickly to an expression of panicked remorse. He looked upon the face of the young man who stood before him, steadfast and confident and suddenly he could see it. The way his nose curled down toward his lip, the blue of his eyes, he could see all of himself in the young general. All the things he was, but the opposite. The ash tore away at the remainder of his physical being. His end would come soon, but for now, he was forced to look upon his son and feel a decades worth of anger and despair.

Bits of ash, strong like sand whipped against the general’s skin, adding small crimson highlights to the black of the vortex. Small wounds formed on the pink skin of his cheeks and forehead. Still, the burning of the rage and hatred was all he could feel.

“General Harper!” a voice echoed through the vortex. The young man’s gaze turned in the direction of the sound and before he had time to react, he felt the collision of another body against his. The warmth of the sun beat against his skin again. Blood dripped along his face and from his hands but he was alive.

The world seemed to slow completely as he regained his composure. He saw his next in command, laying beside him. The man panted as he looked upward toward the sky. Civilians looked onward, horror written in their expressions. The general felt that they were looking at him as if he were the monster. He felt his anger boiling inside him once more, stronger this time than it had been ever before.

“My boy,” Harper’s voice was little more than a whisper, audible to only himself, “I’m sorry, son. I never meant to leave you alone for so long.”

Strong gusts of wind turned into little more than an evening breeze. The ash that had consumed Harper began to dissipate or be swept away by the gentle flow of the breeze. There was a certain peace to it. Young Alisitair twisted his body to look onward toward the docks. He watched his father’s first mate usher his men aboard their ship. Massive black sails stretched outward, preparing to catch any wayward winds.

“After them! Arrest them all!” General Harper cried with all of his strength, attempting to pull himself to his feet.

Weaver was quick to make his way to the helm, taking hold of the wheel with a sort of vengefulness he’d never felt before. He looked to the sky, watching the small pieces of ash floating about over his head.

Flying against the winds but with the ashy debris, his eyes landed upon a common barn owl. The sun against its body gave the creature an ominous red-orange coloration. The brilliant white of its face stood out so clearly against the darkness of the ash. The black of its eyes devoured any feelings of hope or joy the new captain might have felt. Weaver looked to the horizon. The sun beat gently against the waves. It carried a red hue across the water. As the ship pulled away from the docks, the cover of a hurricane began to form behind and over it, dimming the resilience of the evening's red sun.