I felt myself becoming lonely and strange.
All the while the island roiled up great waves as its siphons pulsed and its sail-fins caught fresh winds. New constellations climbed up into the night sky and the sun never seemed to sink in the same direction. Rains fell but the island skirted the towering black masses of typhoons as they skated over the ocean. Twice lances of searing lightning struck the island. Both times I raced through the forest to the fires. I fought through smoke to reach the orange flames and I suffocated them with heaps of mud before they could burn down to the island’s shell.
Wandering islands will douse their own fires if they feel them. But little of the life clinging to the island would survive the decent down into the cold ocean depths. My granny had told stories of entire cities lost to a single errant spark. She’d always reminded me that before all else, we Almagua protect the wandering islands that provide us with our sustenance. And though this Laquerla island was an ancient stranger to me, it did my spirit good to fight those fires. The blisters reminded me that I could do something more than plunder and drink. I began to remember how it felt to have courage and to care for something more than my own skin.
As the smoke drifted from the dying remnants of the second fire, I noticed a pair of gold birds stalking between the steaming tree ferns. They kicked the ground, and at first I thought they were hunting charred snakes. But then I saw one deliberately smother a heap of stray embers beneath its tough feet. Then the bird caught sight of me and cocked its head, as if studying my smoke-streaked figure. I crushed out an ember under my filthy shoe, and I waited for the pair to charge me. Instead, one sang out a long low trill and its mate answered. Then the pair slowly strolled past, so close that I could smell their sweet plumes and see the faint pattern of blue speckles that decorated their tail feathers.
I took a charred snake for myself and hiked back up to my post in the heights, wondering if the gold birds too were guardians of this place—a strange clan of Almagua.
Vaz, my favorite frog, sang me to sleep.
Several nights after, I woke to see luminescent plumes trailing the island and lighting up miles of the black sea. I dreamed that an even more immense island floated in the heavens, filling the sky with vast sprays of glittering stars as it spilled its semen across the firmament. When I woke, I wondered if I might be going a little mad and I only just caught myself before I asked the question of the orange frog chirping on my shoulder.
From time to time, I thought I sighted ships on the horizon, but they never came close. Though more and more often, I glimpsed the green vistas of other wandering islands, drifting like mirages of true land.
One afternoon I woke late, feeling feverish, to discover that a huge flock of jewel red hummingbirds had invaded the island. They swarmed over the trees and surrounded the pools of fresh water. I stumbled after one, dazzled by its iridescent plumage and the astounding beat of its wings.
Then all at once the mossy ground gave way beneath me. I fell into a dark crevasse and struck planks of rotted wood so hard that I broke through into a second level. The hummingbird darted above me for a moment, then flashed away. I struggled to catch my breath, and simply lay there almost afraid to notice how badly I’d been hurt or how far I’d fallen. I needed to get up and get out before more ground tumbled down on top of me, but I couldn’t move.
A numb darkness engulfed me.
I don’t know how much time passed before I came to, but the sun seemed to have drifted far across the sky.
Shafts of late afternoon sunlight filtered down and glinted across heaps of Indaji gold and Maqadas silver. One of the rotted barrels that I’d smashed through bled out a pool of pearls all around my prone body. Small chests of jeweled baubles stood all around me. A Reinazona sword lay atop one, wrapped in a decayed leather sheath bearing the emblem of an eagle. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I made out the skeletal remains of the five captives whom Captain Barradas had forced to carry his treasure when he’d hidden it away, fearing it would fall into the hands of naval officials dispatched to bring him home to face his queen’s justice.
