“I need some volunteers,” Captain declared. His impressive figure loomed over his men like a thunderhead threatening to break. Beneath his cap, his bushy brow cast shadows upon his already sunken eyes and cheeks. A living skeleton, as half the crew joked, though none dared say it aloud. The glossy surface of his eyepatch gleamed just as brilliantly as his blue eye, ancient and young.
“Forgive us,” a voice cut through the silence. The crew parted, leaving Milla alone under Captain’s piercing gaze. No one dared stand between them—not even Imaani, though she strained against Khasan’s firm grasp on her arm. “It seems we no longer trust you.”
“Is that so?” Captain inquired, the ever-present frown deepening. His voice remained calm, causing shivers to run through the crews' backs as they murmured softly to themselves. “And what, my boy, do you intend to do about it?”
Milla glanced around at his crew mates, hoping someone would gather their courage to stand with him. None dared glance his way besides Imaani and Khasan. Another pang of betrayal shot through Milla's heart as he realized just how little he truly knew about Khasan's intentions. Inhaling deeply to steel his wilting resolve, he returned Captain’s glare and stated, “I propose you tell us, finally, why we risked our lives and fortunes to brave the Storm Ring." His voice gained volume and his stance confidence as the dam of emotions finally broke. "Everyone knows Enlil and Ninlil show no mercy to those who trespass their seas. And for what? The glory of discovering this island where we all will surely find our graves?”
A stir passed through the crew, their shifting feet and stolen glances displaying unease. Milla seized it, saying, “Surely it has occurred to everyone here that we are on a fool’s errand. None have survived the Storm Ring, and perhaps it is not because they were unable to pass through as we did. Perhaps it is because this island, forsaken by the gods and barred by Enlil and Ninlil, is their true demise.”
Milla drew his cutlas and pointed it at Captain. “At least give us the satisfaction of knowing why we die so that Finnegan Roe may take our souls to rest with him.”
The air grew heavier. The shadows surrounding Captain deepened and stretched, creeping outward until they swallowed the crew and deck. A blink later, Captain stood over Milla, his presence suffocating and immense.
Milla stumbled back before catching himself, his knees buckling but his grip on the cutlass firm. Time seemed to stop as Captain’s single eye bore into his. Seconds dragged like hours, and when the shadows receded and Captain turned away, flourishing his cloak rather dramatically, the tension snapped like a rope pulled too taut. Milla collapsed onto the deck, his chest heaving as if he’d surfaced from drowning. He could feel the stares of his shipmates, but none moved to help him.
"Perhaps you are right," Captain continued, fidgeting with the talisman that hung from his cloak collar. "I have been rather secretive." He stepped across the deck towards Khasan, who stood straighter despite the crew cowering from Captain's shadows. Placing an approving hand upon the young man, Captain said, "Thank you for holding strong."
Khasan struck his chest and lowered his head in salute, ignoring Imaani's silently burning questions.
Captain turned back to Milla, who had not yet risen, and offered a hand. The gesture was answered with a blank stare, so he proceeded to speak, turning now to the crew. "This island is called Deirdre. You may not recognize this name, as it originates in my home land. The same land that our prisoners hail from."
As if on cue, Jamal emerged from below deck with the two prisoners in tow. The blind woman stumbled, but the boy caught her and held her up, whispering reassuring words in their language. Jamal took one glance at the crew before deducing the situation and gently guiding the prisoners to stand with Khasan and Imaani.
"As for why we are here," Captain continued, pacing about to ease the tension between him and his crew, "it is a rather personal and selfish reason, I will admit. But I doubt you all will remain indignant when I share with you this secret. Deirdre is the source of the magics."
Silence choked the air, allowing the gentle lapping waves and creaking wood fill its void. Then at once, the crew erupted into a chorus of voices, accusations and questions shot at their captain.
"You've brought us to our doom!"
"The source of the magics? This island is not only a fairy tale, but a death sentence!"
"Storms and curses and now magics?! What do you suppose is next, dragons come to eat us all?"
"We should have let the Usurper take our lives."
"At least then we would have died peacefully. Who knows what kind of fates await us here?"
Infuriated by this revelation, the crew found their courage to reveal their long-suppressed suspicions, crowding around their captain and tossing their remarks like stones. He allowed them to vent their grievances, the shadows around him disappearing and leaving him a feeble and small figure.
"Quiet!"
Everyone turned to Imaani, who had leapt onto the rail. She held the ratlines in one hand and her cutlass in the other, eyes blazing with a defiance the men had learned to never tempt. Khasan stood beneath her, his arms crossed and his face set in a soft frown. The crew knew that meant he was ready to slash the tongue of the first person who disrespected his sister.
Pointing her cutlass at Captain, Imaani inquired one question. "Why do you seek the source of the magics?"
He studied his crew carefully before returning to her and replying, "I must confess, I do not entirely remember."
Once again, only the waves and wood could be heard. Captain shrank under the confused stares of his crew, unable to answer their silent questions. Jamal finally stepped forward. "Tell them your name, Captain."
A dry chuckle escaped the man. "I haven't said it in so long. I'm surprised I still remember it, to be honest." He paused to look at his men. "I was given the name Killian."
The woman exclaimed in surprise, having recognized his name. She rushed forward, tripping on random objects scattered about the deck, speaking rapidly in her language. Jamal translated for everyone else.
"Say it's not so. Say you are anyone else but him. Surely it's not possible!" She turned her face up at his, and tears poured from her unseeing eyes. "Evangeline said you were dead!"
**
See the story written by my friend here.
