Bloodtsianed Blade (Tales Of A Navigator): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories

by Cristi Taijeron

She certainly didn’t catch my stupid joke, but she looked to be amused by the way I laughed at myself.

  “Eres tonto, pirata.” She poked my shoulder.

  Offended, I squinted at her. “No pirata.” Straightening my shoulders, and deepening my voice, I asserted, “Buccaneer.”

  “Buccaneer?” She shook her pretty head in confusion, then said something in Spanish that made me think she wanted to get back to our lesson.

  Tickling her little fingers on my palm, she lifted her brow, insinuating that I had not shared with her the term.

  Wrapping my rugged hands around her soft little manos, I flashed her a half smile as I said, “Hands.”

  I then ran my hands up her arms and asked, “¿Cómo se dice?”

  She whispered, “Brazos.”

  In the next few minutes I learned how to say shoulder, neck and face. Though I was disappointed that she didn’t mention how to say breasts, I forgot about all that when she pointed to her lips, her full glossy lips, and said, “Labios.”

  Then that Spanish vixen kissed her hand, rubbed it on my cheek and said, “Beso.”

  Throughout our experiment, I found her touch to be warm like candlelight and my senses lit up like a flame every time she brushed against me. Since we couldn’t understand each other’s speech, it seemed my other senses came more alive to compensate for the language barrier. Though I’d had plenty of far more erotic encounters with other women, my already singeing nerves ignited in a full-blown fire as she kissed my cheek.

  Unable to resist her for another moment, I moved my hand behind her head, pulled her close, and kissed her on the mouth. Feeling her tense up, I figured she wasn’t sure how to accept my untamed gesture, but she didn’t push me away, so I parted her labios with my tongue. Her lips were soft, her tongue was warm, and I loved the way she nervously rubbed her mano on my brazo.

  As the kiss went on, I thought of another body part I wanted to translate, but she was much too sweet for me to push this moment too far. Just as I figured it’d be best to wait and see what she wanted, she pulled away from my kiss.

  Of course, she giggled as she smiled at me. Then she said a long sentence in Spanish. The only thing I understood was that she called me Señor Bentley.

  I shook my head. “No, no, no. That title makes me sound like an old man. Just call me Sterling.”

  Lifting her delicate brow, she spoke in broken English, “Much words.”

  Jabbing my finger into my chest, I affirmed, “Sterling. Just call me Sterling.”

  “Sí, Señor Sterling.”

  I wanted to correct her again to get the Señor out of there, but it was more important that I kiss her again. So I did. As our mouths melted together, there was no concern about the diversity of our languages or the vast differences of our opposing cultures and religions. Apparently, sensual ecstasy was the same in all languages, and there was nothing but our clothes dividing us as I pulled her up on my lap.

  Then, the damn door to my room flew open.

  Lorea jumped away from me so fast that I wasn’t sure if The Dragon Madre saw us kissing, but she acted like she caught us having sex. Grabbing Lorea by the arm, she shouted at me so passionately, I felt the burn from the brimstone that flew off her hateful tongue. “¡Pirata sucia y mala! ¡Tú eres una rata y nunca toques a mi hija otra vez!”

  Espinoza, who just happened to be on the night watch, headed over to see what the yelling was about. He came alongside me just in time to see The Madre shove Lorea back into my bunkroom. The volume of his laughter rivaled that of The Madre’s outrage as she pointed at me and wailed, “¡Han arruinado su belleza con tu toque peligroso! ¡Erés un burro! ¡Y espero que tu Dios protestante te castiga por manchar mi ángel católico perfecto!”

  I had no idea what she was saying, but I was certain she did not find it as funny as Espinoza did.

  After yelling at him for a bit as well, she retreated to my room, and slammed the door behind her.

  Squinting at the delirious translator, I asked, “What the bloody hell was that?”

  In between his heaving breaths of laughter, he informed me of what she said. It was pretty funny. Laughing as well, I said, “I understand the part about me marring her daughter’s beauty, and I’m sure my Protestant God will punish me for tarnishing that perfect Catholic angel, but I can’t believe she called me a donkey.”

