Dead Men Tell No Tales

by Jeffrey Kosh

  The girl lifted her hazelnut eyes to meet those of Drake, and he felt a shivering sensation running to his stomach.

  “So, is this the man who will bring us to Mabouyacay?”

  “Aye. He’s the captain of the Banshee’s Cry, the fastest vessel on these waves. The perfect ship to carry out your master’s will,” replied Red Leg.

  “Le Baron isn’t my master,” she said abruptly, coming closer to Drake, never lifting her stare from his eyes, “I serve the Loa’s will, yet none is my master.”

  Drake could not spill out a single word, too charmed by the girl’s beauty, or something else.

  ‘What’s happening to me?’ he thought.

  Kaya came face-to-face and stared deeply into his eyes, looking for something. Then, she turned attention to Red Leg, “Yes. This is the right man. We have a deal, O’Neill.”

  Later, they sat around a round table, enjoying a supper of roasted chicken and vegetables. Red Leg had explained him that Kaya was a Mambo; a voodoo priestess who was able to communicate with powerful spirits called Loas.

  “So, please Kaya let Drake be partaken of the true story of the Plague.” Red Leg appealed.

  The Creole girl clutched her silver medallion, bearing the etched image of a coiled snake, then began her story.

  “This tale has been told to me by Baron Samedi himself, during one ceremonial mounting. In the year 1663, Captain Hackett convinced your King to approve an expedition to Las Tortugas. These isles, now known as Cayman - according to will of your namesake’s hero, Captain Drake - were first visited by Christopher Columbus in 1503. Hackett had found a secret log of the Italian explorer, in which he recounted of unholy ceremonies performed by natives – named Kalinago – into a cave complex called Mabouya’s Well. Hackett, being a fervent religious man, saw in it the Pit of the Devil and the natives as debauched Satan-worshippers. He reported to King Charles that Cayman Brac hid a secret Spaniard fortress which could threat Jamaica’s fledging colony. Ten warships set sail to Mabouyacay – as the native called the isle – and once there, Hackett put all inhabitants to the sword, set villages to fire, and finally killed the shamans in the cave.”

  She paused, gulping a glass of water, eyeing Drake’s skeptic look, then continued her tale.

  “What Hackett didn’t know, was these Kalinago were buyeis, shamans whose role was to perform rituals to keep Mabouya at bay. With no one to provide sacrifices, the evil spirit enraged and sent the Plague into this world. The mariners of Hackett’s fleet became the embodiment of the Curse; when they returned to England they carried it with them.”

  Drake’s gaze went to Red Leg.

  The man believed this nonsensical stuff.

  “The Loa are unhappy with the current state of affairs,” continued Kaya, “especially Baron Samedi, who’s judge of the dead. He has told me how to lift the Curse of Mabouya and I know how to pass into Risen’s waters without harm.”

  Red Leg was smiling now, “It is now clear what the Banshee’s role will be? We’ll be heroes, Drake; we will be like kings for lifting this Curse from humankind!”

  “You’re crazy! Blimey! Do you eat it?” Drake exploded; he was not going to lead his men into Risen territory to be slaughtered.

  “I’m not crazy, Drake. I’m a believer.” Red Leg rebuked showing his own silver medallion, and then added, “And you’re coming with me Drake, because you know what I’ll do, shall you refuse?”

  He paused to have Drake get his full attention, “I’ll hang all your crew by the neck for treason. Because you still owe me six damned missed payments!”

  Drake’s eyes widened. Morgan could do that, he knew the old bastard had the power.

  He took a deep breath, then ignoring the older man, asked the Mambo, “Assuming I accept to lead my men to certain doom, how do you think we can stop a God?”

  She smiled and replied, “There’s no God over there, just an evil spirit; a being we call a djab. No one knows how this djab was trapped into the pit, or by whom, but it has been set free and the only way to return it to imprisonment is to perform a Caille Ceremony at the Well: a sacrifice.”

  “And this should be enough to stop the Curse?”

  “I was raised to be a Mambo, Captain Drake, and I know how to perform. The rite was taught to my mother by Ghedé, the Lord of the Dead.”

