Pirate's Wraith, The (29 page)

Pain stabbed at Harlan’s heart. Better to sleep forever than to be a vile, contemptible pirate. He drew the tarp over the boy’s body to cover it and sat down.

He had another grave to dig, but his very bones had grown far too weary to take one more step. He had not found any turtles fit to eat, though he had collected some clams. Plums along the path helped, but fatigue sapped what little strength he obtained from the sweet fruit.

He needed to start a fire and roast their meager supper, but the temptation to lie down and rest for a while overwhelmed him.

Taking the boy with them had been a terrible risk. Those extra min
utes nearly cost them their lives but leaving the boy to die with his captors would have been the act of a base and loathsome man. Harlan once believed himself to be a compassionate leader. Lesley had stood her ground and reminded him that some things were worth the price. Could his soul be redeemed? Could he start over again once more? Could he live a simple life and find happiness? Or was happiness reserved for only the lucky, the rich, and the strong?

He satisfied his conscience with the knowledge that Jibby had peace in his last moments on this little island. Lesley had fussed over him nearly as much as a mother would her own child. The small toy in Harlan
’s hand warmed as he recalled his own young son, Josiah. Elsbeth had mourned alone when their son died. Perhaps a doctor could not have healed him, but certainly the Widow Vetter with all her spells and charms could not work miracles either.

He thought of Gilly and how much he would miss the old man. He had been a kind and gifted physician. He ha
d not used spells or charms, though he brewed decoctions and healing teas from herbs. Still, the doctor’s experiments had always disturbed Harlan. Though Gilly insisted they were scientific, there appeared to be a sort of magic about them.

But due to the doctor’s experiment, Harlan had Lesley to accompany him on this cursed voyage and for that he was grateful. He had come to care for her.
Without her, the struggle to survive would be meaningless.

Harlan stared at the toy pony. It appeared unaccountably worn, as if it had survived through much more than seven years. Lesley said she had found it in her time--three hundred years in the future. He closed his eyes and squeezed the sides of the small wooden toy. A sudden sense of foreboding set his pulse racing. He turned to the western sky to see it filled with the glowing tones of red and violet as the sun sank into the west.

Where was she? While he sometimes had misgiving about her sanity and could barely understand her, he never questioned her courage or her loyalty. She had gone to get water. She should be back by now.

His chest grew tight as worry pressed down upon him. She could have fallen, or gotten lost, or met up with some vile creature far larger than the tiny and invisible germs she feared so much. He wanted her beside him. He forced himself to stand. She had followed the small rivulet, wanting to fill the bucket with the cleanest water she could get. He forced his weary body go after her.

Before he reached twenty paces, the small pony in his hand began to glow, becoming so fiery hot it burned his hand. He dropped it in the sand. At once, a misty form began to take shape. In a panic, he drew out his knife but he did not strike at the swirling miasma as he had last time.

He waited while his body chilled, despite the warm air surrounding him. The coiling ether remained translucent and yet molded itself into the gentle curves of a woman.

Elsbeth appeared before him, not as solid flesh but as a wraith—a filmy creature whose hazy substance could be blown away by the wind. He could not move. Like a frozen sculpture made of ice he stared numbly at the woman who had given him a son.

But his son had been taken from him and Elsbeth had believed him dead.

A spark of anger ignited as he remembered that she had moved in with another man in his absence. In her last days, she had taken to chanting spells and concocting potions she had learned from the Widow Vetter.

The charms did not save her from death.

He now stared at a face that no longer bore the ravages of her final illness. She appeared young and healthy, like the young woman who had captured his fancy and agreed to marry him despite his poverty. 

Reaching out to him with vaporous arms, she pleaded, “Free me
.”

“F—f—free?” His lips could barely move.

“I am bound by my curse and your anger.”

“Bound—”

“Your words are chains on my spirit.”

“My words ... are useless.”

“Your words are my chains. Free me.”

“How can I free you?”

“Forgive me.”

He furrowed his brow and glared at her. “You called upon the power of the Devil.”

“I called upon the spirits of light. You imprisoned me in darkness.” Her hands went to her face and she wailed. “Josiah waits for me all these long years.”

Harlan’s blood pooled in his feet. He stumbled backward and leaned against the tree for support. “Is he safe?”

“He lives in the light. I am as you see me, a creature of darkness and mist. Let me go. Take back your bitter oath.”

“I—I don’t remember ... I was filled with grief and...fear...”

“You swore to the Devil and he has ruled your life ever since...and mine.”

Harlan could barely breathe. “It
was not I who crushed leaves, brewed potions, and twirled in the moonlight—”

“Plants heal.”

“But you chanted ....”

“I prayed
....”

Harlan slid to the foot of a tree, unable to hold himself up anymore. “You lived with another man.”

“He saved me from the constable’s depravity.”

The world tilted and spun as dizziness took hold of his mind. “What am I to say?”

“Forgive me. Pray for me and for yourself. Beg the spirits of light to forgive you and purge the anger from your soul.”

“Yes. Yes. I will pray. Haunt me no more. I forgive you.”

“And I, forgive you.”

A  sudden radiance as luminous as the sun blinded him and he slipped into the world of oblivion.

* * * *

Lesley fought to rise above each wave of misery but pain defeated her. Unable to move or even cry, she lay in darkness somewhere between this world and the next. A deep stillness surrounded her. The loneliness haunted her.

