Roots and Rivers

The camp was finally taking shape under the relentless work of the past few weeks. What had once been a burned wasteland, littered with the blackened remnants of charred trees, was now slowly transforming into something defensible—something almost livable. The acrid stench of ash still clung to the air, mixing uneasily with the salty tang of seawater and the fresher scent of newly cut timber. Trench lines traced the edges of the encampment like deep scars, each one reinforced with logs salvaged from the fringes of the jungle. Over these ran rough planking, a hasty patchwork of necessity rather than elegance, and in many places, stakes had been driven into the churned earth to deter any would-be attackers.

Jacob stood at the camp's perimeter, boots sinking into mud and loose gravel. He gazed toward the jungle's dark wall of foliage, his expression set. Three nights had passed since the last assault—three tense nights where the islanders' eerie drums and bloodcurdling screams had fallen silent. It wasn't a peace treaty, just a pause. Jacob could almost feel their watchful eyes beyond the treeline, testing the pirates' resolve by waiting. For now, though, the crew had the luxury of strengthening their defenses, and he intended to use every moment of the lull.

Behind him, Jacob heard the familiar crunch of gravel under heavy boots. He turned slightly, catching sight of Garrett approaching. The first mate had dust smeared across the front of his coat and a film of sweat clinging to his brow. He stopped beside Jacob, arms folding across his chest.

"Still quiet," Garrett muttered, voice low enough that only Jacob could hear. "I don't trust it."

Jacob looked past the ragged stumps and into the dim green depths beyond. "Neither do I," he replied. "But we'll use the time they've given us. The men need wood for the barricades, and we're low on supplies."

Garrett's brows furrowed. "What about La Fortune? She's just sitting there in the cove. If we want to secure more manpower—or just basic provisions—we need her up and running."

Jacob followed Garrett's gaze toward the cove, where La Fortune rocked gently alongside The Abyss. The merchant vessel's tall masts stood out against the late-afternoon sky, and the scuttling figures of crewmen moving crates on her decks were just visible from this distance. "She's not built for raiding," Jacob conceded. "She's too big, too heavy, but she's perfect for hauling. We just need the right man at the helm."

"And who's that?" Garrett asked, tone prickling with quiet insistence. "You know as well as I do that if we send the wrong person, we risk the entire mission—and the men's lives."

Jacob didn't answer right away. Instead, his mind drifted back to a night aboard The Abyss when the sea had been unsettlingly calm. It was one of those rare moments when the crew, battered by storms and endless labor, had fallen into an exhausted hush. Garrett stood at the prow, a dark shape against the moonlit waters, and Jacob found him looking out into the void.

"You've got that look," Garrett had said then, not bothering to shift his stance.

"What look?" Jacob had replied, leaning over the rail.

"The look of a man with a problem he doesn't want to admit."

Jacob had offered a tight smile, neither confirming nor denying, though the truth weighed heavily on his mind. "We've got too many men," he'd finally said, "and not enough ships. If we're to use La Fortune, we need a captain for her."

Even then, Garrett had recognized the dilemma. "There are a few strong candidates," he'd said, stepping away from the prow. "But each one comes with their own baggage."

Jacob remembered how they'd run through names. Kwame was cunning and diplomatic, but the crew didn't fully trust him yet. Barret was a master builder, not a ship handler. Briggs could keep discipline, but he'd be as likely to start a war as finish one. They needed someone practical, calm—someone who'd proven their worth under fire.

Now, standing by the camp's edge, Jacob returned to the conversation at hand and met Garrett's eyes. "Elias," he said, voice decisive.

Garrett's eyebrow lifted. "The carpenter?"

"He's more than that. Reliable, steady. He helped bring La Fortune here in one piece, and the men respect him. Might not be flashy, but he won't fail us."

Garrett ran a hand through his hair, considering. "Good pick. He won't let you down."

"We'll give him the right crew mix. Forty percent veterans, sixty percent newer recruits—enough old hands to maintain order, but we can't strip all our best fighters from the fortress. And he'll need a strong quartermaster."

Jacob paused and added, "I'll talk with him personally. I want final approval on his officers. No surprises."

Garrett let out a grunt that might have been half approval, half amusement. "You're finally learning how to delegate, Captain. About time."

Jacob gave him a crooked smile. "Don't get used to it."

