Sea of Secrets Anthology

by J E Feldman

  Jenaro’s eyes narrowed. “You gift me what is already mine?”

  Maboya smiled. Jenaro spied his teeth grinning from just beyond the shadows of his hood. The captain took a step forward, flipped the knife, and handed it to Jenaro hilt first. Agostin took a step forward and inserted himself between the captain and his friend. Jenaro placed a hand on Agostin’s shoulder, calming him and signaling to him to stand down. He grabbed his knife. Maboya let go and retreated.

  “A captain always rewards his first mate,” Maboya told the Andoli.

  Jenaro shook his head. “While I appreciate you returning my dagger, I cannot accept such a commission.”

  Maboya scoffed. “And why not? Is it not what you have wanted since you were a boy, a life at sea?”

  “Yes, but not serving you,” Jenaro replied. “I want to be my own man, determine my own fate.”

  “You can be both and still serve aboard the Ferry. Your life is your own, Andoli. I only require that which remains after the body has decayed.”

  Jenaro turned from Maboya and began to pace from port to starboard.

  “You require our souls,” Agostin stated plainly.

  Maboya hmphed. “I require his soul. Yours is of no consequence.” With that, Maboya snapped his bony fingers and Agostin disappeared before Jenaro’s eyes.

  Jenaro was filled with white hot rage at the disappearance of his comrade. He unsheathed his dagger and sprinted at the captain. Maboya laughed and vanished only to reappear several steps away. Jenaro was unfazed by the blink. He summersaulted forward and slashed upward. Maboya laughed as he dodged Jenaro’s attack, and countered with a swift palm to his face. Jenaro was thrown back, slamming his back against the mainmast. His dagger clattered harmlessly away from his reach.

  “What have you done to Agostin?” Jenaro hissed.

  “Be still, Andoli,” Maboya answered. “Your friend is safe.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He is back on your island,” Maboya said, as if such a feat was commonplace among Jenaro’s people.

  Jenaro scowled and moved toward Maboya. Maboya snapped and Jenaro was transported to the captain’s quarters. Jenaro ran to the door, but it was bolted shut. He slammed his fists against the wood and shouted for the captain to no avail.

  Jenaro saw the sun set and rise three times from the window of his prison cell. He passed the time pacing the room and combing his mind for a way out. On the morning of the third day, Jenaro decided he was in need of some sport, something to take his mind off of his predicament. He pulled his knife and scrawled a target on the door to the cabin then proceeded to toss the blade from the opposite end of the room. He continued in this manner until he heard a groan from the top deck. Instantly he was transported to the wheel next to the ghoulish captain.

  “What game are you playing down there, Andoli?” Maboya asked angrily. “Whatever it is, I demand you stop with the noise.”

  Jenaro scowled. “Listen here, Maboya. You are the only one playing games on this ship.” Jenaro stopped and looked at his blade. He stared at the captain and remembered the tales of Maboya told by the wise women.

  The captain of the dead was shifty and he enjoyed using his wiles to swindle mortals. The wise women spoke of kidnapped children, stolen wealth, and captured souls. Jenaro was positive that Maboya would not resist the chance to do it again.

  “But, if you are interested, why not challenge me? A game is fun with more players.”

  Maboya tilted his head in curiosity. “I was not aware of my buoyancy, but regardless, I am intrigued by your games.”

  Jenaro rotated his shoulders and adjusted his torn and ragged tunic. “There are three games. The best of three wins.”

  “And what are the stakes?” Maboya asked.

  “The life of my friend,” Jenaro said.

  “He is alive I assure--” Maboya began, but was interrupted by Jenaro.

  “If he is alive, as you say, then I’ll raise the stakes. We play for the Charon’s Ferry.”

  Maboya stopped, startled and confused. “My ship. You want my ship?”

  Jenaro nodded. There was flicker in Maboya’s red glowing eyes; a glimmer of delight.

  “I accept your terms, Andoli.”

  Jenaro smiled and pictured the caguama. He said to Maboya, “We should find an island; somewhere you and I can compete without interruptions, somewhere neither you nor I will have the advantage.”

  Maboya’s grin remained constant; toothy and wide, a permanent fixture on his face. “I know of a place.”

