Laying over the sand, Macha was panting heavily. Around him, Oleg’s Rangers were mistrustingly following the steps of each of the Geckos, who were moving water sealed barrels into the jungle. “We are making a lot of noise,” Oleg whispered to Abect, the leader of the party and a man of a despicable reputation.

“The beach is clean,” answered one of the few buckos that swam towards the shore first. “We have checked every corner until the rocks over there. No patrols.”

Broccoli, a man whose hair lived up to the nickname, gave orders with strange signs and stepped forward. “It’s funny you say we, when my men are lifting the heavy stuff and yours are resting here.”

Oleg raised an eyebrow. “You told us to wait!”

Abect dragged his feet at Macha’s side and kicked sand over the boy’s face. “We said we can handle the material. The rat should be showing us the passage instead of sleeping.”

As Macha coughed, Oleg raised his hand over the waist, close to his dagger. “You do that once again, and we will have more than words, lizard.” The Gecko’s leader chuckled and rubbed his big golden earrings. That was a buccaneer’s way of saying he had gold to pay for a funeral and he was ready for the fight. Oleg, who unlike Macha was not familiar with the Buckos’ ways, ignored the challenge and turned towards Broccoli. “One of my men is an excellent diver. He can help with-”

“We have that covered, Maes Oleg.” Cut Broccoli, with an extreme politeness that was never intended to be believed. “Leave as many of your men to guard the beach as you please and bring the rest to the jungle.”

Slender and tall, not only was his physique similar to Macha’s, but just like him, Broccoli was a man who relied on his intellect to survive more than on his muscles. Either menacing or sinful as any of his peers, he ruled over the rest with orders that none questioned. Since Macha first met him on the Ujan fighters ship, he was fascinated by that buccaneer who was unlike the others; polite, well mannered and respectful towards him and the rest of the Blue rangers.

“Shall we?” asked Broccoli. Macha took one last look at the Sung-Wen. The lights of the ship where Em i Ced were, could be seen clearly in the middle of the channel between the main island and the smaller sister, which, elongated and close to her bigger companion, covered the bay of the open sea. The ship had arrived at dusk requesting protection from pirates wandering northerner waters, and being the bay reserved for Tampra vesels only, they only got permission to anchor at the channel entrance, conveniently right in front of the beach they had to land. Then, in the middle of the night, they swam shore carrying waterproofed barrel-chests and bladers. Easily was possibly an understatement for Macha, though. He was exhausted, and he could barely hide it from the rest. Something that was shaming him deeply.

The underwater pass was not far, and they reached it promptly. The jungle changed, but somehow Macha knew the way. Nothing around the small hole in the rock seems to indicate that the the secret way had been found. A few feet beyond the dark entrance, there was a hole filled with water. “The tide is High. It will be at least two minutes of immersion,” said Macha.

“Less after it’s over.” The bucko who spoke was an extremely thin man, with the dark skin from the southeast of the Ring. “Toss me the rope,” he said to Broccoli, who rushed to the order as many men did to his own commands. The thin bucanneer jumped into the hole and dived straight away without a need for a deep breath. After a long wait that was definitely more than two minutes, he returned, snapping his fingers repeatedly. Broccoli approached the end of another rope and just as he had done the first time, the skinny diver disappeared into the darkness. The rope, just like the first one, ripped the rock with each dive stroke until it tightened with a powerful pull. As Macha followed the rope towards a noose over a tree log, he remembered the last time he crossed. That was long ago, when he was still a little boy. The passage was not excessively narrow, but it was dark and freezing. A combination that, for a boy of that age, could guarantee nightmares for years. But Macha was never afraid. When he was caught for stealing and taken to the plantations, it was actually a blessing since the slums of Amarvatti were worse than any other place in the world.

The crackling of branches announced the arrival of Oleg and one of his rangers, a young rookie by the name of Otti, a kid with a lot of vitality and little brains. Following them was the biggest man Macha had ever seen, a mastodon the buckos called Bullface for obvious reasons.

The thundering steps of the giant ended at Broccoli’s side. The Bullface was also gifted with a voice worthy of his name. “Boss, what do we do with the barrels?” Broccoli raised a hand to make him wait, and the Bullface snorted, fixing his eyes on Oleg. “No worries, little ranger. Me, the Bullface will take care of your beach lads. I swear for my mother.”

