Isle of Fire

by Wayne Thomas Batson

Overview

  Brace yourself for a thrilling high-seas adventure and dare to set sail for the Isle of Fire."A great explosion rocked the crowded harbor. The ferocious blaze engulfed ship after ship expanding the circle of destruction in mere heartbeats. The fire rain had been unleashed."As Cat’s memory returns, he realizes that he has lived two very different lives. Now he must choose whether to return to the ways of his notorious father and join the evil Merchant, or defy the Merchant and risk his life to save his friends.The best-selling Isle of Swords adventure continues in Isle of Fire as ancient mariners rise from legend and cut an all-too-real swath of destruction across the Atlantic. The newly formed Wolf Fleet scours the Caribbean, hunting the pirates they once called comrades. And in the pitiless winds of a monstrous hurricane, whole fleets will be blasted apart and devoured.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781418571108
Publisher:	Nelson, Tommy
Publication date:	11/02/2009
Series:	Pirate Adventures Series , #2
Sold by:	HarperCollins Publishing
Format:	eBook
Pages:	352
Lexile:	770L (what's this?)
File size:	949 KB
Age Range:	10 - 14 Years

About the Author

Wayne Thomas Batson is the author of five best-selling novels: Isle of Swords, Isle of Fire, and The Door Within Trilogy. A middle school reading teacher in Maryland for eighteen years, Wayne tailors his stories to meet the needs of the young people he cares so deeply about. Wayne writes adventures set in imaginative locals because he believes that on a deep level, we all dream of doing something that matters and that we all long for another world.

Read an Excerpt

Isle of Fire

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By Wayne Thomas Batson

Thomas Nelson

Copyright © 2008 Wayne Thomas Batson
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4185-7110-8

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CHAPTER 1

Shadows of the Past

Dead leaves swirled across the cold stone as Cat approached the deepest corner of the empty cobblestone courtyard. He could feel the sentinels watching from hidden places within the surrounding walls and towers. His eyes darted about for any sign of a threat. Behind the ever-sleeping volcano, the sun struggled to midday height in the steel-gray sky.

Without warning, a fierce cry came from the parapets above. A shadow passed overhead, and Cat ducked. Instinctively his grip tightened on the quarterstaff as he prepared to defend himself against one of the most peculiar men he'd ever seen. His skin was very dark like the islanders, but his hair, eyebrows, and moustache were whiter than the sand on Aruba. He wore a silver ring in the lobe of his left ear and a small gray cross on a thin black cord around his neck. He held a quarterstaff of dark wood that was at least a foot longer than Cat's.

"I am Dmitri," said the man, removing his robe. He was shirtless beneath but wore an odd, baggy kind of breeches that bunched at his waist and ankles. His gaze was dark and seemed to smolder like volcanic rock. The warrior slapped his staff hard on the cobblestone and stepped forward menacingly.

Cat held up his own staff. He thought he was ready.

Dmitri's strike was swift and heavy. His dark staff crashed into Cat's staff with such force that Cat reeled sideways. Cat didn't see the second stroke, the one that swept his feet out from under him. He felt a sudden jolt on his backside as he hit the ground and found himself staring at the sky.

Cat swallowed, tightened his grip on his staff, and levered himself to his feet. He rolled his shoulders and his neck and then brought his staff up hard to his chest. He's toying with me, Cat thought. Determined not to let Dmitri strike first, Cat feinted with a sweeping right-handed attack to Dmitri's body. The moment Dmitri showed a vertical guard, Cat brought a furious left-handed stroke at Dmitri's right thigh. But Dmitri's initial guard was itself a feint. He turned in a blur, batted down Cat's attack, and shoved the left end of his staff into Cat's shoulder. Cat staggered backward, his weapon clattering to the ground.

The pain was sharp and throbbing. Cat tasted bile in his throat. He grunted indignantly and picked up his staff.

Dmitri swung at Cat's left shoulder and followed it with a swift poke at Cat's chest. Cat didn't block it but turned to let the blow glance off. Cat jabbed the end of his staff at Dmitri's legs, but Dmitri countered too quickly. Cat grunted. He grew fatigued and increasingly frustrated. It was like dueling Red Eye with a sword—Cat knew he was overmatched and hated it.

