O R A
a novel of adventure and suspense...

I am currently writing a fiction novel and I'm looking to get some unbiased criticism from people that I don't know.  Below, I've provided the Prologue of my novel in hopes that some people might read it.  If you do read it, please e-mail me at webmaster@eventmovies.com and let me know what you thought of it -- good or bad.  Thank you very much in advance!

Prologue

    Captain Nigel Hawthorne had thought that slitting the Chinese captain’s throat would have been the end of it. Such a barbaric display of bloodletting should have signalled a swift conclusion to the campaign. But a quick look through his telescope informed him otherwise. Three modern Chinese war ships were rapidly closing the distance between them and his aging pirate ship.

    Two days earlier, just off the coast of mainland China, Hawthorne and his band of cutthroats had ambushed a Chinese cargo vessel that was loaded with valuables from the royal treasury. Wondrous items such as gold coins, idols, jewelry and priceless gems packed its cargo bays. This treasure had been intended as a gift from the Chinese emperor himself to rival warlords as a means to smooth diplomatic relations between warring factions and to unite his glorious country. But Captain Hawthorne cared not for politics and diplomacy. He cared only for himself and for his men.

    The attack had been swift and vicious, its execution followed through to perfection. The British pirate ship, the Tempest, struck violently with cannons blazing as the vessel bared down upon its prey. Still reeling from the initial barrage, the Chinese crewmen were in complete disarray as the Tempest settled along the port side of the battered ship. Within moments, the attackers had swarmed on board, hacking and slashing their way through the hapless defenders.

    The Chinese captain, Lo Cheng, had watched the bloody carnage from his perch on the stern of the ship, his sword at the ready. As his men quickly fell from the brutal onslaught, he saw the pirate captain board the Chinese vessel, sword in hand. Realizing that all hope was lost, Cheng bent over and lit the fuse of what appeared to be a miniature cannon sitting at his feet. He then pointed the device skyward and waited several seconds before it explosively launched a projectile hundreds of feet straight up.

    The British invaders had watched as the projectile blossomed into a beautiful display of colors, thousands of tentacles of light reaching outwards from a single point in space. They were mesmerized by this display, none having ever seen such a phenomenon before. All admired the beauty of this unknown Chinese technology.

    Captain Cheng had also watched the display, content with the knowledge that his distress signal had been sent successfully. However, his contentment had quickly turned to fear as Captain Hawthorne suddenly loomed over him, the pirate’s displeased expression blocking his view of the fireworks. Directly over Hawthorne’s shoulder, Cheng could see the skull and crossbones of the Jolly Rodger flapping in the breeze atop the mast of the Tempest. It was the last thing that he would ever see.

    Having now accepted that death was imminent, Captain Cheng had closed his eyes as he felt the cold steel of his adversary’s blade lightly press against the right side of his neck. A peaceful calm eerily swept through his body, completely replacing his fear of moments ago. Cheng’s last thought was not of himself and the cruel fate that he was about to meet. It was not of his crew and their brutal demise at the hands of the barbarians. Rather, his last thought was one of despair and lost hope for his beloved country. The emperor had laid plans to ensure that his empire would enter a new era of peace and prosperity by abolishing all conflict by way of diplomacy. The means by which this would be achieved had been entrusted to Captain Cheng and his crew. However, their failure to complete this mission had sealed his country’s fate and doomed China to centuries more of civil war. His dishonor was monumental.

    The thought had been short-lived, however, as the Chinese captain felt a sharp, burning pain spread from one ear to the other across the front of his neck. Within seconds, consciousness drained from his body as his final sensation was the soothing feeling of warm blood splashing over both sides of his face and down his chest. Cheng was dead by the time his lifeless husk toppled to the deck with a hollow thud. He would be haunted by the burden of his failure no longer.

    In less than an hour, Captain Hawthorne and his crew had set sail towards the south, eager to put as much distance between themselves and China as quickly as possible. The entire treasure had been pillaged from the Chinese vessel, its vast weight actually threatening to sink the pirate ship even in calm waters. Hawthorne was concerned over the dragging effect that this was having on their speed.

    Nearly two days later, the pirate captain’s concern had been justified upon sighting three Chinese war ships closing the distance from behind. He realized that as long as the excessive load remained on board, the Tempest would be overtaken easily by the approaching armada within another day. Something had to be done soon or else all of his effort would have been for naught.

    Thomas Grant, the ship’s first mate, approached Hawthorne upon sensing that something was wrong. He stood silently beside his captain as Hawthorne continued to peer nervously through his telescope. The pirate leader slowly swung the telescope toward the bow of the Tempest and spotted the vague form of islands in the distance. He then raised the device and pointed it at the sky directly above the islands only to set his gaze upon an expanse of black clouds looming ominously above their only hope for refuge from the pursuing Chinese vessels.

    "Captain, what’s wrong?" Grant finally spoke, his curiosity getting the better of him.

    Hawthorne let out a heavy sigh and lowered the telescope. "We have visitors," he said gravely as he handed the device to his first mate, gesturing beyond the stern.

    Grant raised the telescope to his right eye and scanned the horizon, looking for the cause of his captain’s worry. When he found it, he turned pale and his heart skipped a few beats. "Chinese war ships?"

    Hawthorne nodded once. "Three of them gaining fast. We can’t outrun them with the treasure weighing us down so much."

