by J. P. Sheen
Squeezing his eyes shut, Blake curled up like he used to aboard the Polaris. Outside, the wind howled and rocked the Swift like a baby’s cradle, while inside the middle gun deck, Blake swung back and forth, his chest bursting with pain from the memories that besieged him.
Hours later, the door to the storeroom opened again.
A group of men wearing blue coats entered the storeroom, but it took them awhile for them to find their young prisoner. To their bewilderment, they discovered him hiding behind a crate of mangoes, wild-eyed and stripped to the skin. Their chief officer, Admiral Ashby, questioned Johnny the lookout, but the surprised midshipman insisted that no one had entered the storeroom except to drop off food, and that for only a few minutes.
“Lad’s been in hysterics, though, sir,” he remarked, tapping his head, “Not sure he’s all there.”
The officers tried to make the terrified boy speak, but no matter how hard they pressed, Blake refused to say what had happened and acted as though they weren’t there. At length, they were forced to give up. Admiral Ashby ordered one of his men to fetch the boy a new shirt and pair of breeches.
“Murderers, murderers!”
Blake’s wail was furious and heartbroken. Surprised, the men turned back to him.
“He never wanted to be a pirate, and you killed him with the rest! You’re all murderers!”
“Whom are you talking about, lad?” the Admiral asked him firmly, but not unkindly. Blake raised his tearstained face. His eyelids were rubbed raw.
“My b-brother,” he whispered.
Admiral Ashby inquired, “Who is your brother?”
That simple question ended up saving Jaimes’s life. As it turned out, the Royal Navy hadn’t executed their prisoners…yet. Jaimes was separated from the throng of condemned men, looking pale but otherwise unhurt. At dawn, he joined Blake and the women in the village center, where redcoats had lined up Drake Ransom’s crew single-file. A gallows had been built, and old Mr. Crabbs took the stand.
“Don’t look, Blake,” Jaimes ordered just as Admiral Ashby shouted, “Pull!”
The trapdoor swung open, and Blake gasped. He didn’t mean to do it. It was weak and girlish. But he couldn’t help it. The sight of poor, blue Mr. Crabbs writhing at the end of such a thin bit of rope was so horrific it was almost funny. Blake nearly busted out laughing, but instead, he doubled over and vomited.
“Murderers!” he croaked, bile dribbling down his chin.
“Look away, Blake!”
Jaimes tried to cover his eyes, but Blake dodged his grasp. He was just as tough as Jaimes, and he’d prove it!
As another pirate mounted the gibbet, Blake’s mother walked over. With rare tenderness, she brushed back his matted bangs and tried to press his face into her skirt. Blake pushed her away and stubbornly kept watching, even after his hilarity went stone cold, even though the sight killed something inside him, even until the last body hung motionless from the overtaxed noose. By then, he didn’t feel like laughing anymore…or ever again.
The Royal Navy proceeded to toss the dead men into a freshly dug hole. Beside the gallows, old Mr. Crabbs kept staring at Blake from the bottom of the corpse-heap. Blake didn’t like that, so he looked at his toes and scrunched them into the sand. He was distantly aware of someone leading his mother away, and someone else engaging Jaimes in conversation, but he didn’t look up. He much preferred to concentrate on making little wavy ridges in the sand.
Then a pair of buckled shoes stepped into view, inches from his brown toes.
“You’re a quiet lad, aren’t you?”
At the sound of that cheerful voice, Blake’s adrenaline surged until he was hot all over.
“And no wonder!” clucked Charles, “No lad should have to see that!”
He grabbed Blake’s shoulder, stopping him from inching toward Jaimes and Nat.
“Come here, lad, I’ve something for you.”
Silently, Blake followed Charles across the sand. Redcoats and sailors bustled around them, holding shovels and torches. Others came in and out of the storehouse, carrying crates and barrels toward their giant ships. The midshipman led Blake to the side of a pili hut. When he stopped and turned, Blake stood still.
“Look at me, vermin,” Charles ordered him quietly. Blake obeyed, and Charles’s handsome face twitched with pleasure. He knelt down, smiling encouragingly.
