I Will Not Be Frozen

Something In The Water
-Chapter Eleven: I Will Not Be Frozen

True darkness had well and truly arrived by the time all two hundred of us gathered at the mustering point, down in the valley floor several hundred yards below the copse that housed the Lightyear Pirates. If I really concentrated, I could hear the noise of what sounded like one incredible party. I needed no such concentration to pick out the bonfire glow that filtered between the branches and lit up the treetops.

There was a silence in the valley, the silence of close to two hundred people listening in quiet anticipation. I hadn't seen Damini since we left the bonfire on the beach—my companions here were men I had only seen a few times, whose names I hadn't used enough to remember. At times like these, there were no distinctions between us; we were all simply Whitebeard Pirates.

"So here's the plan," Marco said, pitching his voice so that it carried clearly to everyone present. Faint blue flames licked up his arms and spread across his shoulders, bright enough that we could all see him clearly where he stood perched on top of one of the big boulders that littered the valley floor, yet dull enough that they didn't ruin our night vision.

"Thatch and Ace have gone up to the copse, and in about ten minutes, they're going to set the brambles on the uphill side on fire. That'll flush our trespassers out quick enough, I should think. When that happens, it's our job to go beat the hell out of them. You all brought your weapons?"

There was a rough murmur of assent. No one was in the mood for good-natured bantering.

A mirthless smirk tugged at Marco's lips. "Good. Now, you know the drill—if you get someone surrendering, don't kill them. Of course, if they turn around and try to stab you when your guard is down, then kick the shit out of them and make sure they can't surrender again before you kill them. Don't go near the big guy in the Marine jacket, and if you can, watch out for the woman in the dress. We'll have to be careful with them.

"Oh, and finally—try not to get killed. Just because they're rookies is no reason to underestimate them."

"Yeah, we all remember the deal with Ace," someone close to me muttered. It drew a few rough sniggers from my neighbours, and I filed the confusing comment away in my memory for later examination.

"Just so long as you do," Marco shrugged, and the flames around his shoulders abruptly went out. "Now, you groups know what to do—go take your positions."

Wordlessly, we obeyed.

I vaguely remembered what the hill looked like from the air, and as my group climbed the tussocky slope, I ended up in the lead. Narrow goat-tracks crisscrossed these valleys, overgrown with gorse and broom, edged with scraggly hawthorn trees. The one I chose was narrow at first, shoulder-high scrub dragging at loose clothes and prickles digging into exposed skin as we passed. As the track wound around the base of a sheer bluff, it widened. I noticed sleepy goats huddled against the moonlit boulders, raising their heads to watch us pass.

The track came out at a depression in the hillside, forty or fifty yards downhill and to the south of the Lightyears' copse. I paused at the edge of the tussocks, listening to the wind rustling across the hills and the noise of the revelry coming from the safety of the trees.

Kiiroen Island looked tinder-dry; grass, tussock, trees alike were all golden-brown, as if they sweltered under the blowtorch of a summer heat wave. But down in the valley floors grew ferns and mosses, of the type that love rain and shrink away in the heat. Kiiroen Island was a fall island, and at this stage in its year it got rain almost one day in three.

No wonder it was taking Ace so long to get a fire set. We waited there in the dark for three, four minutes, watching intently, seeing nothing.

Then, a new flicker among the trees, an orange glow springing to life.

"There's the cue. Move," someone said, their voice floating across the night air from a few yards downhill on my right. I slowly moved forward, up the hillside, scrub and dry tussock crackling under my bare feet.

The glow from uphill steadily intensified. The noise coming from the Lightyears' hideout changed abruptly, notes of confusion in each individual shout morphing to fear as the thorn-bushes burned. The flames blossomed upwards into the upper branches of the pines, sparking as the trees themselves caught alight.

I looked away at that stage, focusing instead on a nearby gorse bush. The Lightyears would be dazzled by the flames when they finally left the safety of their copse—the night would be completely black to them. But my eyes, and the eyes of every one of my crewmates, had gotten used to the darkness. That would give us a huge advantage in the fight to come.

"Here they come!"

Dozens of pinpricks of light, flickering like fireflies, flooded out of the copse. Torches, lighting the way for the frightened pirates.