  Maboya piloted the Charon’s Ferry westward, following the arc of the sun overhead. It was not long before the ship reached a small atoll. Maboya commanded the ship to anchor then motioned to a small dinghy that was lowered to the sea below. Maboya appeared on the boat in a blink. Jenaro quickly descended, joining the captain. He gave a command to row. Jenaro sat still, waiting for the dinghy to respond as Charon’s Ferry did to Maboya’s commands. When nothing happened, Jenaro realized the command was for him. Jenaro frowned and grabbed the oars.

  Once ashore, he took a brief inventory of the island. The water amidst the atoll was crystal clear and full of coral of every color and shape. It teemed with all manner of sea life. A meager stand of palms lined the ring on the opposite shore they landed on. Jenaro could see albatross and gull circling above. He looked down at the rags that still hung on his body. His dagger was the only thing of worth. It would be difficult to fool Maboya. He knew he would have to play to his own strengths.

  “Andoli!” Maboya called to Jenaro. “Out with it already! The shadows will soon be long. What is your first challenge?”

  Jenaro pointed toward the copse of palms. “We need to head to the trees. There will be our first challenge.” It took the two of them mere minutes to traverse the circumference of the atoll and reach the palms. “We climb. First to the top to retrieve an egg from the nest of the albatross wins.” Jenaro thought, for a brief moment, that Maboya’s steady grin wavered slightly. “I will toss my blade skyward and we begin to climb the moment it impacts the sands.”

  Maboya nodded.

  “Maboya, remember, I said climb. You cannot simply blink to the top and back. You must climb.”

  The captain snarled, “Yes, yes, Andoli, I know the meaning of the word.”

  With that, Jenaro flung his knife. He flew from his spot the moment the blade hit the sand. He leapt to the tree. His barefeet landed on the trunk and propelled him up the palm. It took a few short strides for Jenaro to reach the bottom of the fronds. The saw-like teeth snapped at his hands, but failed to stop his ascent. Jenaro stretched out his hand, cautioning a glance at the tree across from his; Maboya’s palm. The captain was struggling to find enough traction to climb his palm tree. His bony hand slipped on the surface of the trunk. His leathery palm was no better. His boots failed to provide any help. Jenaro chuckled to himself as he grabbed an egg from the nest of the albatross. His descent was swift and as soon as his feet touched the sand he claimed his first victory.

  The captain was livid. “This was not a fair challenge, Andoli. You are suited to climbing. It would be as tilted as if I challenged you to soul harvesting.”

  Jenaro smirked and nodded his head. He tossed the egg gently from hand to hand then crouched and placed it in the sand, retrieving his knife in the process. “It is amusing to hear you, Maboya, who slinks and sneaks and steals in the night, talk of fairness. But I concede. Since I am a good sport and desire for a fair and balanced challenge, I will let you choose our next game.”

  Maboya strolled to the center of the atoll, to the shoreline encased within the island. There, next to a large stone, he knelt. The captain reached into his long coat and brandished a dirk with a wicked blade that oozed and dripped as if it were covered in blood.

  “Pinfinger,” Maboya stated plainly. “I assume an islander such as you is familiar with the game?”

  Jenaro knelt opposite of Maboya and placed his hand upon the stone. “The Andoli learn knife play as
soon as they can wield a blade. Of course I know the game. What are your terms? First to draw blood? Although I assume you have none.”

  “You assume correctly,” Maboya answered. “No, first to sever a digit.”

  Jenaro swallowed hard. “Those terms seem rather unfair coming from one who, not moments ago, complained about fairness.”

  Maboya scoffed. “You have ten fingers. What damage would it do if you lost one?”

  “That’s a fair assessment, captain,” Jenaro replied. He brandished his dagger with a flurry, spinning it with his fingers and slamming the blade down between the middle and ring finger of his left hand. “Shall we begin?”

  Maboya’s smile widened. They set an even pace as a warm up. Blades hopped between fingers, ringing against the stone. Maboya’s dirk occasionally sent a shower of sparks flying with a successful miss. Jenaro’s knife work was nimble and deliberate. He and Maboya fixed their eyes on one another; Jenaro’s twinkling with determination, Maboya’s flaming with psychotic glee.

  Their speed increased. Clink-clink-clink sang their blades in unison. Faster they went. Jenaro began to grit his teeth. Although Maboya’s assessment was true, he did not desire to lose a finger.