“Ain’t you the obedient whelp now!” he murmured, “Too bad your daddy’s not here to see how you’ve improved.”
Blake looked down while Charles fingered the base of his neck. He felt like he was sinking deep into a pit of cool, oozy mud. The sensation was overwhelming.
“It’s a long voyage home. And you’re to keep quiet.”
Charles’s finger poked his midriff like a stick stirring embers to flame.
“Remember. You chose it; you wanted it; you liked it.”
With each accusation, the finger poked a little harder, and a little lower.
“Show me you understand.”
Blake nodded, and Charles grinned. Then his hand clamped down, and Blake’s whole body tingled. He didn’t shift away. Gradually, an expression of triumph dawned on the young man’s face. He released Blake and held out a ripe mango.
“Go on, lad, take it,” he said invitingly, and Blake did. As he stood up, Charles leaned over and pressed a rigid finger to his lips. Then, with a brotherly clasp on the shoulder, he sent Blake on his way.
“Who was that?” Jaimes asked, as Nat walked away.
“I don’t know,” muttered Blake, “He gave me this.”
He held out the mango. Jaimes looked at it and said with a forced lightness, “That was kind of him.”
He smiled encouragingly at Blake, who silently nodded, pressed the mango into his brother’s hand, and turned away.
Once the pirate crew was six feet under, the Royal Navy set their village on fire. Smoke stained the pale blue sky. Its heat seared Blake’s skin, awakening him from his stupor, and he watched his family’s pili hut burn to the ground, hating the men who had brought such misery to his beloved island.
Then the Royal Navy began loading their female prisoners aboard their mothership. The only male prisoners, Jaimes and Blake straggled after a line of hoop skirts.
Blake tried to escape to the sea.
A marine caught him before he made it. Jaimes tried to run to his aid, but two redcoats barred his way.
“Blake, don’t fight back! Blake, listen to me!”
But Blake would not listen. He’d refused to fight back before, and he would never allow anyone to subdue him like that again. So he fought like a miniature berserker, screaming curses he hoped would come true, while Jaimes pleaded on his behalf. Towing the spitting, scratching boy over, the marine allowed Jaimes to lead him away, but not before Blake heard him mutter, “Little demon!”
“They’re the demons!” Blake hissed. He looked about, terrified that Charles had witnessed his tantrum. “Look what they’ve done!”
Jaimes held his hand tightly as they waited to be flocked up the gangplank.
“Blake, listen to me.” He bent down. Blake’s eyes betrayed his fright.
“We’re going to be all right,” Jaimes reassured him, “We’re going on this voyage together. You always wanted to go to sea, didn’t you?”
“I want to stay on the island!” Blake cried in a flood of misery and panic.
“We can’t, Blake. We have to go.”
“I don’t want to go!” Blake dug his fists into his eyes.
“Hold my hand, Blake. We’re going out to sea.”
As if in a dream, Blake felt Jaimes guide him up the gangplank. The ship’s deck was hot against on his feet. Lowering his hands, he surveyed the bustling deck with a trace of interest. Then he spotted a blue coat and a long, yellow pigtail.
“Where’s my mother?” he wailed.
“She’s on another ship,” Jaimes said quickly as the midshipman turned. It wasn’t Charles, and Blake calmed down a little.
Seeing this, Jaimes added, “We’ll see her again when we reach Elioth.”
That wasn’t who Blake meant! His stomach felt queasy…but he never got seasick! A giant ball of panic welled up inside him. Everything was wrong, wrong, wrong! He almost turned back toward Moanamiri, but then Jaimes spoke.
“Don’t look, Blake. Come on.”
Blake felt it all…the Sea Captain’s pain as Drake Ransom whipped him to death, the pirate crew’s pain as they awaited the plunge that would end their lives, the pain of the women as they contemplated their bleak fate in Elioth…everyone’s pain bit at him with ravenous teeth. It sunk deep into his chest like a sword blade; it pierced his head like an iron bullet. It hurt so badly, and Blake sank into a black sea where the Lady’s gift was of no avail. The pain grew and grew, and all Blake could think of was the sea.
