Desire Wears Diamonds

by Renee Bernard

  The odd fog is gone but when Captain Hack Martin strides over to the wheel and looks up, his heart stops. The stars are gone and an umbrella of green fire arches over the tips of the masts encircling the ship like a mad sorcerer’s cloak. Few have seen St. Elmo’s fire but this—this is different. This fire burns. Men throw buckets of water onto the flames with no effect.

  They cannot see another ship to signal their distress and Captain Martin fears that if the entire British Royal Navy is facing the same demons then all is lost. Green lightning sears the ship, the officers command the panic as best as they can and then the world fails to make sense when the ocean beneath the ship turns to glass but the waves encircling them churn and chop in a whirlpool that is higher than the rails on the decking. The HMS Fatal is trapped in a bowl of watery violence and then the main mast implodes. Hack took the wheel only to have it snap into a hundred pieces in his hand. The wood of the ship is brittle; the very structure they live and fight on begins to crumble beneath their feet.

  The Fatal is doomed.

  Men below decks drown but the crew that have the means leap into the ocean to cling to what debris they can until the ship is gone beneath them. Gone as if it never existed and never sailed above but has always been a denizen of the depths. Wooden planks that should have held them aloft, abandoned them eager to disintegrate and sink along with the remainder of the Fatal.

  Then the entire sea is the enemy. George Parsons calls out to Hack as the sea begins to eat the men. As if the waves became giant’s hands with claws, men are gripped from below and overtaken by water than now has will. Man after man disappears in a malicious dance of magical seas and George screams before he meets his fate.

  Captain Martin looks up to the sky, robbed even of the sight of the heavens to make his final plea or prayers, there is only a blanket of green flames and the vicious riptide of serpent shaped waves that surge up to consume him as well.

  CHAPTER THREE

  To Drown Alone

  Hack holds his breath until he cannot. Invisible forces pull him downward and the pressure against his body is nearly unbearable. At last his lungs surrendered even when his will had not. Seawater flooded his lungs and darkness rules him as life slips away.

  Captain Martin awakes and not to the bright glow of his heavenly reward but to the cold damp of a dim cavern with walls of rough stone and coral and door of bars formed from iron. The entire room looks as if it were quarried from a reef on the ocean’s floor. He sits up from a pallet of rags and seaweed, sore and miserable but alive. He is alone.

  He calls out for the guard and is rewarded quickly. Two men, half-naked of solid muscle necks as thick as bulls wearing nothing but what looked to his eyes like ancient Greek costumes unlock the bars and hold out the most savage looking weapons he has ever seen. It is a blade that curves and along the inside edge are shark’s teeth edged in steel. It is not a rapier for graceful combat but a razor-sharp collection of aggressive cutting edges that promises pain to any adversary.

  ‘Come, Human!’

  He eyes them again convinced of their humanity but unsure enough not to argue. He complies without wasting words. Captain Martin is taken up through a palace the grandeur of which grows with each level they gain. But there is something otherworldly about the marble columns and ancient mosaics. Gemstones are set into the walls for effect, the floors are inlaid with mother of pearl and sea glass twisted like sea weed create sconces and vast lanterns that hang above to make his eyes widen. For the flames are green inside the sconces—green like the fire that overtook the Fatal.

  At last, they reach a pair of doors large enough to herald an interior to shame the halls of Windsor. Captain Martin is pushed inside to a golden domed throne room filled with courtiers, all in similar Greek costumes that do nothing to hide their physical beauty. Each member is striking in his or her own way and he is amazed to think of such an assembly, all perfect and preening, now offended by his rougher appearance in their pristine midst.

  He does not stumble as he approaches the dais and the throne. The massive throne glows and pulses faintly with the same green fire contained inside the sculpted sea glass that fans out in the shape of giant seashell but the woman perched atop it is not overshadowed by its beauty.

  Venus would be vain enough to gnash her teeth at the woman there in a gown of gold with hair like mahogany wood. Her eyes flash like emeralds and she is too lovely for further description. Each time he looks at her, he is dazzled. But for now, curiosity and fear override appreciation.

  ‘What is this place?’ he asks without ceremony.

  The courtiers gasp at his cheekiness but the woman only smiles. “This is Atlantis and I am its Queen. I am Queen Arête.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Atlantis Holds Court

  His brow furrowed and he almost laughed at the ridiculous proclamation. Almost. For had he not been taken by the sea? Even so it is the nature of men to doubt. ‘Atlantis is a myth. A child’s tale of nonsense that only drunks repeat when the voyage is too long or they have a convenient map to sell.’

  ‘Myth?’ She waved a scepter toward the dome’s peak above them and Captain Martin nearly fell to the marble floor as solid gold became as transparent as glass to reveal not sky but ocean. Ocean as he had never seen it because it was above him, with life teeming across the view, and the outline of a moon once familiar wavered distorted by the depths of the sea.

  Martin turned to leave unwilling to accept what his eyes could not deny but the guards cut off his retreat. Their blades gleamed and reflected in the light, no mercy in their eyes. ‘Poseidon will have your bones to atone for this trespass against the Queen! How dare you turn your back on Her Glorious Presence, human scum!’

