The fire was mere coals by morning. Warren stoked them and piled on the small twigs he had rounded up earlier. Tendrils of white smoke rose and burned his brown eyes as the tinder caught on. He put the dried branches on top of the twigs and raked a hand through his dark hair. Flames licked up the dead wood and blazed high. He glanced at Boon; his little brother. Only the rising and falling of his small ribcage gave any sign that the boy was alive. He smiled and shook his head. Such big dreams from such a small boy. He pondered at their differences. March wind; that is how he described his brother.

Their mother told them to spend one night, Boon had insisted on two. Warren did not mind; he loved the forest and preferred the trees to the village. The cramped cottage they called home smelled of the soured cheese their mother pressed and sold. It was good to be away for a spell.

The morning catch lay gutted and cleaned on top of his canvas bag. Warren constructed a small spit and ran the fish through with the pointed sticks he carved and set them to cook. The trout would make a fine breakfast compared to the plain oats they had the morning before. He listened to the fire popping and hissing as the fish cooked.

Boon stirred and moaned something about a horse. Warren chuckled. The small boy’s blue eyes fluttered open; he stretched and yawned. Throwing his cover aside, he rolled up to his feet, his blond hair tousled and sticking up.

“Is that breakfast?” he asked, inhaling deep and licking his lips.

“Sure is.”

“You went fishing without me?” Boon said, disappointment in his voice.

“You were asleep, sorry.”

Boon shrugged, smiled and sat down by the fire. A limb snapped in the distance. The boy turned and looked towards the sound, dismissed it and gazed back at the fire.

“Is it ready?” he stared with anticipation at the roasting fish.

“Soon, don’t worry.”

“I’m thirsty.”

Warren passed his little brother the skin, uncorking it as the youngster grasped it. Mother gave them two skins of small beer; they had finished one already.

“Just a sip, it is all we have left,” Warren instructed.

The boy took a gulp and handed the skin back. Warren swigged some himself and corked the container.

Another limb snapped, this time it sounded closer.

Boon shaded his eyes, scanning the area where the sound came from; his brow wrinkled. “I think something is over there,” he pointed to where the sound came from.

“It’s a squirrel Boon; here have your fish,” Warren said handing the boy a stick with a trout skewered on it, steaming and dripping. Flesh flaked off the bone tender and juicy as Boon bit in.

The two boys relaxed as they stared at the bones they had thrown on the fire.

Warren passed Boon the skin, “Save a little for the trip back home.”

A loud crunching noise again alerted the boy’s attention to the forest. They had set up camp in the clearing they found near the stream. Two men now stood in the glade.

“Well, well, well, looky what we have here Merk; two youngsters. Are we out all alone boys?”

Warren jumped up and put himself between the two men and Boon. “Our father is with us,” he lied, “he will be back any time now.”

“Oh, is that so lad?” Merk replied.

“What’s in the pack?” nodded the one with the graying beard and pocked face.

“And what do you have to eat?” the man who spoke, Merk, had one glassy brown eye. The other was almost solid white with a small dark spot. His eyelid came down halfway over his bad eye and greasy brown hair hung lank at the top of his shoulders, giving him a garish look. The raggedness of their clothes gave away that they were deserters, brigands, or worse.

Fear rose inside Warren, “Nothing, our breakfast is done, see for yourself.” Warren backed up pushing Boon behind him. “Run Boon, run home, tell momma to get the sheriff.”

“What? No. I won’t, I won’t leave,” the boy cried.

Warren gritted his teeth, “Boon this is no time for arguing, just do as I tell you for once in your life.”

The men stepped closer, Warren backed up again pushing his brother behind him.

“Then I guess we’ll have to carve you boys up and have our own breakfast,” said Merk as he brandished a roach-belly knife.

Warren trembled as he watched the man pretend to clean his fingernails. “Boon,” he whispered, “please run, please for once just do as I tell you and run as fast as you can.”