But he never lived to see the fleet of warships with their decks of guns and endless yards of sails. Instead, he’d died at the end of his first mate’s sabre for depriving his crew of their share of plunder. And four years on, the remnants of Barradas’ crew and a host of others still hunted the ever-changing seas searching for that narrow stretch of land where riches of every nation waited for the taking. Over those years, the stories of the wild captain’s riddles had grown, along with rumors of maps and tales of ghosts tearing at sails and spinning compasses like whirlpools. The scale of Barradas’ plunder grew from a haul that had weighed down our single sloop, to vast caverns, piled with more gold than ten galleons could hold. Pirate captains, naval commanders, merchant princes and even wealthy naturalists sought the treasure. And their fascination doomed countless numbers of us, pressed into their service. So many lives had been sacrificed for this shining, dank place and the riches it held.
And now it was all mine and all utterly worthless to me. I laughed so hard that I cried.
Then I wept for a time longer.
After I wiped my face and managed to pull my aching body upright, I staggered to the corner where the five corpses huddled atop each other. The chains that once secured their ankles had fallen from their bones and the bullets that had killed them lay hidden beneath colonies of white mushrooms. I barely remembered the captive’s faces or names, but I still placed my hand on each of their skulls and wished their spirits to find release from this hole. I left a gold coin for each of them among their finger bones.
“Blue skies and shining stars await you,” I said for I could offer them nothing else. Not holy blessings or the return of their bones to their homelands. “I wish you peace at our parting.”
I took the sword and then I pushed the casks and chests together to form several precarious steps. My left shoulder nagged at the effort and my back ached, but the sound of thunder filled me with fear. I didn’t want to be trapped in this hole when the rain came and turned the ground above me to a suffocating mud. I needed to be out if lightning struck the island and ignited a fire.
I strained for a handhold, digging at dirt and decayed moss. Again, the thunder, loud as cannon fire cracked through the air. At last, I caught a tangle of roots that held my weight. In a frantic scramble, I clambered out of the gold-filled grave.
Overhead, dark storm clouds hung like black banners across a golden sunset. Out on the indigo-blue ocean, a fast-moving sloop-of-war, flying a blood-red flag fired upon a narrow brigantine—a Reinazona merchant vessel, I guessed from her display of flags. The sloop I recognized at once even through the coming darkness and the distance of forest and sea. Barradas’ Morsa, the ship I’d been hurled from months ago.
If Captain Alvim still commanded her, then no quarter would be given to the sailors or passengers aboard the brigantine. Their only hope would be to repel the Morsa or to outrun her. Slack sails and still air made me fear that the brigantine couldn’t depend upon speed. The little ship shuddered in the water as cannon shot tore into her. Still, her crew managed to turn on the Morsa and return a volley of fire. Smoke billowed up from the guns of both ships. Twice more the heavy guns thundered as timbers splintered.
Then the Morsa’s foremast cracked and she veered to the side. At once the brigantine turned, not in pursuit but catching a gust of wind and making for the cover of my island. The Morsa fired after her. Cannon ball after cannon ball ripped through the ship. Her mizzen-mast crumpled, and a gaping hole opened in her hull. Then another.
The ocean gleamed with the brilliant colors of the setting sun as the brigantine sank before my eyes.
None aboard the Morsa sent out rescue boats, not even to seize survivors for ransom. I wondered if their supplies had run so low that they couldn’t afford to feed even a single man more, or if Captain Alvim’s cruelty had led more kind-hearted men like Akwa and Dalir to think drowning wou
ld be a better death than what awaited any captive in the captain’s cabin.
Dread filled my bruised chest. I watched the Morsa slowly turn towards my island.
They would come ashore for fresh water, to hunt food, and to cut timbers to make repairs. They would come and shoot the gold birds and build fires. If I attempted to stop them, they would likely shoot me dead as well. If I didn’t stop them, then all this wilderness and beauty around me would be lost beneath the waves. And I’d likely drown too.
While I stood, pondering what I could do, I noticed a form bobbing through the breakers. Then climbing across the coral. A survivor from the brigantine. A second followed after. They both hauled themselves onto the narrow stretch of beach and for an instant I couldn’t imagine what had befallen them to make then hunch in such strange positions. Then I realized they were giant turtles that the crew must have taken for their meat. Only a day before their futures would have seemed doomed, and yet now only they of an entire brigantine survived.
