The Ophir (12 page)

The ships formed scaffolding for more ships
as they fell toward the bottom of the ocean. The mound grew over
time, until it towered above the cordon of decaying ships that
formed the triangle. The occasional yacht was often taken as their
own, and all goods were transferred.

Disappearances and anomalies would continue
throughout the ages. More reports would be filed on missing boats,
ships and airplanes when the time of man took to the air, but I
would no longer care by then.

* * * *

The Ophir and her crew disembarked at the
island now and again. I watched and recorded as best I could the
annals for future reference. It was fast becoming more and more
difficult to hold pencil or pen to paper. With no flesh upon my
bones, the writing utensils slipped too easily from my grip.
Betwixt and between those moments, I mused as best I could with
decreasing mental acuity, to consider my life past, present and
future.

My past had been busy, quiet for the most
part with a measure of respect from others due to my position with
my master Joseph Ben Abin. That past seemed so distant as to make
it a short, dim memory. The past, after the curse, was a fast paced
life fraught with danger. It made me feel more alive even though I
died a little with each draining. The adrenaline was always
pumping. I stayed ready for flight when needed.

The One’s quest of revenge for the rape and
death of his wife was never ending. It took us through many parts
of the continent that had never been explored. One could follow his
route by following the trail of desiccated bodies left in his
wake.

In a recent conversation with Captain
Antonio, my thoughts wandered, my sentences rambled with lack of
cohesion, but I made my point. My future held no interest. I was
nothing more than an empty-headed puppet. I could no longer parlay
for the purposes of bargaining. My days were at an end, and I was
glad of it. My condition begged questions: How much longer must I
exist? Was there hope for me in the future? Could my life be
rectified and made to count for something, or was I to simply cease
to exist?

I could no longer animate my old bones, all
that was left of Ahkmed. I prayed daily for release.

“What would you ask of me, Ahkmed? The fleet
has gone its separate ways. Ask what you will and I will do my best
to make it happen.”

“Peace, Captain. I ask that I be allowed to
savor peace. Allow me to rest on an unknown island. Lean me against
a coconut tree with a bottle of rum where the crabs can explore the
fleshless caverns of my body. It was
never
a pirate’s life
for me, and I belonged less in the life of the lamia. Peace,
Captain. Let me go.”

“We head for the Ring of Fire. Until then you
can stay in your cabin. The waters will be turbulent. I would not
wish to lose you overboard. You served me faithfully, though it was
not always to your liking, and I believe myself to be indebted to
you for those first years of service. I learned many things because
of you.

There are many uncharted islands in that
realm. You deserve great reward for your part in our history as
well as that of your master. May you be blessed with dreams of
things, as you would have wanted them to be, had fate not
intervened.

Busy your days with listing those things you
wish to take with you. Please include your pencil and paper. I will
provide a waterproof chest for your property to which I will add
leather gloves, which will strengthen your grip on the stylus. It
will protect the contents and will not break open so easily should
another rogue wave hit.” The captain smiled and it amazed Ahkmed.
His fangs had receded. His smile was both human and sincere.

“You jest, right?” I smiled back. Having no
lips, my jaw twitched to indicate a smile. The rotting flesh
sloughing off my brow wriggled, unable to form a confident feature.
The Captain chuckled low and walked away.

After the Captain left my quarters, I went
back to the maps. I had been following The One’s travels that
reached me through gossip. If the accounts were true, my old master
should be heading in the same basic direction.

In the last 300 years or so, rumors had
arisen of a man with a reputation of great strength, and no small
amount of magik, at his disposal. He was described as exhibiting
the same propensity for cruelty and debauchery as Kadar Nazim,
prophet and cursor of my master.

In actuality, the actions of this individual,
Hadim Khadhulu, could describe either my master or Kadar Nazim. The
map and timeline I devised proved it to be two individuals rather
than one. Although both traveled in an eastern direction, they also
traveled on opposite sides of the land.

My master took routes that lead him from
Egypt to Europa and through the continent of Asia. Nazim, whispered
to be Hadim Khadhulu, travelled the southern coast in a parallel
direction going from Africa to the Mideast regions and Asia.
Unbeknownst to them both, they were being lead forward by fate. The
dice had been cast.

The word had reached many that Hadim Khadhulu
was a descendant of Kadar Nazim, or Nazim himself. If it were so,
it would mean that Nazim had also become immortal. I was unable to
make sense of the possibility and implications of such a thought,
but kept it in mind and my ears stayed open for reports of his
whereabouts.

There were signs that time was shifting in
preparation for great change.

“Look. Are those not Leopard Shark? Why are
they swimming
with
instead of against their prey?”

“Unusual. They may be confused.”

“Confused. You may be right. Seems to be a
lot of that going ‘round. Heard they’ve been seen in colder waters
too.”

“They may be following the anchovies south.
They’ve been spotted in the waters off the southern tip.”

“Not only that but there’ve been reports of
whale beaching and one was even found swimming up river.”

“I remember that. The sighting had been just
after an earthquake more than a thousand miles away.”

“That one’s new. Where did you hear that
one?”

“There was a ship we took about three months
ago. They fared from France, headed toward the Cape of Good
Hope.”

“I love the French. They always have that
well-seasoned taste.”

“Garlic.” The vampires looked at each other
and broke out in laughter.

“Well, so much for that myth.”

Now and then I would get word that The One
had been caught and beheaded. But the next storyteller would erase
that story and recite “news” that indicated that my master was
still in this world. The story would include details of
disappearances of citizens, mass killings and bloodless bodies torn
to shreds. I knew by the tales that he still prospered.

I listened and remembered to write the
information down. Someday it would be found, perhaps, and clarify
parts of history not open to public discussion.

