Of Scallywags and Sorcery

A Trap and A Taunt

***

"Is it just me or does Chaitra look different?" Waylon tilts his head as he studies me, his blue eyes narrowed, his hair falling over his forehead in wet, dark blond strands.

I wave his question away.

I've already caught a glimpse of my round, weathered face in my dao's blade. I've fidgeted with the long, black braid falling down my back. I examine the talon-like nails and callused hands that belong to someone else.

I know I'm in a pirate's body, but I can't focus on that right now.

"We have a bigger problem!" Rana points upwards, where a silver-scaled, winged serpent hovers in the tumultuous sky. With a roar that churns the sea, the dragon looses a violent rain shower. My friends and I shield our faces from the onslaught.

"It is too late to appease Yinglong!" a voice cries. "Our pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears!"

I turn to what I presume is my crew. Their clothes hang in tatters, soaked in blood and grime so thick I can't tell what colour the fabric was before. Their brown faces are peppered with bruises, battered by the rainstorm tossing them about the ship that was supposed to protect them.

These are my men, or the men of whichever legendary pirate captain possessed this body before I did, and I will protect them.

"If we cannot appease Yinglong, we must fight him." I face my friends.

"I say we fight a storm with a storm." His dark, shoulder-length hair plastered to his head, Helaku drums a rapid rhythm on the taffrail with his wet, russet hands. A high-pitched call echoes through the sky, through my mind.

A slender bird descends from above the storm clouds, lightning crackling among its dark feathers.

"A thunderbird," I murmur.

The feathered mass of fierceness and electricity swoops down on Yinglong. The dragon bellows, and for a moment, the rain's sting against my skin softens.

"I say we fight water with fire." Rana pulls a clay whistle out of her pocket.

It's shaped in the face of a creature I don't recognise, as solemn as those ancient Egyptian statues I saw at the museum once. Shielding the whistle from the rain with one hand, Rana blows into it.

Instead of a harsh call, I hear nothing. Even so, another winged beast appears out of nowhere. I squint. It has an antelope's horns and body and a bird's head.

"What is that?" Waylon stares at our new warrior agape.

Rana rolls her eyes. "Introducing Akhekh, one of the god Set's beasts."

As if he hadn't already made an entrance, the draconic hybrid snarls and sends a stream of fire racing towards Yinglong. The dragon screeches as it ducks and rushes at Akhekh, but the thunderbird swoops in to intervene.

Beatriz bounces on her feet. "I've got something too." She cups her hands around her mouth and lets out a high-pitched cry.

The rest of us cover our ears, flinching.

Beatriz nearly falls over the taffrail, jumping as she points at the huge golden bird sweeping in from the horizon to join the fray. "Go get Yinglong, Alicanto!"

Next, we turn our expectant eyes on Waylon.

With a cocky grin, he reaches into his pocket. "I have the very thing that's going to save the day." He withdraws a transparent ball filled with gleaming golden and red threads.

"Really?" Scepticism fills my voice, raises my eyebrows.

"Really." The globe dangles from the thread looped around Waylon's finger. "This Victorian silk spirit trap was passed down to me by my great-great-grandparents."

"So, the threads are supposed to trap the spirits by drawing them into the ball through that?" Rana gestures at the hole at the top of the sphere, across which the suspension thread is fastened.

"Precisely."

"What must we do for it to work?" asks Beatriz.

Waylon closes his fist around the transparent ball. "Just get it within range of Yinglong."

"I wouldn't say that's the sort of spirit that thing can trap." The wet locks of Rana's black hair bounce as she shakes her head. "It's too solid."

Waylon crosses his arms over his chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She narrows her eyes. "It means that your ghost trap isn't going to overpower a dragon."

"I don't know about that." Helaku taps the wispy beard gathering at his chin. "We are all spirits in our most basic form."

My friends all look to me, the captain of this ship and our crew. Rana and Helaku both have solid points, but we're out of options.

I shrug. "I say we give it a shot."

Beatriz gives the call to summon Alicanto. Helaku shrieks in alarm. Rana covers her ears, aiming a kohl-lined glare at the other girl. Waylon grins as he hands Beatriz the silk spirit trap, already accepting his place as the hero of the group.

Alicanto swoops down. He's even more majestic up close as he sits on the taffrail before Beatriz. He's golden like treasure, his feathers gleaming at the edges like steak knives.

"Take this close enough to Yinglong for it to act on him. Don't give up until the rain dragon is completely contained within it," says Beatriz in Spanish.

The bird bobs his head and takes to the sky, a glistening streak with a glassy bauble hanging from his beak. My friends and I gather, praying and hoping in the ways our cultures taught us that we'll win this battle. After all, we know what awaits us should we not: the rocky darkness of Davy Jones' locker.

A laugh booms through the sky, sending a shiver through me as icy as raindrops. "I don't know whether to be insulted or amused that you children tried to contain me with a measly trinket."

A fierce gust of wind sweeps past us, tugging at our clothes, buckling our sails. We shriek, cowering as the rain beats down on us with renewed force.