  Espinoza started hawing like a mule, and joked about how The Lovely Lorea could have rode me like one, had The Madre left us alone.

  Who knows what would have happened had we not been interrupted, but I would surely never forget the little things that did.

  X

  Waking at sunrise, with the terror of an awful nightmare ringing in my head, I sat up and rubbed my sweaty face. The moment I closed my eyes, my mind flashed with the terrible memory of Ugly Jim’s eyes glossing over as he died. The sight seemed to halt my heartbeat, and my recollection of him collapsing at my feet caused my breathing to intensify to the point where I grew lightheaded.

  Appalled by my own weakness, I forced myself to a standing position, and stretched out my sore and battered body. Realizing just how many cuts and bruises I had acquired from that fight, I decided to start drinking to abate the pain and to wash away the sour memories.

  The captain had swayed the vote in his favor, so it was now my job to chart our course to Cartagena. Since I had also been ordered to keep watch over the ladies, I ended up setting up a makeshift table outside my bunkroom door, and began charting our course from right there in the hall. In between standing guard like a dog, and serving the women like a maid, I would slip away to the main deck every so often to measure our pace.

  Busy with my work and jolly from my rum, the morning went by smooth enough, but by noon, I was outright drunk. That wasn’t a good thing. The men wanted this part of the sail over with, as did I, and it was up to me to choose the best course according to the winds and tides. So far we were making good pace, but now, staring through the sighting vain of the backstaff, my vision had become so blurry that I could hardly tell the difference between the ocean and the sky.

  Feeling the ship rolling over the tide beneath my feet, and becoming overwhelmed by the heat of the day, the world around me became a hazy blur. But my job had to be done, and there was no one else who could do it.

  Finishing my measurement as quickly as my rum-drunk mind could process the degrees, I headed back to my chart table. On my way, a few of the men tried to talk to me. Their voices were muffled, and their faces were blurry. Nodding like I heard them, and waving like I saw them, I hurried through the crowd. But the quickness of my pace came to a halt when Harvey approached me near the hall.

  Moving his sunburnt face threateningly close to mine, he mumbled, “I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done, Bentley. Ugly Jim was my mate and…”

  His words fanned the flames of the fire I had been trying to douse out with rum. Feeling the heat rise around me, I watched the light encroach upon my vision, and felt my rational mind vanishing in the blaze of painful memories. Amidst the distant rumble of Harvey’s voice, I heard all of the shitty things Ugly Jim had said to me before the fight began. Feeling Harvey grab my shoulder, I suddenly saw Ugly Jim bashing me around within an inch of my life. As my thoughts came back to the present day, I heard Harvey say, “One day, I’ll make you pay for this, boy.”

  Assaulted by his words, I shoved him away from me. As he stumbled on his feet, I growled through clenched teeth, “One day? Why not now, Harvey, why not now?” I pushed him again.

  He shoved me back, shouting loud enough to draw the attention of the crew, but over the sound of the blood rushing through my veins, I couldn’t hear the words he spoke. I was, however, fully aware of the fact that he was too close to my face again, so I punched him. As his head jerked to the side, I hit him again. He raised his fist to fire back, but my arm was in full swing and I was going to get him again. Before my fist made contact, I felt a hand wrap around my arm.

  Next thing I knew my feet w
ere off the ground and I was flying through the air. Landing too sloppily to keep my footing, I stumbled like a fool and crashed face first onto the deck. Pushing myself up as fast as I could, I prepared to fight whoever had thrown me. But my raging aggression came to a screeching halt when I found myself staring into the angry green eyes of Captain Mason Bentley.

  Shoving me backwards, he roared with the might of thunder, “There’s no fighting on this deck!”

  Crashing against the mast, I heard Harvey call out, “He broke the code, Captain. There’s no fighting at sea and he should have to pay for his crime.”

  The men all huddled in, hissing and booing over the matter. Some hooted for a punishment, simply for the sake of entertainment. Others were jeering that Harvey had it coming to him, and of course, a few were debating if the captain would punish his son or not.