The water could protect him from this world that was on fire, burning him with its relentless pain. There was no escaping it on land. It was everywhere, and everybody worked hard to spread the flames far and wide.
“Jaimes!” he gasped.
“Blake!” Jaimes knelt and grabbed him. Blake stared at him in horror, his eyes spilling tears.
“Jaimes, I am on fire; it hurts; help me!” he cried, “I need water! Let me go to the sea!”
As Jaimes tried to calm him down, Blake rubbed his soiled arms and wailed, “I’m dirty! I need to go wash in the sea!”
Jaimes tried to tell him that this was impossible, but Blake wouldn’t listen. A marine barked impatiently at the pair. Jaimes shot him a glare, still grasping his brother’s shoulders.
Then a seabird cried overhead.
Its call pulled Blake’s teary gaze to the sky, where he saw a bright star shining amid a periwinkle dawn. It reminded him of a white jewel.
It reminded him who he was.
He belonged to the sea. These horrible men might take him from his home, but he was still surrounded by water, a mantle of deep blue that would protect him on this voyage he didn’t wish to make.
Blake sniffed. But why, why, why did he have to go? If only the Lady in Blue still wanted him! If only she’d come for him right now, and take him away!
Blake gave a whimpering cry, and the seagull responded with a lonely cry of its own. Then a gentle breeze stole across the deck to caress Blake’s wet cheeks. It felt like a woman’s touch.
At once, the strangest calm enveloped Blake. He took a great shuddering breath and then went still, letting the wind surround him like a long, draping veil.
“The sea will protect me from the fire,” he whispered.
Jaimes pushed him gently toward the hatchway.
“We’re leaving the fire behind, Blake. It’s staying on the island.”
As they descended into the ship’s belly, Jaimes comforted Blake as best as he knew how. He spoke about how exciting it was that they were voyaging out to sea together, how splendid it would be to see the shores of Elioth, and how Blake didn’t know it yet but life was about to change for the better. And Blake remained silent, and let him prattle on…all the while ignoring him, because he did not understand.
When Blake climbed onto the quarterdeck the following morning, exhausted and bleary-eyed, the wind snatched at him like an abductor lying in wait and tugged him toward the bulwarks. He resisted its pull and looked off to the east. The waves were dark gray and choppy, and in the sky, clouds were piling into a mountain of fire.
Lieutenant O’Shea gave the order to fasten down the sails and close the hatches. The scarlet light gradually faded, then vanished entirely. The wind began to moan, and waves hammered on the Swift’s hull with white-crested fists.
Then the storm attacked.
The Swift was lost in a dark, violent world. The wind shrieked. Water rose in terrifying black walls, crashing over the Swift. For a terrifying moment, she was completely submerged in the sea. Then she surged forth, her bowsprit piercing the waves. Sails ripped free of their gaskets, and topmen raced to lash them down.
Down in the upper gun deck, Eselder cowered between two cannons.
When the storm had struck, the crew had flown into action, but nobody had ordered him to do anything. That was good, because Eselder didn’t think he was capable of doing anything except panicking. He imagined waves smashing through the bulwarks and filling up the gun deck until it was completely over his head. The Swift was going down, and taking Eselder with her!
All morning long, the storm raged.
Day seemed like night, but without the light of the stars. There was nowhere to escape the howls of the wind, the waves, and the crew as they fought against the storm. Feet pounded over his head, and Eselder imagined men getting blown right off the deck and into the raging sea. He shuddered. Even if the lanterns had been lit, it would have been terrifying to wait out the storm, but it was ten times more so in the dark.
Inside the galley, loose pots and pans banged against the iron stove. Beneath him, Eselder felt the deck tilt and wondered if they would flip all the way over. He quickly closed his eyes and tried to think of anything besides the Swift turning over and the ocean spilling in.
Water splattered him.
Eselder cried out, opening his eyes. The ocean had broken through at last!
But it hadn’t. Instead, a tall silhouette stood over him, framed by an otherworldly blue glow.
“Don’t be afraid!” Blake shouted over the storm’s roar.
Eselder stared at him like he was crazy. Thunder tore the sky in two; above them, the crew shouted.
“It’s just a little water!” Blake bellowed.
