by E. W. Clarke
Now, when he looked at the forest beyond the beach, it was like he could see rows of canoes hidden away inside the tree trunks, just waiting to be set free.
“Are you sure you can pilot this?” Ferdinand asked Rio.
“If it floats, I can pilot it. But if ye think we can take a canoe all the way to Spain . . .”
“Not to Spain. I only want to get as far as Hispaniola.”
“Hispaniola!” Rio exclaimed. “The land of yer father’s great adversary? The one place ’pon this Earth he is forbidden t’enter? Where the very name Columbus is synonymous with monster, sinner, madman?”
“That’s the place,” Ferdinand answered.
Rio smiled. “Sounds fun t’me.”
“Listen,” Ferdinand said, “I know we’re not exactly welcome there. But if I can speak to the governor, get him to see reason, then we could all be on a ship to Spain in a matter of weeks.” Without any bloodshed, he almost said. But he didn’t even want to acknowledge the possibility with Tinima there.
“I will go with you, of course,” she said then.
Ferdinand’s jaw dropped. “What, a girl on the open sea?”
Tinima bristled. “I do not know your customs, but in my tribe a woman is equal to such a task. And I have far more experience with rowing than either of you.”
“’Tis a fair point, landlubber,” Rio said to Ferdinand. “My pa once sailed with a girl Tinima’s age. She was disguised as a boy, mind ye, but he was impressed by her.”
Ferdinand blushed. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just assumed . . . but it would be great to have your help, Tinima.”
“It will be necessary,” she said. “And you are forgiven . . . landlubber.”
Rio doubled over with laughter as Ferdinand’s blush deepened.
And then they set out to sea.
“We shoulda done this months ago,” Rio said, his spirits clearly buoyed by his return to the ocean.
“We did,” Ferdinand said.
“I mean us, personally,” Rio said. “Our mistake was sendin’ a man t’do a boy’s job.” He cut a glance at Tinima. “Er, ya know what I mean.”
“I do not,” said Tinima. “Has another of your people already made this voyage?”
“One of my father’s crew,” Ferdinand answered without breaking the rhythm of his rowing. “Mendez. He bought a canoe from your cacique months ago. But he never returned.”
“He’s likely enjoyin’ all the comforts of civilization,” Rio said. “Forgot all about us as soon as he found a bath and a soft bed.”
“Why would he do this?” asked Tinima.
“He’s joking,” Ferdinand said. “Probably. I’m afraid something terrible happened to him.”
They fell silent after that.
After another hour at sea, Ferdinand saw movement out of the corner of his eye.
Of course, the movement of the water had been constant. But it had also been monotonous.
This movement was sinuous, somehow. Snakelike. It stirred some primal dread within Ferdinand.
“What was that?” he asked.
“What?” asked the others.
“I saw something moving. Something big. In the water.”
“How big?” asked Rio. “Not the size of a person?”
“Maybe,” Ferdinand said, turning side to side, scanning the surface.
“Bless me,” Rio said. “Ye don’t think we’ve run afoul of sirens?”
“What are sirens?” asked Tinima.
“Women of the deep waters,” said Rio. “Mermaids.”
“My father has seen them,” Ferdinand said. “On his first voyage. Three women, lifting themselves from the ocean. He said they weren’t as beautiful as the legends claim.”
“They don’t need t’be beautiful,” Rio warned. “It’s their voices. If they speak t’ya, it’s already too late.”
“What do you mean?” Tinima asked.
“The legends say they can enchant a man. Make him turn over all his gold. Make him jump into the sea where he drowns.”
“But why?” asked Tinima. “Why would they be so cruel?”
“Ya ask all the wrong questions, d’ye realize that?” Rio said. “I don’t care why so long as they don’t do it t’me. An’ I knew we shoulda brought weapons, can I just sayz.”
There was a sudden splash from just behind them.
“¡Madre!” cried Ferdinand.
“Ancestors!” cried Tinima.
Rio cried out something less polite.
All three turned in time to see a slick gray tail submerge, sluicing through the water like a rapier on flesh.
“She’s seen us,” whispered Rio.
“What do we do?” hissed Ferdinand.
“Nothin’,” Rio answered. “Sit still.”
Ferdinand placed his oar across his lap and did his best to still himself. But his fingers shook, and his body seemed to vibrate with each tremendous beat of his heart. The water lapped rhythmically against the side of the boat, out of step with the staccato rhythm of his heartbeat. Every little sound of water against wood filled him with anxiety. It all sounded like movement. If an attack came from the sea that is just what it would sound like.
He strained his eyes to see beyond the edge of the canoe. The sunlight glittered atop the black water, playing constant tricks, fueling his paranoia.
Then something struck the boat.
“¡Ay caramba!” said Rio. “Oh, save us!”
“It’s no siren,” said Tinima. “It is what the Mayan people call xoc.”
“Shark?” echoed Ferdinand. “What’s shark?”
“A monster of the deep. A fish, larger than a man, with many sharp teeth for biting and tearing.”
“So we can relax, then,” said Rio tensely. Ferdinand saw him pull a small idol from his pocket. It was a piece of Taíno craftsmanship. His thumb rubbed it worryingly.