  Taming the uproar, Captain Bentley said, “We all know it’s against the code to fight on deck. And if the majority sees this crime fit for punishment, then punished he will be.”

  “Make him kiss the gunner’s daughter!” Harvey wailed, rubbing his aching jaw.

  A vast amount of men cheered in support of the idea.

  Pushing up his sleeves, Captain Bentley balled up his massive fists and nodded toward the great gun that he would serve my beating over. “Pucker up for the kiss, Navigator.”

  Standing there like a fool, feeling all eyes upon me, I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to slow my racing heart that seemed to be beating out of my chest. I did not want my father to beat me over a gun barrel for all to see, but I had indeed broken the code I respected so highly, and I would take my due punishment without complaint.

  As I stepped in his direction, Fang called out, “Eh, if the navigator’s eyes end up swollen, he won’t be able to see our charts.”

  Burns added, “And if his mind is dazed, he won’t know north from south.”

  Another man wailed, “Then we’ll be stuck down here in this god-awful southern heat.”

  They all started debating the options, and to my great fortune the majority agreed to find a fair, but nonviolent punishment for their trusted navigator. Being how I got paid a higher share of the prize for my job, and considering how it was my job that had saved my arse, they decided it would be fair to distribute my higher share of the prize among themselves.

  I was fine with that. Not only would I still have a mass of loot after they were paid, but anything would be better than being beat senseless over a gun barrel by my father’s hands.

  With everything resolved, the captain raised his hands and finalized the meeting. “This case is closed. Now, back to work you boorish hounds.”

  Once the crew had shuffled away, he glared at me. “Bring your maps to my cabin. I want to see our pace.”

  Still feeling a bit hazy from the rum and the rush, it felt like I was floating as I darted to my table to gather my things. Arms overflowing with charts and tools, I barged into the captain’s cabin, leaving his door open where I could still see mine to keep an eye on the women as we worked. Dropping everything onto his table, I nervously fumbled through the mess to get everything in order, mumbling to myself as I struggled to remember what degree of latitude I had gathered before the fight.

  “Stop.” He slammed his fist on the desk.

  I stopped. Letting my hands fall to my sides, I stared at him blankly.

  “I don’t want to see the damn map, Sterling, but I do need you to get your wits about you. And like it or not, that means we’re going to talk about what happened with Ugly Jim.”

  My mind flashed over what had happened with Ugly Jim. Reliving the feel of my blade forcing its way through his clothing and slicing through his flesh, I started feeling sick.

  Taking note of my expression, he took a deep breath and rubbed his face with his hand. After a long, suspenseful pause, he exhaled. “I can tell you’re taking it hard, and that’s a good thing. It means you’re not a cold-blooded killer. Now, sit down, you’re making me nervous standing there like a damn statue.”

  Feeling my tension loosen with each casual word he spoke, I rolled my shoulders in an attempt to relax a bit, and took the chair he offered me.

  Pouring us each a mug of water, he said, “The first time I killed a man was similar to the reason you did; to protect a woman. Though I saved a life by taking his life, his dying face was on my mind for months to follow. His ghost haunted my dreams, and his spirit followed me around in the night. I thought the torment would never let me rest, until I had to kill again…Then again…”

  I shuddered at the thought of having to kill again.

  “It’s not something I like to do.” He shook his head. “But there’s a time and place for everything, and had I not been strong enough to defend myself at those times, I wouldn’t be here telling you about all this shit today.”

  I sure was glad that he was here with me today.

  After chugging down the mug of water and then reaching for the piece of salt pork he offered me, I thought about his tragic life story and also about the dreadful rumors surrounding the fearsome Mason Bentley. Now that I had a small taste of the type of hell he had endured, I looked to him and asked, “How do keep yourself together like you do? You’ve been through so much and survived so many horrible things, but you just…you just keep going, and no one would ever know you ever ached over any of it.”

