The Mariner
An adventure series

Chapter 5

The mariner stood looking at the old man delicately weeding flowers on the far side of the pool. He said nothing. He had heard about spirits of the woods and waters before and their mischievous ways, how they would trap humans and keep them as slaves, but he had never run into one himself. The cool air of dusk chilled his bare skin and raised goose bumps on his flat abdomen.

“Why me?”

Murzium seemed to find it funny. “There’s no use arguing over it. If you weren’t here right now, you would be dead. You would have died right where I left you, in the middle of the ocean. If by some remote chance you made it to these shores, you would have died in the jungle. It’s that simple.”

The mariner gathered the rest of his belongings and put them on. While strapping on his belt, the haft of his dagger brushed against the skin of his hip. He paused for less than a second, then continued securing the buckle.

“You’ll get used the idea, overtime, son. The violent thoughts will cease.”

“How do you know?”

He smirked. “I know. You think you are the first?”

The mariner stood and thought about that. The next moment, he was looking at the cove from a distance and the light was different. A shirtless boy with brown hair in long, tangled curls scampered over the ridge holding a fish, still alive. He yelled to the old man and the old man emerged from behind the waterfall with a wide smile. He looked exactly the same—beard, clothes, everything. The boy cleaned the fish to the side while the man built a small fire. The flames grew and the pair chatted and laughed. Then they cooked the fish and the boy ate it.

“He was shipwrecked. Same as you, and when I first found him, much worse off. He could hardly get over the hill. But he lived here for many years. We were both very happy.”

“How do you know?”

“You think I can’t tell when a boy is happy? Children are like glass figurines—you can see right through them. They no reason to hide anything and they don’t even try. You can tell immediately when something is wrong.”

“And he never tried to leave?”

“No, he didn’t want to.”

“He never wanted to go back home?”

Murzium put his hand on his waist. “Well, of course he did. It wasn’t always easy for him. There were nights when it was all I could do to keep him from crying himself to sleep. But I was honest with him. There was no way out. It was a physical impossibility.”

“It’s not impossible.”

“It is!” The old man threw the weeds on the rocks. “For a boy like him, at least, it is. He had no boat. He arrived here on a piece of burnt timber from the ship he last crewed, the ship to which his parents sold him. He was a powder monkey, blasted out of the water by pirates two leagues from here… He lived like a slave, the poor thing. I gave him a life he could at least enjoy.”

"And then?”

“And then, what?” The old man glided to the top of a tall rock and sat there, a tired look on his face. “He… expired, several years ago. He lived a good life. We were so happy. But humans…” He shook his head. “So frail…”

The mariner bit his lower lip. He took his hands out of his pockets and walked to the highest rocks in the cove, from where he could see the ocean beyond the rock wall. The sky was heavy with clouds and all dark but for a paper-thin strip of orange melting into the sea. He stood there and watched the orange turn to grey then disappear completely, and the sea turned black.

* * *

The next morning the man woke and the sun was already up. He went to the water’s edge and drank. He splashed water on his face and neck, then ran his fingers through his dark hair. His reflection in the water looked good. He needed a shave, but other than that, he looked OK. Murzium was gone.

Walking through the jungle, the man stopped occasionally to inspect plants, eating berries as he went. The birds were quiet that morning, but it was sunny and clear.

Eventually, he came to the edge of the beach, where he could see his sloop floating in the shallows. He walked over the sand, which was not too hot yet, and stood in the water with his right hand on the boat. It bobbed up and down in the gentle surf. I could just get in this boat and push of right now, leave this cursed island and its delusional spirits. Right here, right now. It’s that easy. All I would need is a little fresh water...

He turned around and the old man was standing in the shadow of the trees on the edge of the jungle, squinting at him. He couldn’t read his expression. The mariner just stood there, defiant. All of a sudden, the wind picked up and the waves started coming in harder. The sky seemed to darken, and the boat quaked, jumping and ducking more and more violently. He put his left hand on the bow to try to steady it, then a big wave came and wrenched it from his grip, knocking him to his knees. He stayed on all fours for a minute, letting the sea wash over him, taking his time getting up. When he was standing, he looked up the beach and saw the old man turn his back and fade into the blackness of the jungle, and the surf was gentle again.