Oleg was taller than Macha by a head. And he was a broad shoulder man with tanned muscles, but next to the Bullface, everyone was little. Macha could clearly see the words that Oleg was chewing in his mouth without spitting them out. His men knew how to take care of themselves, but now was not the time to offend a bull and Oleg, apart from being fit, was no fool.

“Just the three of us?” Macha asked. Oleg nodded, taking time to answer in a whisper.

“I think protecting the escape route is crucial, and the lizards are only going to leave three men behind. Also, if anything goes wrong, Abect has already made it clear to me that none of us will storm the fortress with them. I wish I had more men.”

Macha joined that wish. But Abect had adamantly refused to let the party be large, and Ced and Em had also agreed that large numbers were counterproductive. None of them liked it, especially Oleg, who was a cautious man by default, and Macha, after realizing the buckos only needed him for the secret’s entrance location, was feeling even more unease than before.

After the first batch submerged, Broccoli spoke to the Bullface. “Take out everything from the barrels and distribute all among the men. When the holes are made, I want each mate to dry the weapons thoughtfully.”

“And the powder?” asked the Bullface.

“Leave it with you in case you need it. I have the other side covered.” As the bull walked away as noisily as it had come, Broccoli addressed Macha in a less authoritative tone. “It’s your turn. It will be easy. Just pull from the ropes.”

Masha locked eyes with Oleg and quickly dove. The water was freezing, and the hole was as dark as he remembered. Thanks to the rope, the journey felt less claustrophobic and much easier. Despite that, he made it to the other side barely airy and fully scratched from the rocky walls.

Otti came next, followed by Oleg and Broccoli. When they had all crossed, Macha led them down a narrow path to an area where a clearing opened up in the dense jungle. “This place,” said Abect. “we’ll camp here.”

“We are still far from the extraction point,” Macha complained.

“All the more reason, then.” Abect boasted. With a snap of Broccoli’s finger, the party of buccaneers dug holes in complete silence. Soon there were hideouts covered in branches that could fit over four men each. Macha and the two rangers got into one of the largest, realizing right away that not even being a few feet underground protected them from the cold, nor did the branches over their heads protect them from the blood-sucking bugs.

Watching Otti toss aside his saltwater-soaked rice, Oleg took out of his bag saltfish filets and a flask of rum. With a knot in his stomach, Macha declined the food, but not the drink. The rum lifted his spirit and warmed his bones. “Should we get some sleep?” He asked.

“I’m not sure I can.” Whispered Oleg. Macha bit his lips. It was obvious he’d not sleep a wink either, no matter how much he desired it. Before he could agree, a ball of curly fur appeared from between the branches.

“Sorry to disturb you, but I need Maes Macha to guide my scout towards the Fortress.” Broccoli said. Oleg made a move, but the Gecko raised a hand. “Only Maes Macha. we need to be as less as possible.” Macha hesitated, looking askance at an Oleg who was clenching his jaw furiously. Broccoli smirked and moved his raised hand gently from side to side. “Boss… He will be safe with me. I give you my word of honor.”

Oleg’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched even harder. “Boss, I understand you are concerned about us.” Broccoli continued with an incredibly captivating tone. “But if we really wanted any harm to him, or to you or your men, don’t you think we could easily do it anytime under these circumstances?”

Oleg tapped Macha’s shoulder. “All right, but remember this lizard: If we die tonight, I’ll make sure you come with me.”

Broccoli put aside some branches and extended a hand Macha didn’t grab. “There’s no need for treats, Maes Ranger.”

As Macha stepped outside, he could still hear Oleg’s reply. “That was not a treat. It was a promise.”

Broccoli bit a piece of dry meat and began to give orders. “You two, first watch sou-sou-wes. You and you, the other side… Weasel, with us.” The man who joined them on the path was, like Broccoli and the Bullface, worthy of his nickname. Weasel was a slim old man with a hardened complexion and a lugubrious gaze. He walked first in a remarkable silence not even Broccoli could match and definitely not Macha, who occasionally cracked the soil with his feet, raising shushing and tongue snaps from the two buccaneers.