I paused by the steady bulk of a fallen rock, and watched the lights split up and flow in two groups around the side of the hills.

Just as Marco had guessed, the pirates avoided going downhill—they must have remembered the series of terraces that cut into the hillside directly beneath their copse. The first group came straight at us, howling vague threats and curses, brandishing swords. I heard gunshots, bullets whizzing past over my head and kicking up clods of earth as they dug into the hill. I ducked behind my rock, and waited.

Out of pure momentum, the Lightyears managed to push my crewmates back a few yards. The torches they held illuminated the battle—swords, cutlasses, knives, and other close-quarter weapons flashing in the firelight. We were outnumbered; I saw the guy who had made the crack about Ace backed up against the cliff, struggling to fend off four of the Lightyear Pirates.

My bare toes nudged up against a rock on the ground. I glanced down—it was a good size, small enough to lift and swing around, large enough to do a good amount of damage.

I stooped to pick it up, then dashed out into the open. An enemy pirate spotted me, turned from his opponent while his mates covered his back, and swiped at me with his cutlass. I dodged it, barely, and ducked in through the middle of another fight, catching another Lightyear a glancing blow on the knee with my rock. He howled and collapsed to the ground, and the guy he had been fighting ran him through.

Two of the Lightyears rushed me this time. I leapt backwards, tripped over a corpse and tumbled a fair way down the hill before a hump of dirt stopped me. M<y pursuers raced down after me, one drawing a nasty-looking serrated blade, the other a katana.

I had to think fast. Grabbing hold of the corpse's arm and belt, I heaved it at them. With no way of avoiding it, they went tumbling down the hill, blades going everywhere. I'd have winced if I had time.

By now, the blaze at the trees had taken hold, burning from the scrub right to the treetops. It illuminated the entire valley almost as if it was day. Breathing heavily, I scanned the hillside around me, looking for enemies.

"Oi, Loki!"

The shout had come from downhill. I turned, and saw Verna and a couple of the guys emerging from the scrub. One guy was cradling a nasty gash on his arm, and Verna was splattered from waist to forehead with blood, but they were grinning viciously. I guessed they'd won their respective fights.

"You reinforcements?" I called down to them. Verna nodded breathlessly as the cleanest member of the group dragged her up the hill. As he looked up, I recognized Tad's scarred grin.

"I suppose," he called back, pushing Verna up to me. "We only got a few of them. I guess you guys stalled the rest up here."

"Sorta." I offered Verna an arm to lean on, but she shook her head, bracing her hands on her thighs for a moment and spitting blood out of her mouth.

"I'll be fine," she said, flicking her hand at me, "I'm not hurt, just winded a little. Guy got me right in the kidneys."

"And then she got him, right in the nuts," Tad added with a satisfied smirk. "With that sword of hers."

I held back a wince, and started trudging back up the hill, towards the path and the fight still raging. The three First-Divisioners followed, Verna carrying her own weight this time.  

But the fight came to us first. More Lightyear Pirates had arrived while I'd had my escapade down the hill. One of them caught sight of me, and charged—more like stumbled, really, he was blind drunk. I sidestepped neatly, raising my rock and smashing it down on his collarbone. He roared in pain, clutching at his shoulder with his good hand. Through the darkness, I saw Tad just behind the man, casually raising his rifle.

The report of the gun echoed through the valley.

There was a small pause where both sides stilled and just looked at each other. Then the Lightyears redoubled their attack. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two of them, a woman and a girl, vanishing into the tall scrub uphill. I dashed after them, intent on bringing them down.

Then something in the air warned me. I dove forward, rolling onto my shoulder and bouncing upright again as a massive claymore split the air where I had been standing.

Sweat rolled down my face, my hair sticking to the dampness on my cheek and forehead. I froze in place, an ache spreading up my arm from my elbow as I locked eyes with a redheaded giant of a man. He wielded the claymore—which had to have been almost two metres long—with ease, corded muscles standing out on his thick arms and bare chest as he experimentally swiped the blade back and forth. He could almost have been testing the weapon's heft, but the grin on his face told me he was simply showing off.

