I glanced back at Colón and said, “They’ll catch you. You’ll be marked as a traitor. You and your crew will be sent back to Spain in chains.”
“I hardly think so. I once said that wealth is my religion, de Torres, and so is Queen Isabel’s. She won’t dare hang me when I come back bearing a ship full of gold and jewels.”
I knew what he said was probably true. “Still. You’ll be betraying your admiral. Your brother! What you’re doing — it’s wrong.”
For the first time ever I saw Martín’s face soften. “Come now, de Torres. You are nearly an adult. It’s about time you learn this lesson. Right and wrong? Fairy tales, that’s all they are. I will buy rightness with the gold I find on Babeque. History will only call me wrong should my plan fail.” Done with his lesson, Martín replaced his mask of irony to his face and said, “Now will you come with me or not?”
I glanced back at Colón a second time. Jinni was not far from him, dragging a weakly protesting Catalina to the Taíno dance. The sky above them was empty now, but the hameh was around here, somewhere, and Amir al-Katib.
“I can’t,” I told Martín.
“You’ll be paid well, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It isn’t.”
Martín shrugged. “That’s a pity. Well, suit yourself. I suppose it will be more fun to beat Colón at his own game when he has the advantage of translators and sorcerers. Assuming he doesn’t throw you all away before he has the chance to make good use of you. Good-bye, de Torres.”
I barred his way back to the Pinta. “What about Colón?” I said. “He’ll find out what you’re doing. Maybe the queen won’t hang you, but Colón will.”
“I try not to waste my time worrying about the whims of Cristóbal Colón, Translator. Go. Tell him my plans now, if you wish. It makes no difference. The Niña and the Santa María are no match to my Pinta when it comes to speed. Farewell.”
Martín climbed down one of the ladders that led to his waiting rowboat. As he rowed back to the Pinta, I did as he’d suggested. I ran over to Colón and told him what Martín was planning. But it was too late. By the time Colón decided to believe me and started to prepare his own rowboat, Martín was already on his Pinta. And by the time Colón started rowing across the bay, the Pinta had set sail and was almost over the horizon. Martín was right. There was no way to catch up with him. When Colón realized that, he retired to his cabin and didn’t come out for the rest of the day.
The next morning I awoke on the deck as the wind spritzed seafoam across my cheeks. Catalina sat cross-legged nearby, sucking the side of her cheek as she pored over a piece of parchment. Beside her, Jinniyah dangled a leather string in front of Catalina’s cat. Arabuko, Guacanagarí, and some other Taíno men consulted with Vicente and Juan de la Cosa across the deck.
I pushed myself onto an elbow and cracked my stiff neck and back. I said to Jinniyah, “I see you and Catalina are getting along.”
“She’s nicer than Pedro,” Jinniyah answered. “She lets me play with her cat.”
Catalina’s cat pawed at Jinni’s leg, asking her to continue playing. “I thought you didn’t like animals,” I said. “Didn’t you say something about them being dirty?”
“Cats are different,” Jinniyah explained. Then she looked at Catalina. “What’s his name?”
“Tito,” the girl said without looking up from her parchment. Jinniyah nodded to herself in approval.
I scooted over to Catalina so I could see what she was doing. She tilted her parchment toward me. “It’s a map of the island,” she said. “Colón’s taken to calling it La Isla Española.”
On Catalina’s parchment La Isla Española — or Ayití, as I knew it — was a wiggly-lined island shaped like an east-facing arrow. Other, steadier lines slashed the landmass in five, and raw hatches representing mountains scattered across the interior.
“I asked Arabuko to draw it,” Catalina said. “He and Guacanagarí came aboard early this morning.” She pointed at the top left corner of the illustration. “This is where we are: Marién, the land of Guacanagarí. According to Arabuko, he wishes to be the foremost cacique on the island.” Catalina pointed with two fingers at the two provinces below Marién. “But the warlord Caonabó and priestess Anacaona married. The marriage effectively doubled Caonabó’s territory and his power.” She tipped her head in the direction of the cabin, where an astonished Guacanagarí was handling one of the admiral’s swords. It nicked the cacique’s finger when he touched it. He sucked on his finger and laughed. “Which is why Guacanagarí wants a military alliance.”
