Cerulean Isle (11 page)
Ahoy! Ahoy!
To the island blue
If you don’t drown
Where the women swim
In fish-mail gown.
So trade your feet
For a fin of weed,
The Merfolk gold
Is a Pirate’s greed!”
When the song ended, the old Shanty rested his lute on his lap. “You see, me boy. The old seamen always know a song or two about the Merfolk. Some say that the Merfolk wrote them, stuffed the parchments into bottles and let the bottled tunes loose o’er the waves. They say that men found these bottles driftin’ and hence learned the songs. Alas, it’s just an old yarn from an old seaman.”
~~~~~~
Night fell around the sloop. We were close to Grenada, but the enveloping darkness forced us to anchor for the night. Grant and I made our way to the small cabin. I locked the cabin door, retrieved the journal from its hiding place and relaxed in my bed. I turned down the lantern so Grant could sleep. The yellow light dimmed to a soft glow. Shadows filled the room. I opened Owen’s journal.
The vagrant in the cell next to mine has died. The buzzing of the flies woke me. The stench made me wish I, too, had ceased to live on this day. At the very least, the sun is hot in the sky. A lovely gold ray of light pours in through my barred window and in its warmth I now write.
The guards have not brought me any food or any drink. I suppose I do not deserve it, but dying slowly is a horrible thing to endure. The unending pains in my stomach and the dryness in my mouth are making me wish I had taken the noose. There is no looking glass in here but when I look down at my hands and arms, I see the beginnings of the skeleton that I am destined to become. I used to be strong. I used to be a lot of things…
As it were, I was left on the shore of the Nicaraguan Bay with a tribe of Darien natives. The elders amongst them concurred with the chieftain, and it was decided that I was to be told the secrets of the Mer. To be schooled in the way of the Water People was a privilege few outsiders ever received. My lover and I sat around a great red fire and the elder tribesman shared all that he knew and believed.
Trying not to sound disrespectful, I asked him a few questions.
“How have you come to know so much of the Water People?”
“The Chief of the Mer told them to me.”
“The Chief of the Mer?”
“Indeed. Lord Sydin is his name. He is wise and has led his tribe of Merfolk for over a hundred years.”
“Tribes? You say they live in tribes?”
“That is what I say. Merfolk have always lived in tribes. Territorial they are, as we humans tend to be. The Mer of this part of the world rarely venture beyond the fringe of their domains. For example, a Mer tribe that inhabits the waters of the north will not be welcomed down in the tropics. The reverse is also true.”
“There are different races, then?”
“Of course. Just as there are different races of humans. Why wouldn’t there be different races of Mer? Humans that dwell in the lands of Asia resemble the Mer that inhabit the surrounding waters. The same can be said for the people of Africa and the people of the north. We are all exposed to the same elements, such as the sun and wind. These things change us, and so it is that ethnicity is not a trait exclusive to land.”
“When he spoke,” I asked, “this Mer Chief, this one you call Lord Sydin, what was his voice?”
“The Mer speak in the local tongue of the humans. Here, in the Caribbean, there are many languages, hence, the Merfolk understand them all. As far as Lord Sydin is concerned, well, he speaks all tongues with ease. The Mer that dwell in the Caribbean are the most intelligent. In my opinion, they are also the most beautiful.”
“I see. I understand that the ocean is their home, but surely they cannot swim all of the time. What of sleep? What of food?”
“The tastes and customs of the Caribbean Mer are simple. They eat meat from birds and fish, as well as many types of seaweed. They are keen marksmen and skilled hunters rarely bested by other ocean beasts. Even sharks are no match for a team of Merlords.
“They need rest, just as we do. For example, a man is able to run, but does he run everywhere he travels? Nay. Such logic applies to the Mer. They swim but they have their places of comfort. There are small islands, uncharted and unknown to seaman, which they guard and protect. As I have already said, the Mer are territorial. They prefer islands that rest in rising waters, islands containing grottos and a portion of sandy beach. They love rock formations because rocks provide places to hide as well as warmth.
“The island dwellings are important to the Mer society for other reasons. Certain islands are reserved for raising the Merchildren, sanctuaries of learning and growth. Other islands are cache islands used to store collected valuables and food.”
