Lions of the Sea

8

Morris took his horse down the trail as far as he could. Marina followed up close. When they couldn't ride any further, they tied their horses to a scrawny tree that had grown crooked in the constant wind blowing from the ocean. From there, they kept going down on foot. The trail meandered among rocks toward a tiny cove opening to the eastern reefs. Morris helped the girl to jump to the narrow stretch of sand slopping softly down to the water.

Marina went up to the shore, admiring that untrodden spot of the island. Rocks walled both sides of the cove, like arms coming down from the hill, tall enough to hide whatever lay behind. They stretched into the sea some hundreds of yards to meet the reefs, where the dark blue of the sea showed how deep it was, even so close to the coast.

Then she spotted the huge dark bulk that seemed to rest against the reef on her right. Her eyes widened when she realized it was the hull of a ship run aground.

Morris stood by her side and pointed at it. "Hard to believe she's still there, after ten years."

"You know what happened? Who would try to make it to shore here?"

"Nobody, pearl. We brought her here ourselves, and ran her aground in purpose, to keep her from sinking."

She turned to him, her eyes full of questions.

Morris' smile was nostalgic, his pale blue eyes moving over the ship's willowy lines. "It's the Phantom, Marina," he said, lowering his voice. "Your father's ship."

Marina looked again at what was left of the ship, as a sudden anxiety seemed to press on her chest, thickening her breath.

"The Phantom? What is it doing here?"

"We buried your father at sea, so the Phantom was all your mother had left to remember him. But she didn't want it to sail again, neither rot in the port, where everybody would see it. As far as I know, your parents used to come to this cove together. So your mother asked us to bring the Phantom here. We ran her aground like that so the shoal would keep her afloat, and took the masts down." Morris sighed. "Your mother used to say that your father spent so much time onboard, that keeping the Phantom was better than visiting a grave, because his spirit lived in every board of the ship."

The breeze made Marina notice the wet trail of tears down her cheeks. She hadn't realized she was crying. "Is there any way to board it?"

"Sure. You can walk down the reef with the low tide."

Marina looked down and saw that the waves receded slowly.

Morris signaled her to step back and sat down on the sand. He glanced over his shoulder, at the sun sliding down toward the west. "We still have a while until then," he said.

They remained silent for a long while, lost in their own thoughts.

"Do you think I'll ever be able to sail?" Marina asked, her eyes captive of the deserted ship.

Morris faced her, smiling again. "You mean as a sailor, not a passenger? No, pearl, I don't think so. Nobody would have a woman onboard. It's bad luck."

"Bet that doesn't apply to the harbor girls," she said mockingly.

"They don't sail with us," he replied.

"I get onboard the Sovereign every time you make port."

"You don't sail with us, either. And you're the captain's niece. Everybody knows they'd be punished if they as much as shoot an askance look at you."

Marina sighed, thoughtful, her fingers moving over the warm sand. "And what if I owned the ship?"

Morris chuckled softly. "What? Let's see. Let's say for a moment that the captain lost his mind and allowed you to buy and arm a ship. And that your mother agreed. Who would enroll in your crew, save old drunks, lazy bones and crippled guys nobody else takes in?" He chuckled again, amused. "Come, Marina. True sailors won't give orders to a woman, and you expect them to take orders from one?"

She frowned. "And if I dressed up as a man? I could pose as some rich boy just arrived from Europe."

Morris laughed heartily. "And who wouldn't make you out? And even if they were so blind to not recognize you, nobody would take a newbie nobody knows as a captain. All our important captains sailed since they were brats, Marina. They grew up scrubbing decks and working the rigging, getting one promotion at a time. And those who sail under them know if they're bold or cautious, if they go for the easy prey or seek the battle and the thrill of danger. And most important, if they know their stars and their winds, enough to face a squall and come back alive and with dry braies."

"I see," the girl muttered, discouraged.

To distract her, Morris pointed at the ship. "Let's go. If you don't mind wetting your feet, we can reach her now."

He guided Marina along the reef ridge, jumping from rock to rock. When they were in front of the hull, they took off their boots and stepped into the water. It barely covered their ankles, but licked their knees when they reached the flayed, wasted upper works. The ladder steps were half rotten, and Morris climbed first to make sure they would stand the weight. Marina followed nimbly. There was little left of the weather deck boards, and from where they were, they could see that the water filling the hold swayed with the waves outside.

Then they looked up together at the ruins of what once was the bridge. And they stepped back. Behind them, the sun touched the hills, and some strange fluctuation of the light cast a shadow up there. It was but a heartbeat, yet both of them could swear they'd seen the shadow of a man clad in dark clothes standing there.

"Shit!" Morris snarled, controlling his instinctive fear.

Marina stood still, daunted. Her eyes were full of tears again. And that unknown anxiety seemed to choke her once more. It was a strong longing, as if she desperately missed something she loved and needed. But she couldn't have said what even if her life depended on it.

Morris watched her stare at the sea at the end of the cove, bright eyes fixed on the glimmering waves past the ship's bridge. But it was the girl's hand that caught his attention. She rested it on the gunwale and slid it a little forward, then backwards, like caressing the wood. And a chill ran down his spine when he saw her patting it softly. Absentmindedly. Twice.

A swell of memories washed over him, from the time he was hardly older than the girl, just a sailor among a hundred on that very ship. And it took him only a few heartbeats to remember every single time he'd seen that exact gesture. Made by Manuel Velazquez, the Ghost.

A vague superstitious fear flooded him. Marina couldn't remember her father doing that. Morris knew he'd never seen him do it on land. Only on the Phantom, when he took a moment to make a decision that could affect his ship. As if he caressed her to ask her mind about it, and patted her after listening to whatever she had to say.

His eyes slid toward the bridge, where they'd seen that weird shadow.

Could it be that Manuel Velazquez's soul didn't rest in peace in the depths of the Caribbean Sea, as all of them thought? Could it be that his grieving soul dwelled on the wasted ruins of his vessel? Could it be that by taking Marina there, he'd brought a lively, energetic spirit for the ghost to feed on and take over?

However, this wasn't the first proof of a strange link between father and daughter that defied any explanation. Because rumor had it that Marina, only a toddler in her bed in Tortuga, had felt her father die in Campeche.

The sun slid past the hill top and Morris shivered again.

"Let's go home, pearl," he said, trying to sound firm and cool.

Marina seemed to wake up at his words. She looked around the decaying ship once more, nodding slightly. Then she met Morris' eyes and smiled.

"Thanks for bringing me here, my friend," she said, pressing his shoulder in an unusually serious way.