“With us?” I asked.
“Naturally. Why else do you think he’s treating us to all these feasts?”
Jinniyah let Tito hop off her lap. “Maybe he’s just a nice person. Storytellers! Read too much into everything.”
Across from us Rodrigo Sanchez exited Colón’s cabin with the admiral’s arquebus in hand. He filled it with gunpowder, lit the fuse, aimed it at the sun. Finally he shot it, creating a humble explosion of smoke that Guacanagarí took in with delight.
“See what I mean?” Catalina said.
I scratched the back of my head. “Well, it makes sense that he wants to ally with us. He wants to protect his people. His village was under attack just a few weeks ago. And Arabuko said he’s worried Caonabó will ally with Amir al-Katib.”
The name must have lit something in Jinniyah, because she jumped from her seat like she was on fire. “Amir’s here? Why didn’t you tell me? What are we waiting for? We have to go find him!” She dashed across the deck to Arabuko, presumably to ask him for directions to Amir al-Katib and use of a canoe. I gave Catalina an ironic wave and followed.
On the other end of the deck Arabuko was rubbing his bare arms and arching his head toward the sky. “I do not like the feel of this air,” he said in Castilian. “It feels wrong. It feels like a huracán.”
“What’s a huracán?” Jinniyah asked.
“A storm. The winds pull trees from the earth.” Arabuko ripped the edge of his thumbnail off with his teeth. “The gods must be trying to say something, but I cannot understand what.”
Catalina walked over and pulled her cape around her shoulders. “Should we be concerned about this storm?”
“I should not like to be at sea during a huracán. You use these sails to capture the wind. Sometimes the wind allows itself to be captured. A huracán does not.”
“I’ll go tell Colón,” I said, but as I reached for the cabin door, I heard Colón shouting within.
“‘The queen wants, the queen wants!’ Is that all you can say? This may be the queen’s mission in name, but it is mine in fact! And the Almighty God’s!” I heard another voice — Rodrigo Sanchez, probably — though I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Colón exploded, “I’ve had enough of your questioning! And I’ve had enough of traitors, thank you!”
“W-what traitors?” Rodrigo said within.
“You know very well! Tell me, Señor Sanchez, have you seen the Pinta today?”
“N-no . . .”
“Of course you haven’t! Because that traitor Martín Pinzón has stolen one of my ships in search of some mythological island made up in the heads of savages! So I don’t give a damn what your queen thinks right now! Good day!”
The accountant staggered out of the cabin, only to have the door slam shut behind him. I backed away and said to Catalina, “Maybe we should come back later. Like in a week or two.”
“Oh, stop being a child. If you want, I’ll come in with you . . .”
Her gaze unlocked from my face to follow something in the sky above me. “Turn around,” she said in a low voice.
I did as she said. A black speck was flying from the island to the ship, completely unaffected by the raging winds that churned around it.
“Bal!” Jinniyah called from the front of the ship. “Come here! Hurry!”
Ignoring the flying speck, I ran over to where Jinni was standing. “Look!” she cried, poi
nting over the rail at Ayití’s shore. “Can you see it?”
On the beach stood a dark, anonymous figure. The blurry edges of its black cloaks fluttered in the wind.
“It’s him,” Jinniyah said, her voice quivering. I couldn’t tell if she sounded more relieved or terrified. “It’s Amir.”
I knew what I needed to do. I sprinted across the deck toward the cabin. “Where are you going?” Jinniyah screamed after me, but the only words that mattered were the ones repeating in my head: Tell Colón — The storm — A trap —
A black blur blasted into my side, knocking me off me feet. Above me al-Katib’s hameh flapped its bloody wings and bared its claws. But what I focused on most were those eyes — yellow, like I’d once seen in my window, uncanny and surrounded by smoke.
The hameh rammed into me. I threw myself down against the deck, smashing the bird’s head into the wood. Pressure and pain drilled into me as the beast’s talons pierced into the muscles of my shoulder. I tossed myself onto my back and with all my strength heaved the hameh off me.