  They drag him back before the throne, this time to press him down against his will onto his knees on the steps of the dais.

  ‘Hold! What is your name, man?’

  ‘Captain Hiram Martin.’

  She smiles. ‘I shall make you my guest, Captain. It is a good omen. I always select one slave to act as my personal attendant for the Festival and while many find the position challenging, I like the look of you. I expect to enjoy our time together, Captain.’

  ‘I am no slave.’

  ‘Are you not?’ Queen Arête waves her hand and at the far end of the room a rag-tag group of men, the crew they plucked from the sea, are brought in wearing chains around their necks and shackles on their feet. ‘Behold! Your crew, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’ For there is George and his officers, several of the sailors and the crew he is bound to by honor and experience. These are brothers in arms and it is clear that their lives hang in the balance.

  ‘What say you now?’

  ‘If you spare my men—‘

  ‘We are not in a negotiation, Captain. These men will serve Atlantis in different ways and it is for us to determine their fate and their treatment. Not you. But of course, if you resist, we are less inclined to be kind.’ She stood and Hack sees that resistance gains nothing where extending his life may allow him to extend the lives of others. If not directly—then by stealth. He nods to give himself time to think and plot a way out.

  ‘I am your slave.’ The words taste like bile in his mouth for he is proud but he holds to hope. And what are words? What are their weight or measure when a man kneels before the Queen of a mythical kingdom while sharks swim overhead?

  Queen Arête smiles and gestures toward the floor next to her throne where he is to sit. Hack has never known surrender in battle or in life but he surrenders now. He sits like a dog next to her and his education begins.

  As his crew is brought forward and examined by the courtiers who begin to divide them into seven groups, the Queen begins to explain the rituals ahead. The Festival of the Tides will last for seven nights, beginning tonight.

  ‘We will blend the strengths of your crew to make each team as viable as possible but the first team, traditionally, is the strongest for we hope for the blessing of a successful hunt.’<
br />
  ‘Hunt?’

  She shrugs her shoulders, bored with teaching already.

  ‘Prepare for the first excursion!’ She stands and points to George who is glaring at all of them defiantly. ‘That one! Put him in the lead!’

  She turns back to Hack. ‘Come. I want you to wear something better suited for the occasion.’

  He is forced to follow her but looks to George and the others before they are hauled out, blades at their backs. He waves what he hopes is encouragement to his friend and then retreats with his new mistress.

  ‘What is the Festival of Tides? Was mine the only ship you took? And what excursion is it that they prepare for?’

  She ignores him and he is led to a room with a giant bath at its center. To his humiliation, she takes a seat as other servants, human like him but with hollow eyes come into the room. She claps her hands together and points at Hack. ‘Bathe him.’

  It is a wicked thing but he is stripped of his clothes before her. Too proud to cover himself he stands as if it doesn’t grind at him to be treated thusly. The attendants push and pull him into the water and then bathe him while Queen Arête’s gaze never wavers.

  ‘I am pleased with your height and your form, Captain,’ she teases. ‘And now I am also pleased with the way you smell.’

  Capt. Hiram is spared only because the Queen of Atlantis is taken with him. She feeds him and clothes him, like a pampered pet and as the night unfolds he is not adverse to her touch before a gong sounds and she leads him back to the public rooms of the palace.

  ‘You will have your answers, Captain. Soon now.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A Deadly Harvest

  The first Ritual is that night and Hack is given a new view of the city of Atlantis as they move out toward a temple where the Queen tells him that the Atlantians hold sacred. Sorcery holds the city to the ocean floor and every house and palace is interconnected with the ocean just outside its windows. The view out every window reminds him that there is no escape.

  Finally they reach a long hall that has the look of a temple to him (though without any sign of which god they might be pleading to). Carved sea serpents wrap around every marble column and surface and Captain Martin eyes them without admiration. Their beauty is too terrifying. The courtiers in their best finery line along the temple’s walls and their expressions convey delight, anticipation, and anxiety at the Queen’s arrival though they ignore the human consort at her heels. Green fire danced atop an altar at the far end of the room with a huge portal behind it circled by a single sea serpent frozen in stone in the act of consuming his own tail.

  A few members of the crew were already there, still chained together but their clothes had been changed. Hack winces to think that they too endured a bath like animals for the amusement of nearby courtiers. But unlike his clothes of silk and luxury, his men are swathed in leather pants and wide belts with the look of gladiators.

  George’s look is solemn. They cannot talk. Not without risking the wrath of their hosts but there is something in his eyes. They have told him something of the ordeal ahead and his expression reflects a dark fear and knowledge that cannot be forgotten.

  It is time.

  ‘For as long as we can remember, the Elixir is life! Immortality is ours and the gift of Poseidon ours for the taking!’ Queen Arête addressed the room. ‘Let the Harvest begin!’

  His men are pushed toward the door and the carved stone portals slide back to reveal ocean, held in place as if by glass they cannot be seen.

  Beyond is a dim natural rock tunnel that leads . . . Hack knows not where.

