Cerulean Isle (9 page)
L’Ollon pressed the sharp tip of the blade to Shanley’s throat. “Now you die, Shanley. Farewell.”
“Farewell, indeed.” Shanley grabbed the blade with his right hand. Blood streamed from his grip as the steel cut into his palm. He forced the blade from his throat and lunged at L’Ollon, barreling into him, causing L’Ollon to drop his sword. The two fell and tumbled across the deck. The circle of men, at the sight of a brawl, closed in and jeered as the pirate captains struggled and fought.
Shanley pummeled his enemy with bloody fists. L’Ollon groaned from Shanley’s punches and bled from the nose and mouth. The spraying blood did not slow Shanley’s assault. L’Ollon’s crew looked on and hollered encouragement for their captain.
“It’s pirate code,” explained Grant. “The men wait for the command from L’Ollon. When it comes, Shanley will die.”
“What if Shanley defeats L’Ollon?”
“Then the
Obsidian
will be under new command.”
The smashing of fist against flesh resonated throughout the main deck. The wind began to quicken and the sails rattled their riggings. The barque creaked and swayed over the stirring water. The rain fell in sheets over the ship as the thunder rumbled over the masts.
Grant pulled me away from the fight. “Follow me,” he cried over the hollers of the men. “We’re getting out of here.”
We ran toward the stern, slipping on the wet wood of the deck, and stopped at a rowboat suspended from thick ropes on an arching rack. It swung from side to side with the rocking of the ship.
“Climb into the boat,” said Grant. “I will lower it to the water.”
“What about you?”
“Once you are adrift, I’ll jump overboard and you can pull me in. Hurry.”
The boat creaked as I climbed inside. Grant wiped the rainwater from his eyes and worked quickly to release the clove hitch. With a sudden jerk, the boat slid downward. Grant struggled with the weight of the craft but slowly let the line slip through his grip. The pulleys worked smoothly as he eased the boat overboard. I held tightly to the sides as it swayed. I glanced over the side of the boat and saw the dark blue ocean getting closer. I heard Grant grunting as he used all of his strength to lower me safely to the churning waves. Finally, the boat touched the bouncing waves and Grant let the line loose.
I readied the oars. “Now, jump!”
He climbed onto the railings just as a blood-curdling voice called out the fatal order.
“Kill Shanley!”
A body was hurled over the bow rails, a thick rope attached to the neck.
The slack of the rope ended with a nauseating crack and James Shanley’s body dangled lifelessly, spinning, swaying, and knocking against the hull.
~~~~~~
I heard Grant call for help and saw him caught in the clutches of L’Ollon. L’Ollon was a gruesome red mess, his face unrecognizable. The beady dark eyes were swollen and nearly closed; his lower lip was split, revealing the entire row of bottom teeth, a wound that made him look monstrous.
“Your freedom has a price,” yelled L’Ollon, his voice slurred. He held his battle-tarnished sword aloft.
I pulled the leather book from my shirt and held it high for L’Ollon to see. The blue ribbon danced in the wind. “Let him go, or I destroy your book!” I held it over the water. L’Ollon’s eyes widened and he loosened his grip on Grant. “Now step away from him.”
Just as L’Ollon lowered his blade, his body hurled into the air. The captain flailed as he fell overboard, splashing into the stirring blue water. His sword fell into the waves after him. Up on the deck, where L’Ollon had been, stood Christoff.
“Go, young cooper,” he said. Grant splashed into the sea and swam toward the rowboat.
The boat had drifted a challenging distance from the
Obsidian.
Grant swam as hard as he could. I reached to pull him in. The boat rocked and tilted dangerously as I pulled him aboard. Just then, a gnarled hand grabbed his ankle.
Grant kicked at the monstrous man trying to pull him back into the sea.
The saltwater had rinsed away much of the blood from L’Ollon’s face. The two halves of his parted lower lip flapped as he yelled at us. “Give me the book! Give me what is mine!”
I stood up, enraged. I clutched the handle of the sword at my hip and drew it from my belt. “You want what is yours?” I yelled. “Here! This belongs to you!”
