Sea of Secrets Anthology

by J E Feldman

  Jenaro nodded. “Quickly, let’s not waste another moment.”

  They hurried down the plank and hopped aboard the Gueybana cutter. Without saying another word, Jenaro and Agostin readied the ship, raised the sails, and cast off. The outbound wind carried the cutter quickly and silently through the shipyard. They cleared the locks before any alarm was raised. Both men watched as the city lights of Port Hyspar flickered and diminished below the horizon.

  Jenaro’s anxiety slowly disappeared as the cutter sailed farther into the inky black abyss of the open sea. It almost seemed too easy, their escape from Port Hyspar. Yet he shook his head and decided that it was a sign. Bibi-Ama had blessed their voyage.

  Agostin was his usual carefree self. He lit the lamps, sipped from his flask, and sang “The Barmaid or the Sea.” Jenaro laughed and sang along with each refrain and even joined in on the last verse. They both reached the final note, only Agostin failed to add his deep baritone to the chord. Jenaro tilted his head and held the note as long as he could. When he finished, he turned his eyes on Agostin. His friend was gripping the hull of the cutter, eyes fixed on the bow of the vessel.

  “What is it my friend?” Jenaro inquired.

  There was no response, at least not from Agostin. The answer came in the form of a rolling boom that shook the very deck beneath his seat. Jenaro swiveled his head. The sky beyond the bow exploded in a brilliant flash. The sea raged on the horizon.

  “Yaya does not seem happy with our theft,” Agostin moaned as he hurried to the rig.

  There was another flash of light followed by an echoing boom of thunder.

  “I thought you feared no god, Agostin!” Jenaro yelled over the rumble. He moved to the wheel and looked at Agostin. He no longer saw unbridled joy, but concern and fear.

  The storm rapidly overtook the cutter. Wind and rain assaulted the small craft. The fury of the sea razed the ship in one giant stroke. Agostin and Jenaro were thrown from the vessel and swallowed by the waves.

  Jenaro struggled to stay afloat. He saw the silhouette of a giant caguama just below the surface, the turquoise and verdant shell shining with each flash of lightning. Jenaro flailed and sank beneath the waves. The caguama swam over him and under him. His feet glided across the mirror-like shell. For a moment, he could swear the beast was speaking to him. He betrayed me, and so our oath is null and void. His ship is yours for the taking. The caguama proceeded in swallowing him whole. He felt warmth and pressure about his flesh, a clammy but strangely comforting embrace. He faded out of consciousness.

  Daylight. It hurt his eyes. He inhaled deeply through his nose. The smell of dead fish and rotting seaweed was on the air. He could taste iron and salt in his mouth. Jenaro groaned as he lifted his hands to his face to shield his eyes. His body ached. There were bruises on his stomach and chest that screamed when he tried to move. He managed to flip to his side. He cautiously opened his eyes. Jenaro was on his side in the sand. Fish large and small lay scattered about him amidst a field of debris. Planks of azure and silver, like the hull of the cutter he commandeered, embedded in the sand like so many spears. Seaweed decorated every mound of rotting scales. He could even feel several strips plastered to his forehead and legs. He labored his way to a seated position. His breeches and tunic were torn and tattered. He was missing a shoe. His knapsack was nowhere in sight.

  Jenaro sat for a time and watched the tide roll onto the beach. Each babbling wave brought with it more debris, more shattered pieces of the Gueybana cutter. He was almost disappointed. It was a beautiful little rig.

  After he gathered his strength, he found his thoughts shifting to Agostin. His friend either jumped or was thrown overboard and most certainly met the same fate as he. That or worse.

  “His death is on my hands,” Jenaro whispered to himself.

  Soon the sun became unbearable and forced him to seek shelter. He got to his feet and was surprised to find he was saved the pain of broken bones. Although, the sand and dried seawater in his lacerations burned like fire. Jenaro took a look at his surroundings. The beachhead stretched on for miles. Behind him rose a field of small dunes. He could make out the tops of trees just beyond their peaks. Jenaro dreaded subjecting his wounds to more sand, but plodded toward the shade of the trees regardless. Thankfully, the dune field was small and the grove of palms dense with plenty of shade.

