The Ophir

by Irene Patino

  “Will you be in need of my services tonight, Master?”

  “No. We’ll be back after feeding to take refuge and disembark. We will have enough boats to carry the barrels to shore safely in tow. See to it that the barrel lids are loose. We will be moving quickly when the time comes. Join us tonight Ahkmed?” Dressed to avoid sea spray, my master and his troupe were ready to take leave, anxious for the benefits night offered. The day had been overcast; the night was darker than usual with no moon or stars to be seen. Unsuspecting citizens lay sleeping soundly. The more intrepid peeked from doors and windows waiting for the storm to pass and waves to deliver flotsam to the shores. One never knew what baubles might be dredged from the deep.

  “I’m pleased that you would consider my company, but your activity is not of my preference. Besides, I must stay aboard and see to your orders. Tonight we’ll all be free of this vessel. Happy hunting, Sire.”

  “Still holding to your dreams, I see. I cannot find fault with such fantasy. Take care, my friend. Make no mistakes, for if you do, they may be your last.” My master had drained me in small amounts while at sea. Never enough to change me, never little enough to leave me unchanged.

  Determined to make no mistakes, I pried planks loose from the bottom and back of the caskets. Unnoticed, it would allow the seawater to run into the caskets, killing their precious cargo, dissolving the flesh of The One and his tribesmen forever. I didn’t care what might happen to the pirates and their Captain. I knew I would never set foot on an ocean going vessel again. But, I waited too long. I had no time to get all the caskets. All I could do was hope that I had gotten the ones with occupants. There was no time to consider possible outcomes at this point. A storm was brewing.

  My master came back while the waves knocked gently against the ship. In his haste to get his tribe to safety and into their caskets, hunched with hands and face covered under tarps and rain gear to avoid being seared by the sea, he neglected to take notice of the oncoming weather.

  Lamia, stripped of their cover and rain slicks, tucked away in their wooden nests, waited for the right time. The storm began to blow. No time left, the caskets were lashed together, and lowered into the waiting skiffs along with two personal trunks of clothing and some miscellaneous items. I headed to shore in my own skiff, rowing hard.

  Almost to shore, a rogue wave swamped the skiffs. The last thing I saw was the hideous smile on the ship’s crew. The Ophir sailed toward a bank of thick fog.

  Knocked askew by a loose casket, I fell overboard. My body hit the water and was pinned beneath two of the barrels. I could hear the thrashing from within. The caskets pinned me to the ocean floor as the occupant thrashed in agony.

  The second casket broke open, and I saw it spilling its shining contents as I took what I believed to be my last breath.

  The fog roiling toward the English shores at Brighton slid forward on the now glass-like surface of the ocean. The Ophir disappeared into the billowing clouds of moisture as they welcomed the ship to an adventure that would last many centuries. Its travels and exploits would become part of the unfinished Legend of the Ophir. Its tales would mix with the fantastic and largely unproven history of the Knights Templar.

  As for The One, his quest to meet with Kadar Nazim a final time would at last be met. But it would not be written in any book except this one.

  Chapter Eight

  Juan Antonio de Patiño, Captain of the Ophir, was a practical man, a man of his word. He’d struck a bargain with Satan, and it would be honored. There was no turning back. Evil always stands innocent when first born.

  In time, Antonio and his crew would become jaded to the macabre existence they led. For now, he smiled as he envisioned the battles in which they would engage. He could see galleons being scuttled, crews being devoured, and the fear instilled in the hearts of brave sailors all over the world as they came upon the ship of death.

  Ghost ships, inhabited by monsters, would soon become part of sea lore. Pirates coming up from the ocean's depths to attack ships of size and unprotected islands, would be part of the stories told and retold to instill fear in any adventurous child, and they always began with,

  “Listen! Listen close for this tale be real...”

  Shivers would wrap around their spines in anticipation of the frightening tale. And there would be many told, many that were true.

  Listen! Listen close for this is a true story...

