Rococoa

by Balogun Ojetade (ed)

  She picked up the machete then pointed it at Mattew.

  “Now I ask you again. Have you worked the cane?”

  “I’m…I’m sorry,” Mattew said. “I’ll leave you be.”

  Siren’s movement was swift. She cut off the tip of the man’s little finger then pressed the machete’s edge against his throat before he could cry out.

  “A souvenir,” she whispered.

  The man ran from the Cradle. Siren sipped her coffee, ignoring Thaddus’s stare.

  “He lied to me,” she said, answering the question she knew was on his mind.

  Brak entered the Cradle again. He was not alone. A man with skin like night followed him, as tall as the brooding pirate but not quite as broad. A cutlass and a dozen jeweled daggers hung from his wide waist belt. A leather jerkin fit tightly against his broad chest. He smiled at Siren and she smiled back.

  The man turned his chair backwards then sat at the table.

  “Jonas, you came,” she said.

  “I would never refuse you, Queen,” he said. He took a dagger from his belt then placed it on the table. The blade was pure silver fitted into a hilt of carved ivory decorated with rubies and emeralds.

  “I had this made for you in Carmalin,” he said.

  Siren picked up the knife, admiring the craftsmanship.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Not very practical, but beautiful.”

  Jonas laughed. “Not as beautiful as you.”

  Malik’s eyes narrowed as he sucked his teeth. Jonas looked his way and his smile faded.

  “Malik, how are you,” he said. “I didn’t notice you there.”

  “You never do.” Malik stood. “I’ll take my leave. Thaddus, come with me. These two have business to discuss.”

  Malik leaned close to her.

  “I don’t trust this snake,” he whispered. “You know what he wants.”

  Siren looked directly into Jonas’ hazel eyes.

  “Of course I do,” she said aloud. “I’ll be fine.”

  Malik glared at Jonas then led Thaddus to another table.

  “That one fancies you,” Jonas said.

  “Malik is my brother,” she replied. “By bond if not by blood. He looks out for me. You are the one that fancies me.”

  “As do half the corsairs that sail the True Sea,” he said.

  “Yet none of them came with you, did they?”

  Jonas frowned. “No they didn’t. Most would give up half their treasures to bed you but not their life,” he said.

  “Bedding me was never part of the bargain,” she said, her voice tinged with anger. “I’m not a whore.” She snatched out her machete again then slammed it on the table.

  Jonas raised his hands. “I never meant to imply that, Queen. There is no other person, man or woman, that the Black Brotherhood respects more.”

  “Yet again, they did not come,” she said.

  “Let’s be practical,” Jonas said. “What you plan yields no gold or booty. Besides, the Dalmatin coast is treacherous, especially this time of year.”

  “I know that coast,” she said. “I’ve spent years studying it. I know every bay, inlet and harbor. I could sail it with my eyes shut.”

  “You can, but we can’t,” Jonas replied. “Which leaves you with me.”

  “And why are you here?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

  ‘I came to give you the dagger,” Jonas said, grinning.

  “We sail in the morning,” she said.

  “I’ll be ready,” Jonas said.

  Jonas stood then took a deep bow before striding from the tavern. Malik and Thaddus returned soon afterward.

  “So how many will come?” Malik asked.

  “Only Jonas.”

  “Then we must end the plan.”

  “No!” Siren said. “The conditions are perfect. It’s now or never.” She heard her voice crack when she said the words. She knew Malik heard it, too.

  “We can’t do it with only two ships,” Malik said. “We’ll have to make arrangements for the others,” Malik said.

  “Yes we will,” Siren said. “Come, we have work to do.”

  The two of them stood to leave the tavern.

  “What about me?” Thaddus said.

  “Enjoy the rest of the night,” Siren said. “Tomorrow, we go to war.”

  Black sails crested the horizon, hidden from the shoreline watchtowers by dense fog. Though the harbor guards could not see the approaching vessels, Siren knew well the shore she approached. It had once been her home, if a plantation could be considered such a thing.

