Isle of Swords by Wayne Thomas Batson

was already hot. The humid air was thick with motes and tiny insects. Walls of deep green foliage rose up on both sides of the river. And beyond the treetops towered rugged mountains, dark and stony, impassive and ageless.
    Sweat glistened on Red Eye’s bare chest. He dodged another slash from his opponent’s cutlass. A collective gasp whooshed out from the crowd gathered on deck to watch them spar. “Whoa, lad!” Red Eye exclaimed. “That one would’ve put my head in the river!”
    Cat grinned but did not let up. He drove Red Eye back toward the mainmast and peppered him with short jabs. But Red Eye was good, one of the best on the ship. He parried and blocked every one of Cat’s attacks. He saw the openings, and, in a real fight, he would have taken Cat down. Still, the kid was pretty solid—better than most—and just shy of amazing for a lad of just . . . what? Fifteen . . . sixteen maybe?
    â€œYou’re holding back!” Cat yelled. Red Eye just grinned. He sidestepped a heavy slash and spun around the mast. He knew to bring the attack to the kid. His left hand on his hip, Red Eye unfolded a powerful hacking blow that sent Cat reeling to one knee on the deck. But Cat wasn’t without a trick of his own. He slapped the flat of his blade hard against the deck. It distracted Red Eye for an instant—all Cat needed. He sprang up like a pouncing lion and struck with such a heavy backhanded stroke that Red Eye nearly dropped his sword. Red Eye growled. Enough of this! He moved much faster than Cat imagined. His cutlass became a blur, and Cat found his own sword being battered back and forth with no time for a reply. The next thing Cat knew, his cutlass clattered to the deck, and Red Eye’s blade leveled an inch from Cat’s chest.
    â€œSTOP this nonsense!” a voice rang out. The crowd parted and began to scatter as Nubby stomped through, swinging a wooden spoon. Red Eye lowered his cutlass and, oblivious to the rants of the ship’s cook, offered a hand to Cat.
    â€œWell played,” Red Eye said as they shook. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
    Cat smiled weakly. His chest heaved out heavy breaths. His thoughts raced. “I don’t know . . . I . . . I just wanted to try.”
    â€œWhat ’re ya doin’?” Nubby practically shrieked. To Cat’s horror, Nubby lifted the back of his shirt. “Ya trying to open up these wounds again? Ya want to die a gangrenous death?”
    â€œPlease . . . don’t!” Cat stepped away, hoping no one, especially not Red Eye, had seen. “I’m sorry. I just wanted some exercise.”
    â€œExercise? EXERCISE?!” Nubby’s face became almost as red as Cat’s. “Ya can find plenty of that without near killing each other!”
    Red Eye swallowed back a laugh. He knew that would only make Nubby angrier. He’d felt the wrath of Nubby’s wooden spoon before and had no desire to feel it again.
    â€œWell,” Nubby went on, “if it’s exercise ya want, I think I can manage a bit for ya! At five bells, get ya down below. I have a mountain of potatoes that need peelin’.”
    Nubby wheeled about, lumbered across the deck, and disappeared through an open hatch. Cat shook his head and reached down for the cutlass he’d been using. When he stood up straight, he felt dizzy. I’m exhausted, he thought. Maybe Nubby was right. Cat sighed and handed the cutlass to Red Eye. “Thanks for letting me use this.”
    Red Eye held up a hand. “Keep it,” he said. “It suits you.”
    â€œNo, I couldn’t. It—”
    â€œBesides,” Red Eye said, turning his back to Cat’s protest. “I have a dozen more down below. Probably buy a few when we go to shore. Ha!”
    A dozen more swords, he thought. Cat looked down at his new cutlass and wondered.

    The voices came just as the Wallace rounded a bend in