Every few steps, Weasel would stop, waiting for a whisper telling him where to go. “If I go first, we could reach faster.” Macha said after stopping for the tenth time.

“With the noise you make, I better lead.” snapped Weasel.

“That’s how he does what he does. Don’t take it personally,” said Broccoli from behind. Suddenly, Weasel raised his hand and Broccoli pulled Macha’s shirt down. The scout disappeared through the bush to return shortly after.

“Clear.” he said, prompting them to continue. The stops and disappearances went on until Macha had certainty the main road of the fortress was close.

“The entrance is a huge metal fence between two enormous boulders,” Macha explained. “Right behind there is a rock-made hut with usually two guards, another roof for storage and a brick small square before the carved stairs. Is well lit by torches.”

Weasel threw his pouch and removed his shirt, showing a torso of ribs and muscle. Then he bit the blade of a small knife and removed his shoes.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Macha said. Weasel gazed at Broccoli instead of answering.

“He will scout the fort,” Broccoli said. “He will check all guard posts, how many men, where the armory is. That kind of thing.”

“But we don’t even know if we have to take the fortress! That’s too much of a risk!”

“Maes Macha,” Broccoli sat on a fallen log with a grin of discomfort, massaging his knee carefully. “If we get to the point where fighting is unavoidable, we have to be prepared. If we raid blind, we don’t take it. Come sit with me.”

“There are many soldiers inside. The gate is impenetrable. They will see him. We cannot-”

Weasel chuckled. “If anyone sees me, I’ll gut them like pigs in a slaughterhouse.”

Macha dropped his weight over the log and rubbed his eyes. “Pigs scream a lot when slaughtered.”

“That’s why you first knife him through the ribs. Straight to the lung. That way, they can’t scream.” Broccoli said, with a disturbing tone of pride. Weasel chuckled a last time and banished in the dark.

Macha broke the buzzing of the night critters with a slap over his neck. “Take some mud and spread it over your skin," Broccoli said. "That will help. Do not worry, we will soon get your friend and sail home.”

Macha grabbed a chunk of soil slowly, taking his time to sneak a glimpse of the man sitting at his side. With a hooked nose and black hair, Broccoli could pass as a Parni, if not for a pale skin more common from the dragon-folk and an intense blue eyes only found in the far NorWes. With the nuisance of the long wait, curiosity got the best of him. “You are not from Tampra, aren’t you?”

Broccoli shrugged. “If you ask where I was born, I have no answer for that. They sold me as baby to the Dark Traders and raised in the Rabbit Hole. I was a macha once, just like you.” Macha raised an eyebrow, an expression the lizard found amusing. “It’s true kiddo. Mind if I call you like that? We are all alone and friendly talking.”

“Call me as you please.” huffed Macha.

“So, I could say I’m from Amarvatti, just like you.” Broccoli paused to begin an engraving on his seat with a dagger Macha hadn’t seen unsheathed. ”And like you, I once thought joining the Black Geckos was a good way to get away from that stinky life, and here I am since. We are quite similar, you and me.”

Macha’s eyebrow lowered to a frown. “Unless you are a rat, we are nothing alike, Maes Broccoli.”

“Ah, aye. What a stupid thinking from my peers. You had no option. Anyone who knew a little about Chew could see it. My fellas are a remarkable bunch of blind monkeys.”

“Is that why you’re their foreman? Because you are smarter?”

Broccoli shrugged once again. “Maybe. I just know when it is time for the whip or for the rum. Reward when they deserve it. Punish in the same way. Never punish without reason or they will cut your throat in your sleep. But if they deserve a reprimand, don’t hesitate. They know. If you are soft, they will not only hate you more than if you are hard, but they will not respect you. And that is worse than anything.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Macha said, with a hint of teasing.

“Take it, kiddo. You have potential. I noticed the first time I saw you. You’re too smart to be cannon fodder, like all those monkeys. Play your cards right and you could be not only a foreman, but a big boss of the gang.”

Macha contained a laugh and nodded side to side. Although Broccoli’s words were flattering, it seemed absurd that someone from the Geckos was encouraging him to continue a life that was no longer his and never would be.

