by Tom Abrahams
He smiled a toothy grin and pointed to the ship’s bow as he sidled up next to Anaxi. The man moved on the ship like it was an extension of his body.
“Today’s the day,” he said. “You tell me what lies ahead. The first obstacle.”
Anaxi swallowed. “Are you sure you want to know?”
He tossed his head back and laughed. The man was too dramatic. He loved hearing his own voice. Anaxi was convinced of both those attributes, and they were among his better qualities.
Lowering his chin, Branch’s expression grew serious. The smile disappeared as if the wind had whipped it from his face. He moved his body into her space and, twisting, grabbed a fistful of her shirt. Branch yanked hard and pulled her face close to his.
He spit as he growled, “No more games, child. I want the Kalevanmiekka. It’s my destiny. I’ll do what it takes, sacrifice what’s required to possess it. I’ve come this far. I won’t let you stop me.”
Anaxi’s heart raced. Her chest tightened. Fear shot through her body and, mixed with the nausea, it was too much. Acid raced up her throat. She puked all over the pirate.
It splattered on his face and his flapping shirt. Branch’s eyes widened with shock before narrowing in disgust. He released her shirt, shoving her in the process. She fell to the deck, sliding on her backside into a puddle building on the warped wood.
Saying nothing at first, Branch stood at the railing. His hands were at his sides, palms up, as he surveyed the rotten mess that coated his upper body. He sneered and wiped the foamy, greenish regurgitant from his face. Bits of it flicked onto the deck and overboard. The smaller pieces caught in the wind and blew back into his face.
Branch’s face grew a deep red. The muscles of his jaw flexed back and forth. He lowered his chin and glared down at Anaxi. His hands balled into fists.
“You little—” he growled.
Anaxi lifted herself onto her elbows and slid back on the slick deck. She wanted distance.
Branch steadied himself as the ship pitched again and deepened its heel. When the movement settled, he stalked toward her.
She scooted back farther, struggling to find purchase. Even the defiant knew when to run.
Rolling onto her stomach, Anaxi tried pushing herself to her feet. She reached one knee before Branch seized the back of her neck and heaved her into the air.
She kicked her legs, writhing to try to reach behind her. No luck. Branch’s hand squeezed around the sides of her neck.
She clawed at his fingers, digging into them, trying to pry them from her neck.
Branch grunted behind her, but his grip tightened until air couldn’t reach her lungs. Blackness clouded the edges of her sight. Her legs stopped kicking. Her fingers stopped prying.
And the world went dark.
Chapter Ten
The putrid odor made Desmond Branch wince. Anaxi stunk. He might have to relent and allow her a bath. His nose wrinkled with disgust.
He sat beside her bunk below deck. Beneath his feet, the wood planks hummed from the rush of water underneath the ship. Pierre Le Grand was next to him, as together they watched her sleep. The sides of her neck were badly bruised.
Le Grand nudged Branch’s shoulder. “You’re lucky you didn’t kill her. We’d be lost without her.”
Branch didn’t want to hear it, but his friend was right. He’d let his temper get the better of him. His rational self had told him to release her, to punish her some other way. His feral instincts, the ones that ruled him, ignored reason. He had wanted nothing more than to squeeze the life from the insolent punk. She’d been a burden more than an asset since stepping aboard. Other than providing a general heading, she’d offered nothing that brought them closer to the Kalevanmiekka.
Maybe it was better he toss her overboard and figure it out on his own. He’d gotten this far with no outside influence.
Next to the bed, stacked against the curved hull from floor to ceiling, were burlap sacks of grain. He’d stolen them from an island settlement west of the prime meridian and north of the equator. The sacks lined the walls throughout the quarters below deck. They added a lot of weight to the Saladin and slowed her top speed, but they were worth safekeeping. He could barter with them, or use them for food if he ever got in a pinch.
