Widdershins

The room was dim, bursting with dozens of unsavory looking characters, anchored in the center by a table covered in poker chips, cross-sectioned and divided by stern emotionless looks. A smoky haze, made more obvious by the light over the table, hung in the room, emanated from the several smoking cigars dangling from the players’ mouths. Allan, stared at his cards. The two and the four in his hand dropped his aged face and caused his gray brows to furrow. He sat, silently cursing his misfortune when a voice broke his furious concentration.
“So, shall we go clockwise as usual?” it asked.
“Why don’t we go counter-clockwise this time?” another answered. Allan’s stomach turned over and he felt a little of his dinner try to come up. He downed a giant gulp of air, and leapt to his feet, nearly knocking the table over.
“NO!” he shouted. His opponents, all of them bewildered by Allan’s strange behavior watched him, for a moment, before one man, Harold, a man of Allan’s same maturity, took the cigar from his mouth.
“What is this outburst at my table?” he demanded. Allan threw down his cards.
“I’ll not play at your table, Harry, if we’re gonna play widdershins.” He answered, in his scruffy Scottish accent. The room buzzed with activity as whispers swarmed back and forth between the people just outside of the lamp’s reach. Harold raised his hand and the room went silent.
“And what, pray tell is so terrible about playing ‘widdershins’?” he asked, masking a smile. Allan sighed, and sat back down. Not looking up, he fiddled with his poker chips.
“Must have been about…fifty years ago, I think…”
Allan, his hair darker and tamer, his face smoother and his hands more steady, sat beside a fire, a pair of cards in his hand. Across the fire, sat Kutu, a frail man, dressed in only a pair of leopard skin undergarments and a necklace of human teeth. On his head, he wore a crown of large colorful feathers, two of which came down to his eyes, looking like great, blue brows. Behind him, a giant man, barely clothed as well, stood, breathing slowly, heavily and loudly. One of his biceps was surrounded by a silver bracelet that looked like it might break and fly off at any moment.
“So, all I have to do, Shaman, is beat you at cards and you’ll free my men?” Allan asked, smiling confidently. Kutu said nothing. He only slightly tilted his head forward, nodding. Allan turned and looked back over his shoulder. A dozen men, sailors by the look of them, sat on the ground, their hands bound behind their backs, their mouths gagged and a man with a spear aimed at their throats.
“D’ya hear that boys? I’ve just got to be the little tribesman at a game o’ cards and we’ll be off this rock!” They mumbled through their gags, but were struck hard in the face and silenced. Allan turned back to face the shaman. Another man appeared. He was dressed similarly to Kutu, but where Kutu’s head dress was made of feathers, this man’s had been crafed of fine gold and was encrusted with jewels and a human skull.
“And who might you be?” Allan asked, bemused.
“I am Hitu,” the man answered, shortly. “You must also beat me.”
“Very well,” said Allan. “Shall we go clockwise or add a little spice to the game and go widdershins?” The natives looked to one another. Then Hitu turned back and answered.
“We have no fear of demons, white devil. We will play widdershins.”
“Alright. Widdershins it is. Now, I don’t have all night to play this game, I’ve got to be back in Crooked Island when the sun comes up, so if you don’t mind, I’m just gonna go ahead and go all in.” Allan took the two skulls and five femurs in front of them and tossed them into the fire. It crackled and sparks flew up like fireflies, vanishing as they went out against the dark sky. Kutu and Hitu looked at one another, and then also put their bones in the fire. Allan shuffled the cards and dealt them around the fire. The two men looked at theirs and looked up. Allan looked at his, and a small smile creased his cheeks.
“Alright, let’s see your cards, gentlemen.” Hitu tossed his cards into the fire. A large number four rose up out of the flames. It flickered for a moment and then exploded, coming back together as a five. Kutu then threw his cards in the fire. Two fours came up. Then, with a smile, Allan flicked his cards into the embers, releasing a large crown followed by a letter A.
“Ha! Looks like I win.” He said, turning over his shoulders. “Free my men, please.” The tribesmen cut the ropes and ungagged the sailors. They quickly stumbled to their feet, tripping over themselves, as they headed toward the small skiff on the beach.
“Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, but I hope we don’t meet again for a very long time.” Allan stood up, put on his large wide brimmed hat and strode off toward the boat.
Kutu, looked into the flame, glaring at the cards as they continued to burn. The ground began to shake. The hot coals at the base of the fire shifted and a giant clawed hand wrenched out of the flames. It slammed down on the beach and pulled the rest of the hulking body it belonged to out of the blaze. Kutu pointed to the crew as they climbed into the skiff. The beast, roared and launched itself at them. As it hit the water a loud hiss filled the night, sending flocks of birds out of the trees and a huge plume of steam rose. The men screamed and a piece of the skiff hit Allan in the back of the head.
Allan looked up. All eyes were on him. The room was completely silent.
“I was picked up two days later by an Spanish fisherman and his wife. They brought me back to Crooked Island and I got on the first ship back to Scotland.” He picked up one of his poker chips and held it between his thumb and index finger, rolling it back and forth. “I’ll not be playing widdershins any time soon, Harry” he put down the chip. “and that’s that.”
“Wait a minute,” said a voice from the back. “Are you saying that because you played widdershins you summoned the giant fire demon? Could it have more to do with the fact that you beat a tribal shaman out of dinner for a month? I mean, I’m no expert, but I have a feeling he was none too appreciative of you takin’ his food right out from under him!”
“Well, we don’t know they were cannibals for sure,” Allan insisted.
“Oh, no! They just happened to have enough bones lying around that they could use them as poker chips! Come on!”