  She turned to Brak, who stood bare-chested beside her, exposing his collection of scars.

  “Let’s get to the boats,” she said.

  Together they marched to the bulwark and joined the others. These were the elite of her crew, men and women who had proven themselves time and time again in battle.

  “We won’t have much time,” she said. “So stay focused. They won’t know we’re coming so do the best you can to get them out. And remember, we only have so much room. Bring back only those you need.”

  Everyone nodded. She looked about the deck before spotting Malik.

  “Malik!” she shouted.

  The lithe man hurried to her side.

  “Are the cannons ready?”

  “Yes, Siren,” he said.

  She glanced over his shoulder. The Kraken, Jonas’s heavy ship, kept time with them. She could barely see him in the crow’s nest but she knew he was there.

  Her attention came back to Malik. She raised her arm as he did, the two of them setting the wrist clocks attached to their leather gloves.

  “Begin the bombardment in ten minutes,” she said. “We should be to shore by then.”

  “Yes Siren,” he said.

  They touched foreheads and shared a smiled. Malik was her oldest and dearest friend. There was no one she trusted more.

  “Bring them back, Akini,” he said, using her little name.

  “I will, Ajamu,” she said.

  They touched each other’s cheek then broke away to their duties. When she faced her landing crew her smile was gone. She climbed over the bulwark then sat in the first boat hanging over the side. The others boarded and the boats were lowered into the choppy sea. Conditions were bad for a boat landing but perfect for her plan. They rowed to shore with eight boats; three fill with the landing party, three empty and two filled with supplies.

  Ajamu’s timing was perfect. The cannons roared as the boats ran aground. Siren leaped over the side with the others, drawing her sword and pistol.

  “Get the rifles and follow me,” she ordered.

  In moments they ran across the misty field, her memory unflagging. The cane appeared abruptly and old memories of pain and drudgery hit her like a physical blow. She remembered her thin arms clutching the cane stalks, the leaves cutting her skin like razors. The brutal work from sun up ‘til sun down, then trying to stay awake as mama soothed her wounds with butter and kisses. The horror of finding a dead worker among the stalks, another soul worked to oblivion. She stumbled but her burly friend caught her.

  “Are you alright, Siren?” he asked.

  “I am, Brak,” she replied. She pulled away from his grasp, angry at her weakness.

  They met the first overseer halfway through the fields. He turned suddenly, his eyes wide when he recognized what was happening. Siren drove her sword through his throat before he had the chance to shout. The second overseer stood by the slave houses, too close to kill silently.

  “Brak,” she shouted.

  Brak raised his musket and then fired. The man’s head jerked then he crumpled to the ground. Moments later the alarm drum rumbled.

  Siren and the others quickened their pace. The other overseers appeared with muskets, swords and maces. They were no match for Siren and her sailors. Siren shot her pistols empty then used them as clubs in concert with her sword as she cut through the inept guards.

  “Find your loved
ones!” she shouted. “Our time is short.”

  She ran directly to the hut where her family lived. She burst inside and was greeted by their fearful faces, faces that transformed to joy when they recognized her.

  “Akini!” they shouted.

  Her mother was the last to come to her.

  “You said you would come back,” she said.

  “And I have. Now come. We must hurry.”

  “I can’t run so fast,” her mother said. She opened her ragged cloak, revealing her swollen belly.

  Siren’s entire body burned. “Is it his?” she asked.

  Her mother didn’t reply.

  She grabbed her mother’s hand, pulling her from the hut.

  They met the others running back to the boats with their families, passing those who did not have anyone to rescue them. A group of her sailors stood in the middle of the village with the wrapped bundles. Siren went to them, her family in tow.

  “Listen to me!” she shouted. “I wish I could take you all with me but I can’t. But I will not leave you here defenseless.”

  The men opened the bundles. There were muskets, pistols, swords, knives and bags of gunpowder and musket balls.

