The PriZin of Zin

by Loretta Sinclair

  “He be right,” someone shouted.

  “Yuppin’s, we do.” Nods and mumblings surrounded him.

  “Like I just did.”

  The crew fell silent again.

  “If I am to be part of this crew, and we protect our own, and we stick together like you’ve indicated, then no one beats one of my crew members without going through me first.” Ian’s heart was racing. He had visions of being hurled to the deck and savagely beaten as some ridiculous orientation into this would-be gang of pirates. He held his breath, awaiting their next move. The silence was deafening.

  Clap.

  Clap.

  Clap.

  “Weel done thar’, son!” Peg Leg looked down at the crowd of confused pirates below. “Ye passed the test although, most jus’ takes the beatin’ instead. Ye gets the point jus’ the same.”

  Step.

  Thump.

  Step.

  Thump.

  “All’s in favor of young Ian here bein’ part of the crew, votes aye.” Captain Peg Leg quickly raised his hand with the first resounding, “Aye!”

  The rest of the crew followed.

  “Aye.”

  “Aye.”

  “Aye, Aye.”

  “Aye, lad.”

  “All opposed, nay.”

  The deck remained silent.

  “The Wayfarer welcomes ye, laddie. She be in yer blood from this day on. There’s no escapin’ the hold she gits on yer soul.”

  Step.

  Thump.

  Step.

  Thump.

  “And all a’fore we sup, too. Weel done. Weel done, lad.”

  Ian watched Peg Leg thump his way below deck. One by one, the crew followed, until he was alone on the deck.

  Ian took a deep breath, his head still pounding. Raising a hand, he felt his swollen lips and tender nose. He looked down at his filthy, grease-covered clothing, and the scratches on his arms and legs. He had visible bruising on his forearms, and his knees ached. Ian looked up toward the black and white pirate flag billowing in the wind over his head. “Yes!” he screamed, leaping into the air. Fists flying and legs dancing, Ian did a victory lap around the deck, before following his Captain and crewmates below deck for his first pirate victory supper.

  Congratulations lasted late into the evening hours. Ian received so many welcoming slaps on the back his shoulders ached. His knees and arms still hurt from the day’s events. Still, he reveled in the thought of it all.

  “I’m a pirate,” he repeated to his new friends.

  “Aye, ye near be,” they retorted.

  Now he found himself back up on the deck, in the dark of the night, surrounded by all of his shipmates for the final celebration of the day. He had no idea what would transpire, but it didn’t matter. Whatever it was would cement his bond into his new and wonderful life; a life of adventure and surprise. It was what he had waited his entire life for, and now the time was here. He belonged. He finally belonged somewhere.

  Ian was as content as he thought he’d ever been. Just the atmosphere alone was enough to make his heart skip a beat. The night sky shone brightly with the moon above. The seas were calm and the surf quiet. He could hear the bubbles slipping to the surface from under the gently rocking hull.

  Snap.

  Pop.

  Help.

  “Welcome’s aboard, matey!” Ian was spun around to face the man he’d helped earlier in the day. “I’s be Ruben.”

  “Nice to meet you. Your face looks better.”

  “Aye, jus’ a little funnin’ was all, it was.”

  “That didn’t look like much fun to me.”

  “Aye, weel. I’s likes to see how many times I’s can turn to the other cheek and stills be standin’. Ye ken?”

  Ian started to nod, then shook it instead. “No. I guess I don’t.”

  Ruben laughed at that. “Aye. It matters naught to ye. Y’re kin now, an’ that’s all matters.”

  Peg Leg stomped his stump on the dimly lit deck. All noise stopped and attention turned his way.

  “Young Ian, step forwards, man. Time fer yer oath-takin’.”

  “On this here boat, friends is thicker ‘n blood.” Peg Leg reached out his hand to Ian. “When ye swears in, yer in for the lot.” Ian was drawn in close to the Captain. Through the lantern’s dim glow he could see the whites of his new Captain’s eyes. The glimmer of a new life of pillage and plunder shot bolts of excitement up his spine. Ian gladly grasped his mentor’s hand and smiled. The Captain smiled back, eyes glimmering, jet-black hair waving. Funny, but there doesn’t seem to be any breeze, Ian thought. Yet Peg Leg’s hair and beard were moving as though the ship were at full sail. No matter. He was just happy to be here. The gleam in Peg Leg’s eye shone so brightly it reflected dozens of times in the tips of his beard. The ends seemed to twinkle in the moonlight. His whole face was alight with pure delight. Ian smiled.