  “You just said it yourself, Sterling, I just keep going. This life we lead isn’t for the faint of heart, and the longer you live it the harder you become. The callouses strengthen with every blow, like tempered steel. Like the steel of that blade that just saved your life. You see, it’s not so much that you took that man’s life with your weapon, but rather that you used your weapon as a shield to defend your life, and more importantly, the lives of those women.

  As a man, it’s your God-given job to protect a woman, and it’s better that you now carry the torment than those women having to. The way the world is, a man has to fight to survive, right or wrong. And no matter what anyone has to say about it, the consequences are for you and God to sort out.”

  Chewing on another piece of meat, sucking on every bit of spice and salt, I let the meaning of his words resonate in my sobering mind. Overall, it was me or Ugly Jim, and I fought the better fight. Beyond that, it was him or those women, and after my time with Lorea, I was glad to carry the torment of the kill so that she wouldn’t have to bear the terror of his attempted assault. The way I lived, I figured it was only a matter of time until this happened again, and the thought sent a shiver down my spine. Unsure if I wanted to go on this way, I started thinking of all the times my father mentioned how I was still young enough to choose a different path if I so fancied.

  While attempting to ponder the prospect of a different future, I came to a stunning realization. I would have stood up for those women if I was a buccaneer or a civilian, but I was strong enough to defeat their attacker because I was a buccaneer.

  I had been wrestling and slaughtering boars to be fed, fist fighting with men to assert my independence, and sailing against all forms of weather to survive. My hands were hard, my muscles were strong, and my wit was keen. I tried so hard to prove myself on a daily basis that I hadn’t taken the time to assess my progress, and at that moment, I realized that I had truly come a long way since I first stepped outside the law. This day was bound to come, and just like every other obstacle I had faced head on, I had to endure it.

  “Looks like you’re right again,” I chuckled as I refilled my water.

  “I learned all these things the hard way, and if you listen to me more often, you won’t have to suffer like I did.” He raised his mug of water to meet mine.

  My father and I talked for a while about less serious subjects as we ate, and eventually remembered that we should look at the maps. With my mind made up and our course set, I headed out to measure our bearings.

  X

  Reaching the coast of Cartagena as the sun fell low, we cut out the sails and prepared
a longboat for Captain Moralez and his family. My father personally released Captain Moralez from the brig, and after Espinoza translated their conversation for them, I was surprised to see Captain Moralez reach out to shake my father’s hand.

  Finally allowed to reunite, the family hugged and kissed and cried in each other’s arms. Before the tearful reunion ended, Lorea broke loose from her father’s hold and ran to me.

  In front of her family and my crew, that Spanish Catholic angel squeezed me tight and barraged my cheeks with kisses. While holding her, I tried to decipher the much words she was saying, but all I knew for sure was that she was just as glad that we had met as I was.

  While my crewmen hooted and cheered over my forbidden romance with the Spanish captain’s lovely young daughter, he shook his fist and shouted at her, “¡Dios mio, Lorea! ¿Qué es esto?”

  With that, Lorea stepped out of my arms. Holding her hand over her heart, she sighed, “Señor Sterling, simpre estará en mi corazón.”

  As my father helped her down into the longboat with her arguing parents, I asked Espinoza, “What the hell did she just say to me?”

  After letting out an absurdly loud and smelly belch, he said with a girly voice, “Oh, Señor Sterling, you will forever be in my heart.”

  Laughing at him, I shoved his shoulder for teasing me. The drunken bilge rat almost fell over, but the men standing behind him caught him. Of course, they all went on and on with girlish compliments and Spanish sounding love songs as we made sail.

  As the sun disappeared in the west, I went abaft to have a moment alone. The full moon had risen in the darkening sky, reflecting a mystic yellow glow across the grey and green surface of the sea. While enjoying the unique display of colors, as well as the way the salty breeze brushed across my sweat-covered skin, I decided to take out my espada.

  Eyeing the solid piece of steel, I thought of how it looked when covered in blood. I still didn’t like the memory, but remembering my father’s words about using my weapon as a shield, I was able to view my sword and myself in a new light.