  “You can die in the fields, or you can risk your life now for freedom. Those who wish to risk it should head due west. There is a city on the coast that will take you in. Your life there won’t be easy, but it will be better than this. May the Goddess guide you!”

  The workers surged at the weapons as Siren and the others fled to the boats. Siren and her men kept watch as the others clambered into the boats; then Siren’s cohorts boarded the last one and set off. Once she knew everyone was secure she strode back to the huts.

  “Where are you going?” Brak called out.

  Siren didn’t answer. She loaded her pistols and then picked up and loaded a musket which lay beside one of the dead overseers. She found a horse, climbed on it then kicked the beast into a full gallop down the trail leading to the grand house. The horse galloped between fields of unharvested cane, much of it on fire from the relentless barrage from the ships. The cane disappeared, replaced by fields of vegetables and various other crops. The master’s loomed before her and her anger grew. As she neared the front gate she spied militiamen running towards her. Siren pulled the first pistol from her belt then slummed against the horse’s neck. She slowed the horse to a trot as the militiamen came near. The first to reach her stood before the horse, mistaking her as a slave come to warn them.

  “What’s going on girl? Is it pirates?”

  Siren jerked upright, a pistol in each hand.

  “Yes!”

  She shot the man in the forehead and the other militiaman in his chest. Siren rolled off her horse onto her feet, using the beast as a shield for her right flank as she confronted the two men on her left. Both went down, musket balls in their heads. By the time the other militiamen rounded the horse she held her last pistols in her hands. The men raised their muskets; Siren dropped to her knees then took aim at each man, firing simultaneously into their groins. She dropped her pistols then took theirs.

  Siren was climbing onto the horse when she heard a musket fire in the distance. A second later a musket ball slammed into her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. Light flashed before her eyes as her head struck the mud. An image appeared; she was a girl, surrounded by the opulence of the master’s banquet room, singing for his guests. She looked at him and he looked back, the expression on his face terrifying her. It was that day she decided she would escape. She was already his work tool; she would not be his pleasure tool as well.

  Siren shook her head then struggled back to her feet. She climbed onto the horse, wincing in pain. The musket fired again; this time the shooter missed. Siren spied him on the porch of the grand house. She took her musket from the saddle straps, using the horse’s neck to steady her aim. The horse jumped as she fired, the musket smoke blinding her. When it cleared she saw the musketeer sprawled on the porch.

  No one challenged her as she rode through the gates to the stairs leading into the home. Pistol in her right hand and sword in her left, she shoved the door open and then entered the home. She instinctively dodged to the left, avoiding the ambush she knew awaited her. The foyer rang with the pistols’ report; Siren waited for the smoke to clear before shooting a militiaman point blank in the face. She raised her sword, blocking the downward stroke of another militiaman before plunging her dagger into his gut. She spun away as the man fell, facing the only person remaining in the room.

  Graeme Kell, her former master, stood before her, armed with sword and dagger, a malicious smile on his face.

  “Siren,” he said. “So you are the cause of this.”

  They circled each other, Siren’s face twisted with hate.

  “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, as I suspected you would,” Graeme said. “You would have made an excellent concubine.”

  Siren screamed as she attacked. Graeme was skilled, but not as skilled as Siren. His smile faded with each cut inflicted; soon his eyes were wide with desperation as he fought off Siren’s assault. Siren ignored every wound, her mind filled with one purpose. Her sword finally found its target, plunging just below Graeme’s ribcage. Siren twisted her sword sideways then ripped it from Graeme’s body, causing a wound that couldn’t be healed.

  Graeme tumbled to the ground. Siren stood over him as he died. She screamed again then spit into his face. She turned away, stumbling toward the door as the toll of her wounds overtook her. She was about to fall face first into the floor when two strong hands caught her. She looked up into Brak’s stoic face.

  “We must flee,” he said. “More militiamen are coming.”

