Chapter 32

The blind boy stood in the center of the training yard, his feet bare against the hard-packed earth. Though the bandages still obscured his eyes, he had become accustomed to navigating without sight these past months. Still, the sounds and scents of Fortune Isle were entirely new to him.

"You there, boy!" a gruff voice called out. "Brace yourself!"

The blind boy tensed, straining his other senses to pinpoint the source of the voice. He detected the slightest vibration in the ground as his opponent approached. Shifting his stance, he raised his wooden practice sword defensively.

There was a rush of air and then a dull thud as the pirate's blade connected with his own. The blind boy grunted, parrying the next few blows as they rained down upon him. His opponent was not overly skilled, but made up for it with brute strength behind each swing.

Profanities spilled from the pirate's lips as the blind boy danced away from his attacks, his bare feet finding tiny flaws in the earth to anticipate the next strike. He could smell the pirate's sweat, hear his labored breathing growing more ragged.

Sensing an opening, the blind boy whirled and brought his sword around in a tight arc. There was a satisfying crack as the wooden blade connected with his opponent's ribs. The pirate doubled over with a pained wheeze.

"Well struck, lad!" a new, more refined voice called out approvingly.

The blind boy straightened, turning his head toward the sound - one of the senior pirates appraising the training session. Though his sight was gone, he felt a strange sense of pride at having proven his worth through combat alone.

With a grunt, the defeated pirate stalked away. The blind boy straightened up after besting his latest opponent, sweat beading on his brow from the exertion. The sounds of the other pirates shuffling away and muttering under their breath reached his ears.

Suddenly, a new presence entered the training yard, the measured footsteps and the smell of salt and leather announcing the arrival of one of the senior pirates before he even spoke.

"Well now, isn't this a sight for sore eyes?" the pirate rumbled, amusement coloring his gravelly tone. "Though I suppose in your case, lad, that phrase hardly applies."

The blind boy inclined his head respectfully toward the voice. "I fight as I am able, sir."

The pirate let out a bark of laughter. "Aye, that you do. The lads here are hardly a challenge though. How'd you like to train under my guidance? I can make you the fiercest fighter this isle has ever seen."

The blind boy's brow furrowed beneath the bandages. "With respect, how could you help me? I cannot see the strikes or moves you would demonstrate."

"Listen here, boy," the pirate replied, his voice taking on a harder edge. "There's more to battle than just watching your opponent's blade. We're more alike than you might think."

Before the blind boy could react, he sensed movement, but it was too late. There was a whistle of displaced air, and then a solid impact against his shoulder, sending him stumbling back a step with a grunt of pain.

"You've got to learn to feel the battle, not just see it," the pirate growled. "I may be missing an eye, but I'll still run circles around you until you get that through your thick skull. What say you, boy? You ready to learn how to truly fight?"

The blind boy clenched his jaw, the throbbing pain in his shoulder fueling his determination. He gave a sharp nod. "Aye, I'm ready."

The blind boy's training with the grizzled senior pirate was relentless. For hours, they sparred in the yard, the pirate berating him, pushing him to his limits.

"Can't see my blade, can ye?" the pirate would snarl as he rained down blows. "Then feel it, sense it in the air!"

The blind boy's arms burned, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, but he persevered. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began anticipating the strikes, his other senses heightening to compensate for his lack of sight.

On the sidelines, Aesa watched with a mixture of awe and concern as the boy she had sworn to care endured the brutal training regimen. Commander Nathaniel stood beside her, his arms folded across his barrel chest.

"Who is that man?" Aesa asked, nodding toward the senior pirate. "He fights with such ferocity."

Nathaniel's gaze followed hers, and he grunted. "That'd be Marak. Best swordsman in the whole crew, that one. But don't let his skills fool you."

Aesa arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?

"Marak can't use any of the old powers," Nathaniel explained. "No magic, no aura manipulation, nothin' like that. He's just a plain old fighter, through and through."

"But how?" Aesa pressed. "Surely someone of his skill must possess some greater ability."

Nathaniel shook his head. "Disabled from birth, he was. Never could tap into those mystical arts, no matter how hard he tried." He let out a low chuckle. "Suppose that's why he's so dead-set on mastering the blade. Wants to prove he's just as lethal as anyone."

Aesa felt a pang of pity for the grizzled pirate, but her attention was drawn back to the blind boy as Marak scored a glancing blow, nearly disarming him.

"Keep your guard up, whelp!" Marak roared. "The day you let your focus waver is the day you die!"

As the brutal training continued, Aesa couldn't help but wonder what other secrets this notorious pirate crew harbored.

"How did you find Marak?" she asked Nathaniel. "What was he like before joining the King's crew?"

Nathaniel's expression grew wistful as he cast his mind back. "Well now, that's a story that goes back to the early days, before any of us had tasted true power or glory..."

"See, Samuel wasn't always the dreaded Pirate King. He was just a scrawny kid back then, him and a few others - Dame, Billy, Marcus, Nikola. Just a pack of runaway brats with dreams of hitting it big on the high seas..."

He leaned against the fence, settling in to recount the tale. Nathaniel stroked his chin thoughtfully as he prepared to recount how the young Samuel and his crew first encountered Marak those many years ago.

"Now this was back before Samuel had even a whisper of his grand ambitions," Nathaniel began. "Just a snot-nosed kid looking for a bit of adventure on the high seas with his mates. They'd nicked an old fishing boat and set sail, figuring they'd try their hand at piracy."

Aesa listened raptly, imagining the motley group of children striking out on their own.

"Well, after a few weeks of fruitless raiding, their supplies were starting to dwindle," Nathaniel continued. "They pulled into a ramshackle port town, figuring they'd have to go ashore and restock before pushing on."

The commander's expression turned somber. "Only problem was, this little berg had been ravaged by pirates not long before they arrived. The place was half-burnt to cinders, bodies littering the streets." Aesa's eyes widened in horror, but Nathaniel pressed on.

"That's when they heard the sounds of a struggle - shouts, steel clashing on steel. They followed the noise to the town square and there they saw him - just a slip of a boy, couldn't have been much older than them. He was fighting off a pack of thugs bare-handed, using naught but a broken sword and pure ferocity."

Nathaniel let out a low whistle. "Even unarmed and outnumbered, the lad was something to behold. He moved like liquid lightning, dropping those ruffians left and right until he was the only one standing amidst the bodies."

Aesa was transfixed by the tale, realization dawning. "Marak..."

Nathaniel nodded. "The very same. Turns out his ma and pa had been killed when those pirates sacked the town. Instead of fleeing, he decided to stay and guard what was left with everything he had."

The commander's eyes took on a faraway look. "It was one hell of a first impression, that's for sure. After witnessing that kind of raw tenacity and skill, Samuel rushed right out and recruited the lad on the spot."

A faint smile played across Nathaniel's weathered features. "The rest, as they say, is history. Marak sailed with them from that day on, shaping them all into the hardened pirates you see now."

He clapped Aesa on the shoulder. "So, you see, even someone like Marak - disabled and unaugmented - can still become a force to be reckoned with through sheer dedication. Keeps an old sea-dog like me honest, that's for damn sure." Aesa nodded slowly, her gaze drifting back to where Marak was continuing the blind boy's brutal training regimen.