“You take the little one Merk; the lanky one is mine.”

Merk eased closer.

“Boon,” Warren said shoving the boy backward, “run.”

The small boy broke away from his older brother, but he did not run towards home. He bolted towards Merk.

“Dammit, Boon.” Warren shouted as he tried to grab his brother’s arm.

The men laughed as Boon approached. “We got a little brawler here.” said Merk

Warren was right behind his brother, desperate to catch him. The boy darted like a rabbit, his little legs churning, his face wrinkled with determination. He neared Merk and reared back his right leg. He kicked the man in the shin. Warren smiled despite the situation. His little brother, the stubborn fighter. Warren could beat the boy blue and Boon never gave up. The kick did little damage. Merk laughed and picked the small boy up in his arms bringing him close to his face.

“Well, aren’t you just full of yourself. I got you now you little piss.” Merk exclaimed.

Warren came skidding to a stop in front of the men, “Let him go.” He brought out his own knife. A small blade he used to skin small animals and gut fish. Boon’s legs kicked back and forth, as Merk held him off the ground. The other man eyed Warren as he stepped closer.

“Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.” Boon cried, his small fist beating on Merk’s arms and accomplishing nothing.

Warren changed his stance, lower and legs wider apart as the other man began to size him up.

“Let’s gut the little one first, and then we can deal with long-shanks here.”

Tears fell down Boon’s face and Warren knew they were not tears of sadness. Anger. Whenever Boon got angry he cried.

“Let me go.” he screamed at Merk, his face red, veins popping out of his neck as his head trembled and his legs dangled. Seeing no other alternative, he grabbed hunks of greasy hair on each side of Merk’s head and pulled his face close. The two met eyeball to eyeball.

Merk laughed, “What are you going to do now?”

Boon opened his mouth wide and bit Merk hard on the nose. The man screamed and dropped his knife as he shoved Boon away from him. He let go of the boy, but Boon clenched his teeth and brought flesh with him as his weight came falling down. Blood poured from Merk’s nose as he cried out. Boon spat out the ruined cartilage, scrambled up to his feet, and punched Merk as hard as he could muster right between the legs. The man groaned and sank to his knees.

“Little bastard.” he wailed.

The boys made no easy prey. Merk’s partner charged for the dropped knife and met Warren’s foot in his face as he crouched down to grasps the fallen weapon. He grunted and rolled to the side. Warren pounced on him and sank his small knife into the brigand’s shoulder as hard as he could. The man cried out and clutched at the knife trying to pull it out.

“Run now Boon, damn you, listen to me.”

Boon hooted a victory shout, threw his arms in the air with delight and took off towards the cottage. Warren followed leaving the two men writhing on the ground.

---

 

The sheriff eyed the two boys as he slid Warren’s blood stained knife across the table where they sat with their mother. “Here is your knife son; couldn’t find a trace of the two men you described. I know them both though. Merk and Wicked John. Two brigands known in these parts. They must have gotten run off from the last place they holed up. I will check with the nearest healer; John needs some attention by the looks of your knife. You boys are lucky to have escaped them unharmed.”

“It was Boon,” Warren said in a low voice, shame covering him like a blanket. “It should have been me, but it was Boon that showed courage.”

“You did the right thing, Warren,” the sheriff nodded, “you put yourself between your brother and harm and that is brave.”

“Until these brigands are caught, you two are staying home,” mother exclaimed, exasperation in her voice as she slapped the table. Tired and worn out from the day’s incident. She wrung her hands through her stained apron over and over. A year of raising them on her own took its toll.

---

 

Warren sat on the edge of the bed that he and his little brother shared. The cottage was small, warm, and home. He took a bite of cheese and chewed while he glanced down at the yellow block in his hands. There has to be more than this. Duty, it felt like an anvil tied to his neck. Since father left, it was his duty to take care of their mother and Boon.