  She leaned against Brak as they ran to her horse. He helped her onto her horse and then, together, they rode to the shore to the waiting boats.

  Siren, Malik, Brak and Jonas climbed the steep slope, their heavy breathing and sweaty clothes a sign of the difficulty of the climb. Siren reached the summit first then sat hard in the knee high grass, letting out a relieved sigh. She took her water bag from her waist belt and took a long swig; by the time she lowered it the others sat beside her in various states of exhaustion.

  “Was this absolutely necessary?” Jonas asked.

  “You said you wanted to see the island,” Siren said. “This is the best place to see it.”

  She stood and then pulled Jonas to his feet. Her shoulder ached from the wound she received at the plantation, the musket ball still inside. Once everything settled she would have a healer remove it. They stood side by side, the entire expanse of the island visible to their eyes.

  “I’m impressed,” Jonas said. “Very impressed. How did you find it?”

  “I studied the old maps in Great Zumbawa,” Siren said. “I was searching for an island far from the main sea routes, somewhere we could be hidden from the world. This island was considered a legend, but I discovered it to be true. We are not the first to live here.”

  She pointed due west of their position.

  “There are ruins there,” she said. The people who once lived here were great builders.”

  She pointed north. “That’s where we’ll settle. The land is good and it’s far enough from the coast so not to be spotted by any passing ships. We’ll build a fort on this summit as a lookout for any approaching ships and set up a signal system to warn us.”

  She then pointed to the east.

  “That’s where we’ll grow the cane. The conditions are perfect for it.”

  Jonas looked surprised. “Grow cane? I thought that would be the last thing you would do.”

  “Some of us still have a liking for it,” she said. “It will also be a reminder of what we endured and what we must never let happen again.”

  “I’m impressed,” Jonas said. “And what will you call your little paradise?”

  “Serenity,” Malik said.

  “No,” Siren said.

  Brak nodded. “It is a good name.”

  “I d
on’t agree,” Siren said.

  “I like it, too,” Jonas said.

  The three of them stared at her. Siren tried to stay stern but a smile creased her face.

  “It’s a possibility. But the people will decide.”

  They began their descent. Malik and Brak walked ahead while Jonas and Siren walked together.

  “So is there a place for a wandering corsair in this wonderful land?”

  Siren cut her eyes at Jonas.

  “That’s up to the corsair. But don’t expect to be asked. I have no intentions of being anyone’s wife anytime soon.”

  Jonas scowled. “After all I’ve done for you?”

  Siren sucked her teeth. “All you’ve done for yourself. You were paid, quite well I must add.”

  Jonas laughed. “I suspect you’ll marry someone one day and have a dozen children.”

  “I wouldn’t wait on that day,” Siren said. “My days on the sea are not yet done.”

  Jonas’ eyebrows rose. “Really?”

  “We weren’t able to rescue all of them,” she said. “I plan to.”

  “Then I will help you,” Jonas said.

  “There will be no pay in this, corsair,” she said.

  “Consider it an investment,” Jonas said.

  Siren smiled. “So be it.”

  They reached the summit base and the trail leading to the village. Siren was about to catch up with Brak and Malik when Jonas grabbed her arm.

  “One more thing,” he said. “What is your real name?”

  Siren said nothing, amused at Jonas’ attention.

  “Please, you must tell me!” he pleaded. “I can’t stand Malik knowing something I don’t. Besides, you owe me that much.”

  Siren laughed. “Akini. My name is Akini.”

  “Akini.” Jonas rubbed his chin. “A lovely name, but I prefer Siren. It’s more mysterious.”

  Siren rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Come, we can discuss our plans as we walk.”

  “As you command, Akini of Serenity!”

  He took a deep bow and Siren laughed. They hurried to catch up with their companions.

  SEA-WALKER

  Carole Mcdonnell

  It is well-known, though not officially recorded, that a sea captain from one of the western islands had a strange, disabled child.