    "They’ll probably overtake us within the next twenty-four hours," Grant realized as he lowered the telescope. "We depleted too much of our ammunition supply attacking the cargo vessel to put up any kind of a fight. Even if we were fully prepared, we would still be no match for three of their war ships."

    "This is true," he agreed. "But we may have an alternative."

    Grant was about to inquire about their options when Captain Hawthorne suddenly jumped from the stern and on to the main deck. The first mate eagerly followed until they both reached the opposite end of the Tempest where a young man was intensely studying several maps.

    "Mr. Cassels," Hawthorne addressed the youngster. "I was wondering if you could answer a question for me."

    Jonathan Cassels raised his head and flinched upon spotting the pirate captain standing before him. He was a jittery seventeen year old boy who was striving to become a map maker. Reluctantly, he had set sail with the pirates in hopes of exploring new territories to map out so that he could impress the established masters in his field and acquire an apprenticeship with one of them. However, being in the presence of ruthless cutthroats made him extremely nervous, and it showed.

    "Relax, Jonathan," Hawthorne smiled at the boy’s obvious anxiety. "I’m not going to bite."

    "Sorry, captain," he apologized, taking a deep breath to compose himself. "What can I do for you?"

    "Those islands," Hawthorne replied as he pointed in the distance beyond the bow of the Tempest. "What do your maps say about them?"

    The junior map maker shrugged his shoulders in frustration and pointed to an area on one of his maps that showed a region south of China. "I’ve been trying to figure that out myself for the past ten minutes. I spotted the islands with my telescope just before you did, sir. As you can see on this map, nobody has charted any islands this far south of China before."

    "So what you are saying is that we’re entering unfamiliar territory," the captain said, a worried look dominating his expression.

    "That’s right, sir," Cassels confirmed.

    "Wait just one minute here," Grant finally cut in. "Who says that we’re going into this unfamiliar territory in the first place?"

    Hawthorne glared menacingly at his first mate, a look that clearly indicated who was in command. "I say," he emphatically replied. "As I recall, I am still the captain of the Tempest."

    "I mean no disrespect, captain," Grant stuttered nervously. "I just want to know why you would want to sail into the heart of a storm with an overweight cargo in uncharted seas."

    Captain Hawthorne sighed heavily, revealing to his first mate that he understood the risks of such a drastic course of action despite his apparent lack of awareness of the situation. "It’s rather simple, actually," he explained. "Since we cannot fight our enemies, we must flee from them. The only way that we can outrun the Chinese war ships is to lighten our load. Therefore, we must land somewhere soon, unload the treasure and hide it temporarily. The Tempest will be light enough to escape, after which we can return to claim our prize in a few months time when the Chinese are long gone from the area."

    "But captain," Grant protested. "Why go into uncharted territory when we can simply turn west and go in the direction that we came from?"

    "We cannot reach India in one day, my friend," Hawthorne replied. "We must land and hide the treasure within the next few hours before the Chinese vessels get too close. If we turn west, then the only place to land will be on mainland China. Need I say more?"

    The first mate was still not quite convinced. "It’s still extremely risky."

    "Yes, but we have no alternative. The storm is actually a blessing in that it will provide excellent cover for us to hide the treasure without being seen."

    "Assuming that we survive the storm," Cassels added.

    Hawthorne shot a disapproving look toward the junior map maker, putting the nervous boy in his place. "You just worry about mapping the islands up ahead of us so that we can find the treasure after we’ve hidden it. Can you handle that?"

    Jonathan’s face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. He enthusiastically opened up a large notebook to the next empty page and pulled a quill from his hat, a look of excitement sparkling in his eyes. "Captain, this is what I’ve been waiting for." He then began to draw with fevered intensity, completely forgetting that Hawthorne and Grant were standing in front of him.

    The captain chuckled to himself and shook his head, watching with admiration as the boy delved head first with inspired passion into his work. "Thomas, were we ever that young and energetic?"

    "In the beginning, we were, captain," Grant responded. "But once you’ve plundered one ship, you’ve plundered them all. It becomes a bit routine after a while."

    Hawthorne chuckled again at his first mate’s remarks. But his good mood quickly changed. His facial expression turned grim and serious as he gazed ahead toward the gathering storm. "Unfortunately, the next few hours are going to be anything but routine, my friend."

    Grant did not respond to his captain’s comment. He didn’t need to. He fully understood the danger that they were heading into, with a full load of cargo and Mother Nature as their enemy. He didn’t like their odds. Yet this was their only alternative.

    Captain Nigel Hawthorne turned away from his first mate, spotted the man at the wheel of the Tempest, and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Helmsman, set a new course!"

    "Aye, captain!" he replied. "Where to, sir?"

    Hawthorne hesitated for a moment, seemingly on the verge of scrapping the entire plan. A strange sensation washed over him, a type of uncertainty that he had never felt before. He felt cold right through to his bones. He had sent his men into many battles in the past, and each time his confidence concerning the eventual victorious outcome had soared. Yet this time, there was no confidence. There was no certainty. There was only the unshakable feeling that he was sending each and every one of his men to their death.

    "Sir?" the helmsman interrupted him. "Where to, captain?"

    Despite being visibly rattled by this feeling, Hawthorne uneasily raised his hand and pointed into the distance. "Straight for those black clouds."