  Next was the thirst. Only a minute had passed under the protection of the palms before cottonmouth set in. Such a large grove had to mean a source of fresh water was nearby. He gathered his remaining strength and set off once more. Jenaro found a pond not far from the tree line. The water was clearer than the fountains of the manse at Port Hyspar. He could see the bottom and every fish that swam in the pool. He nearly collapsed with joy. He dropped to his knees and thrust his head under water, gulping as much as he could take until he collapsed on the banks. Jenaro pulled off his tunic and ripped the torn sleeve from his shirt. With it, he fashioned a head cover to protect his scalp from the blazing rays. He set off again as the sun was halfway through its descent. He was not sure where to go, but decided to continue walking away from the seashore.

  The island he washed ashore on was of modest size. It only took Jenaro an hour to reach the opposite shoreline. This side was free of debris, but just as vacant as the other. He traipsed across the island once more, hoping to find any semblance of life before sundown, yet his search yielded no such reward.

  He happened upon a network of cliffs and jetties just as the sun began to be eclipsed by the horizon. The way down into the hole looked dangerous, with a face as slick as wet marble and dozens of jagged stones below. Jenaro smiled. It was a challenge he eagerly accepted.

  It was an intense climb down, even for one as skilled as Jenaro. He slipped and lost his footing more than once, only to be saved by a quick hand or toe in a crevice. He reached the bottom as the sun said its last goodbye. Much to his surprise, there was a cave at the bottom. Even more surprising was the existence of bioluminescent algae on every surface. The turquoise glow guided Jenaro deep into the cave. It subsided not far from the entrance, replaced by the warm orange glow of torches. The humid, briny air turned sweet. Jenaro could swear he smelled roasted pig and heard the chatter of voices. The torches led deep within the cave. They wound about in such a manner that Jenaro knew he could never navigate it on memory alone. Soon the path opened to an enormous room. Stalactites and stalagmites rose and fell on every surface. There was a clearing with a modest wooden shack and an outdoor hearth. Rotating over the fires was a boar and sitting next to that hearth was Agostin.

  “Jenaro delRios!” Agostin shouted as he jumped from his stone seat. “You, my friend, are truly blessed of Yaya!”

  Jenaro ran and embraced his friend. The two shared a chorus of boisterous laughter along with sentiments of relief.

  “I was sure you had died,” Jenaro told him as he took a seat next to the hearth.

  Agostin raised his arm, flexed, and placed his other fist against his chest. “No storm can best an Anacaona man. But you look a little worse for wear.”

  Jenaro looked at the cuts that lined his skin like stripes. He looked at Agostin and noticed not a single stab, slash, or puncture was present on his ebony skin. “It is some kind of dark magic that protects your clan,” he replied with a smirk.

  Agostin cackled.

  As soon as Agostin’s laugh dwindled, Jenaro asked, “What is this place? Surely the shack has an owner. The fire did not start itself nor the boar take his own life.”

  Agostin shrugged. “I found it much like you did: boar roasting on the spit, cabin door open, and table set as if expecting guests. I tried to look around for the resident, but found none.”

  “That is because I was needed elsewhere on the island,” a deep voice answered from the direction of the shack. Jenaro and Agostin leapt with surprise. Jenaro fell backward off the stone he was seated on. Agostin was on his feet and ready to throw a punch.

  “Had I known I was to feed more than
myself and my crew,” the voice continued, “I would have killed another.”

  Jenaro quickly got to his feet and stood next to Agostin. “Please accept our sincerest apologies. We are shipwrecked and were unaware the island was inhabited.”

  “Well, it is as you said,” the voice responded. “The fire did not start itself nor did the boar take his own life.”

  Jenaro slightly bowed his head in apology, but kept his eyes on his host. He was a striking and sinewy man. He wore a dark coat that fell to his knees and a hood that shrouded much of his face. He held his hands behind his back, but made sure Jenaro and Agostin could see the gold and jeweled hilts that peaked from beneath his coat. His boots were sturdy black leather that seemed to consume the light of the hearth.

  “I am Jenaro delRios, son of Josue delRios, BO’ of the Andolins. This is Agostin Anacaona, my carib and closest confidant.”

  Agostin nodded slightly.

  Jenaro continued. “I assure you we meant no harm.”

  The man stood silent for a brief moment then laughed. It was a short clipped laugh that startled them.