No more words were spoken until Weasel returned, like a slender black shadow lurking through the trees. “Gate?” asked Brocoli.

“I’ll handle it. Nothing more until top. But those stairs are a hell of a climb.” Weasel answered.

Broccoli scratched the last stroke of a word written in the strange glyphs of Jõ-Dan and joined Weasel as he walked away. “How about the top?”

“Like Uglyface said, Brock. A tiger without teeth,” added the scout. “Less than a hundred strong, mostly the gunners.”

As he followed as noisy as before, Macha realized how poisoned the foreman’s words were. As a pirate who can’t quit the grog, he kept entertaining ideas of greatness in that world of men able to walk unseen through the jungle as tigers or dive underwater for miles as sharks. The night went on, and neither the continuous shushing from Broccoli nor the long wait in the hole with Oleg’s annoying complaints could turn his mind off.

Was he so much like Broccoli? If fate turned different, would have he become someone like that man, who somehow, even being the enemy, got hints of admiration from him? His own mind, which seemed to betray Em, Lim, and Ivy, infuriated him. It wasn’t until the raid got going again that he regained his focus. Ivy’s rescue. That was what he had come to do. To help his friends. To help his family.

When Ivy appeared on the path, and even more so when she gave him a hug like no one had ever given him, Macha felt stupid for fantasizing. Not that he really considered even remotely to return to that outlaw life, but just the thought felt like a betrayal.

It didn’t take Macha a moment to recognize the man who was with Ivy. Pablo, the overseer of the plantation, was the only person who had treated him like a human being before Em. His presence was like a message from the gods. A message to remind him of the true values of life. Shocked, he only managed to tell his name. A word Pablo once asked many times without an answer. We wanted to tell him more. That he was that small kid he once took care of as if he was his own. He wanted to tell him he was doing well, now sailing with good people like him. He wanted, but he froze, paralyzed by the shame of all the choices he made after his escape. Choices of a life Pablo would have never agreed upon.

Lost in thought, Macha followed what happened around him as if it was a dream. The Siam man, bringing bad news. Pablo rushing away, the shots and screams. And finally, Oleg running to catch an Ivy that left as fast as she arrived.

With repeated elbow strikes, Otti brought him back to the present. The ranger had put himself on guard, dagger in hand, in the presence of one buccaneer approaching with determined steps and a bloody blade. Billy, a lizard that even being obese, appeared corpulent, stopped a few feet away, aware that his arrival was hostile to the boys. Sweaty and breathless, he let out a laugh that was more like a throaty cackling. “The men are at the top, Brock. The gunners have behaved as agreed.”

Powder thunders resounded among the mountains. “So, that’s us?” Broccoli asked. Billy answered with his cackling, a sound Macha could not bear.

Trying to suppress a glee, Billy shot a look of mischievous malice. “What we do now, Boss?”

“We will wait for Maes Oleg.”

“But, but- “ stuttered Billy, intimidated by a man who was half his weight.

“I said… we wait.” repeated Broccoli, chewing his words slowly. His expression darkened, like he was sorrowful of the impending victory.

“Last ship entered the bay.” added George, a taller and heavier man than Billy, but not as stocky. “Fortress is ours, the Dock’s barracks ar’done, same as the ship’o’lines.” George unsheathed a large dagger, which he threw into the air to catch it skillfully after a few turns. “So? Should we?”

“We wait for Maes Oleg.” Broccoli repeated once more, eyes fixed on the small uphill path.

George locked eyes with Billy, who shrugged lazily.

“I’m going to find Oleg and Ivy”. Macha said, taking out a Måland three barrel pepperbox revolver Em gave him instead of winning the Utzelnik 69 he desired. The gun was effective though, and with a lightweight size, it allowed him to aim decently, so he never complained.

As George and Billy tensed and raised their blades, Macha realized his mistake. Not only did he create a dangerous tension without a need for it, but he also remembered he had not cleaned his weapon from the sea water. Hoping they wouldn’t notice and he’d not have to use it, he hammered the gun, pushing Broccoli to stand in the middle, palms raised. “Fellas, fellas! I need to wait for Oleg here. I have something important to tell him.” The words of the foreman calmed his mates as a song can tame a beast, and as they lowered their blades, Macha unhammered the gun. “Maes Macha, Oleg told us to wait here. You don’t remember?”

