Songs of The Sea

Songs of the Sea

Having women on a ship is bad luck. Stowaways that are discovered are thrown off the ship due to the sailors’ fear and superstitions.

With their legs tied together, they slowly sink to the bottom. With each meter closer to the end, they change until they can breathe underwater and their legs have changed to swim.

With their beautiful voices, they lure sailors to their death. Taking their revenge with their husky voices still stinging from the salt water that transformed them.

Captain Rowan tries to save his crew after battling a storm. They fall prey to creatures that he once thought were a myth. Will his encounter with the mystical being lead to his demise or to his salvation?

Chapter 1 - Sounds of Stillness

The chill of the wind bites through to the crew’s bones. After days of battening down the hatches due to storms and high waters, the waves have stilled but the eerie darkness remains. The darkness has a fog-like quality, thick and impenetrable. The lack of sunlight causes the cold to seep past their sparse clothing, permeating their usually warm skin.

A lonely lantern illuminates the deck, providing low visibility in front of them. The unknown waters ahead rattle those who haven’t sailed for long. This isn’t a place for landlubbers or old sea dogs alike.

The merry songs of the crew have long since stopped, the stories told and music disappeared with it. Not even Crawford, the boatswain, has his spirits anymore. At least there is still rum.

The food supply is running low, their journey took an unexpected turn when they met with the storm seemingly out of nowhere. The usual signs of a storm brewing like a drop in pressure and cloud movement were absent.

The crew was heading home after filling their coffers with gold, gems, and doubloons that they plundered from several ships that sailed under the crown and some that didn’t.

The only ships they didn’t plunder were those that sailed under the Jolly Roger and its brothers and sisters, just like them. Their man-of-war was up to any task, proving to be relentless in their pursuit of treasure.

Their ruthless captain spared no man but had a weak spot for children and defenseless women. He was thankful that he rarely plundered ships that held them. Instead, he targeted trading routes and occasionally smaller warships.

Two crew members were lost during the storm. One fell over during the biggest waves that rocked the ship and one lost to scurvy after the infection spread throughout his body. Their journey was delayed and the crew feared that it may be endless.

“This isn’t right...” Crawford, complains. “These waters are dangerous. We must return.”

“What are ye’ talking about?” Finn, the Quartermaster, asks. Crawford is an old salt that’s been sailing since way before Finn was just a landlubber trying to find his sea legs. Crawford was known for telling tall tales and this was sure to spur yet another one. But he listens anyway for the chance of a good laugh.

“Haven’t ye’ scallywags heard the stories?” Crawford huffs. The crew grumbles and some shake their heads. “Creatures with beautiful voices that lure men into the sea, wrapping their cold tails around their legs, drowning them with their bodies and a cold, slimy kiss of death. Horribly, ugly creatures with pointy teeth, scaly skin, and hair like green seaweed.”

The crew grows more anxious as Crawford spews his superstitions. “If ye’ hear the voices there are only two things to do. Plug your ears with candle wax and tie yourself to anything that is immobile! Only then do ye’ stand a chance to survive...”

“We must sail away from here!” The master gunner yells and some other men join in.

“Blimey! We’re lost! We will all meet our end!”

“Shiver me timbers!” One man cries out in panic.

“Get to your posts or I will feed ye’ to the fish!” Finn orders. The crew stops for a second and mulls it over before their panic returns. The past few days have made them weary, their patience is running thin and their ability to follow orders have slowly declined.

The crew’s scared voices reach the Captain’s quarters, disturbing him as he maps their route out of the area. He knows the Caribbean like the back of his hand, yet he’s never been here. “Are we even in the same waters I’ve sailed since I was a boy?” He asks the four walls. He should have got a parrot as Finn suggested but the thought of the nasal voice made him unsettled. Maybe a cat would be better? At least that would take care of the rats even if it can’t talk to him.

The shouts of the crew grow louder to the point where he can no longer ignore them. Captain Rowan grabs his hat before he slams his door open and steps onto the deck. He squares his shoulders, preparing for another bout of disciplining his men. Finn’s commands have wavered since they entered these waters and Rowan finds himself stepping in more times than normal.

He fixes his long coat to keep out the brisk wind. It’s summertime in the Caribbean, the temperature is too cold for this time of year. Yet, he adjusts the collar as well. Rowan does not have the time or energy to focus on the shift in the air.

His crew is milling around like scared children, no one is manning the helm or the crow’s nest. One part of the sail is flapping in the wind, whipping and cracking every so often. With this wind, they should feel waves, yet the surface has been still since they were lost in this perpetual darkness with only the lonely rays of moonlight guiding their way. Their way to what? Rowan wonders.

He feels a pull to the north, but why is the real question. What is in that direction that makes him risk everything just to find out? With one hand, he rubs his chest over his unfeeling heart. The muscle has given him grief for a few days. Maybe it’s finally his time to rest in the depths of the ocean. A welcome reprieve from the mundane life of a pirate who lost his thirst for treasure and blood a long time ago.

They are sailing in uncharted waters with an empty helm and manic crew. Rowan sighs and runs his hand through his stubble. “Settle down, you lily-livered scurvy dogs!” He bellows. “The boatswain is only running a rig on ye’.”

