King of My Nightmare (King of My Nightmare, Book 1): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories

by Cristi Taijeron

  Tromping through the woods and climbing over rocks and fallen branches, I was thankful to finally have sandals on my feet. Made of rawhide and rope, they weren’t the best looking things, but my feet were off the ground as I followed the brisk footsteps of our group’s hunting guide, One Eyed Joe. The sandy haired and bearded Englishman had spent most of his time on this island traversing the dense interior. With a long musket strapped over his shoulder and spear in his hand, he quickly led us and his loyal dogs across the boar’s trails that he knew as well as the back of his hand.

  Braced with my usual weapons, as well as now being armed with one of the spears I made for myself, I watched every move the experienced hunter made. Considering that this trade would now feed my men and me, I wanted to learn as much as I could about it. And One Eyed Joe and his best hunting hound, Duke, had so far shown themselves as the ones for the best lessons.

  Along this hike, Ziare taught us that caking our exposed skin in mud and his war paint—made of lard and plant pigments—helped to keep the bugs at bay. Like the rest of us, One Eyed Joe was coated in mud and war paint to blend in with our environment. But he had also gone as far as to pin leaved brush in his long hair. Had I not known he was squeezing between the tight growths of shrubs ahead of me, I may have thought him no more than another branch being rustled by the thick, humid breeze.

  “He blends right in, now, don’t he?” Peck said as he lined up behind me, ready to follow along.

  “Sure does,” Dennel added, his grinning face completely covered in mud.

  Chuckling at Dennel’s paint job, I said, “You look like a hapless mud monster.”

  He winced. “Well, you look like an African warrior with all those stripes and spots.”

  “I know.” I grinned. “Ziare helped me do it. Nice, huh?”

  “Real nice,” Peck added, pushing past Dennel to squeeze through the pass behind me. “Ziare helped me, too. And we look much better than you, Den. You ought to stop worrying that Ziare is going to eat your soul. He’s a nice fellow beneath all the paint and bones he wears.”

  Tromping through the shrubs after Peck, Dennel whined, “I don’t want to know him. He’s scary. I’ve never seen a free African, and I don’t like it. Especially because he told me himself he’d swallow my soul and make weapons of my bones.”

  I laughed. “He says that just to scare you. And I reckon you deserve the fright for thinking he isn’t worthy of his freedom.”

  Peck agreed, “Aye, Ziare is just like us, only his skin is a different color, same as how Bentley and I are tan and you’re sickly white. It makes no difference about who we are inside.”

  “Well said, Peck.” I nodded. “You’re a lot smarter than anyone gives you credit for. And you, Denel, quit being such a pansy about everything and people won’t poke fun at you as much.”

  As Dennel began reciting all the experiences that proved his bravery, One Eyed Joe waved us over to where he stood in the clearing. “You’re all a bunch of pansies until you kill your first boar. Now, take a look at this.” He pointed at the holes in the ground and bushes ripped from the roots. “This is the doing of boars. They leave destruction all over the ground as they root around for food. By the look of things, it seems they come here often, and they were here not long ago.” He kicked an uprooted shrub that was still fresh and alive.

  Of course, the dogs were already sniffing out the area. Duke was leading the pack. It seemed to me like they were also chatting to each other about where the boars had gone. Looking at the mess of foot prints, it was hard for me to tell which way they headed from here, but One Eyed Joe, who was encouraging Duke as he worked to dig up the scent, looked confident in the find.

  Eventually, the master hunter looked up to us with his one eye wide open and said, “They ought to catch their direction any moment now. And when they do, we must follow their trail in a way that keeps the wind in our faces so our scent does not blow in their direction. One whiff of our kind and they’ll get away.” He then patted Duke’s brown head. “Duke here has chased and pinned more boar than any other dog on this island, so once he gets going, you follow his lead just like you would a trusty sea captain’s.”

  Intently, I watched the dogs doing their jobs. Before long, the chase dogs, long and lean, took off down the trail. The catch dogs followed behind them. One Eyed Joe then led us, the same way Duke led his pack of hog hungry dogs.

