Cerulean Isle (19 page)
“Waylin!”
We gathered and shook hands.
“Look at you, lads. You are strong and well. Christoff would be pleased.”
Grant, Waylin, and I walked to the bow of the ship. The sloop began to pull away from the cove. Waylin gave a few short orders to the crew, then spoke to us. “We are about to embark on a quest with only two possible outcomes: our death or the death of L’Ollon’s men. There is one final piece of business.” Waylin turned to the crew and yelled, “Pending crew consent, I hereby relinquish authority of this vessel to Jacob and Grant of Rosewing. All in favor, say ‘aye.’”
The entire crew hollered the word in unison. The decision had been made.
“Before we depart,” added Waylin, “which of you will be captain and which will be quartermaster?”
I placed a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “What is your first command, Captain?”
He smiled wide and hollered, “Man the helm! The swift sloop
Destiny
sails west. Ahoy!”
~~~~~~
The five of us gathered in a small office built beneath the raised quarterdeck. It was a new day and we had slowed the sloop
Destiny
to a drift about five miles off the western coast of Grenada. It was morning and the winds were steady.
“I propose two courses,” began Waylin. He unfurled two large sea charts. “The first is a westward route. We sail until we pass Aruba. At which point, we cut southwest and make for Puerto Bello. They are strong and their garrison will fend off the
Obsidian
with ease. I doubt L’Ollon’s men will dare sail in the waters of Puerto Bello.”
“What is your second course, Waylin?” Grant asked.
“This one, if agreed to, would need to be implemented soon. We turn our bow ninety degrees and sail north, to slip through the islands of Hispaniola and Puerto Rico and into the Atlantic Ocean.”
“I think the westward course would be the easiest and fastest,” stated Grant. “There is nothing in the western waters of the Caribbean Sea that would slow us. The water gets shallow, but
Destiny
will sail unrestrained. The
Obsidian,
if it follows, will be forced into deeper waters and around the coral reefs. I am in favor of this route.”
“We will not make it through the Caribbean as easily as you predict, Captain Grant,” said Owen. “This course will take us into Lord Sydin’s waters.”
“Lord Sydin?” Waylin asked.
Owen said, “With Master Jacob’s permission, I will explain.” I nodded and he continued. “An island blocks our passage. It is not on your chart. It is Cerulean Isle and it rests in the waters of Sydin, Lord of the Caribbean Merfolk. You will find the Mer to be a greater force than the pirates of the
Obsidian.
With their aid, we can defeat our pursuers. With that said, yes, I am in favor of this route.”
Waylin chuckled. “You propose we should ask a school of mermaids for help?”
“Not a
school,
a tribe. And not just the Mermaidens but the Merlords as well. If I do not have the support from my crewmates, then I have nothing.”
“I believe him,” I said sharply. “I always have.”
Waylin sighed, and Grant stared at the chart.
“What will you do, Master Jacob?” said Bart. “Will you walk onto the main deck and inform the crew that we sail for a mythical island? Will you have the navigator holler when he spots a mermaid?”
“Mermaid
en,”
corrected Owen.
Grant explained, “The answer is simple. We will inform the crew that we will be sailing west to Puerto Bello. If Owen’s claims are accurate and we find Cerulean Isle, so be it.”
“Do not humor me,” snapped Owen.
“I am not humoring you,” said Grant. “If Jacob tells me he believes in the Merfolk, I believe too.
“Understand, Owen, that the rest of the crew will not be so quick to accept the possibility of Mermaidens and Merlords. They’re seasoned sailors. For them, the Water People make good yarns and shanties; that’s all. Without actual proof, the truth of the Mer-island will have to remain a myth.”
“Aye. The proof you desire is in this room.” Owen pointed his twisted finger at my broadsword. “There be your proof, Captain.”
“How much madness do you wish to listen to on this day?” questioned Bart. “The man’s mind is troubled. Keeping secrets from the crew is a violation of the shipboard articles.”
“Do not insult me, Bart,” Waylin growled. “I am not in command of this ship. Jacob is quartermaster and Grant is captain.”
“And that is another issue! What qualifies them to command this vessel and its crew?”
“Ten years ago, they gave Christoff and I equal shares of a large bounty and asked nothing in return. With that gold… with
their
gold…we maintained the ship. By rights, this sloop belongs to them.”