I heard a shot and felt the sting of sparks on my arms and face. The hameh loosed a rasping crow and puffed into black smoke for an instant. Too soon it returned to its corporeal form. The bird circled above the crow’s-nest, dripping bloody feathers around me. It screeched and streaked back to the shore.
Colón stood before me, his arquebus smoking. He flung the gun to the ground. His face as red as the Devil’s, the admiral hauled me up by my collar and shoved me against the outer wall of his cabin.
“Tell me what it is!” he shouted. “What is it? Why does it attack us?”
Jinniyah tried to tear him off me. “Let him go! Stop it! He’s hurt!”
The veins in Colón’s neck seemed ready to burst. “Admit you have caused this! Admit you have drawn these demons to us!”
I held my shoulder and watched the blood seep through my tunic. Though the wound was throbbing now, I could feel almost no pain.
“Admiral, it’s not his fault!” Catalina told him. “He’s wounded. He needs to be bandaged. He could die.”
“If he does, it is God’s will. This has gone on for long enough. I will have the truth.” Metal scraped against leather as Colón unsheathed his sword and held it at my throat. “Who is it that attacks us? Tell me, de Torres!”
By this point I was tired of pretending, tired of lying. Perhaps it was because I felt faint, but I was ready for everything to be out in the open. “It’s Amir al-Katib,” I said. “The Eagle of Castile.”
“Amir al-Katib?” I heard Salcedo say as if it were a curse. And Juan de la Cosa said, “That’s impossible.”
Colón blew air out of the corner of his mouth and let me loose. I sank back against the wall, holding my bleeding shoulder. As Catalina ran off into the cabin, the admiral strode across the deck to get a look at the dark figure on the shore. Antonio de Cuellar stood next to him, gazing out over the rail.
“It can’t be him,” Antonio said to the black speck on the beach. “That Moor was killed back in Granada. Everyone knows that. Luis is confused, is all. Amir al-Katib is dead.”
“No, he’s not,” an antsy Rodrigo Sanchez said. “He can’t be dead. He’s just a story.”
The admiral stalked back over to me, his boots thumping heavily on the deck. “Let us assume for a moment you are telling the truth. Let us assume it is Amir al-Katib who attacks us. Why? Who is he to you?”
Catalina ran out of the cabin; she’d stolen some bandages from inside Colón’s desk. She immediately pressed them against my bloody shoulder, trying to staunch the bleeding.
“Who is he to you, de Torres?” Colón’s voice was lower now, and edged with fury. He took a step toward me, dragging the tip of his sword along the deck as he went. “I am warning you. You will tell me.” He raised his sword.
“No!”
Jinniyah jammed herself between us, raising her skinny arms for my protection. “Amir al-Katib is his father! He’s Amir’s son! Don’t hurt him!”
If I hadn’t been bleeding, if I hadn’t had to close my eyes against the dark spots winking at the outer corners of my blurring vision, I might have cared about the way the crew whispered at this new revelation. But I didn’t care. I was done with secrets.
“Does anyone else feel that?” Rodrigo Sanchez said. “In the floor?” A hush fell over the Santa María as we listened to the deck vibrate below us.
“Admiral, look!” Antonio de Cuellar shouted.
We did. Menacing gray clouds had formed above our ship, a malevolent whirlpool of wind and vapor. Directly under the eye of the storm a creature grew out of the bay. It was a watery giant, made of wave and mounted atop a gargantuan, dripping steed. Created from the bay’s churning waters, the monstrous man boasted few discernible features other than the pointed helmet atop its head and a dripping smile. Its waters drummed down on the bay, sending up clouds of mist and creating a tumult that blocked out the screams of the crew.
I took the bandages from Catalina and held them against my shoulder. From far away I could hear Jinni’s voice, covered with a pillow of sound. “It’s Uqba, Bal!” she screamed right in front of me. “Remember? The warrior who wanted to conquer the world!”
I remembered. “‘Allah, if it were not for thy oceans, I would conquer the Earth.’”
“Amir’s trying to sink the ships! We’ll drown!”
The ship lurched sideways, and the mists muffled Jinniyah’s screams. I clung to the rail and watched as Uqba raised a watery sword from under the ocean’s surface. He swung it over us. It was longer than the entire length of the Santa María. Blobs of rain beat down on the crew, washing over the sounds of Colón’s orders and the men charging across the deck.