I plunged the blade into his chest. Thunder roared over me and a streak of lightning split the stormy sky. L’Ollon wheezed as the cold steel entered his body. I pushed the sword as hard as I could, using both hands to drive the blade through his chest until it broke through the meat of his back.
L’Ollon roared in agony. He released Grant’s ankle and touched the golden handle of the sword. He coughed. Blood sprayed. He began to sink. His eyes remained fixed on us as he fell under the sea. The captain of the
Obsidian
sank deeper and deeper into the ocean, still staring at us until the shadows of the sea swallowed his hideous face.
"Row, lads,” Christoff shouted. “Row as fast as you can!” L’Ollon’s pirates turned on Christoff, but he fought them off, cutting them down and knocking them overboard. Battle plagued the main deck; pirates fought alongside Christoff while others fought for the fallen L’Ollon. The deadly booms of pistol fire echoed over chiming blades.
A group of men filled another rowboat and rowed over the water toward us.
“You’ll die for your crimes against our crew,” shouted one. He lifted his pistol and pulled the trigger. The shot erupted with a cloud of smoke. The water to my left splashed from the round. As the pirates continued after us, he loaded another shot.
“Keep rowing,” Grant shouted to me. “The rolling waves and rain will make it hard for him to hit us.”
Another shot rang out. The water burst again, this time inches from our boat. I pulled my oars in cadence with Grant as the ocean swelled from the storm. Lightning cracked overhead just as the third shot exploded and tore through the side of our boat.
One of the men called out over the raging storm. “If the ocean don’t swallow ya, the storm will.” They turned around, rowing back to the
Obsidian.
Water poured in and the torrent of rain helped fill our boat. The waves carried us farther away from the ship. We rowed on as the water pooled over our feet. It seemed we were being pulled into the heart of the storm. The surface of the water became a dark blue landscape of sharp hills and deep valleys.
“Better hang on to something,” Grant shouted.
The angry ocean swelled as thunder clashed. A great wave emerged, like a mountain of water. It loomed over us, pulling our small boat atop its shoulders. The oars fell into the sea as we caught the steep incline. As the mighty wave hurled our boat off its crest, I fell into the foaming ocean, hearing Grant’s calls only when my head broke through the surface. I kicked and fanned my arms, but the sea pulled me down. I rolled under the waves, losing my orientation of which way was up. My eyes stung and my lungs ached. I clawed and fought the fierce ocean until I became lost and my mind clouded.
So this is my end.
As my eyes darkened, I reached up one last time and felt a hand close around my wrist.
Grant pulled me to the surface. He held me above the water as I coughed and choked. “I’ve got you, just breathe.” My head spun and my chest heaved. The storm raged on and the waves pushed us around. “Are you well enough?”
“I…I think so.”
“The boat has overturned but is still adrift. We must get to it; it’s all we’ve got to hold on to.”
We swam through the churning sea while the rain hammered down. We reached the capsized rowboat and held on for our lives, caught in the violent wrestling of storm and ocean.
~~~~~~
After what felt like hours, the ocean settled and the clouds softened. I could not tell if the storm had subsided or if we had drifted out of its clutches. I felt sick and dizzy and my arms were tired from gripping the boat. Grant held tightly to the opposite edge, the keel of the rowboat arched between us. He looked tired and a large bruise colored the left side of his face. He reached into his shirt and pulled out Jean L’Ollon’s sea chart. With a proud smile, he laid it on the boat.
“I suppose I should let this dry,” he said. “Do you still have the book?”
To my surprise, the leather journal remained tucked in my shirt. I pulled the book and pouch of gold from my shirt and laid them on the boat.
The last of the storm clouds burned away and the sun revealed itself, only to fall behind the western water. Night fell and the stars took light, followed by the silver moon. The sea turned to ink that shimmered in the pallid glow of the night sky. I was very tired. I could feel my grip slipping and the sway of the sea was inviting, as though it wanted me to fall away from our boat.
“Take off your belt and give it to me,” Grant instructed. “I will join yours with mine and we will tie our wrists together. This way, we can try to sleep and should one of us slip away, the other will be pulled and woken. A life-line for the night.”
We tied our belts together to make one long strap. With my end secured around my wrist and Grant’s to his, we pulled ourselves onto the over-turned boat as much as possible and closed our eyes to rest. Though uncomfortable, I fell into a dreamless sleep that only seemed to last a minute.