  “But how do you think a single ship can intrude into the fiend’s territory? We’ll be diced to the last!” Drake was shouting.

  “There’s a way. And you’ll see it,” stated Red Leg.

  ****

  Five days later they were at sea again, but what sailed those waters could no longer be recognized as the Banshee’s Cry.

  The hull had been painted black, some red splotches flowered at the aft and the bow, and tattered black canvases fluttered at every wind’s stroke. Worse yet, were the macabre decorations bedecking the bowsprit, for nailed on it stood a dozen yellowed skulls, clinging to the wood as hellish barnacles. Both side sported fishing nets, ripe with bones they echoed the horrors at the stem, and arcane symbols, borne out of nightmares, defaced her masts.

  The crew was silent and lay sprawled on the main deck, afflicted by a dreadful mood. Fifty fighters, sulked and foul, crammed the ship’s decks, while Captain Drake was standing by the tiller with a void expression.

  They knew nothing of this voyage’s purpose; still they were obedient followers of Red Leg, never questioning his orders. Of the Banshee’s original crew only MacTavish, Geist, and Luther were allowed aboard.

  Drake felt the ship no longer belonged to him.

  MacTavish joined him at the tiller. “That Irishman’s crazy, y’know? We must do something. This ain’t boldness, it’s suicide!”

  Drake nodded, but pointed to the horizon.

  A pearly and luminescent mist was now coming into view, hiding whatever – or whoever – lurked within it. “I think it’s too late for that.”

  The Scotsman reacted by letting out a curse, then turned again toward his Captain. “That’s impossible! We can’t be there yet! I swear …”

  “Mac, the Devil’s Sea is growing,” Drake broke in. “In less than a year it will reach Jamaica’s shores. We already smell its awful decay in night’s wee hours. I don’t care anymore; it’ll be all upon us, now or then,”

  Then, shook his head and said, “Handle the tiller, Mac. I need to talk with that woman.”

  Kaya was in one of the aft cabins.

  Drake found her, half-naked, standing inside a circle drawn on the floor, surrounded by black tallow candles. He gasped at that sight and was about to leave when her husky voice halted him on his track, “Come in, do not fear. I’ve finished.”

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you, just checking if everything’s fine,” he said.

  “No. You came because you’re attracted to me, Captain,” she said, turning slowly to reveal her bared bosom.

  Daniel’s irises widened at the sight, due more to the woman’s immodesty than the vision of her exposed breasts.

  “Do not deny it. I was aware by the moment we first met. I’ve been ridden too many times by Erzulie Fréda Dahomey to know otherwise,” she said, coming closer.

  Drake felt embarrassment for the first time in his life; he had had his way with many women, yet this time it felt different.

  There was some unnatural spell going on here.

  “In fact, I was waiting for you, Drake,” she continued, while her hands reached for his shirt and unlaced it.

  Drake could not move, transfixed by her beautiful eyes and warmness. He tried to react, by gently pushing her away, but to no avail.

  A hot lust overcame his senses and he responded to her bold advances.

  Later, they were both lying on the bed, holding each other.

  “Why you did that?” he asked.

  She kept her eyes off him, sighed, and then caressed his chest with one hand, “Because I needed it. This might be my last act of pure selfishness in this world.”

  “What do you mean?
” he asked her, concerned.

  Kaya rose from the cot and reached for her nightgown, still not daring to look at him.

  She was tense.

  “You see, the sacrifice requires blood. And it will be mine blood which will be spilled into Mabouya’s Well.”

  “No! Why have you to do that. We can find another way. Listen …” he protested, but was interrupted by her stern gaze.

  “How much do you value human life, Drake? What’s the difference between my life and another’s? I will not take the life of an innocent when I can stop this Curse with an offer the Loas can’t refuse.”

  “I can give ‘em another life. I do not want to lose you. Kaya, I’m charmed, I do not know how it happened, but it’s true,” he continued his protest, but again was shooed by Kaya, this time by her soft lips.

  Nevertheless, the argument had to be postponed because the shout from the crow’s nest had Drake spring up from bed and reach for his clothes.