“Valuables?” I asked sharply. “Like what?”
“Rope, wood, metal, bone, rock, coral, and shell. They are skilled in working these materials into items that help them survive. They create arrows, swords, and spears of bone and shields of wood and stone. They use these hidden islands to store what they recover from sunken ships as well.”
“You’ve captured my interest,” I said rather smugly. “Is it safe to assume these Merfolk would gather lost gold and silver from a shipwreck, then?”
“Of course. Metals such as gold and silver can be re-forged to make great armor, weapons and even jewelry. I forgot to mention how much the Mermaidens love jewelry!”
Upon hearing the old Darien say this, I nearly leapt to my feet with excitement. To think, the Merfolk gathered Jean L’Ollon’s gold! That must have been why Captain Shanley couldn’t find it.
I asked as calmly as I could, “Do you know the location of any of these Mer Islands? Have the Merlords privileged you with such knowledge?”
He stared at me for a moment. The orange glow of the firelight illuminated his omniscient eyes. He was studying me as if trying to read my thoughts. I smiled to conceal my eagerness.
“I know of one. It is the largest and most sacred of the Merfolk Islands. Though let it be known, I have sworn an oath of secrecy.”
“Oh, come now, your secrets are safe with me,” I assured him.
“I can say no more. Ask me anything else, please.”
“Where is the island?” I nearly shouted. My lover, who up until this moment hadremained calm, turned and glared disapprovingly at me. I released her hand and asked again, “Where is it?”
“What need to know have you, seaman? Do you now show your true heart? Does the thought of an island of treasure stir your greed?”
While the Darien Chief glared at me, I slowly reached for my knife. The hard handle met my fingertips without anyone knowing. With immeasurable quickness, I drew it from the sheath, snatched my beautiful lover and pressed the steel to her throat. There was a small trickle of blood; she was squirming, and I was holding her too hard.
“Answer me or she dies! Where is the island? What is it called?”
The tired and worn old man seemed to crumble with defeat.
“Forgive me, Sydin, forgive me,” he whispered. He looked into my eyes. I could see the regret, the fear, and the betrayal in his stare.
I was not swayed.
“It is called Cerulean Isle. The island is northeast of Puerto Bello, west of Aruba. It is southeast of Old Providence. It is not easy to find and the rocks and coral are treacherous when the water is low. Please, lower your blade!”
It was at this moment that an incredible splash erupted from the dark shore. It sounded like cannon fire blasting into the water. I shoved the girl away, snatched a burning branch from the fire and ran for the shore. It was one of them…I was certain. The Mer were listening the whole time and now they had fled!
Once at the water’s edge, I waved my makeshift torch, casting its yellow light onto the wet sand. The black waves lapped over my feet. I noticed something odd. A cluster of shiny black seashells was piled neatly on a patch of dry sand as if waiting to be found. I approached the pile of perfectly stacked shells and knelt close to examine it. Each one was smooth and clean. The old man’s voice startled me.
“Look at what you have done.”
I turned to him and saw my lover cowering behind him. The chief fell to his knees in the sand.
“What is this? Who put this here?” I shouted.
“You know who put it there. It is a warning. It means this tribe has been shunned. We are no longer their allies. I have betrayed them. Leave us! Go and never return.”
I left the Dariens. I was fueled with more greedy desires but I decided, first, that Captain Shanley would pay for what he did to me. We had an agreement, after all.
I journeyed south along the coast of Honduras and down to Panama.
It took me two years to get back to Curacao. When I arrived in Willemstad, I was shocked at what had transpired in such a short time.
I learned that Captain Shanley, after abandoning me, retraced L’Ollon’s route but took a more southern course to work around the winds. He combed the sea floor and found the wreck of Jean L’Ollon’s galleon, the Hydra. He sent divers to pilfer the wreckage and to his good fortune, he recovered four crates of gold, silver, and jewels. Shanley quickly became one of the wealthiest pirates the Caribbean had ever known. He bought several ships and a lavish estate, of which I wasted no time in discovering the whereabouts. It was time for my revenge.