“I don’t, Maes veggie,” Macha answered, tightening the grip of his gun and gazing at the other two buccaneers.

“The blue ship will soon reach port, Brock. com’on!” shouted Billy.

Broccoli scratched his chin and wrinkled his nose. “Aye, aye. I just wanted to teach the ranger a thing or two about ‘promises and threats’.”

“ye’ll have time to’dat.” snapped George. “But if he comes with his friends, we trouble.”

Macha felt a cold sweat running through his back. “What’s going on, Broccoli?” The foreman reached out, trying to gently tap Otti’s shoulder, which the boy was quick to move away. “Otti here needs to be well hidden, swavy?”

“I’m not hiding anywhere.” said the boy.

“I was not talking to you,” Broccoli said.

Macha felt the tight grip on his armed hand at the same time, a powerful arm wrapped around his neck. Otti motioned to scream, but gasped instead. Broccoli stirred the dagger like a spoon in soup and pulled it out from the boy's back to slice a deep straight cut over the throat. Otti fell to his knees, gurgling spits of blood. His eyes widened in terror as the last sparkles of life left. Broccoli tapped the boy’s head playfully. “See kiddo, they cannot scream.”

Macha fought for freedom and Billy tightened his grip. His cackling was a horrendous sound he would never forget. As the arm pressed harder, Macha’s sight faded to a blackness only broken by the face of that goddess that once swore to protect him, and failed.

He awoke in the middle of the jungle with his face half buried in the mud. “The mules are ready, Boss.” The deep voice of the Bullface, a man supposedly dead, urged him to raise and see. Abect stood in front of his sight, stepping over his head to bury his face deeper into the wet soil. “Tell the men to start moving.” said the Gecko’s boss. “And repeat a last time to that stupid Parni gunners there’s no share until we reach the ships.”

Even with hands tied behind his back, Macha tried to wriggle free, earning a hard kick as a gift. “Stop moving, rat. Or I’ll bake yer arms.” Even with his eyes filled with mud and tears, Macha could still see the threatening Gecko mocking his fate from above. Abect chewed a tobacco leaf and threw a black spit that hit his hair square.

“Why… why are you doing this? The lady… the-” Macha muttered, raising laughter around him.

Abect kicked the ground, throwing more mud on his face. “Brock, you’ll give the guards a quarter of their share on arrival, but no more until everything and everyone is shipped and I reach there with the rest.”

Broccoli appeared from behind, his steps elegant and calm. “You are not following?” With a regretful expression he crouched down a wiped Macha’s face with a silk napkin.

“Jeremiah is late. I’ll wait for him.” Answered Abect, walking away. “Bullface! take four and guard the fortress trail, four more to the easter trek.”

“The… the lady.” Macha breathed.

“Oh, aye.” Broccoli said, clicking his tongue repeatedly. “The Swan made a better deal with another of the sisters. And he didn’t lose a finger for it. Anyway, I’ll speak for you, kiddo. You have my word.”

Macha’s eyes filled with tears as the foreman rose. “Your word isn’t worth shit.” he whispered.

When Abect returned, he spit another black ball that missed for a finger. He contained a grimace of rage and kicked him in the ribs. Squirming on the ground, Macha coughed heavily. His mouth filled with dust and dirt, causing the cough to worsen. Abect found the situation hilarious and couldn’t stop simpering. When Macha controlled the spasms, Abect kicked him again, this time snapping a rib.

The kicking and titter continued until the sound of a trotting group resounded from the east trail. “What happened to you?” Abek asked.

“A little misfortune.” Said a hoarse voice Macha remembered immediately. Willingly, he returned his face into the mud. “What's this?” asked J.J.

“A prize for the Swan,” Answered Abek.

“That man has some wicked tastes, I’d say. Where are the horses? Am I supposed to walk? Look at me, I’m bleeding!”

“You are late.”

“Are you serious?” shouted J.J. “You’ll make me walk all the way to the south village?” Abect didn’t answer: The shoots from the fortress trail froze them all. “What is that?” asked J.J. once more, now changing his tone from anger to fear.

Abect cursed. “That’s what happens when you are late, Uglyface.”