  “Ship Ahoy!”

  ****

  The Banshee’s Cry rocked gently amid a canyon of rotting husks.

  Geist had spotted the first of the floating wrecks more than an hour before. Then, they had been engulfed by the mists.

  Weird sounds echoed in that forlorn landscape; made of decaying wood and decomposing floating corpses.

  Yet, nobody trusted them to stay that way.

  They could rise up from a moment or the other, eager to plunge the living mariners in their putrid world. The sailors were afraid to utter a single word, as the ship slowly maneuvered in that endless replica of the Styx.

  Once, one of the anchored dead ship seemed to come to life when the brig came too closer; the living dead who were lying still on the main deck began to rise, scanning with sightless eyes their surroundings, yet returned to their slumber when the Banshee changed tack.

  However, Drake could not shake off the image of one of the monstrosities; a decaying horror encrusted and filled with worms and maggots that had clearly been a woman, had lifted her sickening face from the railings and had stared straight to him.

  However she had seen nothing.

  “They can’t see us,” had whispered Kaya into his ear, “They can see only the living’s Ti-bon-ange: the lesser part of the soul which is tied to the material world. They can’t see the Gros-bon-ange, which is the spiritual part and belongs to Bondye, the Creator.”

  “Why?” he had inquired.

  “Because they’re animated by it. Their Gros-bon-ange remains trapped in the Well, instead of traveling beyond, and since this lesser force tends to wane they need to replenish it with that of the living.” Kaya had said.

  “But why they’re not attacking?” he had pressed.

  She had looked away, and then had added “Because of my pact with Baron Samedi. I promised him a sacrifice at the Well and he is keeping his word. Yet, beware, because Le Baron is a trickster and has a morbid sense of humor.”

  She had stopped talking when they had entered a tight channel created by two large West Indiaman freighters, and had begun murmuring a prayer in French.

  He understood what the Baron considered funny when they spotted the coast of Cayman Brac two days later.

  After a seeming endless – and silent – voyage in the mist-laden sea, Geist was the first to spot land, although he could not cry the usual ‘Land Ho!’ signal.

  It was nightfall and the crew was mostly relaxing below deck, to avoid have their eyes linger too much on hellish surroundings.

  Geist rushed down the mizzenmast and caused Mac’s hearth to falter, believing they were going to collide into one of those things.

  “We’re there, Mac! I spotted the dark outline of an island straight in front of us! I do not know how the Hell we did it, blind as we were, but I ensure you we made it!” he muttered.

  “Keep the helm. I’m going to warn the Captain,” said Mac, then descended the poop deck and knocked to Drake’s cabin.

  Drake and Kaya were enjoying their own company when the knocking interrupted their congress. She had lured him every night, never answering to his pleading requests to abandon her course of action, but keeping his mind occupied with pleasures he had never known.

  “What’s happening?” Drake peeked out of the cabin.

  “Geist just spotted land, Sir,” said Mac.

  “And do you believe …” Drake never finished his question as a chilling scream shattered the vessel’s quiet.

  There was an improvise commotion on the bridge, and Drake’s eyes could not distinguish what was about at first.

  Then he saw it.

  Luther, the giant, was staggering on the quarterdeck as a disgusting creature was chewing at his neck like a hungry dog. The thing was what persisted of a sailor’s upper body, except that only his decaying head and its coiling spine, encased in a coating of algae, remained. The gunner was using his strength to get free of the undead’s vise, but to no avail.

  To the port, similar creatures and more intact shambling fiends, were slowly climbing the railings, while a swollen terror of that cursed sea had already reached the Banshee’s deck and was approaching the screaming German.

  “Avast! At arms!” cried Mac, while Drake, half-naked, pointed his pistol to the bloated figure and fired. The monster’s head exploded like a ripe melon; brainy fluids and splintered bones flew in every direction before he fell overboard.

  The crew crawled out of the ship’s portholes, yelling battle cries, armed with cutlasses and rifles.

  Kaya stuck her head out of the cabin, shocked by the sight of those things attacking despite her Loa’s pact, but then she understood.