“I see your judgment has become clouded as well,” remarked Bart. He faced Grant and I. “I refuse to be a keeper of secrets and pursue childish ideals. I am off to inform the crew of the lunacy that plagues this ship.”
As the bald pirate moved for the doorway, Owen pulled the broadsword from my belt. He stepped in front of Bart, blade drawn and held mere inches from his throat. “This blade can be two things: proof of the Mer or the cause of your death. Decide!”
“Damned fool,” yelled Waylin. “Release him, at once!”
Owen forced the blade closer to Bart’s neck. The flawless edge touched his skin.
“Jacob,” whispered Grant, “you’d better do something about your madman.”
“Owen,” I said. “Lower the sword.”
“Nay!” he hissed. “Everyone onto the main deck.”
Owen forced Bart through the cabin door, into the bright Grenadine sun. The crew gathered around. None dared to defy the old pirate. We massed in a tight circle at the port bow. Owen kept my ornate sword pressed against Bart’s throat.
“The Merfolk are a wondrous people, skilled in many things. The forging of weapons is one of them. This,” Owen shouted as he shoved Bart away and held aloft my sword, “is proof. Behold!”
He threw the broadsword overboard. The silver blade flashed as it fell to the sea. Waylin rushed to Owen and seized him, slamming the old pirate to the deck. Owen’s face hit the wood with a thud.
“You will be restrained until we reach port,” said Waylin angrily. “Someone fetch some rope.”
Grant grabbed my arm and turned me around to face to the water. My eyes fell to the rolling sea. Floating on the waves, as if made of mere driftwood, was my sword. Every man on deck looked on in wonder as the silver and gold sword rose and fell in cadence with the waves.
“It’s a Mersword,” Owen shouted. “Gold and silver forged with a special ore from the sea. Aye! Proof!”
“Where did this weapon come from?” Waylin asked me.
“I bought it at a market, from a peddler who claimed he found it on the beach.”
Waylin nodded, then ordered a team to take a rowboat out to retrieve the floating blade.
“It is proof, Waylin,” shouted Owen. “The sword will never sink; the metal of the Mer is buoyant. It will not rust or corrode. It is as hard as diamond and as light as a fistful of sand. The Merfolk are out there, and that sword is but a taste of the wonders that await us at Cerulean Isle. We must find Lord Sydin and ask for his help. We must bargain with them. Barter, trade, or pay them. I don’t know what they will ask of us in return. I will offer my very life, if need be.”
Waylin ran his hand through his gold and white hair, then panned the faces of his crewmates. He produced a small knife and cut Owen’s restraints. Owen rolled over and sat up.
“The next time you draw arms against any of this crew, you will be killed,” said Waylin gravely.
“Aye. You believe me, then?” Owen wiped the blood from his nose.
Waylin helped the old pirate to his feet. “For now, yes.”
“We seek the Merfolk, at last,” Owen shouted. “To Cerulean Isle!”
The sloop
Destiny
sailed light and fast over the sparkling Caribbean Sea. Two teams of watchmen kept a vigil around the clock. The scouts panned the horizon with a small telescope. They took their positions atop the stern and the bow with specific orders to watch for the
Obsidian
or any ship bearing three masts. A large bell served as an alarm if a threat to the ship appeared. They watched for common obstacles like coral reefs, rock formations, sudden shallows, or fierce tides. The greatest threats, of course, being other ships. On the open water, there was no trust among seamen.
Our most clever devise was our trunk of flags. When sailing in waters claimed by other countries, we would hoist their banner above our mainsail. Waylin had collected banners from every country in the Caribbean, including flags of royalty and religion.
On the fourth evening, we sailed into a thick fog. We hung lanterns over the starboard and port bows. The yellow glow did little to open our view. Grant ordered the crew to slow the ship and bring her to a drift. With such poor visibility, caution became our priority. The last hues of daylight fell under the western edge of the sea. The curtain of fog grew under the starless sky, as our sloop cut through the black water. Before long, I could no longer see across the deck.
“We are getting closer, Master Jacob,” said Owen. At the stern, he and I struggled to see through the fog. “This fog is a warning. We have entered Lord Sydin’s domain. He does not want us to come any closer.”
I saw fear in his eyes. “Be at ease, friend. If we are in the domain of the Mer, an ambassador of their race will make himself known, and together we can form a plan against the
Obsidian.”
