by Kyle Warner
RAKASA
Kyle Warner
Copyright © 2016 Kyle Warner
www.kyle-warner.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations included in critical articles and reviews. For information, please contact the author.
This is a work of complete fiction. All events are the creation of the author. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover art made possible with the stock art of Irene ‘ftourini’ Zeleskou (http://ftourini.deviantart.com/), brushes by FieldofGrey (http://www.brusheezy.com/brushes/1576-strokes-and-splatters), and 1879 compass rose found at The Graphics Fairy (http://thegraphicsfairy.com/)
First Edition.
Telling Lies Ink.
Printed in the United States of America.
This one’s for Mom.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
1.
I might have killed the captain but the crew would agree that he had it coming.
Six weeks lost at sea. The man with the map is responsible and no other.
Aye, he might’ve blamed the unseasonable weather, the lack of stars in the sky, and the sickness in the ranks… but a man can live off of excuses for only so long.
I was supposed to meet up with Mary a month ago. We would have been married by now. Our honeymoon, if I could afford a honeymoon after this trip, would have been glorious.
Instead of spending time with my lady, I clean the decks as if we’re expecting company, as if we’re not lost at sea, as if…
As if the captain wasn’t dead.
We like to joke that the candle in his quarters is for his ghost while he reads over the maps that he could not comprehend in life. It’s not a joke, exactly—nobody’s laughing—but we’re all in on the imagining.
And meanwhile, down in the cargo hold, the animals starve and die. They smell worse every day. The doc thinks that’s what’s causing the sickness in the crew, but I don’t know much about medicine and science.
I’m a pirate.
Our ship, the Night Wave, was hired to transport rare animals to a French merchant named Boucher. The animals weren’t meant for Boucher himself, but rather the Frenchman’s spoiled children who demanded things that not even Kings and Queens could acquire.
And so we loaded the ship with animals from all corners of the globe and started our long journey across the Atlantic to deliver the beasts and receive our gold.
Should have known it was doomed for failure. This is just a miserable recreation of Noah’s last trip. And we never did find out what happened to that boat, did we?
The rhinoceros died first. Shelly, her name was. Sad beast. Looked half-dead when she first boarded back in port. I don’t remember the names of the tigers and I doubt anybody bothered to name the reptiles. The zebra is on the way out next, I suspect. Just as well. It cries a lot and it’s been affecting my sleep.
When I killed the captain nobody was surprised. I think they all considered doing it themselves but were too afraid to pick up the blade and put it to skin.
I think they loved me for a couple days while the blood on the knife dried out in the sun.
Their love did not last. The crew grew uneasy once it was clear that Jarvis Jenks, the new captain, was no better suited to directing the ship towards land than the last man in the chair.
Some approached me with the idea of taking over the ship. Problem is I don’t know the way home either. I look around and all I see is the malevolent ocean that means to kill us all.
Adrift. Never have I spoken or even thought that word while out at sea. It’s completely foreign to me.
Speaking of foreigners…
The Indonesian deckhand Ahmed has been telling ghost stories about lost ships. I barely understand him beneath that heavy accent, but the rest of the crew thinks he’s quite the storyteller. I don’t know. I’ve never been much of a fan of ghost stories unless they got naked ladies in them. And Ahmed’s stories aren’t like that.
Ahmed told this story about a crew dying in the middle of the night as a mist rolled over the sides of the ship. Said they got their blood drained out of their necks. I say that sounds like a vampire, but Ahmed shakes his head and the others shush me.
I don’t appreciate being shushed and I tell them so, but Ahmed says, “It wasn’t the vampire. It was a Rakasa,” as if that’s meant to make it all better.
One of the crew nods and says, “More original that way, I expect.”
Ahmed was nodding, his point proven true.
I didn’t get it, but I liked the word.
Rakasa.
2.
Billy Damon was starving and he wanted meat so he made up his mind that he was going to eat one of the dead tigers. I tried telling him that it was a bad idea, that the big cats were rotting and it would only make him sick. But you can’t argue with hunger. Hunger always wins.
Now Billy’s green and covered with sweat. The boys are keeping him comfortable, for all the good it does him. We know Billy’s gonna die next.
It was the captain’s idea that we should keep the dead animals on the ship even after they started to stink. The contract with Boucher claimed that the Frenchman was willing to pay for the animals dead or alive.
The captain was dead and we would never reach Boucher. So, why did we continue storing dead animals in the cargo hold? Because the rest of the crew are cowards, unwilling to accept the fact that we will never reach our destination, and I cannot lift a dead rhino by myself.
It was the doc who started the paranoia about the animals carrying some sort of disease. When Billy started dying after taking a bite, that was all the proof the others needed.
We don’t go down into the cargo hold anymore. It’s off-limits.
The doc’s got the crew thinking we’re some kind of a plague ship.
The boys are checking their scars and freaking out over every little bump. The men I used to know would recognize sunburn when they saw it, but they’ve changed on me and grown stupid.