  “All is well and good. If you are shipwrecked then you are in luck. I am a captain myself. My crew and I plan to set sail in the morning. You are welcome to accompany us to our next port of call, where I am sure you can arrange passage back to your Andolins.”

  Jenaro and Agostin exchanged glances.

  “That would be most kind of you, Captain…” Jenaro trailed off.

  “Babalu-Aye,” the captain replied. “Yes, you can call me Babalu-Aye.”

  “Captain Babalu-Aye,” Jenaro repeated. “Shall we accompany you to your vessel?”

  The captain nodded. “Yes, but first we must carve the boar and grab a cask of wine.”

  Jenaro and Agostin nodded and went about assisting the captain in any way they could. Jenaro helped pack the sliced boar in covered platters while Agostin gathered the two barrels of wine under his arms. He lifted one to his shoulder, leaned back, and opened the tap directly into his mouth. He looked at Jenaro and smiled wide. Once ready, the captain snapped his fingers and the fires of the hearth were quenched. Immediately, the bioluminescent algae came alive, lighting a path next to the shack. Jenaro’s eyes bulged in shock. He looked back at Agostin, who had gone pale. It was a short walk to the captain’s ship. Babalu-Aye whistled the entire way. It wasn’t a tune Jenaro recognized, but found pleasant.

  It was a clipper, large and lean and the definition of motion at rest. Jenaro’s smile was the widest he had ever known. This was the ship he desired. He knew it was fast just by looking at it. It was a blade that longed to slice through every nautical mile of the Summer Sea. The hull was black, but not dull. It was glossy, almost like glass, and reflected the light of the algae like a mirror does sunlight. The three masts were of similar construction and resembled wrought iron spikes reaching to the heavens. Babalu-Aye whistled and the ship’s gangway slid down from the deck. Jenaro and Agostin both froze in place. They watched as the sails unfurled; deep crimson sheets dripping like blood as they opened. They saw the lanterns aboard slowly light, bow to stern, all on their own. They heard no crew or clamor from the top deck. The ship’s bell rang. It was not a ring, but a dirge. Jenaro looked to where he last saw the captain, but instead he was greeted by empty space.

  “All aboard, gentlemen!” Babalu-Aye’s deep voice boomed through the cavern.

  Jenaro and Agostin stood still.

  “You haven’t changed your minds, have you?” he called from the deck of the ship.

  Agostin’s face was grim. Jenaro could see his jaw clenched shut. His grip around the barrels was so tight, his knuckles were white. Jenaro swallowed hard.

  Jenaro gulped. “You disappear and reappear in the blink of an eye?”

  Babalu-aye chuckled. “Only to places to which I am welcome. My ship, for example.”

  “What do you call her?” Jenaro asked.

  The captain chuckled. “You see the black hull. You know the crimson sails. This is Charon’s Ferry!”

  Agostin turned to Jenaro. “That’s impossible. Charon’s Ferry belongs to Maboya. It is a legend. A fiction told by the wise-women.”

  “I know,” Jenaro stated. “Yet, there it is before us, moored in this cavern.” He inhaled and took a step toward the ship. “If this is indeed Charon’s Ferry that would make you--”

  “Maboya!” Agostin gasped.

  The captain shouted with a whoop. His laughter crashed around the walls of the cavern, making Jenaro flinch.

  “Oh, Maboya! It is a name I have not been called in quite some time!” The captain’s hysteria continued for several uncomfortable moments before his laughter subsided. “Now that it is revealed, you have two choices. The first: come aboard willingly. Eat, drink, and sail with me. Then maybe I will take you to the land of your ancestors.”

  Agostin took a step forward and stood next to Jenaro. “And the second?” he asked harshly.

  Maboya leapt and disappeared only to reappear, balancing perfectly on the Charon Ferry’s bow spirit. “Refuse and I make you permanent additions to my crew.”

  “What guarantees do we have that you will keep your word?”

  Maboya laughed. “Guarantees? None. I give you none. You either join me or die alone on this island.”

  Jenaro shook his head and stepped to the gangway, but Agostin grunted.

  “Your grace, this is unwise,” he advised in a whisper. “You desire this ship. I can see it in your eyes. But is it worth dealing with Maboya?”