*      *       *      *       *      *       *      *       *      *       *      *       *

    The sea churned chaotically around the Tempest, taunting the battered vessel and threatening to engulf it in one mighty swallow. A sharp wind howled with deafening fury as piercing claps of thunder acted in tandem with blinding flashes of lightning to punctuate the blackness of the night. Mother Nature toyed mercilessly with the insignificant pirate ship, content for the moment with teasing its crew. It was great fun allowing them to foolishly believe that they might actually survive the awesome power of the elements. She would eventually tire of this game.

    From the deck of the Tempest, Captain Hawthorne frantically scanned the horizon with his telescope in hopes of finding some place to land. He cursed himself for having concocted such a ludicrous plan. It had taken them four hours before they had finally reached the edge of the storm with the Chinese war ships hot in pursuit and night rapidly approaching. They had already passed a few islands along the way, but the captain knew that they must land on an island within the storm, using it as a means of cover from the Chinese. Only twenty minutes had passed since then, but to Hawthorne it seemed like it was an eternity.

    Wave after wave from an unrelenting sea viciously hammered the pirate ship. Each pounding blow by the elements painfully stabbed Hawthorne while every creak of the vessel’s infrastructure caused a dull ache in all of his joints. The Tempest and her crew were the closest things that the pirate captain had to having a family. It pained him greatly to see any of them suffer.

    Each flash of lightning provided a brief glimpse of what lay beyond the darkness and captain Hawthorne took full advantage of each small window of opportunity. Despite the ethereal illumination, the dense, torrential downpour severely limited visibility. Although the turmoil around him would have provoked panic in any other man, Hawthorne decided that patience would serve him better. The massive surge of adrenaline through his body told him that fight, not flight, was the wiser course of action. His instinct would soon prove him right.

    After several quick lightning spurts, the captain spotted something out of the corner of his eye. He hastily aimed the telescope in that general direction and patiently waited for the next flash. When it finally came moments later, Hawthorne’s heart raced at the sight of a vague silhouette of what appeared to be a large island. However, his excitement swiftly changed to fear after more lightning bursts revealed that it was not a large island in the distance, but rather a small island that was unnervingly close. He suddenly realized that now was the time to panic.

    As the heavens continued to unleash an unyielding barrage of thunder and lightning, Hawthorne clumsily scrambled to the middle of the deck. Before he could address his crew mates, he paused to look around, suddenly finding himself overwhelmed by a sense of pride for his men. Despite their perilous situation and the incredible odds that were against them, his crew continued to perform their duties admirably amidst the fury of Mother Nature.

    But before Hawthorne could warn his men about the nearby island, another lightning flash made him realize that the game was almost up, that Mother Nature was about to deal the final blow to the Tempest. He saw it creep eerily and silently out of the omnipresent blackness. A mere one-hundred yards off the port side, towering thirty feet above the pirate ship and moving ominously towards them, was an enormous wave. It seemed to grow exponentially as it approached the tiny vessel. Each burst of lightning appeared to illuminate the wave from within, giving it a surreal life-like quality. It was about to feed.

    With only seconds to spare, Hawthorne gathered his senses and forced himself to overcome the paralyzing fear that enveloped his being. He wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

    "Brace for impact!" he bellowed over the howling winds and thunder. "Drop whatever you are doing and grab on to something!"

    The crew of the Tempest did as they were told and hastily anchored themselves to anything that was securely fastened to the deck. Captain Hawthorne did likewise, wrapping a rope that was attached to the mast around his right forearm. He then turned to face the massive wave but could only see darkness. Although he could not see it, Hawthorne knew that it was there, waiting to pounce mercilessly on its prey. As the driving rain pelted his face, a lightning bolt brilliantly lit up the stormy sky, revealing the predator in all of its majesty. It now stood a full forty feet above the deck of the Tempest, with its crest already descending towards the tiny vessel, eager to complete the kill.

    Realizing that his ship was about to be smashed into oblivion in the blink of an eye, Hawthorne gritted his teeth and clamped his eyes tightly shut, bracing himself for the inevitable impact. But instead of hearing screams of terror and suffering from his crew, his ears were drowned by the deafening boom of a different type of collision. Opening one eye out of curiosity, Hawthorne became witness to an awesome display of power. Seemingly out of nowhere, a second wave had approached from a different angle and crashed headlong into the original wave. The incredible force of this wave had the effect of partially diminishing the strength of the first. This served to reduce the potential damage of the impending impact with the vessel from lethal to unpredictable.

    Amidst the spray and foam produced by the titanic collision, the crew of the pirate ship continued to hold on for dear life. The Tempest suddenly tilted to starboard as the first wave emerged victoriously from its temporary setback. It then slammed ferociously into the port side of the vessel, knocking several of the crew members off their feet. Despite the fact that its collision with the second wave had significantly slowed it down, the original wave still had enough strength to jar four of the pirates from the relative safety of the Tempest and into the awaiting sea.

    The momentum of the attacking wave abruptly shifted the course of the pirate ship by ninety degrees, propelling it sideways towards the small island that captain Hawthorne had spotted earlier. Several more crew members lost their grips and plummeted into the blackness of the sea as the Tempest came dangerously close to capsizing from the relentless thrust of the wave.

    Having just barely survived the impact of the wave, Hawthorne managed to position himself so that he could see in the direction of their new heading. To his horror, the shoreline of the nearby island was directly ahead of them and the Tempest was blazing a path towards it at breakneck speed. Seconds passed as though they were hours before the wave gradually lost its momentum, allowing the vessel to slow its approach toward the island. Although it had significantly decelerated, the pirate ship was still closing in at an uneasy velocity with the shoreline a mere seventy-five yards away.

