“Not a school, a tribe. And not just the Mermaidens but the Merlords as well. If I do not have the support from my crewmates, then I have nothing.”
“I believe him,” I said sharply. “I always have.”
Waylin sighed, and Grant stared at the chart.
“What will you do, Master Jacob?” said Bart. “Will you walk onto the main deck and inform the crew that we sail for a mythical island? Will you have the navigator holler when he spots a mermaid?”
“Mermaiden,” corrected Owen.
Grant explained, “The answer is simple. We will inform the crew that we will be sailing west to Puerto Bello. If Owen’s claims are accurate and we find Cerulean Isle, so be it.”
“Do not humor me,” snapped Owen.
“I am not humoring you,” said Grant. “If Jacob tells me he believes in the Merfolk, I believe too.
“Understand, Owen, that the rest of the crew will not be so quick to accept the possibility of Mermaidens and Merlords. They’re seasoned sailors. For them, the Water People make good yarns and shanties; that’s all. Without actual proof, the truth of the Mer-island will have to remain a myth.”
“Aye. The proof you desire is in this room.” Owen pointed his twisted finger at my broadsword. “There be your proof, Captain.”
“How much madness do you wish to listen to on this day?” questioned Bart. “The man’s mind is troubled. Keeping secrets from the crew is a violation of the shipboard articles.”
“Do not insult me, Bart,” Waylin growled. “I am not in command of this ship. Jacob is quartermaster and Grant is captain.”
“And that is another issue! What qualifies them to command this vessel and its crew?”
“Ten years ago, they gave Christoff and I equal shares of a large bounty and asked nothing in return. With that gold… with their gold…we maintained the ship. By rights, this sloop belongs to them.”
“I see your judgment has become clouded as well,” remarked Bart. He faced Grant and I. “I refuse to be a keeper of secrets and pursue childish ideals. I am off to inform the crew of the lunacy that plagues this ship.”
As the bald pirate moved for the doorway, Owen pulled the broadsword from my belt. He stepped in front of Bart, blade drawn and held mere inches from his throat. “This blade can be two things: proof of the Mer or the cause of your death. Decide!”
“Damned fool,” yelled Waylin. “Release him, at once!”
Owen forced the blade closer to Bart’s neck. The flawless edge touched his skin.
“Jacob,” whispered Grant, “you’d better do something about your madman.”
“Owen,” I said. “Lower the sword.”
“Nay!” he hissed. “Everyone onto the main deck.”
Owen forced Bart through the cabin door, into the bright Grenadine sun. The crew gathered around. None dared to defy the old pirate. We massed in a tight circle at the port bow. Owen kept my ornate sword pressed against Bart’s throat.
“The Merfolk are a wondrous people, skilled in many things. The forging of weapons is one of them. This,” Owen shouted as he shoved Bart away and held aloft my sword, “is proof. Behold!”
He threw the broadsword overboard. The silver blade flashed as it fell to the sea. Waylin rushed to Owen and seized him, slamming the old pirate to the deck. Owen’s face hit the wood with a thud.
“You will be restrained until we reach port,” said Waylin angrily. “Someone fetch some rope.”
Grant grabbed my arm and turned me around to face to the water. My eyes fell to the rolling sea. Floating on the waves, as if made of mere driftwood, was my sword. Every man on deck looked on in wonder as the silver and gold sword rose and fell in cadence with the waves.
“It’s a Mersword,” Owen shouted. “Gold and silver forged with a special ore from the sea. Aye! Proof!”
“Where did this weapon come from?” Waylin asked me.
“I bought it at a market, from a peddler who claimed he found it on the beach.”
Waylin nodded, then ordered a team to take a rowboat out to retrieve the floating blade.
“It is proof, Waylin,” shouted Owen. “The sword will never sink; the metal of the Mer is buoyant. It will not rust or corrode. It is as hard as diamond and as light as a fistful of sand. The Merfolk are out there, and that sword is but a taste of the wonders that await us at Cerulean Isle. We must find Lord Sydin and ask for his help. We must bargain with them. Barter, trade, or pay them. I don’t know what they will ask of us in return. I will offer my very life, if need be.”