  Faster. Maboya’s blade sparked with nearly every strike. Jenaro knew it was an effort to break his concentration.

  Maboya increased the speed again. This time, Jenaro could not keep pace. He began to slow only to be startled out of his concentration by a particularly large shower of sparks from Maboya. Jenaro’s blade came down on the ring finger of his left hand, just below the first knuckle from his nail. A surge of pain shot up his arm. He lifted his hand from the table in reflex, but did not raise the blade. Unfortunately, the initial impact did not completely sever the finger. Jenaro’s reflex finished the job. He let out a cry. Maboya burst forth in laughter.

  “You are not as quick with a blade as you think, Andoli,” Maboya chided after his outburst.

  Jenaro sat in the sand, squeezing what was left of his finger in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

  Maboya shook his head and reached down for Jenaro’s hand. Jenaro recoiled briefly then let the captain see the damage. Maboya chuckled and brought forth his blade. The dripping from before had intensified. It danced across the blade as if it were made of fire itself. The feeling that shot up Jenaro’s arm when it touched the wound confirmed the blaze. The blade was unnaturally hot and cauterized the wound on Jenaro’s finger. Jenaro winced and growled. He could feel tears welling in his eyes. He became dizzy.

  When Maboya released the blade, he said, “Go and wash it in the waters.”

  Jenaro plunged his hand into the pool. The water boiled and steamed and soon the burning of his missing finger ceased. The flesh, though, continued to throb. Jenaro removed the tatters that covered his head, tore a small strip, and wrapped his finger.

  “It would seem we are on an even plane, Andoli,” Maboya proclaimed.

  “It would indeed,” Jenaro agreed. “The next game decides who will be victorious.”

  Maboya returned his blade to his pocket. “Do not for a moment think I will take pity on you because of your injury.”

  Jenaro nodded and looked back toward the trees. “We should head back inland.”

  They arrived at the stand and Jenaro immediately retrieved the egg he had previously placed in the sand. “This one will be easy,” Jenaro told Maboya with a grin. He explained the rules of a simple game of catch. They would toss the egg back and forth. With each successful catch, they would take a step back, increasing the distance between themselves. Whoever broke the egg was the loser.

  Maboya stared suspiciously at Jenaro. “I can simply toss the egg at your head and declare victory.”

  Jenaro shook his head. “The game depends on both a good throw and a successful catch. If you purposely make an errant throw, the broken egg will be because of your throw. Thus, you would lose.”

  “Get on with it then,” Maboya grunted.

  Jenaro gently tossed the egg to Maboya, who cradled it with his leathery hand. He lifted his head and squinted angrily at Jenaro then tossed the egg back. It landed like a feather in Jenaro’s hands. He would have smiled except for the bolt of pain from his missing finger. They continued to toss the egg back and forth, stepping backward with each catch until they were nearly fifteen fathoms apart. Jenaro noticed that Maboya caught each throw with his leathery hand, using his bony right hand to stabilize his catch. He also seemed reluctant to move in any direction that would jeopardize this. Jenaro cleverly tossed the egg as high as he could, aiming for Maboya’s right side. Maboya was slow to react. He shuffled to his right, attempting to get his left hand under the egg. When Maboya realized he would not be able to catch it as he desired, he lowered his hands in an attempt to cradle the egg with both. The egg, however, was moving too rapidly. It landed primarily in his right hand, bursting and spilling its yolk over his palms.

  Maboya slowly raised his head, his face an ironic display of shock and disgust. Jenaro swore his eyeless sockets blazed with the rage of betrayal.

  “You are a cheat, Jenaro delRios,” he shouted.

  Jenaro held his hands up. “It was a clean throw, Maboya.”

  “This entire tournament of yours has been a fiasco, Andoli,” Maboya growled, angrily shaking his head. “You were seeking to make a fool of me and you have. Now if you do not have any other tilted diversions, we should return to the Ferry. You are, after all, my new first mate.”

  Jenaro laughed. “You are mistaken Maboya. The Ferry is my ship now and you are no longer allowed on board.”

  Maboya snarled and tore his dagger from inside his coat. In the blink of an eye, he was behind Jenaro with the blazing hot steel pressed to the Andoli’s throat.

  “The Ferry will forever be mine.”

