Merfolk gold
Is a Pirate’s greed!”
When the song ended, the old Shanty rested his lute on his lap. “You see, me boy. The old seamen always know a song or two about the Merfolk. Some say that the Merfolk wrote them, stuffed the parchments into bottles and let the bottled tunes loose o’er the waves. They say that men found these bottles driftin’ and hence learned the songs. Alas, it’s just an old yarn from an old seaman.”
~~~~~~
Night fell around the sloop. We were close to Grenada, but the enveloping darkness forced us to anchor for the night. Grant and I made our way to the small cabin. I locked the cabin door, retrieved the journal from its hiding place and relaxed in my bed. I turned down the lantern so Grant could sleep. The yellow light dimmed to a soft glow. Shadows filled the room. I opened Owen’s journal.
The vagrant in the cell next to mine has died. The buzzing of the flies woke me. The stench made me wish I, too, had ceased to live on this day. At the very least, the sun is hot in the sky. A lovely gold ray of light pours in through my barred window and in its warmth I now write.
The guards have not brought me any food or any drink. I suppose I do not deserve it, but dying slowly is a horrible thing to endure. The unending pains in my stomach and the dryness in my mouth are making me wish I had taken the noose. There is no looking glass in here but when I look down at my hands and arms, I see the beginnings of the skeleton that I am destined to become. I used to be strong. I used to be a lot of things…
Chapter 17
Owen’s Yarn
As it were, I was left on the shore of the Nicaraguan Bay with a tribe of Darien natives. The elders amongst them concurred with the chieftain, and it was decided that I was to be told the secrets of the Mer. To be schooled in the way of the Water People was a privilege few outsiders ever received. My lover and I sat around a great red fire and the elder tribesman shared all that he knew and believed.
Trying not to sound disrespectful, I asked him a few questions.
“How have you come to know so much of the Water People?”
“The Chief of the Mer told them to me.”
“The Chief of the Mer?”
“Indeed. Lord Sydin is his name. He is wise and has led his tribe of Merfolk for over a hundred years.”
“Tribes? You say they live in tribes?”
“That is what I say. Merfolk have always lived in tribes. Territorial they are, as we humans tend to be. The Mer of this part of the world rarely venture beyond the fringe of their domains. For example, a Mer tribe that inhabits the waters of the north will not be welcomed down in the tropics. The reverse is also true.”
“There are different races, then?”
“Of course. Just as there are different races of humans. Why wouldn’t there be different races of Mer? Humans that dwell in the lands of Asia resemble the Mer that inhabit the surrounding waters. The same can be said for the people of Africa and the people of the north. We are all exposed to the same elements, such as the sun and wind. These things change us, and so it is that ethnicity is not a trait exclusive to land.”
“When he spoke,” I asked, “this Mer Chief, this one you call Lord Sydin, what was his voice?”
“The Mer speak in the local tongue of the humans. Here, in the Caribbean, there are many languages, hence, the Merfolk understand them all. As far as Lord Sydin is concerned, well, he speaks all tongues with ease. The Mer that dwell in the Caribbean are the most intelligent. In my opinion, they are also the most beautiful.”
“I see. I understand that the ocean is their home, but surely they cannot swim all of the time. What of sleep? What of food?”
“The tastes and customs of the Caribbean Mer are simple. They eat meat from birds and fish, as well as many types of seaweed. They are keen marksmen and skilled hunters rarely bested by other ocean beasts. Even sharks are no match for a team of Merlords.
“They need
Is a Pirate’s greed!”
When the song ended, the old Shanty rested his lute on his lap. “You see, me boy. The old seamen always know a song or two about the Merfolk. Some say that the Merfolk wrote them, stuffed the parchments into bottles and let the bottled tunes loose o’er the waves. They say that men found these bottles driftin’ and hence learned the songs. Alas, it’s just an old yarn from an old seaman.”
~~~~~~
Night fell around the sloop. We were close to Grenada, but the enveloping darkness forced us to anchor for the night. Grant and I made our way to the small cabin. I locked the cabin door, retrieved the journal from its hiding place and relaxed in my bed. I turned down the lantern so Grant could sleep. The yellow light dimmed to a soft glow. Shadows filled the room. I opened Owen’s journal.
The vagrant in the cell next to mine has died. The buzzing of the flies woke me. The stench made me wish I, too, had ceased to live on this day. At the very least, the sun is hot in the sky. A lovely gold ray of light pours in through my barred window and in its warmth I now write.
The guards have not brought me any food or any drink. I suppose I do not deserve it, but dying slowly is a horrible thing to endure. The unending pains in my stomach and the dryness in my mouth are making me wish I had taken the noose. There is no looking glass in here but when I look down at my hands and arms, I see the beginnings of the skeleton that I am destined to become. I used to be strong. I used to be a lot of things…
Chapter 17
Owen’s Yarn
As it were, I was left on the shore of the Nicaraguan Bay with a tribe of Darien natives. The elders amongst them concurred with the chieftain, and it was decided that I was to be told the secrets of the Mer. To be schooled in the way of the Water People was a privilege few outsiders ever received. My lover and I sat around a great red fire and the elder tribesman shared all that he knew and believed.
Trying not to sound disrespectful, I asked him a few questions.
“How have you come to know so much of the Water People?”
“The Chief of the Mer told them to me.”
“The Chief of the Mer?”
“Indeed. Lord Sydin is his name. He is wise and has led his tribe of Merfolk for over a hundred years.”
“Tribes? You say they live in tribes?”
“That is what I say. Merfolk have always lived in tribes. Territorial they are, as we humans tend to be. The Mer of this part of the world rarely venture beyond the fringe of their domains. For example, a Mer tribe that inhabits the waters of the north will not be welcomed down in the tropics. The reverse is also true.”
“There are different races, then?”
“Of course. Just as there are different races of humans. Why wouldn’t there be different races of Mer? Humans that dwell in the lands of Asia resemble the Mer that inhabit the surrounding waters. The same can be said for the people of Africa and the people of the north. We are all exposed to the same elements, such as the sun and wind. These things change us, and so it is that ethnicity is not a trait exclusive to land.”
“When he spoke,” I asked, “this Mer Chief, this one you call Lord Sydin, what was his voice?”
“The Mer speak in the local tongue of the humans. Here, in the Caribbean, there are many languages, hence, the Merfolk understand them all. As far as Lord Sydin is concerned, well, he speaks all tongues with ease. The Mer that dwell in the Caribbean are the most intelligent. In my opinion, they are also the most beautiful.”
“I see. I understand that the ocean is their home, but surely they cannot swim all of the time. What of sleep? What of food?”
“The tastes and customs of the Caribbean Mer are simple. They eat meat from birds and fish, as well as many types of seaweed. They are keen marksmen and skilled hunters rarely bested by other ocean beasts. Even sharks are no match for a team of Merlords.
“They need
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