Another wave crashed down. Eselder gasped and grabbed a cannon as the Swift reeled back.
“We’re going to drown!”
“We’re going to make it!” Blake contradicted him. His feet were planted firmly against the deck, which was incredible, as it was pitching about more wildly than a seesaw. “So don’t toss yourself overboard or do anything foolish, Eselder. Just wait out the storm. Better yet, go help the men pumping the bilges. They could use another hand.”
Eselder felt a glimmer of hope.
“Really?” he whispered. Blake had a long scrape running down his face. He was soaked to the skin and didn’t look the least bit afraid.
“Aye, I’ve been to the mast top and looked into the storm’s eye!” he boasted, “The worst of it has passed.”
“You were on the mast top?” Eselder gasped.
Blake’s pearl cast an eerie light across his face, so that all but his eyes and cheekbones were lost in shadow. His teeth flashed white, and his grin urged Eselder to seek out adventure wherever it could be found, even high on the mast top in a sea storm. He looked daring and intrepid, reckless and wild…like one of the heroes in Eselder’s seafaring novels.
Eselder managed a weak smile back. The worst of the storm was over. That was certainly good news. Perhaps…perhaps he wouldn’t die tonight.
Thunder boomed again. Eselder cringed, the man o’ war staggered, but Blake Ransom did neither. As Eselder stared at him in awe, Blake crouched down and assured him, in an unusually gentle tone, “Don’t worry, Eselder, it’s almost over.”
“How do you know?”
Thunder crackled and boomed like divine fireworks, and this time, Eselder saw lightning. It was trapped in Blake Ransom’s eyes.
“I just know,” Blake replied, “The ocean, she tells me her intent. She’s getting tired. So I’d best be off now, before it’s too late.”
“Late for what?”
Blake stood up. “To ride the crests of the waves and soar through a world of black and white!”
His mouth agape, Eselder watched Blake bound over to the ladder and disappear into the raging world above, leaving him alone to ponder whether he, Eselder, was especially cowardly, or if Blake Ransom was especially foolhardy.
Probably both.
Eselder took a deep breath. The storm was going to end soon. He couldn’t help but believe that was so; Blake had sounded so certain. How would he feel in the day
s to come if he did nothing but uselessly cower through the entire storm?
Eselder rose unsteadily to his feet. The deck lurched, and he staggered forward. He would go below. He would help his fellow crewmen pump the bilges. He would try to show a sliver of Blake Ransom’s courage.
The heavens thundered.
In his mind’s eye, Eselder beheld Blake on the mast top, framed by a spectacular lightning flash. The seaman stood erect and proud against a background of black, broiling clouds, one hand clutching a rope, the other stretching far out to embrace the storm.
Then Eselder’s ears picked up the strangest sound.
It had to be the storm playing tricks on him, because it was absolutely impossible to hear what he thought he heard. But a shiver ran down his spine, nonetheless. Eselder looked at the top deck. Somewhere above him, Blake was challenging the sky and battling the sea. And he must have been winning, because Eselder could swear that he heard him.
He was laughing.
14
The Boatswain’s Warning
The naval fleet arrived safely in Elioth.
Three weeks following their departure from Moanamiri, Blake stepped onto the top deck beside Jaimes, gulping fresh air and squinting in the light even though the sky was cloudy. As the HMS Defiance sailed toward the Eliothan coastline with her three sister ships, Blake stared at the strange new world he was being tossed into. Elioth was nothing like his colorful Moanamiri. The sky was gray; the sea was gray; the towering cliffs were gray.
Admiral Ashby’s fleet was berthing in Yaletown to restock on provisions before heading up the River Crowne toward Kingston. Blake saw a dingy harbor front and, lined up along it, houses made of colorless wood and bricks, diamond-paned windows, and smoking chimneys. He stared at the horse-drawn carriages rolling down the dockside street. How could a place look so dead and yet teem with so much life? He’d never seen so many houses, and ships, and people! It was all so much bigger than his village! And so ugly.
Even Jaimes’s spirits seemed dampened by the sight.
“It’s the weather,” he decided, checking his pocket watch, “After all, it’s the same ocean…”