Something in the improbability of their persistence offered me a spark of hope.
I studied Captain Barradas’ sword, while out across the sea, two ship’s boats cast off from the Morsa. The jolly boat carried five men, the longboat brought nine. That meant fourteen of the Morsa’s crew of twenty were bound my way. At the prow of the longboat I sighted Captain Alvim’s white plumed hat fluttering like a beckoning hand.
I picked my way quickly through the forest and descended to the beach. The setting sun turned the pale sand red and the foam of the breakers a bloody pink. The hulking turtles hunched together like amorous boulders and paid me no mind at all.
My old crewmates didn’t notice my presence either. They were too caught up in struggling to pull their boats across the coral while avoiding the claws of curious spider crabs. Their faces seemed more deeply lined than I remembered, and shots of white hair streaked both Bosun Lisboa’s red beard and the temples of Dalir’s black hair. Only Captain Alvim, with his broad shoulders, jaunty hat and bright velvet coat struck me as unchanged by the long months at sea. It seemed almost as if the exhaustion and weakness of his crew fed him—or perhaps it simply allowed him to sleep easy at night, knowing them to be too worn down to resist him.
“Stop where you are, my old mates! This island isn’t yours to lay claim to.” I didn’t wait for them to get clear of the lapping breakers before I called out from the shadows of the trees. “I’ll offer you fresh water and wood, but no more beyond that.”
Alvim lifted his pistol, but in the twilight he couldn’t pick me out from the shadows of the trees I stood beside. In any case, I’d seen him come ashore. Seawater still dribbled from the barrel of his gun. His powder was soaked through.
“Pascoal?” Dalir’s face lit with fondness, but several of the others appeared fearful. No doubt a few thought me a ghost. Akwa pressed his palms together and bowed his head in the gesture I’d seen him perform over sailors’ corpses many times before. Bosun Lisboa scowled warily into the forest behind me. Gold birds stalked between the trees pacing to the beach for their evening crab hunts. Several of the men stumbled back into the surf as they too glimpsed the silhouettes of the giant birds.
For an instant I thought that my bluster combined with the unnerving shadows would be enough to send them back to their ship. But I should have known better. Alvim was many things, but never a coward. He took three steps inland and planted himself like a hero posing for a portrait.
“Come out from the shadows if you dare, Pascoal,” he shouted. “Or would you have me run you down like a cowering dog?”
Oh, I’d have loved to see him try to catch me through the forest gloom, but that wouldn’t stop the rest of the crew from building their fires.
“Now my mother would say that every dog has his day.” I moved a little to the left and then stepped out from the trees a few feet from where the captain and the crew expected me. “So here I am, meeting you on land where you are no more of a captain than am I.”
Alvim pulled the trigger of his pistol and got nothing for the effort but an impotent click. Behind him the rest of the crew exchanged curious glances. Dalir looked relieved. None of the crew reached for their own weapons and I realized that they weren’t, any of them, about to join Alvim against me, not here on my island.
I grinned at Alvim, and anger colored his face. Like a jackass, he hurled his pistol to the sand.
But then he drew his cutlass. The sight of the gleaming naked blade sent a shiver of fear through my gut. He excelled at murdering men with that sword. Rarely did he make the end painless or quick. He took delight in slicing off fingers, ears and the tips of noses and chins. As he closed in on me, I nearly did turn and run.
But the sand beneath my feet seemed to hold me firm.
Gold had never struck me as so precious that it merited fighting over—not when the sea boasted fish enough to keep a family happy and fed. Killing for the sake of plunder had only made me sick with myself. So sickened that I’d rather have died under the mizzenmast than have gone on under Alvim’s command. But this island with its gold birds, flocks of bats and little orange frogs, had nursed my ruined spirit, and reminded me that there were things in the world worth defending.
Even worth dying for.