Here was a man who liked inspiring fear. Bold red and black stripes painted on his arms glistened like blood. His grin intensified as he stared straight at me, never blinking. Despite myself, I felt a cold shiver go down my spine. The claymore glinted wickedly in the firelight.

But above all else, I was practical. I blinked freely—I didn't want my eyes getting sore and dry. I shook my hands out and stood my ground, keeping my eyes focused on his, loosely noticing every shift of his weight.

Then—a slight shift forward. Almost without warning, he lunged at me, sword outstretched—but as he did so, I was already moving.

I'd underestimated the reach of his weapon, and though it didn't gut me, the edge of it traced a line of fire across the outside of my forearm as I dove to the right. Stepping in close to him, I turned as he did, and struck out with my rock at his temple. He managed to get his arm up in time to block the first attack—and I struck again and again as fast as I could.

I saw his arm moving out the corner of my eye, and some instinct told me what he was planning. I clenched my belly muscles just as his fist slammed into them,  smashing down at his elbow with my rock.

Then the impact hit, and I flew backwards, knocked off my feet, the air slammed out of my lungs. The rock sailed out of my hand and away into the darkness somewhere. I hit the ground and bounced, rolling over and over before an eroded bank painfully halted my progress. Wheezing, I struggling to get up, and just managed to scramble away before the claymore sunk into the ground where my head had lain a split second ago.

I tasted blood in my mouth—I'd bitten my tongue when I landed. Spots floated in front of my vision, and I couldn't take a deep breath no matter how hard I tried. Swaying on my feet, I stared at the man, and it took me a while to actually figure out what I was seeing.

He was trying to pull the claymore out of the ground with only one arm. The arm I'd hit hung limply at his side, glistening with sweat and almost black with blood, hanging at an awkward angle at the elbow. It was broken.

He struggled against the blade for a while; I watched him as I waited for my breathing to settle. The odds had been evened somewhat—now neither of us had a weapon, and while his height and weight gave him an advantage over me, my speed and relative soundness of body gave me an advantage of a different sort. His futile attempts to retrieve his blade gave me time to think.

At last, he gave up, and turned to face me. His face was a frightening, pain-filled mask, streaked with dust and sweat, his eyes glittering in the middle of it. "Don't think you'll get away with this, bitch," he gasped, and stumbled towards me, his good hand clenched. I swayed out of reach, wary of that hand, which could do so much damage if it hit me.

I needed to do some damage of my own—wearing him down would have been a viable tactic if he was hurt worse, but somehow I knew the glint in his eye was one of manic rage, the sort that could drive a man past his limits if it needed to. He wouldn't give up until he had my guts splattered across the dirt.

Still, every movement set that arm of his to swinging, and every motion made his expression taut with pain. An idea wormed itself into my thoughts.

That was about when he charged again, a little faster this time. I saw it coming, and dodged, but this time he followed my movement and dodged with me, his good arm reaching for my throat. I threw myself backwards, away—he lunged for me again, his expression twisting into a victorious sneer. It felt like we took an age to fall, before my back thudded into the dirt and he landed heavily on top of me, his hand scrabbling for my throat.

Fear lent me explosive power. I surged upwards against him as his fingers closed around my neck, twisting around in a way I'd never thought I could do and sinking my teeth into his wrist. He howled, and flinched backwards—and that just gave me time enough to knock him backwards, twist him around so that our positions were reversed: this time it was him on his back in the dirt with his broken arm trapped underneath him. I threw my leg across his chest and leaned my weight onto him as he thrashed and bucked underneath me.

With both hands I reached for his neck and squeezed, bearing down on him with all the strength and energy I had left.

It took a surprising amount of time before his struggles grew weaker. I didn't dare let go until he was completely still, all the fight gone from his body. Even then I didn't know if he was dead, or just unconscious. The taste of his blood was everywhere in my mouth—I let his limp wrist fall, blood flowing from the lacerations my teeth had left in his skin.

I got up then, standing on shaky legs and heading further up the hill before I dared stop to lick my wounds.

My stomach ached like an elephant had stepped on it. So did my arms, but maybe that elephant had been slightly smaller. My mouth still tasted like blood and bile; I spat as much of it out as I could, but the rusty, metallic tang still remained. I brushed off the dirt that caked my back and side, suppressing a shiver as for the first time I felt a cool breeze flow across my bare forearms, cold on the streaks of blood that marked my skin. My limbs were shaking, my energy fading with the terror.