  Jenaro looked over his shoulder. “We have no other option, my friend. We cannot put our trust in Maboya, so trust me instead. I will find us a way out.”

  Agostin sighed and nodded. The two Andoli climbed the gangway and boarded the Charon’s Ferry. Agostin set the casks of wine on the deck and Jenaro tossed the packs of meat atop. Moments later, the ship began to move. The sails unfurled with a snap and without the assistance of a single crewman. Maboya stood at the wheel. He reached up and threw off his hood. It was the first time Jenaro saw the true form of the captain. His head was gaunt with leathery skin pulled tightly over the skull. His sockets were empty except for dancing flames where his eyes should have been. There was no nose or ears on his face. Strangely enough, he had many teeth and seemed to have a permanent smile affixed to his ghastly face. Jenaro shuddered and turned away. He and Agostin stood and watched as the clipper flew from the cavern and out to sea. The island was soon a memory, swallowed by the horizon.

  Once out in open water, Maboya brought forth an enormous feast. There were platters of roasted boar, rabbit, and fish, all garnished with peppers and pineapple. Mountains of corn cakes and yucca mingled with cinnamon dusted plantains resting on beds of rice. There were even bowls of candied mango and papaya. The casks of wine were tapped. Bottles of rum were brought by unseen forces from below deck. It was indeed a banquet for a large crew; a crew surprisingly absent from the affair. Regardless, Jenaro nearly wept as the sweet, savory aromas of the fruit and meat blended beautifully with the brine of the sea air. He wanted to resist, to deny such a decadent spread, but his body shouted for sustenance. His mouth watered and his stomach audibly churned.

  He and Agostin ate for hours. They ate as if it was their final meal. They ate until the table was covered in crumbs and bones licked clean of every shred of slow roasted meat. Maboya chuckled when Jenaro slid back from his spot and moaned in delightful gluttony. It was not long before Jenaro drifted to sleep with a full stomach and a mind full of contentment, despite his predicament.

  Charon’s Ferry was at a standstill when Jenaro awoke. The movement of the ocean and the creaking of the hull was not unlike an anchored ship. Yet the Summer Sea was deep and wide and no measure of rope or chain would allow an anchor to hit bottom. His first inclination was that Maboya had piloted them into a doldrum. The phenomenon was not uncommon at the far reaches of the Summer Sea, but there was no way they had traversed so many miles in a day. Jenaro was so curious that he neglected
to notice he was no longer on deck, but lying in what looked to be the captain’s quarters. He jumped to his feet, exited the room, and found his way to the top deck. Agostin was already awake, standing on the bow, one foot on the spirit, the other planted firmly on the deck. Jenaro walked quickly to his friend.

  Agostin nodded as Jenaro approached. “Our host has once again disappeared.”

  “The ship seems abandoned,” Jenaro said. He looked around the deck then asked, “Why are we no longer moving? The sea looks as it is completely avoiding the Ferry.”

  “The wind, as well, your grace,” Agostin added.

  “Another trick of Maboya?” Jenaro questioned.

  Agostin shrugged.

  “He does not control the wind. It must be a spell or some enchantment,” Jenaro announced as he turned from Agostin.

  “It is neither, Jenaro delRios,” Maboya’s proclaimed from the wheel.

  Jenaro stopped. Agostin turned and stood beside him. Maboya was once again wearing his hood, except now a tricorne rested atop. It was black as night with blood red trim.

  “Bibi-Ama and I have an agreement, of sorts,” began Maboya. “So long as I am on one of her errands, my ship remains where I disembark. It makes it easier to find in case I…” he mulled over for a bit, “get lost.”

  Jenaro gave Agostin a sideways eye. Agostin stood tall, his chest bowed out in a show of defiance toward their captor. He smirked.

  “Well then, Maboya,” Jenaro called to the captain, “since you have returned, my friend and I would very much like for you to return us to our island.”

  Maboya strolled down from the helm. For the first time since they met, Maboya removed his hands from his jacket pockets. His right was nothing but bone, held together with several sinewy strands of flesh around each knuckle and joint. The left was just as bony, except for the charred, leathery skin stretched over its entirety. Gripped in his left was Jenaro’s knife.

  “Why would you desire to leave such merry company? Can you not see I have brought you a gift?”