“Do as you are doing,” she said. “Sit still. Keep your arms inside the kanoa. It is only curious. It will leave.”
“What if it doesn’t?” asked Ferdinand.
She didn’t answer.
A minute of tense silence passed, agonizingly slow. Then another minute passed, and another.
“I believe we are safe,” Tinima said.
“For now,” Ferdinand said. “What if that thing comes back? What if there are more of them?”
“It is a bad omen,” Tinima said.
“If a sailor knows anythin’, it’s a bad omen,” Rio said. “And the girl is right. There’s no shame in turnin’ back, Ferdinand.”
“But . . .” Ferdinand began. “How much farther to Hispaniola?”
“Farther than it is back t’Santiago,” Rio answered.
Ferdinand looked down at his hands. He’d thought they’d gotten used to labor, but the hours of rowing had rubbed them raw all over again. New blisters were beginning to form.
And the sea. The sea held far greater terrors than shipworms. Without his father or brother there, he had little hope of overcoming whatever horror the sea would bring forth next.
He thought of Mendez.
“Let’s go back,” he said softly.
Rowing was dull work. There was little to distract Ferdinand from his swirling thoughts.
He couldn’t help but think that none of this would have happened if they hadn’t been turned away from Hispaniola to begin with. It had been one of the early stops on their voyage, more than a year ago. But the governor of the Spanish colony there had refused to allow them to dock. That’s when the storm had hit, the one the Taíno blamed on Juracán, their fearsome storm god. That’s when all the trouble had begun.
“Why do they hate my father so much?” he asked. “On Hispaniola. He discovered the whole island. Set up the colony. How could they be so ungrateful?”
; Rio and Tinima shared a look.
“What?” Ferdinand asked.
Rio cleared his throat. “I don’t know how much ye’ve heard. . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“The admiral, he’s a fine admiral. Mebbe the most brilliant sailor I’ve known. But as me own pa would say, it’s oft the smartest man in the room who remains loneliest.”
“I know,” said Ferdinand. “I know he can be hard to deal with.”
“My people tell stories,” Tinima said. “The tribes across the sea, they knew great sorrow in recent years. Sorrow at the hands of a man who came to them as a friend, but grew cruel in his desire for wealth and power.”
“My father?” Ferdinand asked. “Your people suffered when he was governor of Hispaniola?”
“There was sufferin’ all around,” said Rio. “Some of it was on account of yer father. A fine sailor, but as a leader of men, a tyrant.”
Ferdinand bristled. “How would you know? You weren’t there.”
“True. But voices travel over the water, if ye catch my meanin’.”
“It is not easy,” Tinima offered. “To learn such things about our fathers and our heroes. But in the end, it is good.”
“Good?” Ferdinand scoffed. “What’s good about hearing that your father bullied other people?”
Tinima thought for a moment. “It means that our fathers are human. And that we can be more than they are. That, I think, is the important thing. We must learn from our elders’ mistakes. It allows us to step from beneath their shadows and to be better in the future.”
“Me, fer instance,” said Rio. “I’ve learned from me own pa not to belch in front of a lady.” He turned to Ferdinand. Then he let out the most tremendous burp Ferdinand had ever heard in his life. “Technically, that was not in front of her, but behind her.”
Ferdinand couldn’t help it. He laughed.
Food grew scarce in the days that followed. Ferdinand and Rio joined Diego and the others in their attempts to hunt, but they had limited success. Spearing fish and birds with sharpened sticks and rotting nets was almost impossible. Their traps caught some coney, but the small animal provided little meat.
Christopher Columbus declared the Taíno village off-limits to the boys, and Ferdinand could hardly argue. The tension between locals and castaways was growing. If the fragile peace deteriorated further, Ferdinand didn’t want to be anywhere near those wooden swords.
So when he wasn’t out attempting to hunt, he spent his time on the beach, reading.
Or trying to. Rio didn’t have much interest in books, and he didn’t have much interest in being quiet either.
“I have a confession,” he said one morning.
Ferdinand put down Ephemerides. “I suspect I know what you’re about to say.”
Rio seemed surprised. “Truly? And how would ya know me greatest secret?”
“I’m very observant, Rio. I pay attention to what happens around me. And I know that Tinima has been giving you gifts. Idols. Jewelry.”
Rio nodded. “’Tis true. Ye’ve a keen eye. Two of them.”
“You like her, don’t you?”
Rio’s one visible eye widened in surprise. Then he laughed. He laughed for a long time, long enough that Ferdinand squirmed with discomfort. Finally, he gathered his wits and spoke again.
“Ah, keen eyes and not a brain between them,” he said. “No, I’ve only one love, and that is the deep blue sea. But I’m also . . . I’m a collector, of sorts.”
“A collector?” said Ferdinand. “That’s your big secret?”
“Most people have two sides to ’em. Ye’re learnin’ that about yer father now. And yerself — ye be a landlubber through an’ through, yet ye’ve faired better’n most on our travels. And while I am a masterful sailor —”
“Well, cabin boy,” Ferdinand said.