After a quick look down into the valley, I forced myself onwards. The fight wasn't done yet.

The trees were still burning merrily away, a pillar of fire reaching high into the night sky. It was so bright it left spots on my vision when I looked away, spots that merely flickered when I tried to blink them away. I could hear it roar and crackle from where I was. Ace must have been doing his job alright though, because it hadn't spread at all. The tussocks directly uphill hadn't caught fire; the gorse and old man's beard downhill didn't catch so much as a stray spark.

The two pirates I'd originally left to chase were long gone. I let out a gusty sigh, and took a deep breath before heading further up the hill, deeper into the mess of gorse that grew wild between two wide fields.

Up here, it was darker. There was the shadow cast by the curve of the hill itself, as well as the boulders and trees that stood up above the level of the tussock every so often. Every sound seemed magnified—I was listening so hard to the telltale snap of bracken under the feet of someone sneaking up on me, that the little noises made by the wind and my own footsteps registered in my mind as a potential threat before I realised that I was jumping at mice and shadows.

Slowly but surely, I realised I was headed away from the fire. It made sense, I guess—there was more opportunity to hide in the deeper shadows away from the light. More of an opportunity for ambush, too, a voice in the back of my head reminded me. From that moment, I slowed down, slinking away from the trail and into the scrub forest itself. Maybe I was being overcautious, but I didn't fancy the idea of an ambush.

I didn't see anyone for close to an hour. Voices and battle-noise occasionally drifted past me on the wind, but their owners were nowhere within sight, and after a moment or two the sound would dissipate, shredded by the wind. Directionless, I simply wandered—with three hundred-odd pirates running around the island, sooner or later I had to run into someone.

Then, luck guided me down a narrow ravine cutting into the side of the second valley I'd wandered into. A group of torchlights hovered near the valley floor, and though I couldn't make out the figures from as far away as I was, I was somehow sure they were the enemy.

I carefully made my way through the ravine, loath to knock a loose stone out of position in case it gave my position away. In the near-absolute darkness, I almost had to feel my way through. In this way, I ended up coming out on top of a bluff overlooking the group of pirates. Their torches illuminated them clearly, and after a quick look I moved backwards in a hurry.

There was a man in the center of the gathering, incredibly tall and broad in the shoulder, draped in a ragged Marine officer's coat. I recognized the second of the Lightyears' captains from Neroli's description. This was the man that had torn two of my crewmates apart with a single touch.

Amarna stood at his side, smiling haughtily. Neither she nor he looked at all put out by the burning of their hideout.

I looked around for a hiding spot, and found one at the very edge of the bluff, a hollow between two rocks. Once I'd wormed past a dead tree trunk and into the hollow, I would be perfectly concealed. Shifting until I was comfortable, I settled in to listen to the pirates talk.

"I'd forgotten they'd recruited Firefist." I recognized this high, clear voice as belonging to Amarna. "Quite a flashy boy, it seems. I'd love to get my hands on him… see what he thinks when his fire turns on him."

"If you're sure you'll be able to do that." This voice was low and sonorous, betraying no emotion whatsoever. Amarna laughed in reply.

"Dear brother, don't go underestimating my power. Trust me." She paused, and for a moment all I heard was the torches crackling merrily away. "Anyway, let's concentrate on getting back to the ship. If they've scuttled it, which I'm sure they have, then we'll take the merchant's ship. They don't know this island like we do. This is not the end, you know." He voice turned low and wheedling, but she was cut off by a new speaker.

"And what do we do about everyone else?! My brother still hasn't come back yet. For all I know he's lying dead on a field out there."

Amarna's voice dropped a few degrees. "He didn't listen to us, his captains. He deserved whatever had happened. You need discipline above all else when you're dealing with a Yonkou, and if he didn't have it, then he was never cut out for this crew."

"Sister is right." The rumbling voice rang out again. "If he'd trusted her and done as she said, then he would be here with us right now, as you are. We can't ask you to forget your worries, but for now, your priority should be your own life, and the lives of your companions."

"I don't…" The other man trailed off, sighing gustily. "I guess, Cap'n."

