The Ophir

by Irene Patino

  She was respected within her community and often called upon by the married woman for advice on birth control or fertility. When birthing time came, she assisted in the process using methods taught to her by her husband’s slave, Akim. The knowledge had been both her salvation and her undoing.

  Chapter Four

  Hunted almost to extinction in his country, my master decided to find a greater refuge. Arabia had become a dangerous place. The Van Helsings’ of the world were nothing when compared to assassins such as The Old Man of the Mountain and his disciples.

  When the Old Man wished to kill, or have someone killed, he would tell his disciples he wanted them to do this so they may return to paradise.

  Paradise to them was a garden filled with beauty in the form of whores. Upon their return they would be granted many whores, drink from rivers of honey, be waited upon by hundreds of servants and be granted any wish they could imagine. Death to them was nothing to fear, and everything to look forward to.

  Joseph’s fear of that one sect was greater than a possible death at sea.

  * * * *

  Joseph, known now as The One, found himself drawn to other parts of the world after eating a particularly decadent young Englishman.

  The attractive young man was a missionary gone to Arabia to save the heathens, or so he’d convinced his parents. However, the temptations of the flesh were his undoing, and he found himself living in areas known by the locals as “Hellsborough”. It was there that he would meet his fate, and be fed upon by my master. His dried husk of a body would draw no more attention than a missing cat.

  My master waited in the shadows of the narrow street as the quarry neared. He waited for the last moment to “accidently” step out from the shadows and into the path of his victim.

  “Oh, pardon me, sir.” The One apologized for the slight collision.

  “No offense taken. It was just as much my fault. It was a startle though, I must admit. Well, I must be off. Good evening to you.”

  “Wait. I don’t know if I am more surprised by the contact or the fact that you speak English. Forgive me for being so bold, but are you a native?”

  “No, hardly. I am from England. Area of Brighton. And you? I detect an accent. Are you native?”

  “Why, yes I am. Is it difficult to understand my speech?”

  “No. Actually, your speech is quite good, old boy.”

  “I realize we are complete strangers, but would you consider joining me for a bit of libation? It would give me great pleasure to be able to practice my English for a while.”

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m John Jackson. May I ask your name?”

  “My name is Joseph Maximus. But you can call me Joe.”

  “Joe, it’s rather late. Why don’t you join me in my apartments for a drink and a small bite to eat? It isn’t far and we’ll probably be much more comfortable there.”

  “That is very generous of you, John. May it never be said that I refused such a generous invitation. I must warn you, though. My tastes run to the decadent and somewhat bizarre at times.”

  “What would that be, Joe?”

  “I suffer from a lack of iron and carry my own liquids for nourishment. But, I would love a bit of rare meat to nibble on. Would that be possible?”

  “You’re in luck. I just iced a hunk of lamb earlier. Would that do?”

  “Perfect. I’m sure between the two of us, we should be able to come up with an appropriate dessert.” Spoken tongue in cheek, there was more truth to the statement for my master than there would be for the Englishman.

  “Come along then. My apartments are right around the corner.”

  * * * *

  As the fresh blood coursed through the veins of the lamia leader, he shared his victim’s visions of large crowds and gaiety; he found himself drawn even closer to a race of people so very full of life. He decided to take the few loyal followers left and flee to an unknown continent where they might once again flourish. The main obstacle was the ocean to be crossed, but even this fear would be pushed back for the sake of a speedy escape.

  It was well known that the one thing The One and his tribesmen feared more than a stake through the heart was the sea. His race, unlike the race of man, could survive and regenerate from anything other than beheading, the sun, or the ocean. His tribe was landlocked by Nazim’s curse decades before. The fear of the sea was too great to venture, until now.

  The Old Man of the Mountain waged war against The One and all but decimated the vampiric tribe. It was time to move on. To this end, believing it more prudent and swift, we devised a way to travel the ocean. He asked his most intrepid followers to go with him. The others could stay and take their chances where they may. He and his men would take the Mediterranean Sea, past the Straits of Gibraltar, and then head North toward England. As a slave, I was given no choice.

  * * * *

  As manservant, I was ordered to hire a cargo vessel, have waterproof caskets made and filled with my Master’s native earth. I investigated and picked a sea captain with a reputation for meeting his obligations, regardless of trials encountered. The Captain of the Cyclops was experienced and respected the rights of others to privacy. He asked no questions when the price was right. And with The One, the price was always right.

  “Place the cargo below boys. I’ll check the manifest myself. Careful! Careful! Any damage will be taken out of your pay.” The Boatswain gave his orders in a firm tone with implications of consequence for anyone that became too careless.

  I took the list of materials and double-checked everything. I whispered directions to be given for placement of the caskets and other supplies to the Boatswain and he, in turn, would bark his orders to the crew.

  “Thank you for your help. Take this token of my appreciation for your assistance. I’ll also put in a good word for you with the Captain.” I handed him an amount equal to a month’s pay for a seafaring man.

  “Thank you, sir. My lads and I are pleased to be of service, we are.”

