Syren

Chapter One

It had taken two years of hard labour, cajoling the old sea dogs who lurked the docks. At last, he had signed on to a ship, and with him ten loyal men. Two days out they had taken the ship and he was a captain again. A pirate captain but that didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was the island.

Years of searching, five attempted mutinies. More killing than he had ever imagined but finally he had found it.

At noon Bellows rowed to the island alone. His crew had baulked now as they sat anchored less than a mile away from the barren angular rock jutting out of the ocean.

The heat lay across him like a thick blanket, as he dragged the longboat ashore and surveyed the area. Out on the water there had been the ocean breeze and the heat had been bearable but here on land the sun seemed to suck the air from his lungs and his hands shook.

The only beach was small, less than a hundred yards wide, the sand was grey-black, hot as coals and rolled back away from the water for about a mile before it reached the foot of the small central mountain that made up the bulk of the landmass.

He ran as fast as his old aching legs could carry him, ignoring the scattered remnants of an ancient city that must have been glorious in its time... now engulfed by the jungle. Miraculously there was still a path of sorts, overgrown but distinct. What this meant he did not know, instead, he banished the question from his mind, forging ahead like a man possessed.

He stopped now and stared in awe. A temple was cut into the face of the sheer mountainside. Huge stone figures, their arms and legs extremely long and willowy, stood in relief on either side of the huge impressive entrance way.

Bellows crossed himself instinctively and stepped across the threshold. A few feet in, the smooth cut walls gave way to the bare rock of what must have been a natural cavern. A torch hung in a rusted copper sconce and he took a moment to light it then, holding it in front of him, he entered the cave.

Inside the temperature dropped palpably. The path wound down and to the left, he stepped deliberately not wanted to slip as the stone floor was slick and damp. After more than ten minutes he sensed he was entering a larger cavern and stopped to take it in.

He was standing at the entrance to a large circular room. Around its edges, the walls had been smoothed and polished. At some time they had been painted with huge frescos but little of the paint remained and what did was water damaged and indeterminate.

At the centre of the room was a huge granite slab, its back faced him. It was over ten feet tall and was carved with swirling shapes that may have been script but meant nothing to him. Bellows crept around not getting too close to the monolith, wondering what it was... perhaps an altar to some pagan god.

Something moved... he stopped and stared at the granite monolith. Was it a trick of the light? But no it moved again. A person was chained there... the far side of the huge stone was cut at an angle and there lying upon it was... a woman.

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her skin glowed in the torchlight. Her raven black hair, so long it fell down to the ground in piles around her feet. The nails of her fingers and toes incredibly long as well, curling wickedly, but it was her eyes that caught him... huge dark eyes in a sharply pointed face that stared at him... into him.

She was naked and chained akimbo to the huge block with thick rusty shackles at her wrists, ankles and neck. Her breasts stood high like the breasts of a young girl, nipples small but erect in the cool air. Tiny beads of perspiration made a dotted trail from the harsh hollows of her neck down through the valley of her cleavage across the flat plains of her belly and into the mysterious cavern of her womanhood. His addled brain held only one thought. He must free her, he knew it. No one should be chained like this. He stepped towards her and she smiled.

"No!"

Bellows whirled around to see a man. He was short, thin and bald with skin as white as a ghost. He wore the brown, rough-hewn robes of a monk and this was further evidenced by the large wooden cross that hung flat against his chest by a leather thong. His face was creased with wrinkles and the whites of his eyes were a sickly yellow.

"Who are you... what's going on here?" Bellow demanded, surveying the monk.

"You must leave this place." The monk said, ignoring his question.

Bellows knew he could kill this man. He had killed so many in his quest to find the island that he had become an expert at killing. He could knock the monk to the floor and stomp his head flat with the heel of his boot. He could grab the smaller man and break his back across one knee. He could simply set the mans robes alight with his torch and let the fire do the work. All of these scenarios rushed through his mind and yet still he was a God-fearing man, and the idea of killing a monk stayed his hands.

So instead of killing, he asked, "Why is this woman chained here?"

Again the monk did not answer, saying only, "Go now!"

Bellows turned and took a step towards the Altar, for in his mind that was the only thing it could be now. The naked woman heaved against the chains that held her pinned in the shape of a star. Her legs were spread wide, her womanhood hidden only by a thick mass of pubic hair and she tried in vain to bring her knees together but was unable. She did not cry out, did not make a sound, but her eyes pleaded with him.

"NO!" The monk yelled from behind, and then an incredibly strong hand grasped Bellows' shoulder and spun him around.

The monk looked savage in the torchlight and for a moment Bellows thought he might be insane. But then the look changed and he was pleading with his eyes just as the naked woman was. The monk touched his wooden cross and held it up for Bellows to see. He shook his head and there was sadness in his face as spoke again. "No."

It was only one word, but there was meaning behind it that made it much more. The monk reached down and took the captains hand, he turned it over palm up and ran his fingers slowly over the hard yellow callouses. Bellows had the hand of a sailor, rough and hard from years of labour, blistered and cuts and healed and cut again. The monk's hands were soft and smooth like the grasping, clutching hands of an infant.

Again the monk spoke that one word, even softer now but imploring him to obey. "No."

It was obvious the little man knew that Bellows could kill him but needed desperately to convince the captain not to release the woman. What could it mean, why was she chained? She was small and thin and physically no match for either of them. What had she done that she should be chained here in such degradation? The whores in the backwater pirate villages were treated with more dignity than this poor woman, who had obviously been chained here for months or perhaps years.

Bellow stared at the monk and tried to put as much meaning as he could into the words when next he spoke. "But, why monk... why?"

Again the monk shook his head and there was great sadness in his face. "Go." As he said it he began to gently lead Bellows away by the hand. Bellows allowed it and eventually, he stood back in the sunlight at the entrance to the Temple. The monk hung back in shadows, shielding his eyes from the light or perhaps raising a hand in farewell, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.