Chapter 01

Whistling through the trees the wind reached a creepy crescendo, rustling the branches. The sound had been known as “The Wailing Woman” hundreds of years previous as sailors who had settled the lands discovered the sound upon their first night on the rugged island. There were of course legends about who the wailing woman was but they had become so entangled throughout the century the facts had been lost.

The dark of the night had given no answer to the wailing. The craggy outcropping of a town rested within a bowl just inshore from the vast beach that had been transformed into a vast port of call for many a ship. As it was late December, the cold of the weather kept many ships berthed during the stormy month.

There was one exception to this rule. One ship had remained berthed on the shores of Barbossa. Thirty years had passed since she had sailed and her captain had given orders from her decks. A lone watchman stood outside the Port Chief’s office, gun at the ready. The water rose and fell with the tide as the wind rattled the planks. It was still early enough in the month that the cursed ice had not yet begun to form.

“Blasted weather.” Through the smoke of his aged pipe, the watchman searched through the mists of winter, ever present minded on the threats that rode high on the sea. Far across the Ayala island chain, Barbossa had long been ignored and forgotten through the years. Most that lived on the island preferred it that way. Looking back to the town, his tired eyes were drawn to the house upon the hill, lights burning brightly. Such a someone lived in the time tested dwelling. The occupant owned a ship in the harbor. Thirty years ago as the legend went.

“Blasted weather.” Another packing of his pipe and smoke returned. A sudden motion caught his eye on the left and his right hand was already resting on the pistol beneath his heavy cloak. An urgent voice spoke, “Ahey! Don’t pull your pistol on me you young rabble rouser! I come in peace!” A smile crossed the young guards face as he shouted, “Blasted old man! You shouldn’t be rattling around over there. The winds are about and the Women wails all the night!” A moment later the face of Peter Harrison appeared, walking carefully along the path from his ship. “I don’t come out here in the weather for no handy dandy purpose dear Thompson! I come with a purpose.” A moment passed and he was beside the guard, digging for his pipe within the worn coat. “You going to need a pack for the pipe I suppose?” Harrison chuckled and allowed a sheepish grin, “You always know the way to and old man’s heart.” James returned a smile and handed over a small amount of pack. “What were you digging for?” The flame of the elder captain’s lighter flickered in the night, smoke flowing from the pipe as the pack was lit.

“Something I didn’t expect I would still have, young James. I sometimes get a sense of things.” Pondering that thought, he did not expound. Thompson knew the old man had once sailed the far reaches of the lands and chose not to question further. After all, he was but the Port Guard. Things of consequence rarely mattered to him anyway.

Far above the hill however, things of consequence mattered greatly. The old home creaked and groaned, shifting on the land it stood. Smoking a ornate pipe, his eyes searched through the browned windows, watching the ocean roll out before the town. He had seen Thompson take his post when the sun was just setting below the horizon. Now the appearance of an old friend gave him pause. Harrison had been on the island longer than he with legends great having followed across the seas.

The lightening flashed sending light into the dark room causing the elder man to flinch. Sixty years had passed since his birth at Bailey Bay and he felt all those years and more. Having lived on a ship for forty of those, his body had been to hell and back.

Now he sat in a wooden chair smoking a pipe and remembering adventures from the past. Wondering what had brought Harrison from his warm abode rested firmly in the front of his mind. They had known each other across the ocean as friend and foe throughout their careers. On Barbossa, they had come to know each other as brothers in arms, friends against a greater cause. Should it ever visit the far flung island, they would stand together.

The rain began to fall harder now, the windows rattling against the pressure. The storm would pick up now, the wailing becoming a low roar. Such was the days of December on the Island of Barbossa.