  “Mind you. The contents in the hold are of special value to my master. He would not be as generous would any damage be found. He’s an important man and would just as soon drink your blood as play cards with you. Understand? Take my advice. Never, never go into the hold after dark if you value your lives.” I gave him my most evil smile. The man shivered as he walked away.

  As business negotiator, anything I required, I was given. Money was never an object. I could have the best of food, drink or company. Although the company was sometimes rather weak and pallid by the time they were brought to me, it was still to my liking. No games, no pretenses, and I never saw them again. There were no reprisals either.

  Appetite sated, I would step out on the deck for a breath of fresh air. Upon return to my quarters, the “company” would be gone. Just as my master never questioned my tastes, I questioned him on neither arrival nor departure of said guest.

  * * * *

  All arrangements bought and paid for, private cargo aboard and in the hold of the ship, we set sail just before sunrise. My movements went unrestricted. Private quarters were provided from which I could come and go as I pleased.

  I watched the crew at work and marveled at the dexterity and strength they displayed. They worked with no rest in shifts to make the best time. Later, from a chink in the stateroom door, I could see The One, my master, standing against the night as he watched the crew bending to the oars and whips of their commanders.

  Fresh blood drew him from the casket holding his native soil and, like a bejeweled insect, he shimmered in cloths adorned in bright, precious stones. The shadows of the night cloaked him in darkness as he strode about the ship’s deck, hunting for the right prey. Dulcet tones, understood without sound, were whispered hypnotically, veiling his movements.

  The cabin boy stood behind the ship’s captain listening to a sweet voice as it called to him, “Come to me boy. Come to me.” Visions of home flooded a young mind as it succumbed to the mesmerizing whisp
er of the Master.

  Wrapped in warm and familiar images, illusions created by The One, he did not scream as sharp teeth pierced his pure flesh. Tears of innocents ran down the boy’s cheeks as he wept in pleasure and lost his soul to the night.

  The One wiped a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth with a taloned finger, licked it clean and whispered almost lovingly “Sweet, sweet child”. He flicked the boy’s body over the side like a piece of lint from a suit created for a Maharaja, and the splash was drowned by the rising wind. Unable to dodge salt spray, small sparks of flame burst forth on the Master wherever a drop made contact with his alabaster skin.

  Throwing arms up to protect his face in reflex, he cowered momentarily before engaging preternatural speed to race down the steps of the hold and slither back into his casket. On his descent, I felt him search my mind for evidence of judgment, but he would find none.

  * * * *

  During the first night, gale winds made passage difficult. According to the Captain’s log, the cabin boy did not make muster the next morning. A search was called and the ship scoured, but the boy could not be found. It was determined that he must have fallen overboard in the rough seas. As soon as the storm abated, the ship would be stopped and a service performed. The cabin boy was well liked and would be missed.

  An additional note in the log mentioned having been blown off course, and that until the skies cleared, the sextant would be of no use.

  For the next three nights unknown spatial anomalies would cause incorrect readings on all ship instruments making the direction headings erroneous. The Captain of the Cyclops logged this information, but said nothing to the crew.

  On the fourth day the ship lay in anchor. The wind stopped blowing and the seas were calm. The crew was called to stand shipside to be part of the service for the cabin boy, a young Arabian by the name of Aban.

  The captain of the Cyclops began his prayer:

  “Lord, in you we put our trust. To you we turn in times of need. To you we shall go at the moment of death.

  Aban, you were a friend and servant to us all. May your eye go to the Sun, your life to the wind, by the meritorious acts that you have done. Go to heaven, and then to the earth again ... or resort to the Waters, if you feel at home there. Allah be with you.”

  The crew dismissed. Everyone went back to work. The winds picked up almost as if on cue and we set sail for England once again.

  Chapter Five

  During the next two days, storms raged and instruments were of no use once again. The Captain made notes in his log of the unusual weather and, being superstitious by nature, prayed and doused his crew with holy water that made them unpalatable to the Arabian Nosferatu aboard ship.

  It was becoming more difficult to keep the lamia in hiding. The vampires were hungry and getting hungrier by the hour. Their hunger interfered with what little reason they possessed. It drained them of strength. It erased fear, and filled them with desperation.

  On the third night, from the bowels of the ocean, came a mighty ship with a dragon painted on its sails. It came upon our ship in a silence that seemed preternatural.

  The crew, taken by surprise, reacted just a few seconds too late. The crew of the corsair known as the Ophir, agile and quick, boarded the Cyclops with little opposition. And then the battle began.

  * * * *

  The battle raged between the Ophir and the Cyclops. My master and his disciples came from their caskets and, in a blood lust, joined the combatants. The vampires drew veils over the eyes of the fighting men; they tore at jugulars with impunity. They would not be contained by promises of richer lands any longer.

  The trained eye caught the blur of colorful cloth as it swirled and flew about the ship from one victim to another. Those less fortunate would miss the acrobatic dance of death as it took life from full-blooded men. All cunning gone, the unholy fed like animals. Growls of pleasure accompanied screams of terror. The death rattle could be heard for miles on the open seas.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Aye Cap’n.” The first mate of a ship thirty miles away held his breath as he listened closely.