  This was gonna be good.

  Peg Leg grabbed his wrist with a firm hand and held it straight up in the air. He firmly laid Ian’s wrist up against Ian’s. On the railing were several lengths of rope, one a fine silvery thread-like piece glowing in the moonlight as brightly as Peg Leg’s eyes. His Captain’s hand reached right over the top and grabbed an ordinary piece of rope lying next to it. Lashing their arms together, wrist to wrist, Peg Leg instructed “repeat whats I says. If’n ye means it, ye be ones of us forever.”

  Ian nodded.

  “The bonds of ye brothers runs deep as the oceans.”

  “The bonds of your brothers runs deep as the oceans,” Ian recited.

  “Their bond fer ye be the same.”

  “Their bond for me is the same.”

  Peg Leg held the end of the rope in his free hand. “We ties our souls to one another, and to this ship. We swears our oath to the Cap’n, save none.”

  Ian heard the other pirates repeating the oath with him. Ruben stepped up and stood next to him.

  “We lives together. We fights fer our own. We dies as one for ‘er brothers and ‘er Cap’n. Wayfarin’ souls be we.”

  Ian smiled.

  “No friend lef’ behin’.”

  “No friend left behind.” Ian looked across the deck at his new crewmates, swearing their loyalty to him.

  “None dies alones.”

  “No one dies alone.”

  “Be’s we ‘gether, or be’s we ‘part;”

  “Be us together, or be us apart.”

  “No’ne can tear ye from ‘er brother’s heart.”

  The entire crew repeated the last line.

  Then Ian said alone, “none can tear us from our brother’s heart.”

  Cheers went up and the dancing began. The ship rocked slightly as the men jumped, whooped, and hollered, spiriting themselves around the deck. Several members of the crew climbed part way up the mainsails and swung out from the booms. “Wooo! Hooo!” they screamed at the tops of their lungs. “Gots us ‘nother brother, does we!”

  The ship tilted even further as they swung like monkeys from boom to boom, Ruben leading the way.

  Pop.

  Plop.

  “Ian.”

  “He be’s the bestest crow on the seas, Ruben is.” Peg Leg unwound the rope that had bound them together for the oath of loyalty.

  “Crow, sir?”

  “Now, there. Ain’t bein’ no ‘sir’ here, boy. On this here ship we’s all be equals. I be yer voted-in Cap’n. We’s bein’ in a democer’cy, we is.”

  “Ok, Captain. But what does it mean to be a crow?”

  “Ups thar,” Peg Leg pointed. High atop the tallest mast sat a basket. “That be the crow’s nest. Him which got’s the bestest eyes be’s the crow. Protectin’ us, watches fer danger, the crows does.”

  Ian nodded.

  “We gives ye a try up thar tomorree. Tonights,” Peg Leg threw his hands up in the air and twirled around, “we celebrates.” He danced off with the others, rocking the boat, and leaving Ian, smiling, in the center of the party.
r />   Slosh.

  Slop.

  Plop.

  Pop.

  “Help.”

  “Ian.”

  Pop.

  Slop.

  “Help.”

  Chapter 22: Crow’s Nest

  crow’s-nest [krohz-nest] noun

  Nautical. a platform or shelter for a lookout at or near the top of a mast.

  Day 3

  The musket shot rang out.

  Ian scurried up the mainsail mast as fast as he could. Faster than climbing a ladder, he tried not to be reckless, but still he had to beat Ruben to the top.

  “I’s on yer tail, laddie! Hahahaha!”

  Ian dared not speak or turn around. He didn’t want even the simplest movement to slow his progress. Another test, yes, but it felt more like a game at this point. It was no longer against his enemies, but his fellow pirates; his brethren; his new friends.

  Ian grabbed the nail pegs hammered into the sides of the mast. They were barely wide enough for a handhold, or a foothold, yet were staggered and spaced up the post like the rungs of a ladder. One by one, Ian grabbed hold and pulled himself up toward the reward at the top — the coveted position in the crow’s nest. It was the prized position on the ship, and it had been offered by Peg Leg to Ian for his loyalty. That was, providing he could beat Ruben to the top. Loser had to hoist and secure all the sails for the day.