  Hopping bushes, leaping over rocks, and skidding down sandy paths, we ran and ran until the sound of hoggish squealing intermingled with the barking of the hounds. Judging by the wild snorts, I assumed there to be a whole brood of pigs, but quickly saw that there were only three of them.

  The dogs separated the large sow from the herd. Hearing the smaller ones squealing and crying as some of the chase hounds shooed them away, we followed Duke as he chased the sow down a narrow path. We charged through the thicket, getting stabbed with sharp branches along the way, until One Eyed Joe raised his arms to stop us. From where we stood, out of breath and covered in sweat, we watched as the chase dogs cornered the angry and panting hog against a rock.

  At this point, the catch dogs passed the chase dogs, approached the terrified sow, and attacked. She fought, tusk and hove, as they bit at her ankles. She released horrifying screams as they ripped her flesh apart. The dogs growled and whimpered as she punctured and tore through their hides. Watching our hounds being torn up like that made me want so badly to jump in and save them, but it wasn’t time. Our signal to strike would be when Duke went for her snout.

  Finally, he reared back to strike. Like a bullet expelling from a gun barrel, he lunged in for the bite. His teeth dug into the vulnerable flesh of the sow’s snout. She let out the most horrendous cry and began whipping her head around to fling him off. Her tusks ripped and tore at any dog in her path as she did what she could to break loose, but Duke held tight.

  It was our turn to charge.

  Growling like the dogs, we ran at her full force and drove our spears into her sides. Stab after stab, she grew weaker and weaker until her squealing ceased entirely.

  Understanding that the job was done, the dogs backed away, some limping and whining, but Rhine, one of the catch hounds, had been tusked through the side and didn’t have the energy to rise. As she lie there, huffing and whining in pain, we all knew she wasn’t going to make it. A wound like that would never heal, and leaving her alive would only prolong the misery that would sooner or later claim her life.

  We all knew what had to be done. One Eyed Joe readied his musket.

  I looked away as he pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot, and the taunting silence that followed, shadowed my heart like a grey and somber cloud. In the few days I had spent with Rhine, I had come to like her as a friend. And now, though she was indeed out of her misery, the sight of her lying lifeless in a puddle of boar blood reminded me all too much of the losses I had endured in my lifetime.

  But…death was a part of life, and I was becoming accustomed to it. As I grabbed my shovel to dig Rhine’s grave, the others tended to the boar. Though we lost a friend, we had conquered the hunt, which meant we would have meat to eat, and eventually some to trade. Overall, our first boar hunt was a success and I was already looking forward to the next.

  X

  Throughout the month, our small band of hunters met up with a few other small groups. In intermingled bunches, we hunted and cooked until Peckadennel and I all graduated from pansies to full on buccaneers. Thrilled with our promotion, we sat around the fire each night, eating and drinking in merriment, while cooking and creating clothing and utensils from the pieces of our hard earned hunts.

  My favorite creation of all had to be the leather bracers I made for my forearms. I designed the leather to lace up over my inner wrist and poked holes on the topside to weave through pieces of bones that I had sharpened to points on the outside edges. I even used boar’s blood to paint a design between the bones.

  Walking down the trail that would lead us back
to our main camp, I said to Peck, “Don’t get too close to me or you may get stabbed.”

  Poking at the hog’s teeth he had hanging on a leather strap he wore around his skinny neck, he said, “And don’t try to hug me.”

  Dennel leaned in and gave him a side hug. “I know your soft spot, mate.”

  Peck slapped him off. “None of that.”

  “Save that shit for Naked,” Shayne said while passing his tobacco pipe to Ziare.

  Puffing on the burning herbs, Ziare added with a laugh, “Camp is right over that next hill, so you won’t have to wait long, Dennel.”

  Holding his head in an uncomfortable position, as to not accidentally catch Ziare’s gaze, Dennel said to me, “I don’t like men that way. I like women. Nice, round women.”