    Captain Hawthorne and the remaining crew braced themselves for the upcoming landing, praying that this would be their final obstacle. They had all been through too much to give up at this point. Land was just a few more yards away.

    Abruptly, the bottom of the ship’s hull scraped along the sea floor, suddenly pitching the vessel sideways and throwing more crew members into the shallow waters near the shoreline. The aging boat groaned in protest as its speed sharply tapered off. Moments later, the Tempest came to a grinding halt due to the frictional drag, its final resting position a thirty-degree tilt to starboard.

    Hawthorne pulled himself to a standing position and rapidly became accustomed to the incline of the deck. He needed to assess the situation in order to determine casualties and damage. A quick scan of the deck revealed that nearly half of his crew had fallen victim to the devastating wave. The survivors were badly shaken from the ordeal and were in dire need of leadership. Looking over the starboard side, the pirate captain could see the men who had been thrown overboard earlier by the ship’s impact with the sea floor. They too were gathering their senses and were attempting to climb back on board.

    The shoreline was well within sight. Hawthorne estimated that the Tempest was only thirty yards or so away from it with shallow water of no more than four feet deep between them and the small island. This was their first bit of good luck for it would allow his crew to unload the treasure on to the island without the need for the cumbersome row boats that were normally required to travel from ship to shore.

    Realizing that time was precious and that the Chinese pursuers could be nearby, Hawthorne quickly checked the crew that remained on the deck, making sure that everyone was all right. Great relief washed over him at the sight of Thomas Grant limping towards him, painfully favoring his left leg. His spirits rose considerably upon seeing his first mate and dear friend alive.

    "Glad that you made it, Thomas," Hawthorne beamed.

    Grant grimaced with pain as he stopped beside his captain. "Just barely, sir. I somehow managed to hang on during the rough ride, but my leg rammed against the rail as I was tossed about. I fear that I’ve broken it."

    Hawthorne wanted to show sympathy, but he knew that there was no time. The treasure needed to be unloaded immediately. "I’m sorry, Thomas," he consoled his friend. "I wish that we could look after your injury, but we have other matters to attend to that are of greater priority."

    The first mate smiled and nodded in agreement. "I understand completely, captain."

    Hawthorne sighed with relief, grateful to have such a dedicated man as his first mate. He could always trust Grant to fight his way through any adversity with stubborn determination in order to reach their objective. The man was a rock.

    "Listen up, men!" Grant barked before Hawthorne could go any further. "I want a quick search of the island. We need to find a suitable hiding place for the treasure. And I mean quick or else those Chinese war ships will be all over us before we know it. So move it!"

    Almost immediately, the remaining crew slipped overboard and waded through the shallow waters toward the shore. Moments later, they vanished into a thick forest that distinctly separated the beachhead from the island’s interior.

    Hawthorne marvelled at his first mate’s assertiveness, impressed by the effectiveness of his method of motivation. "Well done, Thomas," he complimented. "I’d better watch myself carefully or else I could soon find myself out of a job."

    Grant smiled and immediately shook his head. "No need to worry, captain. We all admire and respect you, myself included. There would be a mutiny if anyone other than yourself were the captain of the Tempest."

    Hawthorne received great comfort from his first mate’s words of praise. It made all the difference in the world to know that his crew thought so highly of him. He was born to lead others.

    During the next hour, Hawthorne and Grant tended to matters on the Tempest. They assessed the damage to the vessel and concluded that no major repairs were needed in the immediate future. A close inspection revealed negligible harm to the hull’s integrity with only some minor damage to the equipment on the deck. They were both mildly surprised to find that the battered pirate vessel was still seaworthy. Hawthorne then lowered the anchor to prevent the Tempest from being swept back out to sea by another imposing wave.

    The pair also consulted with Jonathan Cassels, who had remained behind while the rest of the crew had left in search of a hiding spot for the treasure. The novice map maker had retreated to below the deck so that he could draw his maps without getting them wet. One hour’s worth of intense drawing had produced only a crude sketch showing the small island surrounded on each side by two larger islands that they had seen earlier before entering the storm.

    Proud with what he had accomplished under such harsh conditions, Cassels emerged from below the deck with his creation in hand, eager to show off his talent to the captain. "Sir!" he roared with excitement as he ran towards Hawthorne and Grant. "I’ve created a map of the surrounding area. With this, we should have no trouble finding this island again a few months from now."

    Captain Hawthorne took the piece of paper that was the map from Cassels and studied it for several moments. Jonathan looked over his shoulder with the anticipation of imminent congratulations. But disappointment quickly washed over Hawthorne. Clearly, his expectations of the novice map maker had been much too high.

    "This is it?" the captain said as he flipped the map over only to see that the other side of it was blank.

    "Yes, sir," Cassels stammered, confused by Hawthorne’s lukewarm response.

    "This is the best that you could do?" Hawthorne began to raise his voice as he angrily shoved the map back into Jonathan’s hands. "This is nothing but a vague drawing of a few islands. A child might as well have drawn this."

    The novice map maker was visibly hurt. All of his effort was in vain, his tedious work unappreciated by those who were unscholarly. His frustration mounted as the captain and first mate turned their backs to him to discuss more important matters. Although his timid nature would have normally required him to quietly accept such criticism, Cassels decided that now was the time to take a stand and finally become a man.