What's with these guys? I wondered. What sort of prize could be worth leaving behind their own crew? I thought back to my encounter with Amarna, remembering the disgust in her eyes as she'd looked at Marco and I. That had been real enough, harsh enough. Something in them really hates us.

"Good man." Even without looking at her, I could tell Amarna was smiling. "Now, tell me, you scouts, have you seen any of their commanders? The Phoenix, Thatch, Dark-Wings?"

"None," someone else replied. "Firefist is the only one, and it seems like he's watching the fire."

"Probably making sure it doesn't spread," Amarna mused. "These Whitebeard Pirates are surprisingly soft, aren't they? Nothing like the fearsome tales we heard back in the West Blue, eh?"

The other pirates laughed derisively. I scowled, fighting back the urge to yell something back at them.

"You should know better than to believe gossip like that," the deepest voice said. "There is no point in destroying one's own property."

Amarna tsked. "Yes, yes, I know. Still, it's a childhood belief that dies hard. Ilario, brother, we're going to be fighting them quite soon, probably. We'll have to rely on you to deal with the Phoenix—now that we know how well he heals, you're probably the only one of us who has a hope of inflicting any damage at all on him."

The deep-voiced man—Ilario—chuckled. "The more wounds he has healed, the more I can tear him up. Don't worry, sister, I'll be your battle commander again. You just have to keep Firefist at bay."

"So what are we supposed to be doing while you two take on the big guns, eh?" Another female voice asked, sounding incredibly bored with the whole thing. "Who do I get to chop up?"

"You saw the man with the pompadour?" Amarna replied lazily. "He's one of their commanders. No Devil fruit though, so I wouldn't overestimate him! His second is the one with the flashy name—Dark Wings, how arrogant! You should be able to take her down."

Listening intently, I took careful note of everything they said. Their egotism grated on my nerves--dividing up my crewmates like servings of a cake? Fighting back the annoyance, I settled myself further down in my hollow, fully prepared to wait hours if need be, until they left.

Gradually, their voices dimmed, and my eyelids grew heavier and heavier. I debated fighting the urge to give them a rest, but in the end my fatigue won out.

I closed my eyes, and slept.

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I napped fitfully, half-waking every so often when a new noise managed to penetrate my slumber. Perhaps three or four hours passed before the Lightyears left, and the next time I woke up, the first thing I heard was Thatch's strident laugh ringing through the valley.

Blinking, I stretched stiff arms and legs as much as the small space of my hollow would allow. It took me a while to recognize the voices coming from the clearing below, but once I did, a sudden burst of energy raced through my veins. I scrambled out past the dead tree onto the bluff.

The night hadn't yet passed—stars still twinkled in a velvety black sky, and the torches the Lightyear Pirates had left still burned merrily away. It was colder than before, and I suppressed a shiver as I made my way to the edge of the bluff, looking down at the group around Thatch.

Marco was there, as were Kestrel, Grim and Damini. Restram, Whetu and Sierra lounged on a pair of large boulders further downhill, and watched as a pair of younger Fourth-Divisioners went through the pockets of a dead pirate near the bottom of a bluff. The signs of a battle were everywhere, in blood spattered across the churned-up ground and abandoned weapons piled at Thatch's feet. However, apart from the corpse the young Fourth-Divisioners were ransacking, there were no dead to be seen.

Kestrel spotted me first, her eyes narrowing in a slight frown. "Yo, Loki, were you gonna say hi, or are you just planning to stay up there for now?"

I couldn't suppress a tired twitch. "I zoned out," I admitted, and started clambering down the face of the bluff. My foot slipped on a loose rock about halfway down, and I slid the rest of the way on my hands and knees. Pain shot through my nerves, and my breath hissed through gritted teeth as I stumbled to my feet and brushed the dirt off my palms.

"That's one way to make an entrance," Thatch commented off-handedly, and laughed. He looked in an incredibly good mood—grinning from ear to ear, his eyes glinting with good humour. "Where've you been, Loki?"

"Sleeping," I said, and found a blood-free patch on the ground, where I half-crouched, half-collapsed to the dirt as my legs seized up something terrible.  "Ouch… I needed it, too."