Waylin ran his hand through his gold and white hair, then panned the faces of his crewmates. He produced a small knife and cut Owen’s restraints. Owen rolled over and sat up.
“The next time you draw arms against any of this crew, you will be killed,” said Waylin gravely.
“Aye. You believe me, then?” Owen wiped the blood from his nose.
Waylin helped the old pirate to his feet. “For now, yes.”
“We seek the Merfolk, at last,” Owen shouted. “To Cerulean Isle!”
…Part Three…
Facing the Past
Chapter 33
Sea of Fog
The sloop Destiny sailed light and fast over the sparkling Caribbean Sea. Two teams of watchmen kept a vigil around the clock. The scouts panned the horizon with a small telescope. They took their positions atop the stern and the bow with specific orders to watch for the Obsidian or any ship bearing three masts. A large bell served as an alarm if a threat to the ship appeared. They watched for common obstacles like coral reefs, rock formations, sudden shallows, or fierce tides. The greatest threats, of course, being other ships. On the open water, there was no trust among seamen.
Our most clever devise was our trunk of flags. When sailing in waters claimed by other countries, we would hoist their banner above our mainsail. Waylin had collected banners from every country in the Caribbean, including flags of royalty and religion.
On the fourth evening, we sailed into a thick fog. We hung lanterns over the starboard and port bows. The yellow glow did little to open our view. Grant ordered the crew to slow the ship and bring her to a drift. With such poor visibility, caution became our priority. The last hues of daylight fell under the western edge of the sea. The curtain of fog grew under the starless sky, as our sloop cut through the black water. Before long, I could no longer see across the deck.
“We are getting closer, Master Jacob,” said Owen. At the stern, he and I struggled to see through the fog. “This fog is a warning. We have entered Lord Sydin’s domain. He does not want us to come any closer.”
I saw fear in his eyes. “Be at ease, friend. If we are in the domain of the Mer, an ambassador of their race will make himself known, and together we can form a plan against the Obsidian.”
“The Mer are not in the custom of welcoming ships and those who sail them.”
“Then we must hold a crew meeting at once. Help me to gather the men around the main mast.”
Destiny’s crew was uneasy. I motioned for Owen to stand beside me as I addressed the crew.
“Good evening, men. Until now our westward voyage has been swift. This fog has slowed our travel for the time being. Fog such as this is an indicator that a landmass is near. How large of a mass or how far out, I cannot say. We may have sailed into claimed water. Owen, share your knowledge, please.”
Owen stepped forward and panned the crew. His chest puffed as he stood with his hands behind his back.
“Worthy seamen, welcome to the waters of the Mer. Every yarn and shanty will now become real. Be watchful of the water. Do not lean too far over the bow. If you hear anything, speak of it at once. If you see anything, call out for others to come. This is the domain of Lord Sydin. He is their general, their leader. If we are to be met by any of the Water People, it will be him. If you see a man in the waves, stay your pistols and blades or you will cause our ruin.”
“Thank you, Owen,” Grant said. “My friends, we shall keep a slow drift until
this dreadful veil lifts. Take rest. Eat. Drink. I would, however, like two men to serve as additional watchmen for the starboard and port bows. Any volunteers?”
Two mates volunteered and took positions as instructed.
“Owen, you are head of the watch team. Make rounds to all points of the ship. Relieve any of the scouts as needed. Report to Waylin, Jacob, or me if the Mer come.”
“Understood, Captain Grant.” Owen, eager and proud, went to work at once.
~~~~~~
“Do you really believe the Merfolk are out there?” Grant asked me.
“It doesn’t matter. If we find them, and they help us, then I will be ever grateful and indebted. If not, then we will continue for Puerto Bello and with their help, meet L’Ollon’s men head on. Either way, we fight.