“Sailor-in-training,” Rio said. “But I am another thing besides. A sailor like me father. An’ a Hystorian like me mother.”
“A historian?” echoed Ferdinand. “You mean you study history?”
“’Tis more than that,” Rio answered. “The Hystorians . . . We’re somethin’ of a secret club. An’ we have the grave responsibility of ensuring certain wicked people do not rise t’power.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” said Ferdinand.
“What’s important for ye to understand is that there is a secret war brewin’ between those who value freedom an’ such, an’ those who desire only power. An’ the Hystorians have had some success keepin’ our enemies out of the New World. And yet despite this, we were surprised to learn that crossin’ the great ocean has led t’many difficulties for the people who live here. In case the worst comes to pass . . . in case the Taíno continue t’suffer in this new age of exploration . . . I am charged with preservin’ what I can of their culture. Tinima knows this, an’ she has entrusted me with some of the artifacts her people hold dear.”
“Wow,” said Ferdinand. “I had no idea. Don’t take this the wrong way, Rio, but . . .”
“But ye underestimated me? I know it, ye rat pustule. But don’t beat yourself up. I’m flat talented at keepin’ a secret. For instance, I haven’t told anyone that ye yerself are sweet on Tinima.”
Ferdinand looked down at his book. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Rio smiled. “Yer secret’s safe with me, lad. I’m right glad we had this talk.”
The castaways were growing hungrier by the day. As the food grew scarce, tempers ran hot.
Ferdinand woke at dawn to the sound of shouting. It was his half brother, Diego, cursing over a hunting net that had rotted away in his hands.
“I can’t take any more of this!” he yelled into the sky.
The growing daylight cast everything in a ruddy glow. Diego’s skin, darkened by months in the sun, glowed red.
“They dare deny us tribute,” he growled. “Us! We who sail under the flag of the king and queen of Spain. We who spread their royal influence across the world, as is our divine right. They would have us starve on this filthy rock.” He spat upon the ground. “I say it is they who should starve! They who should beg us! For we are the superior people, and they are but savages.”
“They’re not savages!” shouted Ferdinand.
The words had left his mouth before he’d even realized it. He was fuming, angry, and embarrassed all at once. The eyes of every man there turned toward him. Most were surprised, or curious. But Diego’s eyes burned with rage. “What did you say?” he demanded.
Ferdinand stood his ground. He pulled back his shoulders and lifted his chin.
“They’re not savages,” he repeated. “They are clever, and they’re kind. They know which plants are safe to eat. They create artwork and play sports. Many among them have already learned our language. And they would work with us, if only we treated them as equals.”
Diego scoffed. “Equals?” he said. “Equals!” He shouted it this time, raising his arms and turning to the other men, as if he’d made a witty remark. As if he could win a debate simply by volume.
Some of the men laughed in response. But not all of them. I haven’t lost them yet, thought Ferdinand.
But then, suddenly, he was sprawled upon the ground, looking up at his half brother.
“We will take what we want,” he snarled. “And if we are to be trapped here, then we will be kings of this island.”
Suddenly, a shot rang out.
And Rio stood in the center of the clearing, holding a smoking pistol above his head.
“Let’s all calm down now, ye boot-lickin’ scum suckers,” he said. “Before I show ye just how savage things can get.”
“Rio?” Ferdinand said.
“Listen here, pipsqueak . . .” Diego began.
“He’s right,” said another voice. And Christopher Columbus stepped from
the bystanders to stand beside Rio. “He’s right, Diego. You go too far. You would wage war against an entire island?”
“If I’d known we had working guns,” Diego said, “I would have suggested it sooner.”
“Enough,” said the admiral. “There is a fine line between bravery and foolishness. It is a line I have crossed before, but that time is past. We must find better solutions lest we all die here this day.”
“Better to die than live like this, you old fool!” Diego countered.
“No,” said Columbus. “When you have children of your own, you will understand the folly in that statement.” He turned to the crew, singling out three of the largest men. “Detain Diego. Keep an eye on him until he’s cooled off.”
The men stepped forward to encircle Diego. They looked ready for a fight, but the fight had gone out of him. He knew that the crew’s loyalty was not his to command, and he went along quietly.
Columbus took the pistol from Rio, who made no apologies, then the man stepped over to Ferdinand, still sprawled in the dirt. He held a hand out, and Ferdinand took it, getting to his feet.
“Diego is right about one thing: I am an old fool. I made a terrible mistake bringing you here,” the old admiral said.
Hot tears sprung to Ferdinand’s eyes. He fought them back, but he knew his father saw them there.
“You misunderstand, my son,” Columbus said. “You have handled yourself marvelously. You have proven yourself a skilled sailor, and your keen eye and curiosity make you a better explorer than I have ever been.” He smiled sadly. “I only mean that I regret putting you in harm’s way. If I am meant to pay now for the sins of my past, I would not have you and Diego pay, too. Why must children suffer for the sins of the father?”
Ferdinand didn’t know how to answer that. “It’s not over yet,” he said. “There’s still hope.”
Columbus shook his head. “There won’t be war with the Indians today, but I know your half brother. His anger can no more be calmed than the sun could fail to rise or the moon be wiped away from the sky.”