  “Old ones,” Peck snorted.

  “Any kind at this point would do,” Dennel said. “Old, fat, thin, ugly. Anything with titties and a pit-hole.”

  “Pit-hole?” Peck laughed.

  “Aye, what do you prefer to call the lady garden?” Dennel winced.

  Peck scratched his head. “All sorts of things, muff, fiddle, nonny nonny.”

  Humored by this topic, I added, “What about tinderbox, or moss? Have you heard of those?”

  Catching up to Peck to join our conversation, Shayne snickered, “Tinderbox is one of my favorites. I’ll light that thing up with the strike of my flint.”

  The others joined in on their laughter.

  As they rambled on with bawdy and creative expressions to explain the sex that all of us had been lacking, I started thinking about just how long it had been for me. The more I reminisced the times I had with the women I’d been with, the more I realized how much I missed being buried deep in the fields of the lady garden, or playing the female fiddle with my rosined bow.

  So far, I was enjoying my time here with the buccaneers, and feeling especially proud to now be recognized as one of them, I was in no rush to leave this island, but I needed to get my hands on a woman sooner than later. Even if it meant settling for an ugly one, or dare I think it…a whore.

  Reaching the hilltop that showed us a view of our main camp, our conversations turned to rotgut and boucan. It was time to celebrate our earnings. Excited about the festivities ahead, we rushed down the path, and reached camp just as the sun set into the sea.

  Those who had stayed behind had the fire pits burning bright, and were sitting together around the flames, telling stories and eating dinner. Burton and Barlow were among them, and I was glad to see Burton doing well enough to be sitting up, talking and laughing with the one buccaneer he had befriended, Joshua. Joshua was a middle aged Englishman who wore more axes than I did and looked and dressed like Joshua from the Bible. He couldn’t read, but had memorized many stories from the Good Book, and often told them to the men around the fire. Drawing closer, I saw that he was relaying the story of Ruth, and when the tale ended, he and Burton bowed their heads to pray.

  The nice sight made for a warm welcoming, but upon spotting Rupert and Smedley beside them I instantly became annoyed. They were still roped together, but they looked to be in jolly moods. I was deeper alarmed by the fact that Smedley was sitting with the other man who hated me around here, Renard.

  While the rest of the group greeted us with praise, hugs and pats on the backs, Smedley and Renard’s joyful laughter came to a halt when they laid eyes on me. Before I could react to their unwelcoming glares, Naked cut between our line of sight and threw his skinny arms out to hug me.

  “I am so glad you’ve returned. How was the hunt, handsome?”

  Having learned that he was harmless and in fact, a rather caring soul, I had gotten used to his flowery ways. Looking down at my bloodstained bare chest, I chuckled, “It went well.”

  “Good.” He took a step back, eyed me over, and then poked at my bracers. “Oh, I like these. You look even more fierce and intimidating while wearing them. You’re an outright buccaneer, now, and I believe you’re due for a reward.”

  I cocked a brow.

  “Food, silly.” He flicked my arm. “While you were gone I came up with a new recipe. I’d like you to try it.”

  I rubbed my gut. “Bring it on over.”

  He sprinted for the dinner tent. While awaiting his return, I glanced back over at Renard, Rupert, and Smedley, only to find they all had gone. I quickly realized that Renard was storming after Naked, but Smedley and Rupert were gathering the left over bones and serving them to the dogs. Barlow was following behind them, barking orders and reminding them how they were lucky to now be roped up servants instead of stock locked prisoners.

  Whatever the cause for their lightened punishment, it seemed that Burton and Barlow had it under control. The matter was no longer a concern of mine.

  Naked reappeared with a sour expression and a bowl in hand. “Renard is going to lose me if he keeps acting like a jealous fool. He ought to know by now that you and I are only friends.” He shook his head then handed me the bowl.

  Not the least bit interested in the ongoing dramatics of Naked and Renard’s unstable matelotage, I completely ignored his bitching and prepared to dig into the custard like a dog. He stopped me and dipped his beloved gold plated spoon into the bowl. “You may look like a savage, but good manners are far more fitting for a man of your intelligence. Take a taste and tell me what you think.”