  Jenaro cringed as Maboya spoke. He could feel the heat of his breath burning his cheek. He could smell it; a putrid mix of sulfur and decay. The knife began to sear the flesh of his neck. Maboya sent Jenaro toward the dinghy with a push. Jenaro reluctantly walked. He looked to where he had lost a finger and noticed his family dagger still resting on the stone. Maboya forced Jenaro to row. He sat, back toward the glimmering black hull of the Charon’s Ferry and worked the oars. Maboya still clutched his dagger. He lounged rather uncomfortably and watched Jenaro, tossing his blade up and down, flipping it from hilt to blade in his bony right hand.

  The dinghy pulled up alongside the Ferry. Maboya motioned for Jenaro to climb aboard. Jenaro scaled the line and reached the deck of the Ferry. When he turned to look down, he noticed Maboya disappear only to reappear aboard the dinghy. This happened several times before Maboya shouted in frustration.

  “What have you done, Andoli?” Maboya cried from below.

  Jenaro shrugged. “I cannot control your movements or the peculiarities of nature, Maboya.”

  Maboya readied his dagger, aimed at Jenaro, but hesitated. “You have made a deal with her, haven’t you?”

  “Her?” Jenaro asked.

  “You know of whom I speak, Andoli,” Maboya hissed. He sat down, toothy grin still painting his face, and begun to laugh. “You made a fool of me and now I have lost the thing most dear to me.”

  Jenaro opened his mouth to reply, but instead heard a furious, angelic voice respond from his side.

  “You have made a fool of yourself, Maboya.”

  Jenaro turned to see a shining form hovering next to him. The brilliance slowly dissipated, revealing the stunning form a woman. Her hair was golden and long and floated close to her body, covering her most intimate parts. Her skin was fair and marked with florescent green and blue stripes and spots. Her eyes were dark and filled with a controlled rage Jenaro had never before seen. Her fingers were covered in sparkling sapphires. Her legs and feet were adorned with iridescent shells. She hovered inches above the deck.

  “You mean to renege on our deal, Bibi-Ama?” Maboya asked.

  Jenaro was surprised. The once boisterous and undaunted captain was now subd
ued, brought low by a creature much like himself.

  “You are mistaken, Maboya,” Bibi-Ama shot back. “It was you who reneged when you decided to use my vessel for your own personal gain. The Charon’s Ferry was meant to speed the passage of creatures like him to my bosom,” she said and motioned to Jenaro with a wide sweep of her hand.

  “I am more than just a chauffeur of souls, sea witch!” Maboya hissed.

  Bibi-Ama fumed at the curse. “Indeed you are, great captain! And until a time in which I deem your penance complete, you will perform your deeds of deceit aboard the meager vessel in which you now stand!”

  At that, Bibi-Ama raised both her hands above her head, moved her arms in a great circle, brought her hands to her chest, and pushed forward toward the horizon. In response, a swell of great magnitude pushed the dinghy away from the Ferry. Maboya shouted curses and pumped his fist at the ship until he faded into the distance.

  Jenaro smiled and turned to Bibi-Ama. The rage that veiled her face had subsided. Her mood mirrored the sea around them, calm and quiet.

  “What is your name, son of dust?” Bibi-Ama asked.

  “Jenaro delRios,” he replied with a low bow.

  Bibi-Ama smiled. “I do not normally have dealings with the children of dust. When I have an audience with the creatures of the sea, they cower in fear and respect. Is it typical of your kind to stand tall in the presence of my kind?”

  Jenaro smiled. Her voice was soft and she seemed genuinely interested in his answer. He chuckled lightly.

  “No, great goddess, it is not typical. Many of my kind would cower before you. But do not take my lack of fear as a lack of respect.”

  She nodded and began to float toward the ship’s wheel. Jenaro followed alongside.

  “The caguama that saved my life was you, was it not, great goddess of the sea?” Jenaro asked.

  Bibi-Ama placed her right hand on her chest and bowed ever so slightly. “I took a chance by revealing myself to you. Not lightly do me and mine do so to yours. Yet my intuition served true and now I am indebted to you, Jenaro delRios. Without your assistance, Maboya would have continued to run rampant across my seas, doing all he desired and neglected that which Yaya, in his wisdom, created him to do.”