The watchman’s warning bell rang out over the deck. Grant and I ran toward the bow as the entire ship lurched forward. The mainmast rocked and the crosstrees swayed violently. Lines broke and floorboards snapped. The entire hull whined under the sound of iron trusses buckling. It was a direct collision. Grant and I were tossed forward from the sudden momentum shift. Our bodies flew and we landed hard on the deck and rolled before scrambling to our knees. Grant groaned and clutched his arm. Some of the crew were knocked unconscious and others were entangled in line or struggling to emerge from broken crates and toppled barrels.
As my vision cleared, I fought to see through the fog. Whatever we hit held Destiny in place.
As I made my way to Grant, floorboards cracked and splintered. The deck creaked. The bow of the sloop was tilted down, the stern angled upright, and I imagined the rudder was nearly out of the water. The tall mainmast leaned dangerously forward, with the sails as disheveled as an unmade bed.
“Come, let’s brace and sling your arm.” I broke a floorboard in half over my knee and cut a rag to make a crude sling. With some strips of fabric, I tied the boards to his broken arm, a makeshift splint. He groaned and cursed as I pulled the strapping tight. I tucked his arm in the sling and wrapped it around his neck and shoulder.
I ordered men to look after the injured and commanded the rest to begin repairs wherever they could.
“I don’t understand,” said Grant. “What could we have hit? Waylin and I plotted a clear route. There are no rock or coral masses marked on the sea chart. Mainland is still several days out. What if this is…?” Grant paused. The color in his face faded.
“Say no more. Let’s find Owen and Waylin.”
~~~~~~
We found Waylin peering down the hatch that led below deck to the storerooms. “Have a look, lads. Ill times are at hand.”
The entire bilge had flooded. Ocean water filled our storeroom, ruining our supplies of food.
Grant said, “Have a few men go down there and recover whatever they can. Tell them to salvage fruit, water barrels, and the extra weapons. Whoever goes down must wear a rope around his waist with someone above holding the other end. No one enters the saltwater unless a lifeline is tied and manned.”
~~~~~~
Owen stood at the bow with a lantern burning in his hand, its yellow light illuminating our ruined ship. The bowsprit had snapped in half and the rails bent around shards of the hull. A massive gnarled rock stretched from the water and pierced our bow; its sharp point loomed over us, stabbing at the sky. The stone had a combination of smooth and rough edges. As I looked upward, I guessed it was taller than our house at Rosewing Farm and wider at its base than our sloop’s main deck. Owen leaned daringly over the edge of the mangled bow and touched the rock. The ship creaked under him as he leaned.
“Owen,” hollered Grant, “come away from there.”
“On the contrary, my captain. You should come closer and have a look at this stone.”
We went to the ruined bow. Under Owen’s lantern light, we saw the stone’s color—a liquid blue with specks of black and bits of silver.
“Blue…” Owen seemed in a trance. “Azure. Cobalt. Indigo.”
“Cerulean,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “Welcome to the greatest of all Mer islands. Ahoy!”
“This big blue rock is Cerulean Isle?” Grant remarked.
“Nay. When the fog lifts, you’ll see the island. We are in its shallows. I’d guess about three hundred yards from its beach. When the morning sun comes, it will burn away the fog, and then we shall celebrate!”
“Celebrate? Have you seen our ship?” Grant waved his good arm about. “As we stand here in awe over this abomination, the Obsidian sails closer and closer with cannon readied. I’ll celebrate when we fix the sloop and set sail.”
“Master Jacob. Captain Grant.” Bart made his way to us as he spoke. “One barrel of water and a crate of bottled ale is all that remains. Our stock of food was lost to the sea.”
“What of the extra arms?” I asked.
“There is a crate of pistols, but we’ve lost the powder. Only the swords remain.”
“Prepare the lifeboats for tomorrow,” Grant ordered. “If there is land yonder, we’ll go to it. Until then, no one is to go into the sea for any reason. Ensure that the crew adheres to this command above all else.”
“You have my word, Captain,” said Bart.
Chapter 34
Cerulean Isle
I awoke late in the morning. It was unusually quiet, no sounds of a working crew—no hammer falls or chewing of saw blades. I heard only the soft lapping of the ocean against our motionless hull. The crew gathered at the downward tilting bow.