  “Me Gran kin move faster ‘en ye can, Ian. Ye climbs the likes of a girl, ye does. Move on ov’r, lad, and lets the man git up thar!”

  Cheers from below floated up. The entire crew lined the decks, cheering the two on.

  Ian wanted to laugh and make a snide comment back at Ruben but, at the same time, he had to prove he could do it. He had to prove it to Ruben and to the rest of the crew. More than anything, he had to prove it to himself. Rung after rung, he raced to the top. He had to win. He had to.

  Almost there.

  He almost had it. Ruben was just a few rungs below. Ian reached for the next peg near the top. Pulling his weight upward against it, the rung came out in his hand. Ian fell back, losing his balance, both feet slipping from the rungs they were on. He dangled by his one remaining hand, clenched in a death-grip on a single nail.

  Ian panicked. His mind went blank. He screamed, but no sound came out. Gasps and moans came from the deck below. The ship spun beneath him. “Ahhhhh!”

  A big hand grabbed his thigh and stopped him from flailing. “Grab the next peg.”

  Ian faltered for a brief moment, trying to get his bearings. The hand squeezed his thigh and guided his leg to the safety of a rung. “Grabs it, I say!”

  His mind cleared and Ian let go of the loose peg in his hand, grabbing the next rung. He held on, trying to regain his senses.

  “Holds on, lad,” he heard Ruben say. “I got ye.”

  The peg finally crashed onto the deck. Ian mentally calculated how high up they were, based on how long it took the peg to fall. He dared not look down. Not now, when his nerves and his senses were so shaken.

  “Steps up, lad.”

  Ian could feel Ruben’s body behind him, almost sheltering him against the mast, preventing another fall.

  “Reach,” he commanded.

  Ian couldn’t move. He closed his eyes against the sun and the wind, not daring to look at anything. All he could manage was to shake his head.

  “I’s not’s gonna stands here holding yer scrawny behind up forever. Ye got’s to git up, ‘er down. Sae picks one. Up’s shorter.”

  “I can’t,” Ian whispered.

  “Sure’s ye kin.” Ruben’s words were kinder now, softer. Ian felt a gentle tap on his right elbow. “Move this ‘un.”

  Ian cracked his eyes open and looked for the next peg above the one that had fallen out. He reached a shaky hand up and grasped the peg. The sweat on his palms made it hard to hold on, but he gripped it with all his might.

  “Now, moves this ‘un.” There was a tap on his right leg.

  “Thar’s ye goes.”

  Ian pulled himself up a few inches against the mast.

  “This ‘un.” His left hand was tapped.

  “This ‘un.” His left leg.

  Tap by tap. Hand over hand. Foot after foot, Ruben and Ian climbed the remainder of the mast to the crow’s nest.

  At the top, Ian was the first into the nest. Ruben followed. The two leaned against the relative safety of the small enclosure. Cheers rose from the deck below as the two reached safety.

  “Why did you do that?” Ian asked.

  “Friendship is thicker ‘en blood on this here ship. The bonds of yer brothers runs deep as the oceans. Their bond fer ye be the same.” The two pirates took turns, reciting their vows back to each other.

  Ian smiled. “We tie our souls to one another, and to this ship. We swear our oath to the Captain, save none.”

  “We lives together. We fights fer our own. We dies as one for ‘er brothers and ‘er Cap’n.” Ruben smiled back. “Wayfarin’ souls be we.”

  “No friend left behind.” Ian perked up. “No one dies alones.”

  “Be’s we ‘gether, or be’s we ‘part;”

  “No one can tear us from our brother’s heart.”

  “Aye,” Ruben smiled, “‘tis the pirate’s code.”

  Rested somewhat, Ian stood. “So I guess I’ve lost, then.” He made for the gateway out of the nest.

  “Hold it thar, laddie. Where does ye thinks yer goin’?”

  “I have to string the sails. That was the bet.”