Cat grunted again, trying to clear his head and make himself think. He knew he needed to slow Dmitri's countermoves, needed to buy time. He had to think ahead—way ahead. Then he had it: a combination of attacks he felt sure he could pull off. It began with a high feint. Cat went at Dmitri's left ear with a strong, hacking stroke, but instead of bouncing off Dmitri's guard and spinning back inside, Cat stepped away and let his staff slide off. He spun quickly outside of Dmitri's sweeping reply, brought his staff under his arm, and stabbed it backward into Dmitri's midsection. As Cat expected, Dmitri parried away the jab. Cat used the momentum to spin a second time. This time, as Cat came around, he used both hands to deliver a crushing high-to-low chop at Dmitri's head. It was like splitting wood with an axe—just aim for the center. Cat knew Dmitri would have to block the blow with the center of his own staff, between his hands. When Dmitri did so, Cat kept the pressure on, momentarily pinning Dmitri. But in the span of a heartbeat, Cat jerked back with his left hand and wrenched a sudden upward thrust with his right. He meant to bring the right end of his staff under Dmitri's left shoulder, a devastating blow ... if only he could connect. But he could not.

Dmitri ignored the coming attack. He simply let his own high block collapse down to shoulder level. Then he exploded both fists forward, burying them and the center of his staff into Cat's chest. Cat flew backward, his feet scrambling for ground but to no avail. He sprawled onto his back, and in a daze, he blinked at the sky. His ears rang, and he tasted blood.

Cat wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, grabbed his staff, and tried to stand. He had been beaten soundly, and as he gained his feet, he found himself shaking. But it was not from fatigue. Rage boiled up inside of Cat such that every breath felt hot in his nostrils. Energy surged into his muscles, and his heart raced. He approached Dmitri with singular purpose.

Dmitri did not know Cat, did not recognize the intensity of Cat's glare. Thinking the battle was over, Dmitri dropped his guard. Cat lunged and cracked his staff against Dmitri's left wrist. Dmitri dropped his weapon, clutched his hand, and began to backpedal.

"Cat, NO!" shouted Father Brun. But Cat heard nothing but the thunderous cadence of his own heart. Cat slammed Dmitri's right shoulder. Then he spun and drove the end of his staff into Dmitri's gut. Dmitri doubled over, and Cat went to finish him off. He raised his quarterstaff high and brought it crashing toward Dmitri's head. But a dark staff caught the blow and flung it away.

It was Father Brun. Quickly, he stepped between Dmitri and Cat. His eyes glinted as he stared at Cat. "What's the matter with you?" he shouted. He took a step toward Cat.

"No!" said Dmitri as he stood. He grabbed his own staff back from Father Brun and gestured for him to stand aside. "The lesson is not complete."

Father Brun reluctantly moved, but stood ready to intervene. Dmitri glared at Cat. Cat wanted to look away, but found he could not. "Is that the man you are?" Dmitri asked. He held up his staff and then cast it aside. "I am unarmed, you see? Would you like to strike me again?"

Cat's lips thinned. He swallowed, and all at once the rage drained away and he felt empty ... and ashamed. He threw away his staff and sprinted back across the courtyard. He ran clumsily up a flight of steps, half stumbling as he reached the top. He raced back to his chamber and slammed the door shut behind him.

Cat turned and saw the mirror. He'd meant several times to ask one of the Brethren to remove it—to make his room as austere as their own, but the almost constant training had pushed the mirror from his mind. Until now. Now, it taunted him ... drew him with the treacherous gravity one feels looking over the edge from some great height. Despondently, he drew near and gazed at himself in the glass.

Blue eyes, gleaming intensely beneath thickening brows, high angular cheekbones sliced by sideburns, a narrow tapering nose, and thin frowning lips—in all but the hair, the visage of his father.

"I ... I am just like him," Cat whispered. Bartholomew Thorne's cruel image lingered like a scornful ghost. Cat wished he'd never remembered his father's face, his sickening voice, his heinous deeds. And worse yet were the newest memories to return, the ones concerning Cat himself. A horrifying image from the island of Roseau flickered in his mind. "NOOOOO!!" In a rage, Cat picked up a chair and flung it. The mirror shattered, scattering shards of glass all over the room.

Cat fell to his knees and grabbed a jagged knifelike piece of the mirror that lay nearby. He clutched it so hard the glass bit into the flesh of his palm. He dropped the shard and looked at the blood glistening on his hand. Cat wondered at the irony and felt the cold finger of fear on his spine. Blood on my hands. If only I could remember.

CHAPTER 2

The Sea Wolf Goes Hunting

That's Cutlass Jack Bonnet, or I'm an eel," said Declan Ross, handing the spyglass to Stede.

"Uh-huh ..." The quartermaster of the Robert Bruce nodded. "Him b' the only pirate this side of the Barbary Coast sailing a xebec. Him b' calling it the Banshee."