    "I beg to differ," he spoke defiantly, instantly recapturing the attention of Captain Hawthorne. "This is the best that anyone could have done given the circumstances. We are in uncharted territory, far from any known reference points. I was unable to use the stars as a reference point because the severity of the storm has rendered my sextant useless. I was also unable to draw the map in any kind of logical sequence so long as the storm was busy tossing the ship about. Therefore, the only tools at my disposal were my memory and my ability to estimate. I repeat, this is the best that anyone could have done given the circumstances."

    An awkward silence followed as Cassels, physically and mentally drained by his first foray into defiance, struggled to regain his breath while attempting to maintain the appearance of calmness. He knew that he had taken a great risk. He knew that Captain Hawthorne didn’t tolerate outbursts of insubordination from his crew. Such outbursts were often met with severe consequences designed to keep the men obedient. The tension mounted.

    "I see," Hawthorne responded calmly, taking the map from Cassels and studying it all over again.

    To the surprise of both Grant and the map maker, Captain Hawthorne remained staid as he handed the map back to its creator, a look of contemplation on his face. Apparently, Cassels was to be granted a reprieve.

    "My apologies," the captain responded gracefully. "I never took into consideration the unusual circumstances of our predicament."

    "No apology is necessary, sir," Cassels wisely returned. He knew how difficult it was to extract any kind of apology from a man such as Hawthorne. It was a small victory that would be celebrated in silence.

    "Captain," Grant interrupted much to the relief of Hawthorne. "It appears as though our search party has returned."

    Out of the forest emerged three of the crew members, all of them excited about the news that they were about to share with their captain. Things were apparently starting to fall into place.

    "Captain Hawthorne!" one of the men bellowed as the trio of pirates clumsily splashed their way towards the Tempest. "We’ve found a suitable spot for the treasure."

    "Excellent work, men," Hawthorne praised as he looked down on the trio from the deck. "Where is it located?"

    "It’s only three-hundred yards inland from the edge of the forest," one of the others responded, pointing towards one of the island’s many uprisings. "There is a cave at the foot of the nearest mountain."

    A triumphant smile slowly formed on the pirate captain’s face. He realized that within another hour or so, the Tempest would be on its way to freedom with the stolen treasure safely hidden away to be claimed at a later date. His triumph over the Chinese and Mother Nature was nearing completion. Victory was now within his grasp and he wasn’t about to let it go.

    "We must not waste any more time here," Hawthorne addressed the trio. "Begin unloading the treasure immediately and bring it to the cave. The other crewmen should be returning shortly to help out."

    "Aye, Captain," one of the men acknowledged before they began to climb toward the deck, eager to unload the treasure that was waiting in the belly of the Tempest.

    Indeed, things were starting to fall nicely into place. The removal of the Chinese treasure began at a slow pace with only the three crew members performing the workload. But gradually, over the next half hour, most of the remaining pirates returned from their search to help with the chore.

    Despite their apparent change of fortune, Hawthorne still found himself unable to shake the uneasy feeling that something was dreadfully wrong. He had noticed that four of the crewmen were conspicuously absent, having not yet returned from their search. Logic told him that the foursome had probably wandered deeper into the island’s interior than any of the other men and that they were probably already on their way back to the ship. Yet the uneasy feeling lingered, refusing to put the captain’s mind at ease. He simply decided to ignore it, realizing that the urgency of their predicament dictated that his attentions be focused on more pressing matters.

    As the thunder storm raged on around them, the arduous task of unloading the treasure and transporting it to the cave had been almost seventy-five percent completed after forty-five minutes. Another load of the valuable cargo left the Tempest, carried towards the shore by five of the crewmen. Captain Hawthorne, along with Thomas Grant and Jonathan Cassels, followed the group, intent on seeing the hiding spot for themselves.

    "Has anyone seen William, James, Richard or Arthur yet?" Hawthorne asked the men as they emerged from the shallow water and on to the shore. The uneasy feeling was returning, and it was growing in intensity.

    "No, sir," one of the pirates replied as the group entered the edge of the forest. "We haven’t seen any of them since they entered the forest almost two hours ago."

    Despite his better judgement, Hawthorne again decided to ignore the anxiety that was building within him. Even though his instinct continued to tell him that something was not right with the situation, he knew that their current task had to be completed quickly in order to avoid the wrath of the Chinese.

    "Jonathan," he then addressed the novice map maker upon noticing that the youngster had no paper with him. "Why aren’t you recording our path to the cave?"

    Cassels responded by cupping his hands together and holding them up in the air. Within seconds, they filled with water from the relentless downpour of rain that the ongoing storm continued to dump on them.

    "Too wet, Captain," he then responded verbally, parting his hands and allowing the pool of water to splash on the forest floor beneath their feet. "My drawings would be ruined almost immediately after creating them. Luckily, I have a good memory."

    "Let’s hope so," Hawthorne skeptically shot back.

    The group continued onward deeper into the forest. Every twenty yards or so a lighted torch marked the pathway toward the cave where the treasure was to be hidden temporarily. Each torch had been strategically placed under a tree so that they were at least partially protected from the rainfall. Sporadic lightning occasionally lit up the vicinity, serving only to provide a slightly greater view of more forest. Thunder rumbled in synchrony with the lightning, indicating that the storm had no immediate intentions of leaving the area.

    As they progressed beyond the halfway point to the hiding spot, Hawthorne really began to worry. None of the men who had preceded them to the cave had yet to pass by his group on their way back to the Tempest. Not a soul outside of his group was to be seen anywhere. He dismissed this feeling as paranoia, reasoning to himself that the rest of the crew must be waiting for him and Grant at the cave itself.