Branch considered if he should strap the girl to one of them and let her sink. He envisioned the satisfaction of pushing her overboard. The plunk of her body hitting the water and dropping like a rock to the dark depths of the ocean. As he saw this in his mind’s eye, he also imagined the immediate regret he’d feel once she was irretrievably gone. Sure, she hadn’t helped them yet. But she might. And her death would put a swift end to that possibility.
Le Grand motioned toward the girl. “You think she knows where it is?”
Branch rubbed his chin. The whiskers on his chin were rough and scraped against his calluses. He considered this. It was possible she was lying. He discounted it.
“Yes,” he said, unwavering. “I’ve seen it in her eyes. Her fear isn’t for her life. It’s about giving up the map.”
“How can you be sure?” Le Grand replied.
Branch pinched his nose and sniffed. The ripe odor stung his nostrils. He winced and cleared his throat. Then he waved his hand in the air, wiggling his fingers like a magician about to perform a trick. “I just am. I have a sense about these things.”
Anaxi’s eyes fluttered. She groaned. Her hands went to her neck.
“Good morning, sunshine,” said Branch. “We’ve been sitting vigil, awaiting your revival.”
The Saladin swayed from side to side. The seas were rougher now. The winds were stronger. The boards creaked around them, protesting the strain of stormy seas.
Groggily, Anaxi opened her eyes. Her brow knitted.
“Where?” she croaked.
Branch inched toward the cot. “You’re below deck. We brought you here to sleep. To recover. You’ll be fine.”
She shifted on the cot to study him. The look on her face was dubious. She said nothing.
“Here,” said Branch. “Take this.”
He offered her a glass bottle filled with water. The bottle was cold in his hands. It was sweating, condensation coating its smooth surface.
He wiggled the bottle in his hand. “C’mon. Take it. It’s cold water.”
Cold water. That was the key. It was a delicacy. There was plenty of water to drink. Almost none of it was cold though. Refrigeration was a luxury.
Anaxi blinked in succession again, appearing to focus her vision. She cleared her throat. Winced again. Pushing herself to her elbows, she took the bottle. She thumbed back the cap and gulped.
Branch chuckled. “You’re going to make yourself sick. Slow up, Anaxi.”
She grimaced with each swallow but didn’t stop. The bottle was half empty when she finally stopped to take a breath. She wiped her chin with the back of her arm.
“Can you speak?” Branch asked.
Without answering, Anaxi took another healthy pull from the bottle. Water leaked from the corners of her mouth and down her chin. She took several gasping breaths and drank more until the bottle was bone dry.
“You almost killed me,” she said. Her hoarse voice was audible, but little more than a croak still.
“Almost doesn’t count,” he said.
She scowled at him. Using her wrists, she pushed herself up against the curved wall at the head of her cot, as far away from him as she could be without leaving the bed.
“Truce, okay?” Branch said. “I think things will be a lot easier for both of us if you simply do as I ask.”
She rubbed the sides of her bruised neck. “You don’t ask.”
“Fair enough. You’re right. I don’t ask. But I figure, why pretend? We both know that even if I ask, you have no choice. You have to do what I ask. I might as well tell you what to do. It cuts through the falsities.”
“I don’t trust you at your word.”
“What if I promised?”
�
�Promised what?”
“What would you like for me to promise? We have a witness. Le Grand here. He’s a witness to my promise. He’ll hold me accountable.”
Anaxi swallowed again. “Promise to keep your hands off me.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I promise.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, I will endeavor to try,” said Branch. “Le Grand is witness to me promising I’ll try. That’ll have to do. You really don’t have a choice, Anaxi.”
“Fair enough,” she said.
Branch slapped his knees with his open palms. “Good, then. We understand each other. Now, let’s get to business.”
Anaxi looked at Le Grand. “Why is he here?”
“An extra set of eyes and ears,” said Branch. “What you have to tell me is important. I want to make sure I remember it.”
Anaxi studied both men. Her eyes shifted back and forth. She nodded. She inhaled, taking in a slow deep breath such that she appeared to grow. Then she exhaled, pushing her lips together as she did. She closed her eyes and crossed her legs in front of her. The backs of her hands rested on her knees. Her back was straight. Her chin was up. She cleared her throat and exhaled again.