Jacob let his gaze linger on the cliffs in the distance, watching as the afternoon sun caught the mist rising from the waterfall's base. The steady rush of water was just barely audible from this distance, a reminder of the untapped resource just beyond their reach. If they could divert it, they could solve one of their biggest survival issues.

He turned toward Garrett, who was finishing a conversation with a member of the cannon crews who walked up while Jacob was distracted. The first mate caught Jacob's expression and sighed. "I know that look. What is it now?"

"The waterfall," Jacob said. "We've been talking about water sources, and we've been going about it the hard way. Instead of digging another basin and relying on rain, we use what's already flowing."

Garrett's brow furrowed. "You want to cut through rock? That's a hell of a job, even if we had proper tools."

Jacob shook his head. "Not the rock. The pool at the base of the waterfall. If we dig a narrow channel from there, we can direct the water toward the camp. It'll follow the natural slope of the land—we just need to guide it."

Garrett glanced at the terrain between the cliffs and their plateau. "You're thinking of cutting a trench through the soft earth, letting gravity do the work?"

"Exactly," Jacob said. "It won't be perfect, but if we can get enough water flowing, we can create a steady supply for drinking, cleaning, and even putting out fires if the bastards ever try to burn us out again."

Garrett let out a low breath, rubbing his jaw. "It's risky. The natives haven't shown themselves in days, but sending men that far out? It's a long stretch of open ground."

Jacob nodded. "That's why we send a small team—five men, no more. Barret leads them, and they go armed. Their only job is to carve a trench from the pool at the waterfall's base and guide it toward the plateau. Once the water starts flowing, we reinforce it."

Garrett crossed his arms, thinking. "Barret will need someone who knows how water moves through soil. I'll send Kofi with him. He's got the sense for that kind of work."

"Good," Jacob said. "Make sure they take shovels, axes, and anything else they need. If there's trouble, they fall back to the cliffs. We'll cover them from here."

Garrett exhaled sharply but nodded. "I'll put the team together. If we pull this off, we won't have to worry about water again."

Jacob clapped him on the shoulder. "Then let's get it done."

As Garrett strode off to organize the men, Jacob turned his attention back to the waterfall. It was a risk, sending men that far from the safety of the fortress, but the reward was too great to ignore. A steady water source would turn their camp into something far more sustainable. It would take time, but if they could carve a path through jungle and battle, they could carve one through earth as well.

And when the next attack came, they would face it stronger than ever.

The rest of the afternoon became a steady hum of activity. Jacob moved around the camp, speaking first with old veterans—men who'd weathered storms and battles—then with some of the newer recruits, reading their attitudes, their aspirations. He wanted to ensure that the ship's crew would work together rather than fall into the typical brawls that erupted in foreign ports. By twilight, the first of the torches had been lit around the fortress, and the scent of woodsmoke mingled with the brine of the sea. Tired men huddled near fires for warmth or boiled what meager rations they had. Sparks danced in the air, carried away by a slight breeze that swayed the taller barricades.

Jacob summoned Elias to the command tent—a crude structure of canvas and timber set up close to the center of camp. Inside, half-finished maps and scrawled notes lay scattered on a long plank serving as a table. Elias entered quietly, pausing at the threshold with a reserved confidence in his posture.

"You've been chosen to captain La Fortune," Jacob said, not bothering with pleasantries. He braced his hands on the table, leaning forward slightly. "I trust you're up for it?"

Elias blinked in mild surprise, then squared his shoulders. His face quickly smoothed into calm determination. "Me, Captain?"

"You got her here intact," Jacob replied. "You stayed level-headed when storms and cannons threatened to sink her. You've got a steady hand and the right temperament—two things I can't do without."

Elias hesitated, absorbing the weight of the words, then nodded. "I'll do it."

Jacob's tone stayed firm. "Yaa will serve as quartermaster. She's disciplined, sharp—she'll keep the men in check. For the rest of your officers, pick wisely. You know the crew as well as anyone does; find those who can follow orders without drama. This mission isn't about raiding and glory. We need allies, materials, and if possible, fresh manpower."

Elias drew himself up, jaw set. "Understood, Captain. I'll not let you down."

Jacob offered a small flicker of what might have passed for warmth in his eyes. "I know you won't. Assemble your crew and load up the supplies you'll need. Work with Kwame to coordinate trade or deals in any port you touch. And remember—no bloodshed unless absolutely necessary."