He worked at the small spit of land his father left behind while mother milked cows for milk, butter and cheese. They paid their taxes and had money left over, but it was harder now. He wondered about his father, why did he leave? Rejection hit him like a hammer. His little brother sat down beside him on the bed. Warren tousled his hair, took another bite of cheese and stared at the wall.

“Warren,” the small boy tugged at his sleeve.

“What is it, Boon?” Warren said looking down.

Boon spread a piece of parchment across his lap, “I traced this the night papa went away. Can we go find him?”

Warren glanced at the map; the old used parchment traced in Boon’s crude hand. The former lines still showed despite the evident scraping, making the map confusing. There was no mistaking the words, even traced by a child. Mouth of the Demon. He took the map from his brother and gave it a harder look. He only recognized the port town. Myrmidon Landing. Father had taken him there on a few occasions. A place of traders, pirates, and villainous scum like the men that attacked Boon and himself.

Father conducted business with a man there the few times Warren had accompanied him. He never knew what they purchased. He saw father hand the man a small scroll and when they returned, they found the wagon loaded and covered. He asked father the first time what was underneath the canvas.

“Just you never mind, boy,” father said, “this will see us through winter.”

Excitement crept into his voice. “Boon — this map? You traced it from where? Does papa know you have it?”

Boon frowned and looked down at the floor, “They were arguing and went outside.”

“Who was arguing? Father and mother?”

“No, papa and the man.”

“Man? What man?” The answers were like pulling teeth. Warren gripped his brother by the shoulders, “What man?”

“I don’t know,” whined Boon. “They were in the barn and the yelling woke me up, I went out to see.”

“Papa and this man. What did he look like?”

“I couldn’t see his face, it was dark outside. I snuck in while they talked. I saw the map on the table beside the lantern.”

How do I not know about this already? Sometimes Boon amazes me. Warren cocked his head sideways and let go of his brother. “They were arguing about this map?” He asked.

“Maybe…” Boon shrugged and shook his head. “Papa said the man had agreed to take him there and the man said ‘Bugger, I’ll be dead before I go to the Mouth of the Demon,’” the boy repeated in a falsetto booming voice. “What is the Mouth of the Demon Warren? Can we go there? We will find papa, I know it, Warren, I know we will. We can bring him home and momma will be just right again.” Big pleading eyes looked up at Warren. A grin played across the boy’s face, “Please Warren.”

“We can’t go there Boon, we just can’t. We have no money and momma would never let us go anyway, especially not after today.” Warren exclaimed.

Boon’s face fell and his shoulders slumped.

“So you snuck back into the house and got the parchment and quill and traced the map while papa and the man argued?” How could he have managed this?

Boon shook his head again, “No, I took the map and brought it inside. I traced as quick as I could Warren, I didn’t want papa angry with me. I snuck it back to the barn while papa and the man argued some more. They never saw me.”

Warren patted his little brother on the back, “it’s fine Boon, you did good, as always.”

Boon’s blue eyes sparkled at the compliment, his smile revealing his small white teeth.

The boy laughed, “We showed them didn’t we Warren? They’ll not mess with us again.”

“You could have gotten yourself killed Boon,” Warren interjected. “But yes we showed them. Did you see Merk’s face when you popped him in the bollocks?”

Boon wiggled his eyebrows up and down and giggled. “Yeeeeeaaah,” he retorted.

They laughed in unison at the moment, it was funny now. Warren put his arm around his little brother’s neck and pulled him close. “We’ll always have each other, won’t we Warren?”

“Yes brother, we will,” Warren handed Boon the left-over cheese and mussed the boy’s hair again, “Come on, we got work to do.”

---

 

Boon looked up towards the sky and let the rain hit his face. It helped to hide his tears.

“Momma would have loved today. “Good for the garden,” she would say.”

Warren nodded, his face grim, shovel in hand, “She would have had us inside churning butter or pressing cheese.”