“What is she doing?” asked Le Grand. “What are you doing?”
The girl didn’t respond. Instead she spoke. Her voice was raspy but clear enough for Branch to understand each word, even if he didn’t understand the meaning.
Across the sea, through sun and shower
There is a sword of heavenly power
Its blade honed sharp, its grip is true,
in the hand of the righteous, its strength glows blue
Many shall seek, one shall find
This gift and curse, this fruit and rind.
Hunt with a warning, all who dare
The course is rough, the challenge unfair.
Begin heading west and into the storm,
Where the first of the feats shall quickly form.
Be wary these beasts for they are not the last,
To reach the next, you must hold fast.
Anaxi took another deep breath and exhaled. She opened her eyes and sank back against the wall. The ship rocked and the hammocks hanging from beams swayed back and forth. The girl braced herself against the hull.
“What was that?” asked Le Grand. His voice was pitched two octaves higher.
Branch wasn’t sure if the question was for Anaxi or if it was for him. It didn’t matter. He answered.
“That was the first part of the map,” he said. “The first challenge, right? We’re about to face our first challenge.”
Anaxi said nothing, but slowly nodded.
Le Grand stood. The speed of his rise knocked his stool over. He didn’t seem to notice. He stumbled as the ship swayed, but steadied himself by holding onto an overhead beam.
“Fruit and rind?” he questioned. “Beasts? What is this? It’s mumbo jumbo. It’s witchcraft. It’s voodoo.”
Branch reached behind the pilot and righted the stool. Then he too stood. He put a calming hand on his friend’s back.
“It can’t be mumbo jumbo, witchcraft, and voodoo,” Branch said. “Maybe it’s one of them. Could be two of three. But not all them. Plus, it’s nothing to fear.”
“Why not?” Le Grand said.
“Because we’re doing it. We’re heading into the storm. We’re facing the challenge. We’re passing the test and moving one step closer to the Kalevanmiekka.”
The pilot shook his head and backed away. Fear gripped his features. “This isn’t good.”
Branch smiled. “It is.”
“How so?”
“Because now we know our friend here is the map. Any doubts we had are gone. She’s the key. She will lead us to the sword. We will find it. We’ll be unstoppable, Pierre. Unstoppable. Together.”
Le Grand eyed the girl, who silently watched them bicker. Then Branch. The girl again. He shook his head.
“You might be right,” he said. “She might be the key. But this is freaky.”
Branch put his hands on Le Grand’s shoulders and squeezed. “We’ve searched for so long, Pierre,” he whispered. “We always knew there would be risks. And now it’s in front of us. Don’t let a poorly worded poem, written by a hack who thinks he can rhyme, scare you off course.”
Le Grand lowered his chin and nodded. “You’re right.”
“I always am,” said Branch. “Go relieve your mate and take the wheel. I want you at the helm when we hit the storm.”
He patted his friend on the back once more and led him toward the exit to the deck. When Le Grand was through the door, Branch turned back to Anaxi.
“He’s always been a few cannonballs short of a monkey,” Branch said. “No guts. Wants the spoils without the sacrifice. He’ll be okay.”
Anaxi said nothing, merely stared aimlessly at the wall.
Branch changed course and said, “That’s some poem.”
“A monkey?” Anaxi asked.
“What about it?.”
“You said he was a few cannonballs short of a monkey. I’ve never seen a monkey with a cannonball before.”
Branch chuckled. He understood the question now. “Ahhh, that kind of monkey. Yes. Different monkey. Not an animal. It’s a brass plate we put underneath a pyramid stack of cannonballs. Helps save space on deck.”
He could see her mind working. She was trying to visualize his explanation. He changed course again to try to refocus her.
“Are there more of them?” he asked.
“What?” she asked.
“Poems. Are there more poems? Can you recite them for me?”