  “There once was an island off the coast of Greece. They were beautiful people, and peaceful they were. One night while the stars shined down on this sleepy little town, a mighty ship came sailing into the harbor. It lay in chains until a brave young man with visions of running off to sea, rowed his little skiff up to its side and yelled, 'Ahoy there! Be there room for one more?’ But no one answered.

  Thinking them asleep on post, he banged hard on the side of the ship with his paddle. BANG! BANG! BANG!”

  And here the storyteller would crash his fist hard onto the tabletop three times, just to make sure they were listening.

  Eyes big and round would blink once, maybe twice, and then the listener’s head would sink into their necks like that of a turtle. Sometimes the listener would jump in fear and run away to the safety of their dear mother's arms, and the story went no further. But sometimes, they drew in their arms and legs, curling them under a sleeping gown for protection, afraid to listen, afraid to move and afraid to miss any part of the story being told. The story changed places, people and events, but it always ended with gory details.

  * * * *

  Captain Antonio stood at the wheel of his mighty dragon ship, arms crossed against his chest, legs spread in dominant fashion. The Ophir anchored off shore in the smoother waters at the mouth of the bay at Brighton. As he watched the skiff fighting the freak wave, he knew that he would soon test the acquired skills of the vampiric world he and his crew had entered. He also knew that he would need a servant still capable of bargaining with humans. And so he waited. The man called Ahkmed would soon be brought to him; they could then begin their journey in earnest.

  Ahkmed’s mind and body relaxed in death; the past was of no concern. He was aware of the present. In the present there was no pain, no fear, no need, no hope. All thoughts were erased.

  * * * *

  I felt myself being lifted and carried forward into a deeper night. Even though I served a Pagan master, I believed in one God. Held tight in the arms of a dark angel, I knew I was forgiven all transgressions performed in the name of the damned and was at peace. I had escaped.

  Time stood still as I flew through the Stygian clouds toward a star shining in the velvet emptiness. The cool gelatinous substance through which I traveled felt familiar. Was I being reborn?

  * * * *

  The storm ceased. The waves calmed. The Captain watched as the good citizens of Brighton raced to the ocean’s edge, like fiddler crabs, to collect the bounty being washed ashore.

  “The casket’s mine. Take your hands off!”

  “Are ye daft? I spotted it first!” On the farthest end of the beach, a casket broke open, and then another and another. Three lamia survived the tumultuous sea. The unholy fed upon the good citizens of Brighton and then fled into the night.

  “Poor souls. They know not what awaits them. At least we knew we were dancing with the devil when we made our covenant; we were lost, either way. I know we made the better bargain. And you me hearties, what say you?”

  The crew, gathered below the wheel deck, raised their swords in a silent salute to the Captain. Not a voice was heard as they cheered their leader and sounded the support he was sure of, mind to mind.

  “The weasel of a man being brought aboard will be of good use. We need him for as long as his body lasts. He’ll go with us to the Caribbean, where will we deal with the islanders for ship repairs, and then on to South America and Western ports of call.

  We will pay a visit to those luscious islands along the way; take what we want, when we want it. Who is there to sa
y nay? Who would stand against a ship of death such as this? None, I tell you. None!”

  The crewmen bared their teeth, gold glinting in the moonlight like twinkling stars in heaven.

  “Arrghh.” They grunted in solemn agreement.

  Captain Antonio chose his crew carefully; he chose them well. He made sure there were no families to tug at their hearts while at sea. They were free blackguards, each and every one of them. They were of all nationalities, with no love of the law. They had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  * * * *

  I opened my eyes; seawater spewed forth from my filled lungs as the dark angel threw me to the deck. My mind was slow to grasp the importance of this event. I looked at Captain Antonio. His face, familiar in some respect, went without recognition. Something played at the back of my mind as I struggled to remember, to reach logical conclusions. Nothing coalesced.

  “Get up!” the Captain commanded of me. “Get up! We have much to do and little time before the sun rises.”