“Rather that than here, brother.” Boon replied as he shoveled more dirt. It made a hollow thump as it landed. His blond hair hung scraggy down his back and his good clothes, as momma had called them, were soaked as well. Today he didn’t care. Everyone was gone and the ceremony over. “Do you think she will like it here?”

“She will; those trees over there,” Warren pointed, “they flower in the spring real pretty, she’ll love that.”

Boon bowed his head, “I cannot believe she is gone brother.”

“I know me either. She is our mother and I could not stand to let someone else bury her Boon. Please forgive my insistence that we do it.”

“It is my honor as her son to do this last thing for her.” Boon replied as tears welled in his eyes.

Each shovel of dirt brought with it the finality that mother was gone from this world.

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder hands resting on shovels as they viewed their mother’s grave.

“She loved us.” Warren said in a soft voice.

Boon handed his shovel to Warren and walked over to the stone they had picked out for her. He bent down, gripped the stone at the corners with his hands and hoisted it up to his waist. He carried the rock and placed it at the head of his mother’s grave. The marker came down with a splash and a thud. Boon moved it back and forth until satisfied with how it looked. He nodded to his brother.

“Mother would be cross at you for doing that in your fancy shirt.”

“This is the last time I am going to wear it; she’ll forgive me.”

“I found a buyer for the farm.”

“Willing to give our asking price?”

“Yeah, it’s Old Dimitri, he has wanted the place for ages.”

“I guess that’s it then,” Boon replied staring at the ground.

“We move on and start anew brother, we make our own destiny.”

Boon smiled and slapped his brother on the back and put a thick arm over Warren’s shoulder. “I know of captain that needs a couple of good hands.

Warren laughed and shook his head, “I should have known…”

---

 

Warren looked up at the tavern sign and shook his head, “I don’t like the look of this place, Boon.”

“You never do brother, what is new about that?”

“I prefer a modest establishment.”

Boon eyed Warren with a grin, “Of course you do! Where the ale is watered down and the wenches won’t look at you. Here is what you are missing, there is no adventure to be found in a modest establishment.”

The two brothers passed under the threshold. Tobacco smoke lingered in the air, the lighting was dim, and the tankards dirty. The bar was old, splintered in places, with chunks missing from others. Pale cleavage and big brown eyes greeted them. Boon elbowed Warren.

“Follow me,” she said, “Here ye go gents.” She gestured to a small empty table with two stools.

“I’d prefer a wall to my back lady, if you don’t mind?” said Boon.

“Suit yourself,” she pointed to the back , “over there, what’ll ye be having t’ drink?”

“Ale for me and sarsaparilla for the boy.”

“An ale for me as well lady,” Warren interjected, “any other time and I would box your ears for that Boon.”

Boon chuckled and sat down. Warren noticed an oversized feathered hat swinging this way and that at the bar, as its chubby owner bellowed out some raucous song. The ale arrived in tankards. Boon wrapped his ham fist around it and gulped the liquid as if he’d been in a desert.

“Slow down, slug! There’s plenty more.” Warren smirked.

“Wine is for sipping, and for dainty men who talk politics, and women who speak of….”

“Shut up Boon.” Warren took a draught from his tankard and set it down.

The feathered hat was still swaying as the man continued his drunken crooning, much to the dismay of the some of the other patrons. He got up off of his stool and started dancing.

“Ode to my darling, ode to my love, ode to my wife looking down from above!” His black leather boots shuffled about as he sang.

A tankard slammed down hard on the bar, splashing ale. The ratcheting of a flintlock pistol could be heard. A shaggy haired man turned and pointed the weapon right at the dancing man’s face.

“Do ye think ye could just shut up for just a wee while? I’d like to be having my ale in peace, if’n ya don’t mind?”

“Boon!” Warren exclaimed, “Oh brother, here we go…”

The man in the feathered hat patted his chest and stomach, “I seem to have…have misplaced my weapon,” he slurred.