"Quicker than a sloop," said Anne, who stood at their side. "But not quicker than the Bruce, right, Da?"

"Yes," he said with a smile that conveyed a mixture of pride and affection for his daughter and her love of ships. Then he shouted, "Mister Hack, more sail!"

"Aye, sir!" called the musical voice of the ship's new master carpenter from some unseen nook on the main deck. A huge, square sail dropped down on the mainmast and filled with wind. The Bruce, a formidable Portuguese man-of-war with three masts loaded with square sails, lurched forward and gained on the smaller Banshee. Cutlass Jack's sleek xebec had three long shark-fin sails that allowed it to outrun or outmaneuver most vessels, but even with a gale wind it could not escape. The two ships raced along the northern coast of South America.

"That's more like it!" Ross bellowed. This is going to be fun, he thought. In the lean years, long before Ross and his crew found their fortune on the Isle of Swords, Cutlass Jack had beaten Ross to a plunder of silver and smoked meat—and this when Ross's crew hadn't eaten for a week. Ross still wasn't sure how Bonnet had gotten there first. But he couldn't wait to see the look on his one-time rival's face when he ... Ross's smile disappeared. "He's making to lose us around that bend!" Ross pointed at a tall fist of rock that jutted out into the sea.

"No, Cap'n, him won't," said Stede. "We'll catch the rascal just after him b' making the turn."

Ross took back the spyglass. The Banshee still had a half mile to the bend. "Jacques, ready a few of the portside cannons!"

A wildly curly mop of dark hair appeared from a hatch on the main deck. "Oui, mon capitaine! They are ready to fire at your command!"

"To warn them first, and then—"

"I know," interrupted Jacques St. Pierre. "Warn them, but if they will not listen, shoot out their sails. Très bien. I am ready!"

"Well, would you look at that!" said Stede, his mouth agape. The Banshee, now only a few hundred yards ahead of the Bruce, started into its turn. To the crew's collective amazement, the slender xebec caught an unseen crosswind and darted around the corner in an instant.

Ross frowned. "How did he ... never mind! Mister Hack, man the spar-collar! Let's show our agile friend what the Bruce can do."

"Aye, Cap'n!" called Ebenezer Hack, who raced around the mainmast and joined several men at the front of the ship. The long bowsprit of the Bruce was attached to an adjustable iron collar that allowed it to swing one hundred eighty degrees. A halyard hung overhead so, at a moment's notice, crewmen could hoist the vast triangular sail that attached to the bowsprit. If the wind was right, the Bruce could make incredibly sharp turns for such a large vessel.

"Steady, Mister Hack!" Ross yelled. "Steady ... NOW! Full turn to port!"

Hack, whose forearms were bigger than most men's calves, yanked out a belaying pin in the iron collar, freeing the bowsprit to swing. Two other crewmen pushed the bowsprit hard to starboard. Then Hack dropped the pin back into the collar. He leaped for the halyard, and the massive sail rose—just as a powerful crosswind hit the Bruce.

Stede spun the ship's wheel, and the Bruce responded, grabbing the wind and banking around the corner.

"I love this ship!" yelled Ross, his fervor mounting. "Now, let's go catch this slippery rogue."

Cutlass Jack Bonnet's xebec had slipped out of a cove just a few hundred feet from the Bruce. "Give 'em a ten spot, Jacques!" Ross called out. Jacques led his gunnery team to train their cannons to fire overhead of the Banshee. After all, dead pirates did not make very good pirate hunters, and the survivors would likely hold a serious grudge. Thunderous booms sounded, all within seconds of each other, and the cannon shot surged above the masts. Each one splashed harmlessly in front of the xebec, but apparently Cutlass Jack had no intention of stopping.

The Bruce gained on its quarry once again. "He doesn't know who we are," said Ross. Then he slapped himself on the forehead. "Ah, thrice an idiot am I. Mister Hack, raise the standard!"

A huge black flag rose high on the Bruce's mainmast. Emblazoned upon it was a wolf prowling above a horizontal Scottish claymore sword. Declan Ross's flag flapped wildly in the stiff wind.

"Ah! Him b' slowing down at last!" said Stede. The xebec did indeed slow, and the quartermaster brought the Bruce alongside. The ships anchored, and Jules—the Bruce's towering security officer—lowered an enormous gangplank, spanning the gap.

Ross turned to Stede. "Bring your thunder gun. I don't know how this is going to go." Declan Ross led Stede, Jules, Anne, and a dozen crewmen down the steep gangplank. The Banshee sat much lower in the water, so they went slowly, careful of their footing. At the bottom a very tall man wearing a dark blue bandana stood, tapping his foot and wearing a very confident smile.