  “Stay inside!” shouted Red Leg, slamming the door shut with a kick and blocking her inside with a heavy barrel.

  Everywhere there were shouts and the sound of bursting putrid flesh, as projectiles and blades found their way in the waterlogged raiders.

  Geist was grabbed by a crab-infested and flayed horror, which proceeded in biting his face off, causing blood to flow copiously from the top half of his pale body.

  MacTavish was opened from crotch to sternum by a horde of crawling monsters, which slithered on their bellies or walked on their hands to reach their prey.

  Seeing everything lost, Drake rushed to the cabin, removed the barrel and allowed Kaya to get out.

  “Let’s go! The ship’s doomed. Your Loa hasn’t kept his word,” he cried amid the screams of the dying.

  She nodded, but whispered “It’s not him who hasn’t kept the promise.”

  They ran to the lifeboat, while Red Leg continued his stand, disabling as many Risen as he could, whilst new horrors continued to climb from the Banshee’s portside.

  Once the barge was in the water they jumped into it, soon reached by Red Leg and two of his goons.

  With a sundered heart Drake uttered a prayer for his lost friends, as he rowed toward the island of the dead.

  ‘See you soon, my friends.’ He concluded his thoughts.

  ****

  They reached the swampy beach and quickly disembarked, making for a thicket of mangroves to find shelter. In the distance, the cries of dying mariners played a bloody symphony.

  “We’re doomed Red Leg! I told you it was a foolish deed you were asking from me,” said Drake clenching his teeth, whilst grabbing the older man’s ragged shirt.

  Immediately, the Admiral’s goons were on him, but Morgan stopped them on their tracks.

  “We’re not doomed, Drake. We’re here. Do you see any Risen around, huh? You do not have faith, scurvy dog. That’s your fault. But mine’s strong and I will not linger here while the end of the Curse is at arm’s reach!”

  He was as fanatic as the man who had started it all.

  Yet he was right, there were no living dead shuffling around on the beach. For unknown motives they did not set foot on the island.

  “Well, but I’m not going to allow this woman’s blood sacrifice. Take mine’s,” he proposed, ignoring the disapproving look into Kaya’s eyes.


  “There’s no need to discuss about this now, Drake. Let’s just get to the cave before it’s too late.”

  “No. Ain’t coming unless you reassure me Kaya’s life will be spared.”

  “You both shut up!” exclaimed Kaya, suddenly. “The fact that there are not Risen on this beach doesn’t mean worse horrors aren’t lurking here. We must wait for dawn. The dead move only under darkness; light is their enemy and they spend daylight by lying still until the sun goes down.”

  Red Leg nodded, keeping his stare on Drake.

  ****

  No creature disturbed their hiding place that night, and once the last of the Banshee’s mariners died no more sounds disturbed the island’s eerie silence.

  At dawn’s first light the survivors began their trek to Mabouya’s Well. They passed by the stumps of a burned native village, decorated with blackened bones and charred hides. Then, they reached the cave, whose shape reminded that of a natural-carved skull.

  “Just wait outside,” ordered Red Leg to his men.

  Inside, in total darkness stood a large oval-shaped hole, some kind of pit, yet no human hand had dug it. The stench of death and offal coming from it was so strong that Drake and Red Leg couldn’t avoid throwing out what was left of their supper. Yet, Kaya seemed unhindered by it.

  “Please, stand back,” she said, but his voice was cold, different from the one Drake had started to love.

  “Aye,” said Red Leg, immediately grabbing Drake by the shoulders to avoid any interference in the Mambo’s ritual.

  “I can’t allow her,” he pleaded.

  “No, Drake. Listen to me. Come over here and rest.” Red leg interrupted him.

  Drake’s forces had waned, yet he still fought for the life of Kaya. To hell the world! He was living in a nightmare by more than ten years, what difference could it be?

  “She must do what must be done, Drake. And do not worry, we aren’t going to survive all of this,” said Red Leg in a calmly, “Yes, we’re doomed, but Humanity’s not. Our descendants will live in a better world, freed from the horrors of our age.”

  “But I love her; I don’t care about the rest of the world. I want her!” Drake protested.