The patrons laughed.

Boon stepped between the two men. Warren got up and eased his knife out of its sheath. Keeping the blade out of sight and at the ready.

“There is no need for all this.” Boon put his hand on the shaggy haired man’s chest and eased him away from the drunk.

The man put the pistol in Boon’s face. “Ya need t’ mind your own bisness, lad.”

“Where I come from a man doesn’t need a pistol to do his talking when facing a drunk.”

“I am goin’ t’ count t’ three, boy. And if ya havn’t stepped out of m’ way. I am goin’ to shoot ya in the face.”

The dancing man blinked and licked his lips while trying to maintain his balance.

Like a striking snake, Boon grasped the man’s wrist and twisted it down to the floor and brought his free hand up to the man’s face. The ball rolled out of the pistol. The patron’s laughed again as the pistol went off. Boon drove the man backward against the bar and slapped him across the face. Another man at the bar stood and his fist caught Boon in the jaw and sent him twisting sideways.

Warren sheathed the knife and jumped in to help his brother. “Hey,” Warren shouted at the man that hit his brother. The man looked up and caught Warren’s fist right on his nose. Blood flowed as the man sprawled backwards and hit the floor.

“Oh no.” The dancing man backed up.

Boon now had the shaggy haired man by the throat, punched him in the face, and kneed him in the crotch. The shaggy haired man groaned and fell to the ground.

“Enough!” The bartender had two pistols, one aimed at Boon and the other at Warren. “I want all three of you out of here.” He nodded at the shaggy haired man. “These men are my regulars and I’ll not have you running off good business. Now off with ya.”

“We didn’t start this…” Boon raised his hands in the air.

“I don’t give a half-pence who started what, I want you gone.”

“C’mon Boon, let’s go.”

The bartender motioned with his pistol, “You too dancing man, git outta here.”

The dancing man sniffed and spat on the floor. “I’ll be back, and you’ll not like it.”

“I already don’t like it. Just shut up and go.”

---

“I must thank you for coming to my aid young fella.” The dancing man removed his feathered hat with a half bow.

“It’s alright.”

“No, no. I insist.”

Boon eyed the stranger.

Warren put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Let’s just go.” He’d had enough for one night.

“Thank me dancing man.” Boon grinned paying no attention to his brother.

“My name, if you don’t mind, is Henry.” The man bowed and danced a few steps. “Henry Morgan to be exact.”

Boon cocked his head sideways, “You mean Captain Henry Morgan?”

“Aye!  You have heard of me, yes? I daresay most everyone has. Yes, yes indeed my good man. Captain Henry Morgan at your service. Now tell me, what can I do to thank you?”

“How about we work on your ship and you take us where we need to go?”

“How about you work on my ship, we go where I need to go and then we can discuss where you are headed?”

“Warren?”

“I don’t like it. I have heard tales of you Captain Morgan. They weren’t good.”

Henry Morgan bellowed. “Of course they weren’t good but they were true. We all have to do what we need to survive, young Warren. I daresay you two lads have always done the right thing.”

Warren looked down.

The Captain smiled, “You see, Warren, we are not that much different, you and I.”

“It is settled then,” Boon gushed, “We will work for you, and you’ll take us where we need to go.”

“We’ll discuss the details aboard my ship. Let’s get off the street shall we?”

Boon’s threw a thick arm around Henry’s shoulder, “I think this will be a most beneficial partnership, Captain.”

The Captain laughed. “Young lad you remind me of myself when I was your age. “

Warren followed shaking his head. Worry crept through his veins like a thorny vine.

---

A dark shadowed ship silhouetted against the water as they approached the docks. “Gentlemen, the Satisfaction awaits!” Captain Morgan bowed. “Welcome aboard. Do not cause any trouble. We have a solution for those that would hinder our operation.”

(To be continued…)