“The Mer are not in the custom of welcoming ships and those who sail them.”
“Then we must hold a crew meeting at once. Help me to gather the men around the main mast.”
Destiny’s
crew was uneasy. I motioned for Owen to stand beside me as I addressed the crew.
“Good evening, men. Until now our westward voyage has been swift. This fog has slowed our travel for the time being. Fog such as this is an indicator that a landmass is near. How large of a mass or how far out, I cannot say. We may have sailed into claimed water. Owen, share your knowledge, please.”
Owen stepped forward and panned the crew. His chest puffed as he stood with his hands behind his back.
“Worthy seamen, welcome to the waters of the Mer. Every yarn and shanty will now become real. Be watchful of the water. Do not lean too far over the bow. If you hear anything, speak of it at once. If you see anything, call out for others to come. This is the domain of Lord Sydin. He is their general, their leader. If we are to be met by any of the Water People, it will be him. If you see a man in the waves, stay your pistols and blades or you will cause our ruin.”
“Thank you, Owen,” Grant said. “My friends, we shall keep a slow drift until this dreadful veil lifts. Take rest. Eat. Drink. I would, however, like two men to serve as additional watchmen for the starboard and port bows. Any volunteers?”
Two mates volunteered and took positions as instructed.
“Owen, you are head of the watch team. Make rounds to all points of the ship. Relieve any of the scouts as needed. Report to Waylin, Jacob, or me if the Mer come.”
“Understood, Captain Grant.” Owen, eager and proud, went to work at once.
~~~~~~
“Do you really believe the Merfolk are out there?” Grant asked me.
“It doesn’t matter. If we find them, and they help us, then I will be ever grateful and indebted. If not, then we will continue for Puerto Bello and with their help, meet L’Ollon’s men head on. Either way, we fight.
The watchman’s warning bell rang out over the deck. Grant and I ran toward the bow as the entire ship lurched forward. The mainmast rocked and the crosstrees swayed violently. Lines broke and floorboards snapped. The entire hull whined under the sound of iron trusses buckling. It was a direct collision. Grant and I were tossed forward from the sudden momentum shift. Our bodies flew and we landed hard on the deck and rolled before scrambling to our knees. Grant groaned and clutched his arm. Some of the crew were knocked unconscious and others were entangled in line or struggling to emerge from broken crates and toppled barrels.
As my vision cleared, I fought to see through the fog. Whatever we hit held
Destiny
in place.
As I made my way to Grant, floorboards cracked and splintered. The deck creaked. The bow of the sloop was tilted down, the stern angled upright, and I imagined the rudder was nearly out of the water. The tall mainmast leaned dangerously forward, with the sails as disheveled as an unmade bed.
“Come, let’s brace and sling your arm.” I broke a floorboard in half over my knee and cut a rag to make a crude sling. With some strips of fabric, I tied the boards to his broken arm, a makeshift splint. He groaned and cursed as I pulled the strapping tight. I tucked his arm in the sling and wrapped it around his neck and shoulder.
I ordered men to look after the injured and commanded the rest to begin repairs wherever they could.
“I don’t understand,” said Grant. “What could we have hit? Waylin and I plotted a clear route. There are no rock or coral masses marked on the sea chart. Mainland is still several days out. What if this is…?” Grant paused. The color in his face faded.
“Say no more. Let’s find Owen and Waylin.”
~~~~~~
We found Waylin peering down the hatch that led below deck to the storerooms. “Have a look, lads. Ill times are at hand.”
The entire bilge had flooded. Ocean water filled our storeroom, ruining our supplies of food.
Grant said, “Have a few men go down there and recover whatever they can. Tell them to salvage fruit, water barrels, and the extra weapons. Whoever goes down must wear a rope around his waist with someone above holding the other end. No one enters the saltwater unless a lifeline is tied and manned.”
~~~~~~
Owen stood at the bow with a lantern burning in his hand, its yellow light illuminating our ruined ship. The bowsprit had snapped in half and the rails bent around shards of the hull. A massive gnarled rock stretched from the water and pierced our bow; its sharp point loomed over us, stabbing at the sky. The stone had a combination of smooth and rough edges. As I looked upward, I guessed it was taller than our house at Rosewing Farm and wider at its base than our sloop’s main deck. Owen leaned daringly over the edge of the mangled bow and touched the rock. The ship creaked under him as he leaned.