  Taking a bite, expecting the usual cream flavor of the tasty dessert, I was surprised by a wonderfully unfamiliar flavor. “This is excellent. What did you make it with?”

  “Taino harvested some bananas and peanuts this afternoon, so I got creative with the mix of ingredients. I think it is my favorite treat yet.”

  “Mine too.”

  “Good. It’s my way of thanking you for adding to our stock of meat.”

  “Thank you, Naked.” I accepted the reward. “I’m just happy to do my part and can’t thank you enough for feeding me so well after a hard day’s work.”

  Enjoying the custard so much, I sat down beside Burton near the fire and used the spoon to slowly eat and savor the flavor.

  Leaning against the rock behind us, Captain Burton said, “Good hunt, huh?”

  “Yes! I think I had the best time of my life out there.” While eating my custard, I shared with him the details of the adventure and all the different hunting tactics I learned. Once my stories were through and my bowl was empty, I stuffed Naked’s prize spoon in my duffle to save it for him, and pulled out Burton’s logbook. “It feels like the hunt lasted for months, but I’ve been keeping track of the days in the logbook, and it has only been one month since we left camp.”

  As I marked the date, he let out a slow exhale. “That mean’s we’ve been on this island for two months, already.”

  “That we have,” I said, struggling to repress my jolly mood, in order to show my respects for his somber one. We’d been living so well since our arrival that I often forgot that it was a tragic shipwreck that landed us here. But sitting with Captain James Burton—the man who had lost his arm and was an ocean away from his beloved family—served as a powerful reminder of the lives we had all left behind, as well as the struggles we’d have to overcome in order to return to them.

  I handed the book to him. “Here. Other than recording the dates, I haven’t written since we left.”

  Accepting the book, he grinned, “That last entry you and I worked on together was probably all the shipping company needs to know about our stay here. These men have made a mighty fine life for themselves and I’d rather not have the King or any of his men find out that some of their subjects ran off and are living a jolly and tax free life.”

  He was certainly right about that. Pulling my tangled hair back into a leather tie, I agreed.

  Scanning over the pages of the book, he said, “I may have mumbled a thank you here and there, but now that I am in my right mind again, I want to tell you how much your service means to me. We might not have survived without you there to see us through. And whenever the ri
ght ship shows up to take us home, these notes you took for me just might save my arse.”

  “I hope so,” I simply said, but in my mind I began to worry for him. The fact that no ships had shown up, let alone the right one, got me wondering if and when they ever would. “No matter what comes next, I want you to know it has truly been my honor recording these important events for you and if you think of anything you need added, just let me know.”

  Stuffing the book into his duffle, he said, “Your determination to set the record straight reminds me of my youngest daughter, Emelia.” His eyes wandered deep into the flames of the fire, and his face took on the expression of another place and time. “At her young age, she loves to read and write and has shown so much interest in my journals that I granted her the title of home front historian. In fact, I asked her to keep records of all the events that take place at home while I am away.” He shook his head and let out a low laugh. “I bet she has a whole book full by now.”

  “That’s good that she wants to be smart. Not many children care about such things. How old is she?”

  “Five. But she is much older in spirit than in years. I reckon that’s because she spent most of her life with me, sifting through books in my study and following me around as I worked. See, my three older girls all married well and went on their ways, and before my son was born, I treated Emelia like she was the boy I never had. I’d take her fishing with me and we’d sit by the riverbank for hours, catching fish and talking about life.

  When my boy was born, only two years ago, Emelia got a little worried, asking me if I was only going to take little James fishing now. I promised her that she and I would always have that time together, and by God, we will.”

  Remembering my grandfather’s voice telling Lace and me, “I’d fight the Devil himself to keep you safe by my side,” I felt a strong desire to help Burton get back home to the people he loved so dearly. “You will. I know you will and I’ll do all I can to see you home, Captain.”