The blazing sun woke me. I could feel my skin beginning to burn and my legs starting to numb in the water.
“How are you feeling?” asked Grant.
“Glad to be alive,” I replied with a weak smile.
“I sure could use some breakfast,” Grant joked.
“How far out from land do you think we are?”
“I really don’t know. The first thing to do is locate the four points. The sun came up behind you, so that’s east. The west is at my back. That leaves north to my left and south to my right. Curacao is that way.” He pointed to his right. “We should watch the south and east water for approaching ships. Can you kick your legs?”
“I can hardly feel them.”
“Well, come to my side of the boat and we’ll do our best to kick our way south. We don’t want to drift any farther from land than we already have.”
We clung to our ruined boat and kicked, forcing our drift southward. We stopped to rest every so often, but without food and water it wasn’t long before the last of our energy was spent. The merciless Caribbean sun charred our skin. We kept the sea chart and journal out of the water and soon, both had dried. We watched the path of the sun and maintained our southern course. When night fell, we belted our wrists again and closed our eyes.
I was too sore, burnt, and afraid to sleep. I watched the dark horizon, hoping desperately for a ship. My thoughts wandered and in my exhausted delirium, I imagined the Mermaiden from the tapestry in Shanley’s quarters coming to our aid.
The ocean sparkled under the moonlight as if dusted with floating gems. As I stared out at the dark horizon, an orange light winked on. The light brightened as it approached; a glowing lantern. Soon the silhouette of a single-masted ship emerged under the dim starlight, its bow pointed in our direction. The moonlight illuminated its white sails, making the craft appear elegant and ethereal.
I pulled the strap that joined me to Grant. “Wake up. A ship.”
We studied the ship as it came closer. Under the lantern’s glow, I saw the faint blue of the boot top running the length of the hull. “I recognize that ship. There was only one ship docked at Willemstad with a blue stripe!”
The lantern light fell over us, and when the helmsmen spotted our craft drifting on the open water, he took the lantern and began to swing it from side to side, letting us know that he saw us. The large sloop eased toward us. From the deck a man called out.
“Ahoy!”
“Ahoy,” called Grant.
A long rope ladder was thrown over the starboard bow.
Grant said, “Gather the journal and the gold. I’ll take the chart.”
With tired limbs and callused hands, we climbed the ladder. The helmsman pulled us upward, making the climb easier. Once on the deck, we collapsed.
~~~~~~
I awoke in a small bed. Grant rested in a bed next to mine. We were in a small cabin, and seated near the door, watching over us, was a man with long blonde hair. He looked familiar, and though tired and weak, I remembered him. He was one of Shanley’s crew. When he saw that I was awake, he approached. Grant woke then and tried to sit up.
“Be at ease, friend. My name is Waylin. You are aboard a large sloop enroute to Grenada.”
I fell back into a deep sleep filled with nightmares, images of Shanley’s body dangling off the
Obsidian’s
bow, the ghastly, distorted face of L’Ollon as he sank below the waves; and Beelo, lifeless under a gray blanket.
Grant shook my shoulders and I woke up. Waylin had left us alone in the room. I looked out of a small window over my bed and saw that it was night. I had slept through an entire day, and though hungry and sore, I felt that some of my strength had returned. Grant helped me sit up. “Where is the gold? Do you still have it?”
I felt under my shirt. The book and pouch of coins was still there. I gave them both to Grant.
“We need to hide this.” Grant looked around the room. He tapped his toes on the wooden floor and listened, doing this in several places until he stopped and bent down.
He pulled up a loose floor board, gathered the pouches, chart, and journal, then stuffed them into the small space beneath the floor. There was a knock at the door. Grant opened it to find Waylin holding a bundle of clean clothes.
“Get dressed, then report to the galley for food, drink, and to meet with our captain. You’ll find the galley below deck.” Waylin handed Grant the clothing, and left.
Grant gave me a soft cotton blouse, olive in color, with long sleeves and a drawstring under the collar. It fit loosely yet comfortably. It was long, with a hem just above my knees. The long sleeves would protect my arms from the harsh sun. I secured my belt around my waist over the blouse.