The fog had lifted sometime in the night and now, as the sun broke through the clouds, the body of stone that ensnared our ship seemed to glow as blue as the sky and sparkled like the water that splashed against it. In the distance, beyond the unyielding wall of rock, was a small island lightly blanketed with white mist and surrounded by similar towering stones of silver and blue. The island rested in calm sapphire water and seemed to be made entirely of the mysterious stone. It was jagged and angular and completely guarded by the dangerous, teeth-like rocks. The sunlight played on the blue-stone island and a strange illusion unfolded. The entire landmass appeared to glitter and move, the colossal stones glowed, and soon I could hardly differentiate the island from the sea and sky. It was hidden in the endless blue. It sparkled like the ocean, yet remained as still as the cloud-dressed canvas of the heavens. The threatening forest of stone teeth standing around us was all that could be seen. I squinted through the blazing sunlight; the island was still there.
“Where did it go?” asked a mate in disbelief.
“It turned blue!” exclaimed another.
“It was a mirage. The sea is playing tricks on us.”
“Nay, you bloomin’ cleats,” Owen shouted. “It’s reflecting! The island is made of rock that shines like the sky and water. That be why seamen don’t see it as they pass. Besides, most won’t sail in shallows like this, and you can see why not.” He stomped his foot on the splintered deck to make his point clear.
“Bart, let the boats down. It’s time we explore that island,” Grant said.
“Wait,” Owen yelled. “This is Lord Sydin’s realm. We must not enter his water without invite.”
Waylin came forward. “Our enemy sails in our wake and we are crippled. We must go aground and take what will help us.”
“Nothing there is free for the taking,” said Owen.
“Ha! A notorious pirate speaks of ethics.”
“I am warning you,” growled Owen. “Do not go on that island. They will not be pleased.”
“Who? Your Mermaidens and Merlords? If this is the ‘greatest of Mer islands’ as you say, where are the Water People?”
Owen’s eyes darted across the sea. He panned the horizon for anything that would prove his claims. “I don’t know,” he finally said.
Waylin said nothing more. He walked away from Owen and the crew followed. I felt sorry for the old pirate, but there was nothing I could say or do.
~~~~~~
Grant elected to stay onboar
d, to remain with the ship and crew. I selected a team of five to join me for the first expedition of Cerulean Isle. We set out in two rowboats, three men in each. Waylin, Bart, and I took the oars in one, while Owen followed with two mates, Hammock and Konopo.
Hammock, a heavy man, was not one for climbing rigging or running about the deck. His shaggy hair was the color of mud. His uncanny strength made him an invaluable member of the crew despite his laziness. His arms were massive; no one onboard the sloop could best him in games of might. He arm wrestled for money when in port and he was often the first choice for protection. That is what earned him a seat in the rowboat. He worked the oars with ease and precision.
Konopo was a tribal seafarer. His name meant ‘rain.’ The islanders of the Caribbean valued rainfall and thought it a great blessing. He was one of the few remaining Carib tribesman and knew the ways of many natives that still dwelled in the ungoverned lands. Waylin had rescued him from slavery and offered him a job aboard the sloop, valuing his combat skill and knowledge of the old native customs.
Soft-spoken Konopo never wore anything more than pigskin drapery around his waist. His skin was like black leather and his head bald, save for a long black braid that sprouted from the back of this head. He kept a dagger tied to his right calf.
We rowed steadily toward the glowing, blue island, carefully maneuvering around the foreboding stones. Owen rambled on about his dislike for Waylin while Waylin ignored him.
As we drifted closer to Cerulean Isle, I noticed a small cove void of vegetation. Only the dazzling blue rock and pearly sand embraced us. Our boats crunched over the sparkling shore and came to a halt. We climbed out and stepped into powdery sand. I knelt down and scooped up a handful. The granules were bits of the reflective silver rock mixed with pristine white sand. Where the powder touched my fingers, the skin shimmered in the sunlight. All around us loomed sharp and towering slabs of crystalline rock. Some of the stone figures were so smooth that I saw my reflection staring back at me as if trapped in a strange world.
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