“Look out!”
Jinniyah yanked me and Catalina backward. Ahead of us the foremast moaned and plunged into the roiling seas, sending waves crashing over us.
The waves sent a handful of sailors flying overboard. Jinniyah shrieked as the waters collapsed on her. “Jinni!” I cried out to her, but there was nothing I could do. When the wave receded I saw she had fallen on the deck, burnt to a crisp and gone unconscious.
“What’s happened to her?” Catalina said, going pale.
“She’s made of fire. The water hurts her.” I shook the burnt girl. “Please, Jinni. Wake up!”
Colón shouted to the rest of the crew, “Ready the rowboats! Non-essential personnel abandon ship immediately! Someone hold that wheel!”
Arabuko sloshed over to me across the flooded deck. “You must leave. Use our canoes. I will give you time.”
Arabuko removed one of the necklaces from around his neck, one bearing a stone amulet that looked like a round face with mad eyes and a whirling mouth. Around the face were two S-shaped arms also made of stone. Arabuko quickly tied the necklace to his forehead. He knelt in a graceful position as a low, droning song came from his mouth:
“I call on you, Guabancex, Lady of the Winds. With Guatabá, your herald, unleash your mighty powers!”
Storm-force winds blew from Arabuko’s raised hands. They shot out in a violent gyre, whirring across the bay and up at Uqba. The watery king swatted at it with his sword-carrying hand, but the wind spell blew his arm into droplets. The winds spun back and forth around him, taking Uqba apart, piece by piece. In less than a minute, Guabancex, lady of the winds, had dispersed Uqba and his horse into formless rain.
“We must go now, Captain!” Arabuko shouted to Colón in Castilian. “My spell has weakened the creature but not killed it!” Arabuko motioned out at the bay, where the waters were slowly reassembling themselves into the form of Uqba.
Colón bellowed, “All hands abandon ship!”
Catalina hefted the unconscious Jinniyah over her shoulders. With her free hand she pulled me to my feet, and the word SIREN appeared before her. Two silver-faced mermaids with needle-sharp fingernails and golden tails burst onto the deck. “Save our men!” Catalina ordered them.
They shrieked and dived overboard into t
he bay, skimming across the waters. To me Catalina said, “We need to go.”
But Colón cut in front of us with his sword. “No. Not you.”
“What are you talking about?” Catalina cried. “You heard Arabuko. We have to go before we sink!”
“I’ve heard enough from you, girl! Save my men with your witchcraft, but do not question my orders. You and the Indian take the servant and go. Luis stays.” Colón looked me right in the eye. “Luis will fight. He is the one who has caused this attack, and he is the one who will save my ship. You must ask yourself, de Torres, are you a coward or are you a sorcerer? Is this not why I kept you aboard my ship, despite the fact that you’ve brought nothing but curses upon it? Or have I sold my soul to the Devil for nothing? Save us now, Lukmani! Save us, or I will die with my ship knowing that this is the Lord’s judgment!”
“He’s hurt! Don’t you see that?” Catalina cried. “He can’t summon now! Let me do it! I will save your ship!”
I wished that she could have, but I saw the sirens heaving drowning sailors out of the water. “You can’t,” I told her weakly. “You’d have to end your siren spell.”
Arabuko gesticulated wildly toward the rail. “We must go now! We can return for the ship later!”
I looked past him, past the few remaining sailors on the Santa María, who clambered down the ladders and onto the one remaining Taíno canoe. Above them Uqba was reforming. Colón was right. If it weren’t for me, none of this would have happened. I had to end this.
“Arabuko, Catalina, go,” I grunted, pressing the bandages harder against my shoulder. “You have to save Jinni and the men.”
Colón said to Arabuko, “Take the girl and the servant to the canoes and lead them to shore. The boy stays with me. If I am to go down with this ship, he is coming with me.”
Arabuko glanced at me, looking for a different answer, but he ushered Catalina in his direction and took Jinniyah from her. Catalina scooped up Tito, who was wet and cowering inside the cabin, gave me a final look, and fled onto a canoe with Arabuko. The three of them were the last to leave the ship. Colón and I were alone on the Santa María.
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