  To his men he shouted, “Set the sails. We fly from here.” In silence the orders went out:

  “All hands on deck!”

  “Weigh anchor!” The chain holding the anchor scraped the bottom as the ship dipped into the ocean trough between waves. Algae floated to the top with bits of shale and rock attached.

  “Haul the sheet in. Rig the storm jib.”

  “About ship! Steer her abreast the coast, Mr. Sanchez. Keep your eyes peeled for safe harbor.”

  With no bright star to guide them, seas raging in violent weather adding to the turmoil of a spring tide, the men set sail around the cape. They skirted along the shoreline until they spotted a giant outcropping with a hollow center accessible at low tide. The enormous cavern could be seen from the sea, but only if one looked for it.

  It was spring tide. Both low and high tides occurred at the same time. The equinoxes in full force, the sun drew in line with the moon and caused a magnificent rise and fall of the tidal level. It increased the killing force of an otherwise beautiful, peaceful, life-giving ocean.

  Boulders came in close, but left enough room for the Captain to maneuver the great ship into the cavern’s dark maw in a great rush. The water at the entrance was confused. It twisted and turned as it tried to spit the ship back out into the open sea. The crew shimmied the ship into its quarters with expertise, knowing they would be safe from the curious in this turbulence.

  As I stood by the Captain’s side at the wheel, we passed beneath the great opening of the cave. I looked up in time to see a lone, dark figure standing far above, away from the spray of salt. He draped his cape over his right shoulder. His eyes flared red in the dark when our eyes met. I knew then that I would never set foot on land again.

  * * * *

  “Bring him to my quarters,” instructed the Captain.

  Contona, an escaped slave from Spain, picked me up like a rag doll and half carried, half dragged me to the Captain's quarters. The Captain signaled Contona to drop me and leave. The slave did as his captain ordered, then placed his palms together before his face and bowed as he exited the room.

  “Do you know who I am?” asked the Captain.

  “Are you God?” I asked. My brows knit together in concentration, confusion.

  “No, but I am his disciple, and you will obey me as you would Him. Do you understand?” I looked at the Captain with dull eyes. Seawater drooled from slack lips. I nodded.

  “Yes. You are my master. You give me life and bring me pleasure. I am but to obey.” I repeated the words like a litany.

  The Captain knew that it was part of my previous conditioning, but it would serve him just as well. My dulled senses were a disappointment to the Captain and myself. Being submissive, I hoped that I would be of greater use, but now there were doubts. My ears felt muffled; all I could hear was a scrabbling sound. The ocean still pressed against my head. I strained to hear but was unable to discern if my answers were accurate.

  Captain Antonio determined to hold an interview. It was a test. If at the end of the interview I had not provided the answers he sought, I would be given back to the sea. I asked if I might be seated. The Captain acquiesced and indicated a dining room chair.

  As providence would have it, my hearing cleared with a painful ‘pop’. But my processing of the spoken word had slowed. I shook my head to clear it. I pounded on my ears in turn as I held my head sideways to allow for drainage.

  “What in God’s name, man, is this thing coming from your ear?” The Captain reached forward and betwixt thumb and forefinger reached toward my head.

  “What are you doing, sir?” I leaned away from his claw-like fingers.

  “Something emerges. Stay still.” I did as told. As he stood erect he examined a small creature wriggling in his hand. It was a hatchling fiddler crab. My ears popped open completely as the remaining droplets of ocean water seeped out.

  Captain Antonio threw the crustacean to the floor and crushed it under foot.

  “Foul beasty”, he said as he wiped his fingers on the tablecloth.

  With my hearing restored and my senses returning to a limited degree, hope for a possible future began to grow. It did sadden me, however, to think that my circumstances had changed but not for the better. It was poetic justice. I tried to kill the one being that could take me ashore; now I was resigned to a life at sea.

  “That’s my proposal. Should you accept, you will be provided for without question. Should you decide that a pirate’s life is not one you wish to follow, you will be allowed to end your existence in whatever final manner you choose, subject to my approval, of course,” I’m not sure why, but his smile was not as intimidating as that of The One.