She seemed to consider this. Then she said, “Yes. There are more. One for each feat. No. I can’t recite them.”
He wondered if she couldn’t or if she wouldn’t. It doesn’t matter, he decided. Once they passed the first test, he’d learn the second. No point in looking too far ahead.
“All right,” he said. “We’ll get to it when we get to it.”
Without waiting for a response, Branch rested his hand on the pommel of the sword at his waist. He rubbed his palm across its smooth finish and turned to leave. He’d reached the door when Anaxi stopped him.
He turned to see her sitting on the edge of the cot, her feet dangling. The bruises along the sides of her neck gave the appearance that her head was floating. She looked at him, her raspy voice cutting through the dank air of the Saladin’s cramped quarters.
“You’d better be ready. If you’re not, there won’t be a second poem.” She was dead serious. No pretense. No sarcasm. No defiance. This was a warning.
Branch’s hand rested on the doorframe. The worn oak was smooth against his palm. The ship listed to its starboard side and righted itself. It rocked to the port side. The Saladin was a pendulum.
He tightened his hold on the door. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
“Nothing,” she said. “But I know what is coming wants to end us. The sword only goes to someone worthy of finding it. Others don’t get close.”
He laughed. It was a nervous reaction and it surprised him. He steadied himself.
“And you think I’m not worthy?” he asked.
He hadn’t once considered his worth. He was Desmond Branch. What he sought, he found. What he found, he possessed. Worth had nothing to do with it.
“I’m worthy,” she said. “It doesn’t matter what or who you are. Regardless, the feats can kill us.”
Again, the girl was absent mirth. She was taking no joy in telling him his deficiencies. This wasn’t about his survival. It was about hers.
Branch offered her a weak nod and pulled himself through the door. He balanced himself with an outstretched hand, navigating the clutter below deck until he reached the narrow stairs that led through the hatch to the deck. The shift and movement of his ship told him the storm was worsening even before he climbed into the pelting rain.
Heavy, cold drops of wate
r slapped against him from wind-driven waves. The downpour was thick enough that he couldn’t see much beyond the next step. The wind howled, screaming across the Saladin as if trying to frighten it away.
It was midday, but it may have well been midnight. The pitch-colored cloud mushroomed around them, blotting out the sun. The sea was drawn with white and steel gray. It lashed angrily at the sides of the ship, reaching across its gunnels and crashing onto its deck.
A spark of electricity ran through Branch’s body. The hair on his neck and arms pricked. Before he could process whether it was from the cold or something else, a fork of lightning sparked overhead. Instantly, thunder pealed into a violent crack. Another flash. Another deafening, percussive boom in his chest. In his hands and feet.
He was flat on the deck now. Water splashed his face and washed across him. He swallowed saltwater and choked it down before coughing.
The ship’s aft drifted as the bow lifted into the sky. Another strobe. Another crash.
His heart raced. He was breathless. Desmond Branch had no idea how he’d ended up prone on his ship’s deck.
The ship’s bow dropped steeply, as if falling from the edge of the cliff, and it rode the back side of the wave to the trough, where it slammed to a stop. Walls of seawater joined the blasts of rain and crashed onto the ship.
Branch heard his men yelling, struggling to control the Saladin.
He struggled to his feet and, wobbly, traversed the deck, catching his balance on rails and masts until he reached Le Grand. His pilot was working hard, gritting his teeth as he white-knuckled the handles. The tiller ropes strained along the pedestal.
“I’m trying to put the stern toward the waves!” he called through his teeth. “The storm hit us so fast… I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Branch hung onto a line that ran diagonally over his head. “What about the sails?”
Without taking his hands from the helm, Le Grand jutted his chin toward the bow. “I’ve got the mainsail reefed. We’re running on the storm jibs and the trysails.”
Branch saw the mainsail was rolled onto itself, decreasing its size. Men were working to lessen it even more.
At both the fore and aft parts of the ship were smaller sails meant to help strengthen control during storms. Le Grand knew how to operate Saladin better than anybody. This was the best they could do.