  As the chains from their feet are removed, the crewmen are armed with strange weapons, long tubes of glass tipped with a twisted dagger…like a giant syringe or siphon but the black wrapped handles and echoes of a pikes make his skin crawl.

  ‘Tell me.’ Hack hisses in the Queen’s ear.

  ‘They will face the Kraken.’

  ‘To kill it?’

  ‘NO!’ She stares at him in horror. ‘It is the last of its kind! But we need the Elixir for the kingdom. The blood of the Kraken has power that you cannot imagine. We must have it and the Festival is the only time it can be harvested.’

  ‘Why not send your own men to this task?’

  She laughs cruelly. ‘Why risk the worthy and lovely life of our own when your crew are at hand?’

  Armed guards stand by the portal should any man lose his courage and refuse the task.

  Drums pound and the men are shoved forward with their unwieldy weapons, and a black cloth is wrapped over their mouths and noses. As a gong sounds and the Atlantian priests begin to mumble and chant, the crew is pushed through the portal and into the water.

  It is shock at first as they fight instinctively against the water and the terror of drowning and then more surprise as each man realizes that the cloth transforms water to air. They swim now, their feet lifted from the rocks and turn down the passage that is their only choice.

  Each disappears from sight.

  Hack waits and then a sound unlike any is heard. A roar that makes the temple walls rattle and the sea serpents on the columns vibrate. A trick of the light makes their stone eyes gleam and some of the courtiers burst into applause. Some murmur to each other in anxious hope of the Elixir but the cry at the end of the passage changes and deepens and the seawater they can see through the portal changes color.

  Tendrils of red snake out from the dark until the water is red with blood and unrecognizable. It is too much blood for Hack to hope. None of the crew return.

  The Atlantians are disappointed. The Queen shrugs. ‘There are six nights left. It is rare to have success on the first night but there is time yet. Come, human. Let us be back to my bedroom and see if we cannot alleviate my mood.’

  Captain Martin is trapped in a nightmare that repeats nightly. More, more, and more of his crew are brought into the temple each night, more familiar faces, trembling and crying some of them, as they are armed and then fed to the Kraken. Then the Queen leads him back to her rooms where he is held in lustful thrall. She hypnotizes him with her every sigh and Captain Hack Martin begins to despair of his soul.

  Until the worst—the fifth night. George’s young son, a boy barely twelve is in their number and Hack has had all he can of restraint and threats. The petted and pampered captive rebels.

  ‘No!’

  He races forward to put himself in front of the others. ‘I will go! I will get the Elixir for you, Queen Arête! Stand aside. You cannot send children in and expect them to accomplish a manly feat.’

  Shouts of protest and a struggle with the guards heralds failure but the Queen holds up her hand and the din of a melee is instantly silenced. ‘Time is short.’ She nods consent. ‘Get me my Elixir and earn My Mercy.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Facing the Kraken

  He takes a weapon from George’s son and places the belt around his waist. He ignores the rumbles behind him and shifts the long spear’s handle from one side to the other to try to learn the weight and working of it. It is heavier than it looks but he’s glad. The density in his palms makes it real and settles his nerves.

  He will do this thing and face this monster. He will save the lives of the men he can and the son of his friend. He shakes off the guilt that the Queen’s sorcery has held him in check until now. That pain is for another day.

  He does not wait for the gong or allow them their barbaric rituals. The priests aren’t even in place as he grabs a black cloth from the altar and ties it around his own mouth and nose. They don’t push him through the portal.

  Captain Hiram Jack Martin strides in on his own volition.

  He knows he will not drown. He has seen the others and simply begins swimming down the dark passage away from the temple. He does not look back. He kicks with his legs and holds the glass spear out in front of him.

  Once the tunnel turns and the lights of the temple no longer illuminate his path, he slows. He knows that if George ha
d greater numbers and still did not triumph that he cannot blunder in.

  He ignores his normal senses that urge him to stay to the floor and instead begins to swim along the ceiling of the tunnel, his internal compass broken. Like a human spider he makes his way underwater toward Death.

  The Kraken sleeps. He cannot see its mass or fathom its true form. It is too horrible and he is not there to study it for scholars. The dark changes and there is a faint illumination from strange creatures that gather in pockets of the rock. Barnacles glow yellow and there is enough light to ensure that his nightmares will be complete. There is no other opening or entrance. How the beast was captured to live in the confines of its own filth, it’s hard to say. ‘It is a prisoner and a slave to them, like me.’

  One great eye is closed and he swims above it to decide his strategy.

  Dropped weapons litter the floor of the lair and a few stick out from its tentacles like bristles on a sea urchin. The other men had tried to draw the Kraken’s blood from an outstretched arm perhaps to avoid teeth the size of elephant tusk that seeped tendrils of milky poison into the seawater it slept in. Its body reveals several wounds, none fatal, but Captain Martin decides to take his chances.

  He floats down behind its head, the skin a putrid surface of mottled browns near a small tear edged in glowing crystal shards from the ceiling above where the monster must have thrashed during a previous battle. He reads it as a sign that when angered, the monster thinks nothing in its rage.

  Instead of driving his weapon in, he slides the scalpel sharp tip just into the sore, slowly, deeply to allow the tool to do its work.