    Another series of lightning flashes strobed across the sky just as a rustling sound caught Jonathan’s attention from behind the group. The nervous map maker reflexively spun around, anxiously scanning the path where they had just passed moments ago. As the lightning spurt subsided, his peripheral vision detected movement in the bushes at the side of the path. The thunder roared.

    With his heart racing uncontrollably, Cassels could not determine exactly what he was seeing. The intense illumination from the lightning was wreaking havoc with his vision, his eyes having great difficulty adapting to the wildly varying levels of light and darkness. Seconds later, the movement of the bushes subsided and the only sound that remained was the hypnotic pitter-patter of countless raindrops slashing their way through the forest canopy.

    He continued to stare down the path, paralyzed by the unknown. Without realizing it, Cassels had unwittingly separated himself from the rest of the group. As panic crept in, he shot a glance behind him, hoping to find that the others were still with him. His eyes only met the next torch on the path ahead with Captain Hawthorne, Grant and the five crewmen nowhere to be seen. He suddenly became acutely aware of his vulnerability.

    Not wanting to make any abrupt movements, Cassels slowly took one step backward, refusing to take his eyes off of the bushes. He felt every single raindrop splash against his face as time seemed to progress at an agonizingly slow rate. Halfway through his second step backward, his heel rammed against the exposed root of a tree, sending the map maker tumbling to the ground. There he lay as another flurry of lightning revealed that the bushes were restless once again. He froze.

    The magnitude of the rustling told Cassels that something other than the wind and rain was disturbing the bushes. Something big.

    His heart violently pounded with pure fear, the sudden surge of adrenalin preventing him from moving a muscle. As the last of the lightning flashes subsided, his eyes frantically attempted to adjust to the abrupt darkness while remaining steadfastly locked on the pathway. Silhouetted against the dim backdrop of distant lightning, something slowly emerged from the bushes. It closely hugged the ground as it menacingly crawled into the pathway.

    Almost on the verge of hyperventilating, Cassels nervously estimated that it was at least eight feet in length. The daunting silhouette, now completely removed from the cover of the bushes, methodically swung around to face its prey, stopping momentarily to revel in the thrill of the hunt.

    His every instinct told him to run, that the shadowy form stalking him was not a figment of his imagination. Yet the developing situation seemed to be too fantastical, his common sense telling him that such a thing could not possibly be happening. Despite the utter terror that Cassels felt, an overwhelming curiosity prohibited him from leaving before he could get a better look at this monster.

    The opportunity quickly arose in the form of another lightning burst. The stormy sky once again brilliantly lit up for a split second, revealing to the novice map maker all that he needed to know. Although the window of opportunity had been brief, it was enough to allow Jonathan Cassels to realize the evil nature of his stalker. He still couldn’t be certain, having never actually seen one with his own eyes before. But he had seen enough drawings and heard enough myths and legends to know that he had come face to face with the bane of seafarers everywhere. He finally decided to run.

    As Cassels fled the area, a piercing clap of thunder exploded from the sky directly above the island, preventing him from detecting if he was being pursued by his attacker. It didn’t matter, though. All that he could do was run. The rush of adrenalin that had earlier froze him in his tracks now served to provide the map maker with much needed strength to escape to safety. He would either elude the predator or die cruelly at its hands.

    Several tense moments passed as Cassels, expecting to be overtaken at any moment, continued his frenzied dash for safety at an unprecedented speed that was born from desperation. After having passed another ten torches along the pathway, he finally came upon the mouth of the cave which was lighted with six more flames. Without hesitation, he hastily grabbed one of them and darted into the darkness of the cave, not wishing to slow his momentum by sneaking a peak behind him. The torch flame threatened to dissipate completely as he recklessly waved it about while proceeding at a dead run.

    "Captain!" Cassels screamed as he made his way further into the cave, fear keeping him from slowing down. "Captain! There’s something out th--"

    The young map maker broke off in mid-sentence as he tripped on an obstruction on the cave floor. Once again, he awkwardly toppled to the ground, sending the torch hurtling several feet away from him. He cursed himself for his clumsiness and decided to take a few seconds to regain his breath and his composure. Once he had gathered himself, Cassels spotted the torch further down the cavern with only a tiny flame left burning, the majority of it having been snuffed out by the dirt on the cave floor.

    He was about to pick himself up and retrieve the torch when he suddenly noticed something odd. There was a strange smell in the cave. He hadn’t noticed it before because of his preoccupation with being pursued. After reassuring himself that he was at least temporarily out of danger, Cassels became keenly aware of a grossly pungent odor lingering in the cavern. Within moments, he became overwhelmed by the strength of the smell and somehow managed to hold back from vomiting.

    Curious as to the source of the stench, he crawled on hands and knees to where the torch lay on the ground. He then picked it up and held it horizontal, slowly rotating it so that the remaining flame would once again spread to the rest of the torch, restoring it to full illumination.

    Satisfied that he had not completely lost the flame, Cassels then held the torch out in front of him in order to get a good look around the cave. What he saw before him nearly drove him insane. This time, he could not withhold the vomiting.

    As he retched on the cave floor, the torch again fell to the ground beside him, its flickering flame eerily illuminating the half-eaten bodies of more than fifteen of the crew members of the Tempest. He could only estimate the number of men because what littered the cavern was a morbid assortment of body parts and limbless torsos haphazardly strewn about the ground.