Most men settle but the trepidations remain as the still waters lull the ship to an unknown destination. Rowan looks up and frowns. The stars are not as he charted them just a few minutes ago. They are ever-changing. His sextant is rendered useless with the familiar constellations either gone or altered. The only star he recognizes is Polaris, the North Star.

He shakes the thoughts out of his head, clearing his mind. It’s his responsibility to get his crew and ship out of this mess even if he ends up in Davy Jones’ locker in the process. “All hands ahoy, savvy?”

“You heard the Captain, All hands ahoy, me hearties!” Finn commands the crew. The men quickly start scurrying, trying to reach their post before the Quartermaster is angered. “Fill the crow’s nest, man the helm, and set the sails!”

“Due north.” Rowan bellows.

“Due north!” Finn repeats.

Rowan returns to his quarters. His stomach grumbles from the lack of food, his mouth is parched from the rum he’s been drinking since they ran out of water two nights ago. He picks up a half-empty bottle and studies the content. Maybe if he stopped drinking, he would be able to navigate these treacherous waters. But his cottonmouth wins the battle as he takes a swig.

The old leather compass that was passed on from the previous Captain, Rowan’s mentor, rests on the table beside every map he owns. The needle spins around, never stopping, never pointing north.

The pile of ship logs, and nautical almanacs have proven useless. The contents of the sandglass lie scattered around his cabin after he lost his temper the night before. His new astrolabe was chunked into the sea as well in a fit of anger. In hindsight, it was not his finest moment.

He empties the bottle in less than an hour. His navigational plan changed little in that time and he’s ready to give up. His hooded eyelid keeps dropping, sending him into a slumber in his chair. Sleep comes easy tonight.

A voice fills the room and wakes Rowan up. He jerks awake and looks around his quarters for the reason he was startled awake. His ears perk up as a beautiful song of the sea is sung by a husky voice. He runs a hand over his face, trying to determine if he’s still asleep. The song continues and increases in volume.

It brings peace to his soul, something he hasn’t felt in years. Not since his mother was slaughtered by those who serve the crown which in turn led him to his current life. He left his heart behind that day as he buried the only woman he ever cared for. He swore to never let feeling get in his way as he seeks his revenge on the crown.

Rowan wants to hear more of the voice. He wants to get closer to the source and fall at its feet while he worships it. He slaps his cheeks and tries to return his mind to sanity. Yet, his feet have their own plan.

His body is drawn to the window, walking on auto until he can stick his head out and feel the sea’s wind in his long brown hair tied up in a bun. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of the sea salt splashing up on his face.

His eyes slam open. The still waters below show no signs of movement but he was certain he felt the sprinkling of a splash just moments ago. Is he going crazy from the lack of fruit as well?

The voice continues its alluring song. Where is the voice coming from? Who’s singing in such a harmonious melody? Never in his life has he heard such a dulcet tone. Only his dreams could imagine such a thing.

But he’s not asleep. If he was, his quartermaster wouldn’t be knocking on his door in urgency, bringing him out of his fantasy. “Captain, Captain. Come quick!”

“What?” Rowan roars as he rips the door open and eyes Finn. The singing has stopped. “Why do ye’ disturb my slumber?”

“The crew! They are acting... possessed!” Finn waves his hands in panic. The normally stern and collected man is nowhere to be found despite his body standing right in front of his captain.

Rowan hurries onto the deck and finds several crew members tied to the mast. The Sailing master is tied to the helm and the crow’s nest is yet again left empty. He grabs a cabin boy just as he’s about to leap overboard. “Are they three sheets to the wind?” He asks anyone who will listen. Most men don’t even look at him as he yells, their waxed-filled ears drowning out any sound.

The cabin boy tries to pry himself out of Rowan’s grip. Rowan tosses the cabin boy below deck and shuts the doors. “Avast ye’. Heave ho!” Rowan bellows but the crew still can’t hear him.

Another cabin boy walks to the edge and leaps off the ship before Rowan can reach him. He meets the briney deep in seconds. Rowan runs to the taffrail and leans over just as the cabin boy plunges under the surface. Another splash, and then another reaches him. His crew leaps off in troves. Only those with the sense to follow Crawford’s advice remains securely on the ship.

“Finn!” Rowan yells. Finn doesn’t reply. Rowan whips around in search of him just as Finn takes his last step on the ship followed by a splash below. “Finn!”

The voice from before returns and Rowan’s panic subsides. The tranquility of the voice coupled with the stillness of the water calms him. His gaze search the surface but the blackness and small amount of moonlight reflected off the water provided little visibility.

Rowan tries to resist the call by reaching the mast and tying himself next to his crew members. His fingertips graze the wooden mast just as the voice calls out to him again, this time with an intensity that Rowan can’t ignore.

One hand rubs his chest again, and the ache in his heart screams out for the voice to soothe him. He stands up straight and heads to the ledge, his mind lulled into a false sense of security. “I hear you, sweet angel. I’m coming!”

The song stops and his last words fill the void of the night, the crew screams out for their captain as his foot steps into the air but doesn’t find its footing. “I’m coming to ye’!”

Their captain falls to the waters below, his crew is left behind to fend for themselves.