I think when the captain died their minds kind of snapped, like it was all over now and they were just waiting on permission to die.
Feel kind of guilty about that. Only meant to murder the fool at the helm, not rob the boys of hope. I’d apologize if I thought it would make any difference. I don’t, so I don’t.
Our new fearless leader calls all able-bodied men into the captain’s quarters for a meeting. Only fifteen of us attend, six of which can barely stand.
Jarvis Jenks sits where I murdered his predecessor. Some of the blood on the chair hasn’t dried yet but he pretends not to notice.
I used to like Jenks. He’s a worthy seaman and good with a blade. However, if I’m forced to consider the alternative, I’d rather have the old man back in the chair.
The captain needed killing, let’s be clear. He’d done us wrong and so we needed to do wrong unto him. However, he was a leader of men and had a cruel nature that I admired. I don’t regret what I did, but I do wish it hadn’t needed doing. We could use his leadership now.
One man wonders aloud if we will be eating our own dead. “I’m just so hungry,” he says.
Everyone backs away from the guy. We know he’s stupid with hunger but there are some things you
just don’t do.
Cannibals are monsters and we will not become monsters.
Jarvis Jenks tells us we don’t have enough supplies to go around. He suggests we put the sick out of their misery so that the food and water will last that much longer for those who may yet survive.
I think he’s joking. I laugh, tell him it’s a good joke, but everybody’s looking at me like I’m a clown at a funeral.
“Fucking serious?” I ask.
Jarvis Jenks nods.
The ship’s doctor says, “I can’t cure them. Even if we were back at port, I doubt a team of doctors with the best medicine could save them now. They’re dead men.”
I consider the idea and ask, “How would you ‘put them out of their misery’?”
One-Eyed Jack says, “A knife worked well for you before.”
I think about ripping out his other eye, just in case he’s trying to get a rise out of me. Jack lost his left eye in a poker game. He tells the story like it was a bloody brawl in a saloon that cost the lives of four lesser pirates. He forgets I was there and that I know the full story.
Ol’ Jack got caught cheating with an Ace up his sleeve. He was too drunk to feel shameful, so he boasted about it instead.
The other men tackled him and took a spoon to his eye. I think I even helped hold his legs still so that he couldn’t kick ’em off. I thought the spoon was a bit much, but Jack had cheated me, too, so what the hell?
Apparently One-Eyed Jack is still looking for a reaction, because he says, “Have you got your knife on you? Or did the captain still have it stuck in his neck when we chucked him overboard?”
“I don’t need a fucking knife,” I say. “A spoon will work just fine.”
Jack jumps and grits his teeth. The others notice this and he shrinks a bit, looking sheepish. I love it.
Jarvis Jenks says, “Can we put this to a vote? All those in favor of the doctor’s plan, raise your hand.” Jenks does so, letting the ship know where he expects them to stand on the issue.
Hands start shooting up like they’ve forgotten they’re voting to murder their shipmates for a few extra crumbs of bread.
I keep my fists in my pockets. I’m not better than them, but I don’t like killing those incapable of defending themselves.
My side is outvoted thirteen to three. The only other fools who keep their hands down are Ahmed the Indonesian storyteller and the teenage cook who might be named Daniel… or Darren… or Dennis… whatever. I’m pretty sure it starts with a ‘D.’
“Good,” Jarvis Jenks says, rubbing his hands together as if he’s looking forward to a hot meal. “Now that that’s settled, who wants to volunteer for the deed?”
I say nothing. I don’t raise a hand. I don’t look anybody in the eye. I don’t even twitch. But somehow I find myself below deck with a deadly purpose just the same.
In a boat full of bastards, I am their elected executioner.
Billy Damon’s choking on his own sick in a sweaty hammock that sways with the unforgiving waves.
I saw a gravedigger pull a man out of a casket once and Billy looks kind of like the corpse I saw then. His face is sunken, his eyes are glazed and yellow, and there’s a smell to him that I do not wish to name.
The gravedigger was interested in the dead man’s liver. ‘For scientific research,’ he said. All I’m interested in is the jugular.
I kneel beside Billy’s hammock and he’s dimly aware of my presence. He tries to say something. I think he’s asking for water, but one of my instructions was to ignore all requests for food or drink.
I shake my head, tell him there’s nothing I can do.
His mouth smacks as he tries to talk. “The… tiger.”
“Yeah, probably shouldn’t have eaten the tiger,” I say. “Tried to tell you. But nobody listens to me.”
“Any… more?” he asks.
“Of the tiger?”
He nods.
The stupid bastard wants more of the meal that killed him.
“So… hungry,” Billy Damon whispers.
I take the edge of the blade to Billy’s exposed jugular vein. It’s not hard to find, since his neck is so shrunken and veiny from the sickness. Blood shoots out from his neck and he looks at me like I’m the worst Judas that Hell ever spat out into the world.