    Repulsed by the carnage before him, Cassels stood up precariously, still light-headed from the shock of his gruesome discovery. He managed to stumble a few steps further into the cavern, just barely able to stave off unconsciousness. He had to warn the others, unless they too had already become victims to the island’s terrifying inhabitants.

    Before he could advance any further, Cassels was halted dead in his tracks by blood-curdling screams emanating from deep within the bowels of the cavern. Moments later, he saw a dim orange glow appear from further into the cave which gradually grew brighter as the screams increased in volume. Before he knew what was happening, Hawthorne, Grant and the five crewmen were upon him, furiously scrambling to get out of the cave.

    To Jonathan Cassels, it all seemed to be happening in slow motion. As the group approached him, he could see the look of sheer terror etched on each of their faces. The ghostly pallor of their skin indicated that they had been witness to an unspeakable horror. Their shrieks of unbridled fear reverberated chaotically throughout the cavern, adding to the hysteria.

    Not wanting to see what it was that they were fleeing from, but having a pretty good idea, Cassels ran ahead of the pack toward the mouth of the cave. He turned around just in time to see Thomas Grant fall, still handicapped by his injured leg. As the rest of the group surged onward, the first mate of the Tempest was swallowed by the darkness of the cave, but not before a number of large shadowy figures pounced mercilessly upon him amidst his piercing cries of pain.

    Cassels found himself unable to feel any sympathy for his fallen comrade. Fear dominated his thoughts and motivated him to continue on without stopping. The image of Thomas Grant unwillingly succumbing to death was branded permanently in the young map maker’s mind. All that he could think about was learning about survival of the fittest in his schooling. He remembered reading about how predatory animals in Africa singled out the weakest members in a herd of prey, opting for the easy kill. Apparently, their pursuers utilized a similar strategy.

    Before he realized it, Cassels had burst out of the cave opening just ahead of the remaining group. Ecstatic to leave the slaughterhouse that was the cavern, he was grateful for the cool feeling of rain on his face and he heartily inhaled the clean air. So absorbed was he that he had actually slowed his pace considerably, simply happy to be alive and enjoying it. The others rapidly caught up to him and they violently collided with the map maker as he blocked the pathway through the forest. All seven of them tumbled as one to the ground, crushing Cassels beneath the pile.

    Jonathan desperately tried to draw in a breath, but the weight of the crewmen relentlessly crushed his chest. Their frenzied struggling as they attempted to right themselves threatened to steal the consciousness from his body. Tunnel vision was beginning to set in.

    Just as he thought that he was going to black out completely, he saw two more silhouettes snake out of the darkness of the forest with evil stealth. More screams of terror and agony abruptly jolted the consciousness back into his body. Cassels watched in horror as one of the pirates on top was easily pulled off of the pile. To no avail, the petrified crewman wildly clawed at his shipmates, attempting to grab hold of anything to prevent himself from being hauled away to a cruel death. The effort was futile.

    With savage speed, the shadowy attackers viciously dragged the shrieking pirate feet first into the forest. The final glimpse that Cassels caught of the condemned man was that of his face, ghostly white with an expression devoid of all hope. It was just before a set of claws clutched the pirate by his face, silencing his cries of defiance, and abruptly pulled him into the surrounding foliage.

    Allowing no time for mourning, the bushes all around the disoriented group began to shake violently, indicating the arrival of many more visitors. Almost instantaneously, Hawthorne, Cassels and the four remaining crewmen scrambled to their feet, their latest victim quickly forgotten. With fear as their motivation, the pirates broke into a dead run towards the forest as several menacing silhouettes burst on to the scene, eager to join in the pursuit. Some decided to stay and partake of the latest kill while the others preferred the sport of the chase. The hunt was on.

    The lightning and thunder raged above as what little remained of the crew of the Tempest pressed onward, desperate to put distance between themselves and the island’s deadly residents. Cassels led the pack, his heart thumping with such force that he thought for sure that it was about to explode from his chest. His lungs burned intensely, unable to supply enough oxygen to his leg muscles. The young map maker, still refusing to believe that this nightmare was in fact reality, was on the verge of physical collapse. Yet his desire to survive, his will to live, somehow provided the needed energy to hang on for just a little longer. He knew that sanctuary was a mere two-hundred yards away.

    As Cassels approached the edge of the forest, he heard another terrifying scream from behind. Instinctively, he turned his head in mid-stride, not wanting to slow down even the slightest bit. This time, it was not what he saw that sent chills up his spine, it was what he didn’t see. Captain Hawthorne was still hot on his heels, eager to guide his shipmates to safety. But instead of seeing four crewmen, he saw only three. They were being picked off methodically, one by one.

    Before he even realized it, Cassels had emerged from the forest, darted across the beach and was haphazardly splashing his way through the chest-high water, hellbent on reaching the awaiting pirate ship. The others followed suit, forming a tiny procession that hysterically trudged toward the Tempest. All were extremely grateful to leave the mysterious island in their wake.

    The violent thunderstorm continued to unleash its ferocious power upon the island with even more intensity than before. The Tempest swayed uneasily under the influence of steadily growing swells from the unsettled sea, refusing to abandon its crew despite the chaos all around it. Luckily, the anchor had held the pirate ship in place.