* * * *

Visitors to Ophir Island were welcomed. Soft
island music would add to the illusion that they’d discovered an
island as yet to be mapped.

Captain Antonio and his crew, as well as the
other ships, stopped on the island now and then while waiting for
the time of man to end. The vampires aboard played their cat and
mouse game with their island clients, until it was time to pay up.
The veils would come down and the victims would succumb with little
fight, but wonderful memories for as long as they lasted. But even
those would be taken from most of the humans as they were drained
of their life’s blood.

In books kept by marine services of the
history of what was known as the Bermuda Triangle and The Devils
Triangle, there would be many disappearances recorded. The
phenomena would give birth to numerous fantastic stories that were
real--for the most part.

Of all the myths and tales, my personal
favorites were always the ones of love. The one I wish I had
witnessed was of Elena and Ricardo.

* * * *

Elena was a robust girl who dreamed of
marriage and children. Her husband died at sea serving his country.
Elena missed him and wished to join him. She took care of all her
business, closed all accounts and left a note dividing her savings
and property among relatives. No one recognized her actions as
those of one about to say ‘goodbye’ to her existence.

When Elena went on a long trip alone, her
relatives were happy for her. Her husband had provided handsomely;
she deserved to travel. They thought, “
Perhaps it will cheer her
up, poor girl.”

When she took sailing lessons, the women
thought, “
Good for her. She needs to become independent. This
will shore her up some.”
The men whispered, “
Umpf! Bet
that’ll be short lived.
” Little did they know how wrong their
statements would be.

Determined to join her husband in his watery
grave, never to see land again, Elena told everyone that she just
needed a bit of privacy to be with her own thoughts; she leased a
catamaran and sailed away from the harbor without looking back. It
was either a storm or just plain fate that swept her onto Ophir
Island.

Her thoughts, focused on her husband, were
strong and clear. Her vision distorted by the vibrational pull of
the lamia blurred her reality. She thought, “
Is this a
dream?”

“No, madam. This is no dream. See me with
your heart. It’s been 15 years since I was marooned on this
island.”

“Ricardo? But, it can’t be. It must be a
dream.”

“Come here. Let me take you in my arms. Do
these arms not feel like the arms of man? Your man. Elena my sweet,
I’ve longed for this day. You have no idea how much. Take me in
your arms. Hold me.” The woman wept as she gave herself to the man
she believed to be her husband. She wanted so much for this to be
true.

The cast of vampires played various roles as
the “couple” frolicked on the beach. As Elena offered her throat to
her imagined lover, each took a sip of the nectar that was her
blood. Each lived in her dreams of love and pain. Each loved her.
Each exchanged a drop of themselves for a drop of hers. Three days
later, her catamaran was discovered floating at sea. It was empty.
Elena’s body was never found.

Had she succumbed to the vampire’s kiss? Had
she drowned at sea in a storm? Might she still be on Ophir Island
living her dream? I can’t answer those questions, but I can tell
you this: it was rumored that a vampire’s blood was much like a
human man’s sperm. It could regenerate and mutate into a living
cell that could be passed from woman to woman.

I prefer this explanation to be more
scientific and therefore more plausible. The woman was taken to an
undisclosed location and left there to be found by a kind man who
nursed her back to health. He fell in love with her and she with
him. They married and had three daughters they named Juanita,
Antonia, and Patricia. It would be them and their female progeny
that would carry the lamia line into the future of man. But then,
that’s
my
ending. You can put whatever ending you prefer
when it becomes
your
story.

* * * *

Of the pirates that chose to remain at sea,
few survived. They were young and reacted on impulse when left
without leadership. They lacked the navigational skills that
Captain Antonio had been given by the Knights Templar.

They strayed from shipping lanes and often
went in circles trying to find their way. Lost, they retreated into
a frame of mind that was not that far above what they were reputed
to be, animals.

Trapped in the Sargasso Sea, faced with
starvation, they turned on one another. In an act of desperation,
the last man set his ship ablaze as the sun rose to the horizon.
Tears of blood coursed down his petrified cheeks and turned to ash
as the flames consumed his body. And another skeleton filled
ghost
ship was added to the list of pirate lore.

Chapter
Twelve

The Ophir met and challenged pirates,
privateers, and galleons alike, but never ships such as the war
galleons of the Knights Templar.

Warrior monks, blessed with the knowledge
possessed in the Templar treasures, made it their responsibility to
commit to memory all the information recorded in the leather bound
books. The books contained scriptural treatise on sacred geometry,
art, science and scriptural scrolls, holding the mystical wisdom of
Judaic and Egyptian ritual traditions.

Many believed that the Poor Knights were
guided by a universal mind. The Templars were somehow led to the
precise locations to excavate the ancient treasures of the world.
In truth, the treasures were located by the Templars because they
had buried them there. One of the major goals of Templar excavation
in the Holy Land was the Ark of the Covenant.

When the excavations were near completion in
the Year of Our Lord 1127, the future King of Jerusalem would join
the Templar order, and later grant land and a rule. The rule placed
the Templars and their authority of the treasures above the control
or manipulation of bishops, kings and emperors. The Grand Master of
the Templars would, from that point on, answer to the Pope, and the
Pope alone.

Captain Antonio, for the first time since
leaving the circle of influence of The One, found himself facing
and impressionable foe.

* * * *

As the Ophir penetrated a thick fog not of
their making, the Captain found himself on the inside edge of a
semi-circle of twelve war galleons. It astounded the ancient
captain and his crew. No one from his fleet of nine ships sensed
the presence of man. By the time he realized his mistake, it was
too late.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Pray, what source is
there to spark such a show?”