I lifted Barradas’ sword and parried Alvim’s first thrust. He struck again, fast and with force enough to send me staggering a step back. I blocked another hard, ringing blow and felt Alvim’s rage shudder up the length of my sword to shake through my hand. He roared obscenities as he slashed for my face, then swung his cutlass low to sweep through my left knee.
I leapt back. The tip of his sword scraped across my shin. The heat of blood also poured down my left shoulder, though I’d hardly noticed when Alvim landed the glancing blow. My heart beat like the wings of a hummingbird and my arms already ached. This was his way, wearing down my strength while he bled me steadily by a thousand cuts.
But not this time. “You’re just a swarm of biting flies in need of a swatter,” I said, and for an instant it seemed to take him entirely off guard. I lunged and sliced through the chest of his coat before he pivoted and parried my blade. As we circled each other on the sand, I glimpsed Dalir and remembered the knife he’d given me. Not so long as a cutlass, but it had kept its razor edge for months, like a promise.
A gold bird let out a low booming cry and Alvim and all the ship’s crew glanced to the forest.
I lunged. Alvim blocked the thrust of my sword arm. But he missed the sliver of silver that I drove into his chest with my left hand. I bounded back but not before Alvim slammed his cutlass across the side of my skull. Blood and a dizzying flurry of stars filled my vision. I stumbled and fell to my knees.
Alvim grinned. I wondered that he could still be standing, unless he’d had no heart for Dalir’s knife to pierce. The hilt jutted from his chest. He swayed over me but still raised his cutlass.
Then the whole island seemed to give a little shudder, like the slightest sigh. I rocked with the island’s motion. Sand slid beneath Alvim’s boots. He stumbled, then tumbled backwards and rolled to the water’s edge like a velvet rag. There he lay perfectly still, sand crusting his wide, dead eyes. I stared at him with a dazed sort of wonder. A spider crab edged towards him. Then two more.
I expected to feel claws snap at my bleeding flesh any moment, as well. Instead, Dalir’s hand supported my back as he knelt beside me.
“Well done, Pascoal,” Dalir wiped the blood from my eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “Even Bosun Lisboa is on your side this time. We’re all past ready to sail home. Barradas’ treasure can sink to the bottom of the sea as far as we are concerned.”
I laughed. Much later, Dalir laughed at the irony of his words as well.
Of course, there is no end to the tall tales about how I and the surviving crew of the Morsa made our fortunes and sailed the ship back to our home shores. Dalir claims that an army of mermaids showered our deck with pearls in a hopeless attempt to win me from his arms. Awka has sp
un many a fine story of how we dived for sunken cities of gold—my sisters adore his books. Bosun Lisboa likes to boast that he discovered a treasure map tattooed on the back of a blind man’s eyelids. No doubt, my sisters will enjoy his book too.
But I will tell you truly. I brought home a fortune only because I befriended a wandering island that had no use for burdensome treasure. It was already alive with far greater riches.
The Seafarer
By Ashley Deng
* * *
On this, his first trip back to his homeland, Drasio has almost forgotten his old name. He shed it years ago—and with it, his old life—in favour of a new identity in a new land. But as the sounds of his old language and the smells of his old country fill the air he breathes, he feels it resurface in his memory like jetsam. Whispers of Berber and Arabic drift over the surface of the water, as his ship, the Rose Star, emerges out of the Karranean Sea and into the Mediterranean. They had crossed the Barrier by night and overhead the stars had changed, carrying with them a wave of bittersweet nostalgia. He watches the Three Dancers fade into Orion, watches the Gelgys turn into Argo Navis, the tide giving way to the ship.
He feels a hand on his shoulder while his head is still craned to the sky, watching the night come into clarity. He turns to the blonde-haired woman beside him as she grins reassuringly. Larza, he thinks, as lithe as a dancer and as deadly as the tides.
“Your first trip back across the Barrier,” she says, squeezing his shoulder. “Congratulations.”
Scourge of the Seas of Time (and Space) Page 2