  “Open your eyes and ears, Mr. Long. It’s said that sirens exist in these seas. I am not one for superstitions, but I do believe in mortal man. They are vicious enough.”

  “The Lady Elizabeth’s sails are strong and full. We’ll make port in three days. We can out sail most, Cap’n.”

  “Aye, Mr. Long. Just the same, ‘eyes and ears’ sir, ‘eyes and ears’.”

  * * * *

  When the veil slipped long enough for the fierce crew of the Ophir to see whom they fought, fear and loathing—combined with determination and the electric energy of adrenaline—added impetus to strength. Sabers and cutlasses swung and hacked at the vampires as the unfocused vampires satiated their hunger.

  Having no forethought and only fear as a guide, I dove into a half full barrel of pickles and pulled the lid closed. I prayed it would cover the scent of my blood and save me from the draining.

  “Lord in Heaven, gods that be ... let this be my salvation. I am a humble man sentenced to live a life not of my choosing. If it pleases you that I should continue with this life, I beg you, save this unworthy skin that I may live long enough to escape and follow your path. Please send the holy spirit with his white light of protection over around and through me that I may do your bidding.”

  The pirates were fighting for their lives; they had no time to suffer a coward. The Vampires would not have sensed any difference between us and could make the mistake of eating me, too.

  In the melee that ensued seven of the twenty-three vampires were beheaded, three were tossed overboard and dissolved in the ocean water, leaving my master, twelve disciples, and myself of the original tribe. The Ophir crew was reduced from 60 stalwart mates and their captain to a mere nine terminally wounded men. The crew of the Cyclops no longer existed.

  * * * *

  My master, having fed and once again under control, understood the mistake made in insanity. If he allowed the bloodletting to continue, all would be lost.

  Harnessing the power of his strongest men, he used ancient mystic arts known to the leaders of his tribesmen and held his disciples in check with an incantation, a formula of power, that he might negotiate with the remaining crew of the Ophir and Captain Antonio. The pirates, at a signal from their Captain, lowered their weapons but did not loosen them.

  They were enthralled as the tribesmen, with reluctance, took a step back, feral fangs glistening with blood. Mind-to-Mind, the One parlayed with the Captain. The silence was palpable. I lifted the lid of the pickle barrel and stepped out, sloshing the acrid juices on the deck as I did so. Once again I, ever the politician, suggested what should have been obvious to both parties.

  A way to work with each other for the mutual benefit of all was imperative. The pirates could still work in the sun. The wounded crew could redirect the ship to England before they reached the point of no return in their state of being, or death took them.

  Once they reached the shores of England, The One and his tribe would be unloaded on shore and set free. The Ophir could then set sail for parts unknown. And so, as the ship swayed to the ancient rhythm of the sea, a pact was made. The alternative of death was not acceptable. After all, it was so unnecessary.

  The Master had learned their credo “A short life, but a merry one.”

  “Why?” he asked. “You are going to Hell anyway, but why today? Why not change that motto to “A long life, and a merry one?” he asked.

  “You speak fair, sir. But I would like to make a counteroffer, if I might be so bold. I will take you to England. However, I would take your holdings in exchange, along with our choice to join your race, or not. You have proven to be a good negotiator, and I’d fair wager you have the wear-with-all to refinance your pilgrimage, where I, because of my chosen life style, would not.”

  The Captain, thinking himself shrewd, believed that he would then be able to o
utfit a good crew and continue his life of piracy on the high seas with no foe with which to contend. They would rule the oceans of the world and take what they wanted from the landlubbers as well. It was a decision he would later regret.

  The import of his choice, however, would not be obvious until they neared the shores of England. The crew of the Ophir and their gallant captain chose to become as the lamia. My master agreed, but with one additional stipulation.

  “I understand your position and I would agree to a split, so we both have a fair chance of survival in our chosen trade. But there is one more, simple request. You will not step foot on land again. Fair?” The stipulation sounded more like a suggestion than an edict with grave consequences.

  My master knew that the Captain and his men would either become or die. He also knew that if the Ophir’s crew were to die so would he and his faithful few perish. The agreement made, both men bowed to the other, but remained aware.

  Captain Antonio once made the mistake of assuming that a man’s word, or a gentleman’s agreement, was as good as a bond, but that was not true in many cases when dealing with men at sea.

  * * * *

  Before Captain Antonio had taken the Ophir, he was Captain of The Cock’s Crow. He was young, brash and thought he knew it all. He had headed a mutiny against the Crow’s original captain, and then was voted in as the new captain when he convinced the crew that he would lead them to riches never dreamed of. But, it didn’t take long for the crew to see through his fantasies.

  Within three months, another mutiny found him all alone in the ships skiff, afloat at sea, with no land in sight. He was given his pistol, a skin of water and a tin of biscuits to help him survive. A piece of wire found beneath the seat was thick enough for him to engineer a sail from his shirt with the use of one of the oars. He used the sleeves to cover his head, face and shoulders. And that night, through sheer luck, two flying fish hit the oar and dropped into the boat.