I stole a broadsword and waited outside his estate. When night fell over Curacao, I broke into the mansion. Two bumbling guards challenged me, but they knew naught of my skill and murderous nature. I was a deadly man. After all, the wicked Jean L’Ollon thought me worthy amongst his crew. Ha! I made quick work of the guards. They were dead in mere seconds. It wasn’t long before I drove my boot through the door of James Shanley’s private quarters. I found the captain sitting behind a desk pouring over old sea charts. He looked up at me with terror in his eyes. He knew who I was. I was the crazy man who raved of Merfolk. I was the pirate he thought he left for dead on Darien sand. I stood in front of him with my bloody sword and grinned.
“We had a deal, James, and you reneged. You owe me money, and it seems you’ve gathered plenty in the last two years to pay in full.”
“Get out of here! Have you gone mad?”
“I suppose at long last I have.”
I lunged for him, sword aloft, but my attack was folly. He drew his pistol and shot me…again.
I landed hard on the floor. His shot had made its home in my right thigh. Everything went dark. When I awoke, I found myself bandaged and restrained. I was in the office of the Dutch Navy. They read a list of charges. Trespassing. Assault. Thievery. Professional piracy. Murder. The officers forced me to stand before the judge. I was sentenced to death by the noose. I asked to speak to the judge privately and that was when I bribed him to spare me the deadly rope of the gallows.
Alas, here I am. I have cheated death four times. Poison, two shots, and a noose. Ha! It is simple famine that will kill this great pirate.
I wish I could find the strength to escape this cursed cell. I wish others would have believed me years ago. I wish I had a ship, one that is small and fast. If I had such a ship, I would sail for the Mer Island at once. Now I am dying slowly. No one would sail with me anyway.
This is my great tale. This is my final work. Whoever is reading this, please know that I speak truthfully. At the time of this writing, Jean L’Ollon captains the great
Obsidian
once more. Captain James Shanley remains wealthy, living gloriously off of Jean’s lost gold. However, there is more of it out there, much more, and I believe the Merfolk have it.
There are things in this world that others claim to be pure fantasy. To this I yell, nay! The greatest fiction is always rooted in fact. All stories, no matter how unbelievable, have a point of origin. I wish for this, my last work, to be the origin of a great adventure. There is a place out there named Cerulean Isle, the greatest of all Mer Islands. Seek it. Seek it for you and for me…
In Death’s Company,
Owen.
I reached for the dim lantern and put out its tiny flame. Lying in bed, I felt the sway of the sloop and heard soft creaks from the hull. The breathing of the sea was a lullaby. Sleep came quickly and brought with it a dream of her.
The Mermaiden from the tapestry came to life, her suntanned body drying in the tropical heat, and her silky rainbow-hued hair dangling over her shoulders. I imagined her silver eyes looking at me with the same wonder that I held for her. My Mermaiden was waiting on the smooth slab of stone and smiling brightly, her face lovely. Her slender waist curved and beads of saltwater rolled over her hips; it was in this region of her body that her flawless skin began to change color. The rose-gold tint of her female flesh brightened to a gentle shade of purple. This creamy pastel darkened along the contour of her lower half and spread into slight swirling patterns of deep lavender, brilliant blue, tropical teal, and milky pearl until all of the glorious streaming colors tapered down her length, blending and blooming to become a great fanning fin. This otherworldly part of her crested out of the sea and unfurled, like a translucent sail, over her head. Crystal water cascaded from the dazzling fin and spilled over her face and neck. Sparkling ocean water pattered on her delicate hands and slender fingers—fingers adorned with rings of pearl with nails that shimmered like diamonds.
“Wake up, Jacob.” Grant shook my shoulder. He looked refreshed from a deep night’s sleep.
“Why do you always wake me like that?”
“I don’t know how to wake you otherwise.”
“Just call my name or something.” I sat up and felt Owen’s journal slide from my chest and flop onto my lap.
“Did you read the entire book last night?”
“Yes. You must read it. It’s fascinating.”
“Perhaps I will once we are settled on land. For now, you had best put it away. Waylin has ordered us to prepare for departing the ship.”