  I resolved to serve my new master in negotiations with the inhabitants of several islands. When the time approached, I would establish a working relationship with the peoples of Cilicia Trachea that would prove invaluable for decades.

  Unaware of my own mental changes, my mind grew toward senility. I was often reminded of the need to bathe. Captain Antonio would do his best to make me presentable in the eyes of the town’s people, but the thing he was not able to completely erase was the pungent odor of filthy flesh. Any encounter with me would leave a man trying to negotiate while holding his own breath. Not an easy thing to do. I, now and again, caught a whiff of my own odor but assumed it was attached to someone other than myself.

  “You know, rinsing with fresh water and then the leaf of lime rubbed into your armpits would do wonders. Ladies especially love the smell of a clean man. You really should consider it now and then.”

  “Tell me Ahkmed, is that your recommendation or your practice? If it is your practice, I suggest, mate, that you modify it for yourself in some manner. Perhaps a whole body dip in a vat of lemon juice would serve you better than the rubbing of just one or two leaves.”

  I believed the man, not understanding that I only meant to help, was insulted by my suggestions. After two or three such suggestions to those I considered comrades ending with similar results, I thought it best to leave them to their own problems. After all, I was no longer interested in physical affairs or the company of women. A lamb would do just as much, and they didn’t care how you smelled.

  Negotiations or instances of trade were short, and the Captain always made the better bargain. The Captain never insisted that I sponge my putrid body; I never suspected the whiff I caught now and then was mine. Happily, loss of olfactory senses, of anything other than blood, was one boon of vampirism. In my case, it was an annoyance of great magnitude but mostly to others.

  In an agreement between Cilicia Trachea’s governing body, its inhabitants, and the Ophir, the Captain would protect the Cilician harbor against other marauding pirates, as well as privateers, in exchange for ship’s repairs. They would also profit from the plunder and pillaging of the attacking ships. Islanders offered to empty their jails on a regular basis to ensure the Captain’s health and maintain the servitude of the Cilician people. The Captain ask
ed for and received a place in which to store the unlucky survivors of bedeviled ships. They too would provide sustenance for the Captain and crew.

  “Κύριε Akakios, in short, we will provide protection and riches in exchange for safe harbor. We will visit your town between the hours of sunset and sunrise showing complete respect to your citizens. I promise you no harm from any member of this ship.

  Furthermore, we will house and execute any felon you deem unworthy of life, if you can provide some sort of housing until we clear a birth for the time of their execution. We can amend this agreement as time goes on when needed to satisfy mutual benefit. Agreed?”

  “Yes, Ahkmed, Ustaaz. One thing we have not established is the remuneration for our services.”

  “We propose a generous ten percent of all we collect of value. Satisfactory?”

  “Only ten percent?” The Greek mayor forgot whom he was dealing with. I didn’t reference myself, but my master.

  “No. It would be more like ten percent and your life. Both, of course, would be forfeit if we are unable to have a meeting of the minds. Is that clearer?”

  Roman law inscribed on stone tablets in past time set the rules for dictators and their predecessors to follow in regard to piracy. Little had changed since those times. Minimal damage was done to the area of Cilicia.

  History would show little evidence of few nations brave enough to travel near the land reputedly haunted by pirates of ancient times. Most ships avoided these waters for several hundred years, unless they sought the Ophir specifically.

  * * * *

  Needing no sleep, crew and Captain maintained a vigil throughout the hours of darkness. They had no need to move the Ophir from the entrance of the Cilician harbor. Using their powers in a collective effort much like a hive, they cloaked the entrance and their ship. In this way, they could not be detected as scavenging ships tried to take advantage of the sleepy bay. It gave them great advantage over marauders. It afforded innocent travelers protection by giving them free passage back to the open ocean. The raised vibrations could be felt but not heard. It created a white noise that took getting used to at first. Later, the citizens were lulled into a deep and peaceful sleep by the change in energy.