  Ruben smiled. “If’n ye thinks I’s gonna lets ye swing ‘round outs thar after whats we jus’ done, yer crazier than ye looks.” He winked and smiled again. “’Sides, ‘twer kinda unfair to race ye on yer firs’ day likes that.” Ruben stood and moved to the gateway. He turned and started to back down the ladder. “Stays here and catch the rope when I’s tells ye. Ye’s gits ‘nother chance te beats me after ye practices up a bit.”

  Ian smiled back at his new friend. “Thank you, Ruben. I won’t let you down.”

  “Ye did not yesterday, lad. Ye stepped up te helps me, so’s tis the leas’ I’s kin do back.”

  Ian nodded. Yesterday was such a long time ago. He had almost forgotten about the fight he’d stepped in on, and the beating Ruben was taking for no reason at all. Ian nodded again. There was one person he could fully trust on this ship.

  Chapter 23: Save

  Save [seyv]verb (used with object)

  to rescue from danger or possible harm, injury, or loss: to save someone from drowning

  Ruben swung from mast to mast, guiding the ropes while the crew below hoisted the sails. He fed the lines through the rigging, and dangled as the sails raised, making sure there were no bunched lines or tangled ropes. Ian watched, mesmerized, as Ruben floated from boom to boom with a practiced ease that he staunchly admired. Perhaps one day. As each sail unfurled and caught wind, the ship lurched forward, swinging the boom and the masts with exaggerated motion. Ian grabbed his stomach against the queasiness rising up the back of his throat.

  Sail by sail, Ruben threaded his way back up the main mast toward the crow’s nest, and a waiting Ian.

  “What do you want me to do?” Ian yelled down, not taking his eyes off Ruben.

  “Jus’ stays thar, lad.”

  “I want to help.”

  “Ye kin raise the flag, then.”

  Ian looked around the nest. Folded up off to the other side of the small landing was the black and white pirate flag. He gently unfolded it. Reaching up the flagpole in the center of his perch, Ian tied the bottom end of the flag on to the rivet. The top rivet was just out of his reach. He tried to stand on his toes, but didn’t quite make it.

  One foot perched on the top of the crow’s nest, Ian stretched his arm out as high as he could, reaching for the rope to attach the top of the flag. He wavered a little as the ship pitched and rolled in the surf, but held on tight to the rope and the flag. No pirate ship was ever caught without its flag. Beneath him, Rub
en swung from rigging to rigging, stringing the sails to get the ship under way.

  “Wacha doin’ thar laddie?”

  “Raising the flag, like you said.”

  “Good jobs, yung’un. Raise it high and proud.”

  Ian stretched again, the flag unfurled and flapping in the wind directly in front of him. He fought to keep the untethered corner close to him and still reach the upper clasp.

  Almost. Ian reached out with his other arm. Just another inch. I know I can.

  I know—

  The ship pitched and rolled sharply to the side. Ian hung on to the rope with one hand and the flag with the other. With one foot on the ledge and the other on the floorboards of the crow’s nest, he swung back and forth with the sea. Laughing, Ian was at ease in the perch, knowing that Ruben was right below him.

  A pirate always defends his own. No brother left behind. The pirate’s code.

  Ruben would protect him.

  Ian was proud of where he was. He belonged now. He was part of something. He had a purpose and a direction to his life. He was a pirate.

  He looked back at the flag in his hand. Again he stood, reaching, stretching for the clasp to hold the upper corner in place. He was so very close now. Ian braced against the main mast with one arm, and lifted his other leg to the rim of the crow’s nest. Hoisting himself up, he stood tall against the backdrop of the ocean billowing below him. Smiling, he reached for the clasp to tether the flag. Fastening the loop securely, Ian released the flag, letting it flap in the wind. The mainsail caught the wind at the same time and the ship lurched forward. The flag whipped backward as the ship turned, slapping Ian in the face. The sting against his skin was sharp and painful. He grabbed his cheek to ease the sting. The second he released the mast, Ian toppled backward and fell from the crow’s nest. He jerked hard, with his foot tangled in a rope. Ian hung precariously, upside down, peering downward toward the deck below.

  “Help! Save me!”

  “Hold on, lad. I’s comin’.” It was Ruben’s distinctive drawl. Ian could see him scampering up the rigging to his aid. Others were also beginning the ascent to his side, but they were significantly farther away. Dangling by one foot, spinning in the breeze, Ian closed his eyes to keep the waves of dizziness and nausea away.

  Help me, please. Anybody.