"Where'd you curl up, then? The Lightyears are all over the place." Damini looked worriedly at me "And you're covered in blood."

I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder, up at the bluff where I'd been sleeping. "Up there, between a couple of rocks. The two captains were down here a while ago." I looked around the clearing, at the blood pooling on the dirt. "You guys didn't meet them, by any chance?"

Marco shook his head. "No, only a couple of fighters. One surrendered, the other died. It looks like you ran into some trouble too."

I looked at my hands, at the blood crusted all over them. The stuff was all over my face too, smeared across my mouth and cheeks and down my chest. A streak on my right arm caught my attention: running almost perfectly aligned with my forearm, spidery streaks of blood led away from it, almost as if they'd been driven by wind. How it had gotten there, I didn't know.

Still staring at my arm, I gave a slow nod. "Yeah… I guess you could say that. This looks worse than it is."

"I'm sure," Grim said dryly. "You mentioned you saw the two captains?"

"Yeah." My mind was still half-asleep. I left off staring at the strange blood-streak, and focused on Grim. "They're gonna try and get off the island somehow—they were headed to the port, I think."

Thatch snickered. "Fat lot of use that'll do them, what with their ship scuttled and the merchant gone since we warned him this evening. Did you hear anything else worth repeating?"

I shrugged. "They were sharing out who they wanted to fight. Amarna, the woman, it sounded like she had some sort of trick for dealing with Ace." I blinked, noticing for the first time the fire logia's conspicuous absence. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He's back at the beach, looking after the guys who surrendered. And he's not happy about it." Marco grinned, before schooling his expression into something calmer. "What sort of trick?"

I thought back, fighting through the mists of sleep. "I don't know. Something to do with his fire."

"Fat lot of help that is," Sierra muttered under her breath. Biting my lip, I stayed silent—she was right. Had I heard nothing of any real use?

"Was there anything else?" Marco questioned, looking sidelong at Sierra. With a nearly inaudible grumble, she fell silent.

"I couldn't understand a lot of what they were saying," I groused. "Obviously they already knew what they were talking about, and they weren't kind enough to spell it out clearly for me."

That earnt a chuckle from Thatch. "Okay then, shift focus, and go right back to the start. Think about key words. Maybe that can give us a clue, hey?"

I shrugged, and winced as the muscles in my back twinged violently in protest. Reaching around to massage the sorest areas, I tilted my head back to the stars. Right back to the start… That would be when they were deciding who they were going to fight.

"Well… it seems like they're anticipating a load of one-on-one fights. That was when they mentioned whatever trick it is that their woman captain has for dealing with Ace. They've got a couple of swordsmen, or knife fighters, it sounds like, and they were gonna go after you and Kestrel, Thatch. And their other captain—I guess he was the one that hurt Neroli and Panther—was gonna go after Marco." I frowned, absently focusing on the constellations high in the sky. "He said something like, the more you've healed, the more he can hurt you."

There was a silence, only broken by Marco's quiet laugh. "Well, do you know one thing? I'd love to see him try."

"Hmph." Sierra rose to her feet, and stretched languidly before picking up the broadsword that lay across the rock by her feet. "Some people really need taught a lesson, methinks. Now that we know their game plan, can we get going? I wanna cut something—or someone."

"Hey, be patient, we'll go in a bit." Thatch grinned a mischievous grin. "So, Marco, what do you say? Feel up to messing around with their plan a bit?"

"It'd be the smart thing to do, yeah." Marco rose to his feet and brushed himself off, a slight smile on his lips. "But we'll see what happens. Loki, how many were there in the group?"

I blinked, and thought back. "Twenty-five or so." That was about as accurate as I was going to get in this condition. I blinked again, vigorously rubbing my knuckles over my eyes in an effort to wake up a little more. "Maybe a few more, maybe less."

"And they're heading to the port." Marco gazed off into the horizon, his expression thoughtful. "It'd be a good place to set up an ambush."

"Then we'd better get going," Sierra said, swishing her claymore though the air and turning to lope off down the valley. The others wandered after her, following at a more leisurely pace.

"Take your time, no rush," Marco grinned, then looked back over his shoulder at me. "You coming, Loki? We could do with some reinforcements."

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