"Declan Ross," said the man, his twinkling eyes as dark a green as deep seawater under gray sky. "What you be doing chasing me down?"

Anne put her hands on her hips and glared. "If you hadn't run from us, Uncle Jack, we'd have had no need to chase after you."

"Little Anne!" cried Cutlass Jack. He drew her into a quick embrace and then stood her back a pace. Anne wore dark brown breeches, gathered at the knees with leather laces and at the waist with a dark green sash. Her leather waistcoat was new, and she wore it over a light green long-sleeved shirt. A piece of red coral carved in the shape of a lion glistened on the cord of her necklace. "Look at ye ...," Jack said, staring with pride. "Why a woman ye be now! And well dressed at that."

Anne blushed. It was nice to have someone notice her new clothes, but she thought it best not to mention the treasure at the moment. Jack was not really her uncle, just a close family friend. And with pirates, friendships didn't always last when treasure was at stake. "We've ... uh, had a bit of good fortune," was all she said.

"So I see," Jack replied, gazing at the tall man-o-war behind her. "I wouldn't have run, ye know. But seems yer father has a new ship. What happened to the Wallace?"

"Bartholomew Thorne happened to it," said Ross.

A cloud seemed to pass overhead. "Grim news, Declan," he said, holding out a hand. "But from the look of things, you came out ahead." The two captains shook hands slowly.

"And Thorne's swimming with Davy Jones," said Jules with a snort of contempt for their former enemy. His deep voice dropped lower with each following word. "The wave took him out. Out ... and down."

"We don't know that for sure," said Ross quickly. "In any case, I'm glad we've run across you. I'd like you to sail with us."

"Just like the old days, eh?" Cutlass Jack grinned. "What ye have in mind? A big merchant settlement? A couple galleons on the Spanish Main?"

"Something like that," answered Ross. "Care to join me in my quarters?"

"Ah, a private spot t' discuss the particulars, eh?" Jack looked over his shoulder to his crew. "My men be hungerin' something fierce.... While we talk could ye see yer way to givin' 'em some food and drink?"

"I'm quite sure we can arrange that," Ross replied. Then he yelled up to the deck of the Bruce. "Nubby!"

"Aye, sir?" The ruddy face of the ship's cook appeared at the rail.

"The crew of the Banshee could use a good tankard and a bite to eat."

Nubby's walruslike moustache flinched. "All of 'em?"

Ross nodded. Then the cook replied, "Aye, I can do it, Captain. A good stew would go down right. I'll get to cuttin' up the iguana fer the st—"

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Isle of Fire by Wayne Thomas Batson. Copyright © 2008 Wayne Thomas Batson. Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Principal Cast, ix,
Nautical Terms, xii,
Map, xiv,
Chapter 1 Shadows of the Past, 1,
Chapter 2 The Sea Wolf Goes Hunting, 6,
Chapter 3 The Citadel, 18,
Chapter 4 The Whispering Gallery, 27,
Chapter 5 The Nightwalker, 32,
Chapter 6 Diplomacy, 48,
Chapter 7 The Judgments of Commodore Blake, 53,
Chapter 8 Among the Raukar, 62,
Chapter 9 The Bearpit, 73,
Chapter 10 Chasing Ghosts, 80,
Chapter 11 Edmund Bellamy, 88,
Chapter 12 The Port of London, 93,
Chapter 13 A Slippery Catch, 104,
Chapter 14 A Dead Man's Tale, 117,
Chapter 15 Eldregn, 127,
Chapter 16 Treasure in the Spider's Den, 141,
Chapter 17 Commodore Blake Stands Accused, 146,
Chapter 18 La Isla Desvanecente, 161,
Chapter 19 Hack and Slash, 178,
Chapter 20 Mutiny on the Oxford, 189,
Chapter 21 When All Becomes Darkness, 197,
Chapter 22 Onslaught of the Berserkers, 218,
Chapter 23 Awakenings, 232,
Chapter 24 Truth and Consequence, 244,
Chapter 25 Clues and Cold Trails, 260,
Chapter 26 Shadows, 269,
Chapter 27 St. Alfred's Day, 279,
Chapter 28 Liberation Day, 291,
Chapter 29 Siege of the Citadel, 299,
Chapter 30 Through the Spyglass, 305,
Chapter 31 Desperate Measures, 310,
Chapter 32 The Valley of the Shadow of Death, 318,
Chapter 33 The Hurricane's Eye, 326,
Chapter 34 Out of the Gray, 332,
Chapter 35 No Regrets, 335,
Acknowledgments, 337,