    Without hesitation, Cassels, Hawthorne and the three remaining crew members scrambled up the side of the Tempest and made it on to the deck. They moved as one, not a single word spoken between them. Each one knew that haste was of the utmost importance, that they needed to put as much distance between themselves and the deadly island as quickly as possible. Despite the significant shortage of manpower, the tiny crew had the vessel primed and ready to set sail within a matter of minutes. They wasted no time in doing so.

    Jonathan Cassels, still visibly shaken by the horrific turn of events, made his way below deck as the anchor was raised and the Tempest slowly began to pull away from the island. He quickly found the captain’s quarters where he kept his notebook and maps for safe keeping. Without even stopping for a breath, the young map maker grabbed his quill and opened his notebook to the next blank page. Feverishly, he began to draw the outline of the island, pausing occasionally only to dip the quill into his ink bottle.

    He was not rushing out of necessity. Rather, his panic was induced by the terrifying ordeal that he had just experienced. His anxiety was at a dangerously high level, threatening to plunge Cassels into a nervous breakdown. There was certainly no chance that the novice map maker would forget the details of the route to the hidden treasure. Those details were permanently branded in his memory, never to be forgotten.

    The Tempest soon began to pitch noticeably, indicating that the pirate vessel had again entered the turbulent waters surrounding the island. The crashing sounds of wave after wave pelting against the hull of the pirate vessel struck his ear drums as Cassels worked furiously to complete his map. After the outline of the island had been drawn, he added the forest and several of the mountains, able to make only crude estimations of the distances between the landmarks. He then drew the opening of the cave and marked its location with an exaggerated ‘X’ before finally deciding to take a break to assess his creation.

    Under the eerie glow of a single candle, Cassels studied the map. As if in a trance, he lightly touched the page at the exact point at which they had landed on the island. He then slowly traced the route that his group had taken through the forest until his finger came upon the cave. The youngster paused for a moment, took a deep breath and then picked up his quill once again.

    Jonathan Cassels knew that it must be done. He knew that some kind of a warning was needed in order to protect future visitors to the island. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he would ever do what he was about to do now. He had seen the ancient maps of generations past and had scoffed at the seemingly childish superstitions that were often incorporated into them. His modern beliefs led him to laugh openly at maps that included bizarre depictions of mythical creatures patrolling the seas along with dire warnings to avoid these waters. Common sense told him that these drawings were simply conjured up by the deranged imaginations of superstitious fools. They couldn’t possibly be true.

    Yet as the map maker relived the nightmare of the island over and over again in his mind, the truth suddenly became crystal clear. He now realized who the fool was. Despite all of the beliefs that had molded him into the young man that he was, Cassels found himself dipping the quill into his ink bottle and preparing to finish off his masterpiece. The words flowed automatically from the quill, defying all of the logic that he had so religiously depended upon to guide him through life. Even after he had completed the writing, it all seemed too unreal to be true. He studied it for several more moments, marveling at the simplicity of the phrase. It consisted of only three little words, yet their combined meaning had a profound impact on Jonathan Cassels’ life. He had passed from adolescence and into adulthood with cruel abruptness, forever changing him.

    It finally took a booming clap of thunder to thrust the reality of the situation back into him. Once again aware of the furious storm raging around the Tempest, Cassels quickly closed his notebook, rolled up his maps and carefully placed them in a water-proof box that he had obtained in order to protect his precious creations. He then sealed it and slid it under the captain’s bed for safe keeping.

    Moments later, he found himself back on the deck of the pirate ship, struggling to maintain his balance as the raging sea tossed the Tempest about. Cassels scanned the deck, his eyes managing to fall upon Captain Hawthorne and one of the crewmen. A more intense search failed to locate the other two crew members that had boarded the vessel with them. He could only assume that they had been swept overboard, leaving the vessel and its grossly undermanned crew at the mercy of the elements. All hope, it seemed, was now lost.

    "Captain!" Cassels screamed above the roar of the storm as he approached the remaining two crew members. "Captain! Should we abandon ship?"

    The novice map maker waited patiently for an answer as the Tempest violently rocked back and forth, valiantly fighting against incredible odds. But as a flash of lightning lit up the expression on Nigel Hawthorne’s face, Cassels realized that no answer would be forthcoming. The captain’s eyes were lifeless and devoid of all hope, staring with empty despair just off the port side.

    Out of nervous curiosity, the youngster looked in the direction of Hawthorne’s gaze and found the source of the captain’s dismay. Another enormous wave was building off the port side of the ship and it was closing in fast.

    As his heart jumped into his throat, all feeling left his body. The novice map maker felt a strange calm wash over him, gently removing any fear that lingered in his body. There was no fear of his impending demise at the hands of the giant wave, only an odd sense of relief that the greater horror that he had faced back on the island was behind him. Jonathan Cassels had come face to face with the devil, and anything after that was simply inconsequential. As death loomed closer, his mind was empty except for those three words that he had written on the map of the mysterious island. So deeply affected was he by his harrowing experience, that not even the prospect of dying was enough to bring him back from the brink of insanity. The island’s deadly inhabitants would haunt his mind for only moments more.

    The enormous wave slammed into the Tempest amidst the futile screams of resistance from its remaining crew, smashing the battered vessel into thousands of pieces of jagged flotsam. As the churning sea engulfed the remaining crew members, sending them plunging to a violent death, Jonathan Cassels was unaware of what was happening around him. All that he could think about were those three words that he had written to complete his masterpiece and what they had done to forever change him as a person. They not only haunted his final moments in life, but they would also haunt him for all eternity after his death. Here be dragons.