Elias repeated his agreement, voice threaded with resolve. Then he left to finalize his roster. By the time Jacob followed him out of the tent, dusk was well underway. Shadows stretched across the fort's uneven ground, and the men's quiet voices carried in subdued tones. Fires dotted the encampment, each one casting wavering circles of light over piles of lumber, barrels of provisions, and the ever-growing barricades. From the cove, the wind carried faint sounds of loading as a few lanterns glowed aboard La Fortune.

Jacob paused at the edge of the clearing, letting the cool night air wash over him. He glanced toward the jungle that had gone so unnervingly quiet. It loomed in the moonlight, its foliage a mass of dark shapes that rustled faintly in the breeze. The memory of the natives' last attacks still weighed heavily on him: how they'd come in shrieking waves, each push more desperate than the last. Now that desperation had turned into silence. A silence he couldn't trust.

Garrett sidled up beside him, watching as men hauled crates and barrels toward the water. "Think Elias will manage?" he asked under his breath.

"He'll manage," Jacob answered, voice subdued but confident. "This isn't about seizing treasure or finding glory. It's about our survival."

Garrett gave a grunt, crossing his arms as though to keep the night's chill at bay. "And you, Captain? While he's off doing your negotiations, what do you plan to do here?"

Jacob allowed a wry smile. "Same as always. There's a jungle to carve back, cliffs to secure, and a fortress to build. The hard part's just beginning."

At that, Garrett let out a low chuckle. "Aye, and you wouldn't have it any other way."

"The water channel is coming along," Garrett reported, rolling his shoulders before continuing. "We've got a shallow trench dug—not too wide, but deep enough to carry the water without the risk of it spilling over and turning the camp into a swamp. We connected it to a basin we dug near the southern perimeter, far enough from the treeline to keep it secure. Should hold steady once the flow starts."

Jacob exhaled, nodding as he glanced toward the distant waterfall. From here, the white cascade looked deceptively serene, but he knew how vital that water source had become.

"Good," Jacob said, shifting his stance. "How soon until we have it running?"

Garrett scratched his jaw. "Kofi had us place some damming chops near the base of the falls while we worked—kept the flow from flooding out the trench before we were ready. We just need to send the team back to release them."

Jacob's gaze swept across the camp, noting the workers still hauling timber and reinforcing the outer trenches. Every man was stretched thin, but water security wasn't something they could afford to delay.

"Send them now," Jacob ordered. "We need that channel flowing before nightfall. Once the dam is removed, have a man posted at the basin at all times. If anything goes wrong—if the flow's too strong, or the trench starts to erode—I want to know before we're wading through mud."

Garrett smirked slightly, shaking his head. "You don't trust us to dig a straight ditch?"

Jacob shot him a dry look. "I don't trust this island not to turn every advantage we carve out for ourselves into another goddamn battle."

Garrett grunted in agreement. "Fair enough. I'll have the men pull the dam and monitor the flow. Shouldn't take more than an hour before the water starts running properly."

Jacob turned his attention back to the encampment, taking in the newly dug trenches, the stacked timbers, and the slow but steady progress toward something resembling permanence.

"Good," he muttered, mostly to himself. "One less thing we have to fight for."

The noise of crates being loaded and ropes being lashed echoed in the background. The camp settled further into a subdued routine as the last of the sunlight faded. Eventually, Elias returned, reporting his chosen officers and a list of final supplies. Jacob merely nodded, his approval quick and to the point. Once Elias left again, he stared at the departing figure for a moment, contemplating just how pivotal this mission would be for them all.

By the time the campfires burned brighter against the encroaching darkness, Jacob lingered at the clearing's edge, gaze drifting out toward the sea. High above, the moon's pale glow illuminated the craggy cliffs framing the cove, and both ships shifted slightly in the tide, their hulls outlined by flickering lanterns. Despite the tension and the unrelenting fatigue, Jacob felt a faint spark of optimism. They had a plan. They had a good man in charge of La Fortune. Perhaps they could finally pull in the resources needed to make this fortress more than a desperate shelter on hostile ground.

The hush of night fell, broken only by distant murmurs of weary men finding a place to bed down. Jacob took in a final breath of cool air, letting the salt breeze fill his lungs. For weeks, they had lurched from crisis to crisis, battered by storms and slaughter. Yet in this moment, under the moon's watchful gleam, Jacob felt the first flutter of genuine hope he'd allowed himself in far too long.

It wasn't much. But for now, it would have to be enough.