Where was Harlan? She had come to rely on him. He had saved her from the Moody, the rogue wave, the hurricane, and the Spaniards. Was she in that black cave again? She thought they had escaped it, but it could be her mind was playing tricks on her.    

Without warning, Elsbeth appeared wearing her quaint, long dress. Smiling and
with radiant with light streaming from behind her, she raised her hands.
He has forgiven me and I have forgiven him. The chains of anger are broken.

At first, Lesley
’s heart leaped with joy at the sight of the woman, but her happiness faded quickly. In her dreams, she had been Elsbeth—but now she realized they were separate beings—separate souls. A different pain, one of loss and grief, ripped through her.

 
      
I am free, but I could not have done it without you for you brought the charm. Now I shall be with Josiah again. Thank you.
Elsbeth turned and Lesley knew she would be left alone in her suffering.

Do not leave me
.
Lesley thought the words, but Elsbeth heard them for she faced her once more.

You have been freed as well.
Elsbeth explained.
You can go back.

 
      
How?

With the charm, of course.

But Harlan has it.

Elsbeth nodded and smiled.
He loves you.
Suddenly she disintegrated into billions of sparkling silver particles, like a storm of metallic glitter, but Lesley remained a prisoner in the deepest shadows, all alone.

Gradually, the darkness lifted. From somewhere in the distance, she became aware of voices and the smell of food on a wood fire, but her stomach clenched uneasily.
 

A fog clouded her mind. Jumbled and confused thoughts circled in her head repeating questions with no answers over and over. What had happened? Had her migraines returned? Where was she? Where was Harlan? Was she at home? Was she lost? What had happened? She thought she had seen Elsbeth. Had that been a dream?

She could not rouse herself, though she did try. After a mighty struggle, she opened her eyes for a moment but the world spun round and round. Bright sunshine pierced her brain with an excruciating ache.  She shut her eyes and forced herself to focus her thoughts. She remembered drinking water. Yes, she had to get water for Jibby ... but then ....

Icy cold water hit her. She would have screamed but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

“Git up.”

She recognized the voice of Aloysius Meeker immediately and fear curled along her spine. She fought to clear her vision, but her only solution was to close one eye. Peering about her, she discovered she
 lay on the sand, next to a rock, under a dazzling blue sky with her hands tied behind her back.

“Ye’ve been laying around
‘ere long enough. ‘e didn’t hit ye that ‘ard.”

“Who?” Her voice came out as a bare whisper

“Cookie. Says e’s still mad at ye for stealing ‘is eggs.” Aloysius’s evil laugh chilled her despite the warm temperature of the air. “On yer feet now. The captain wants to see ye.”

The captain?

Dizziness assailed her. “My ankle ....”

“Ain’t none of ‘em crutches ‘ere.”

“ ... a board ...”

Aloysius muttered under his breath, but he went to the water’s edge and picked up a piece of driftwood.
“’Ere.” He threw it down beside her.

“
My hands.”

Aloysius swore using an assortment of nasty, descriptive sailor’s slang
. but he did untie her.

Rubbing her hands to try and get the circulation back into them, she pushed
  herself up to sit and nearly passed out again.

“Water .
...”

“Yer more trouble than yer worth.” Aloysius tramped off again and came back with a bottle.

She hesitated as she stared at the grimy bottle and the cloudy liquid inside it.

“It ain’t rum
.” Aloysius spat out.

She took it and drank. The horribl
e brackish flavor made her gag, but the liquid did help her to speak. “Th-thanks.”

“Git going.”

Despite her attempt to use the makeshift crutch, she could not walk. She had no sense of balance and remained lightheaded due to the stabbing pain in her head.

Sitting on the sand, she reached up to touch the back of her skull. Sticky blood lay matted in her hair. Probing her wound, she knew she needed stitches but Dr. Gilroy lay dead at the bottom of the ocean.

Rage filled up the empty well inside her.

Aloysius lifted her and dragged her along. He smelled marginally better than he had on any previous encounters.

“Did you take a bath?” She asked.

He glared at her. “I git a soaking prying mussels off the rocks.”

“It’s quite an improvement.” She did not hide the venom in her voice.

He dropped her at the entrance of an improvised structure built of driftwood with a marsh grass roof. A flap of canvas served as a door.
 

“Cap’
n, ‘ere’s yer prisoner.” Aloysius called.

“Drag her in.
”

Dread dampened her fury. She had known someone would find out she wasn’t a lad at some point. She recognized
the voice inside as that of the former quartermaster, Mr. Hooper.

Aloysius hauled her into the small enclosure, plopped her on the sand and left.

“Sterford’s wench. How delightful.” Smiling, the new self-appointed captain raked her up and down with a lecherous gaze. Violated by his lewd stare, nausea rose in her throat. She had no doubt he could more than match Moody in cruelty.

He sat on a small barrel beside a table made of wooden branches tied together with vines.
“You are quite an artist. I have a drawing of yours. I thought perhaps you could explain it.” He drew out a paper from his pocket. There were some wavery lines from where the ink had gotten wet, but Lesley recognized the flag she had drawn—Moody’s pirate flag.

A cold chill went through her. Had she screwed up the history of the world? Would Hooper adopt the flag and take on Moody
’s identity? Her head spun.

“
I did not draw that,” she lied.

“You did and you will tell me more about it--later.
” He folded the paper and returned it to his pocket. “But first, where’s Sterford?”

A spark of hope ignited in her breast. Harlan must still alive. Maybe even now he might be searching for her. “I have no idea.”