Twenty years ago...

The tropical wind whistled through the lush trees on the distant isle, gently rocking Philip Gosse to sleep. He dreamed of native girls dancing to the sound of pounding drums, led by his beautiful wife, Clarissa, as he clapped in time to the beat.

Distantly, he heard his name called, but his mind simply blocked it out. Then, a moment later, he was being shaken awake by Hernando. His advisor's face was wrinkled with obvious worry.

"Philip! It's Claire. The Montaigne has taken her!"

Philip lunged from the hammock in a panic, and his eyebrows shot up in alarm, "What about Anne and my daughter?"

"Anne escaped with Melinda. The two of them are safe."

Philip nodded curtly, "Thanks be for that. Go tell the others to get the Uncharted Course ready, and call for volunteers to go after the Montaigne. This time he's finally crossed the line..."

Gosse leaned over his conquered foe, grinning down as his men rounded up the last of the Montaigne's crew. The ship had put up a pathetic fight after leading them on a mere two week chase, and now Gosse stood on the deck above its execrable captain. "Where's my wife, Montaigne? Speak up, or I'll give you to my men to play with."

The Montaigne smiled sweetly back up at him, no hint of fear in his voice, "No need for violence, monsieur. She and I have been sharing my cabin most agreeably these past two weeks. However, I'm sorry to say that she got a bit too rowdy for me when she heard your ship had been sighted, and I was forced to quiet her down." He giggled, and his eyes rolled in his head.

His grin fading, and a cold knot forming in his stomach, Philip silently walked over to the cabin door and kicked it in. There was an inarticulate cry of grief and rage, and the crews' hearts fell as the scream faded to broken sobs. Gaspar reached down and jerked the Montaigne up to look him in the eye, "You're dead, little sailor. You're nothing but chum for the sharks."

The captive laughed at him, "Dead? Please. Don't make empty threats, you imbecilic thug. Your Captain is renowned for his mercy and generosity. Killing me might sully his precious reputation."

At that instant, they both looked up as Philip came out of the cabin with his clothing and lips covered in blood. He seemed to waver on the edge of madness for a moment, casting about for some solid ground to stand upon.

The Montaigne pursed his lips in a mock pout, "Oh, how tragic! How sad! ¡Que triste!" He began laughing once more.

Philip's gaze fixed itself upon his captive. His eyes narrowed and he drew a small knife from his belt. Stumbling across the deck almost drunkenly, he fell to a kneeling position over the captive. Then, he slowly ran the tip of his knife along the man's eyelids, drawing a trickle of hot, stinging blood that ran into his eyes. Even his own crew stepped away nervously as he leaned over and whispered into the Montaigne's ear, "Are you still sane enough to be afraid, Montaigne? My heart - my very soul - burns for your blood, but I'm only going to feed it a little at a time. Just enough to whet its appetite."

The Montaigne sneered back at him through the blood.

"Do your worst, old man. You haven't the taste for bloodshed."

Philip stood up, yanking the captive to his feet. Then he spun around to face his crew, who shrank back at the look in his eyes. "You men, chop down the sails and bring aboard six kegs of lamp oil. Make sure the Montaigne's men are securely tied up and left aboard. I'm going to be awhile."

With that, he dragged the Montaigne towards the Captain's cabin where his wife still lay.

Gaspar looked worriedly over at Hernando. "It's been quiet in there for too long." Ochoa grimaced, a haunted look in his eyes. "Would you rather the screaming started up again?"

"Theus, no. I lose my appetite just thinking about it. What's he going to do next, you think?"

"I have no idea." Ochoa's brow furrowed. "Absolutely none. I'm not really sure what he's capable of. I've never seen him like this."

The two of them jumped as the cabin door banged open, and the Captain emerged, dragging the half-dead and bloody Montaigne, behind him. The defiant look had faded from the small man's face... what was left of the small man's face.

"Gaspar, Hernando," Gosse snapped. "Put my wife's body aboard the Course. We'll take her back to the island for a proper burial."

Hernando nodded at the captive, "Of course, my friend. And what about him?"

Gosse ignored the question. "Did you do as I ordered?"

"Yes, Captain. But...the prisoners?"

"Leave them to me."

With that, Philip tied the Montaigne to the remains of the main mast. The bloody captain groaned and swooned, the pain overwhelming his consciousness. Staving in one of the kegs of lamp oil, Gosse poured the liquid all around the man's feet.

Gaspar's eyes widened, "Captain...you're not serious...?"

Philip threw the empty keg to the ground angrily and spun around to face his friend, "I gave you an order! Now go see to it!" The madness in his eyes was all the answer Gaspar needed. He and Hernando rushed to retrieve Claire's body while they still could.

Gosse seemed to sag in on himself for a moment, then his eyes fell upon his shirt, still stained crimson. With a cry of anguish, he tore it from his back and held it up to show to the Montaigne and his crew. "Do you see this shirt? It's soaked in my wife's blood. Therefore, it's only fitting that it should aid in my revenge." Throwing it overboard, Philip listened for a moment, and a strange keening rose nearby and moved towards the ship.

"These waters are thick with sirens," Gosse noted, kicking in another barrel of oil, "And that shirt is going to make them very hungry. I'm going to offer you filthy murderers a choice." Crash. Two more barrels. "Trial by fire..." Smash. "or trial by them." Lifting his foot, he brought it down on the last barrel with a crunch. "I don't give a damn which."

Gaspar ran up to him, "Your wife is aboard, Captain." He looked around him, taking in the bound men, the broken barrels, and the heavy stink of oil. "Your next orders, sir?" He whispered hoarsely

"Get me a hot coal from your oven, Gaspar." No emotion found its way to the Captain's face.

"oh theus, no." Gaspar croaked as his chest tightening up. "captain. don't."

"I SAID DO IT!" Gosse howled. Tears running down his face, Gaspar turned and ran for his kitchen, while the Montaigne's men shed tears of their own, praying to Theus while rocking back and forth in terror. Gosse's eyes roamed over them angrily until Gaspar returned with a red hot coal, held in a pair of tongs.

"Cast off from this ship. I'll be on board in a moment."

Terrified, Gaspar fled as fast as his peg leg would carry him.

The Montaigne came sputtering back to his senses as a bucket of water was thrown in his face, and then another.

"There. I want you awake for this, you filth." Gosse dropped the coal into a nearby pile of oil-soaked sails, and leapt back over to the Uncharted Course.

As the flames began to rise, and, one by one, his men chose the fire or the sirens, the Montaigne 's voice rose with hatred, "Damn you, Gosse! Was your wife worth all of this?! I called on Theus to save us before, and he ignored me! Maybe he's too good for me, eh?! Well then, I'll call on someone else now! Legion, come to us, and we will serve you for all time! Just let me have my vengeance on Philip Gosse! That's all I ask! He must die by my hands!"

The Uncharted Course was almost out of earshot, and he could feel the fire sucking the breath from his lungs, so he cried out one last time...

"Damn you to the Abyss, Philip Gosse!"

Then they were swallowed up in the flames and waves.

Today...

Philip Gosse sat up in bed, rubbing his temples. Kissing the locket that held the tiny portrait of his wife, he held her close for awhile, driving away the nightmares. Before sleep wrapped him in its elusive blanket once more, he softly whispered to the night air...

"Theus, what did I do?"