The blood sprays the wall and I watch his eyes go dim. I try not to hate myself for it. I tell myself it’s the captain’s orders. But more than that, I remind myself that they were suffering and their deaths would be slow.
I’m granting them release from their pain. It’s bloody and it’s awful but I believe there is some kind of kindness to the edge of my blade.
Billy Damon’s dead, so I stand.
The blade leaves a trail of red behind me as I walk the rest of the ship and send the damned back to God… or the Devil… I care not which.
3.
Half the crew is dead now. Jarvis Jenks caught the sniffles and the doctor is missing. We’re throwing more bodies overboard with each passing day. Not long until I catch whatever’s going around and get on with dying, too.
Sometimes my eyes deceive me and I think I see land off to starboard. Always starboard. But that can’t be. We’re in the middle of the ocean, far from land, farther from hope and a chance for survival.
And yet we keep on living. I guess we just don’t have much else to do.
I wrap a rag around my face and dump today’s corpses into the ocean. The sharks linger along the sides of the hull but they don’t eat from the bodies. Even the sharks have abandoned us.
Feeling lonely now.
I tried to kill a shark by hanging over the side and swinging a hook on a rope at the monster fish. The crew pulled me back before I could get the hook to stick into the big fucker’s head.
The crew said I was acting crazy, singing to the sharks as I dangled over them. I did no such thing. There were no songs.
But even if there were songs, then what of it? Let me sing, damn you.
As night steals the sun away a fog rolls in and embraces the ship in its cool touch. It’s the closest thing to a shower that I’ve had in weeks… or is it months? How long have we been out here now? Who still counts the days?
I go to the bow of the ship and find Ahmed there trying to light a fire. He doesn’t seem to mind the company, but there’s guilt in his eyes.
“A torch to light our way through the fog,” Ahmed says.
“Ah, I see,” I say.
Ahmed’s put a bundle of wood into a vase that he presumably stole from the captain’s quarters. In between the pieces of wood are tufts of cotton taken from pillows and bits of fur taken from the animals down in the hold.
He takes a candle and touches it to his makeshift torch and it instantly goes alight with a beautiful orange flame.
“Well done,” I say.
Ahmed’s laughing. He takes the vase into his hands and winces at the heat, then starts to climb up ropes leading to the front mast.
“Where are you going with that thing?” I ask.
“Like a lighthouse!” he says excitedly.
I shrug.
Ahmed puts his legs over the sails and tries to feed a rope through a hole in the vase so that he may leave it hanging up above.
I’m not surprised when the rope itself quickly burns through, dropping the vase and the burning wood down onto the deck in front of me.
It is a bit of a surprise, however, when the sail bursts into flame as well.
Ahmed screams as fire licks his legs. He tries to climb higher but the flame is quickly growing, reaching up for him. Out of room and with no other choice, he makes a desperate leap for the water—
—and breaks his neck on the ship’s rail before tumbling overboard.
The crew’s screaming, coming up on deck to witness the growing fire.
I back my way to the very end of the bow as cinders fall all around me.
The men take buckets of water and throw it at the sail but their work is clumsy and the fla
me is strong.
The fire spreads to the second sail and I can’t help but laugh.
“Stupid fucking Ahmed,” I say, shaking my head.
I walk through the cinders and ash, past the men desperately trying to quell the fire, and find myself at the lifeboat.
The lifeboat can only fit a dozen men or so. Maybe that’s enough now, considering how many losses we’ve taken, but I have no intention of sharing. Not with these bastards.
One-Eyed Jack sees me and must know what I’m thinking. He drops his bucket of water and storms after me like a raging bull.
There are many options open to me, but the best ones all lead to Jack’s eventual death. I can either share the boat with him and kill him later or kill him now and make a clean escape. Decisions…
One-Eyed Jack wraps his hairy fingers around the lifeboat’s ropes and growls at me. His mouth starts working and spittle sprays onto my shirt. I think he’s probably doing his best to be threatening, but I can’t hear him over the roar of the fire.
I lash out, grab a handful of his hair, and slam his face into the rail. He’s mumbling and spitting up blood as I grab him by the shoulders and give him the big heave-ho.
One-Eyed Jack’s splash is louder than I’d anticipated but nobody turns my way.
Our captain Jarvis Jenks is screaming as he runs around the ship with his head on fire.
I think it’s time for me to leave.
I make sure that I have my sword and pistol, then I hop onto the lifeboat and cut the ropes suspending it above the water.
The landing is rough but I manage.
Above me the ship is an inferno. Men run scared as fire latches onto their bodies, eats their flesh.
I put the paddles into the water and dare one final look back.
At the rail is the ship’s cook. Again, I’m pretty sure his name is Daniel. Could be wrong. Probably am. But it’s definitely a ‘D’ name.
Daniel’s got this sad expression on his face like he’s watching his father row away or something, like what I’m doing is a personal injustice to him.
I don’t know if I ever spoke to the kid even once.