Esther K Bowen

            His name was Gabrijel Tomi, captain of the cargo ship. I was sixteen, freshly finished with school and ready to make my fortune at sea. My first day on his ship, I learned the crew was scared of Gabrijel. This seemed a strange thing, for the man was quiet as the grave and knew his way about the ship as if he had been born on it. His sharp blue eyes could read the ocean swells better than any book and he seemed able to sense the very turning of the wind.

            “Why do the men fear the captain,” I once asked Bartley, the first mate.

            “Lad,” he said. “If you don’t know, you’ll soon find out.”

            I was a curious lad, so I kept my ears open. Sure enough, I began to hear stories. Rumor whispered the captain’s cool demeanor hid a violent streak beyond the fury of any hurricane.

            Once, I was told, on a cold night, the crew was drinking and telling tales. When they began to sing, the captain came on deck, not joining, but watching, his face lit by the glow of a cigarette. Suddenly, for no reason, he barked at them to be silent. All obeyed but one. Some say he was a new crewmate, a lad such as myself. Others, that he was experienced and should have known better. Whatever he was, he made sure to finish his song over the captain’s order. The men waited for the captain to react. But he simply turned and walked away. The following day, when the crewman was bringing him breakfast, the captain killed him with a knife. Some said the man tried to speak to the captain, others that Gabrijel moved without warning. Five crewmembers dragged the captain off the dead man, ranting and covered in blood.

            After that, new rumors grew. Was he even human? He never slept, they said. Just stood on deck, staring across the rolling waves, or steering the ships past treacherous sholes. He never smiled, never sang, never drank liquor, never did anything that would prove his humanity. Perhaps, they said, he was cursed like the sharks, never at rest, seeking blood to stay alive.

            It was true the captain never seemed to sleep. I saw him at all times of night, whether dusk or midnight. Even in the long watch before dawn, he would stalk the decks like a ghost in a faded uniform.

            Once though, I did see him partake of a casket of rum. I thought it a warm moment; the captain so often was distant from the crew. This night he joined us. But when Bartley saw the scene, his face darkened. He watched the captain, and after ensuring he returned to his quarters, Bartley locked the door from outside. Later, we all heard Gabrijel’s rage, things thrown and broken. A violent fit that made us tremble.

            Perhaps, I thought, that was the reason he avoided drink. Yet, I also thought it must be true about him killing the man who brought him breakfast. For, when his face was flushed with rum, I looked into his empty, blue eyes and saw nothing human. A shiver ran down my spine. He was hollow, without light or beating heart.

            Still, I was young and invincible, and perhaps not knowing much of my own father, I was drawn to the captain despite the warnings of the crew. He was master of his own ship and hired out to the cooperate mines on the eastern continent. The fastest route navigated some of the most dangerous waters in the world, and no one could run it like Captain Gabrijel Tomi. He paid the best rates in the business, so men stayed on, in spite of the danger.

            I found any job to be near him. I cleaned his spartan cabin, shined his steel-toed boots, and served his food. One day, I came to his cabin with a steaming kettle of coffee. He sat at his slate-gray writing desk, looking over a map.

            “You must be the most unlucky boy ever,” he said as I poured his coffee. I had grown used to the pitching of the ship, but I nearly spilled the coffee right over his good maps. He had never once spoken to me, never acknowledged my presence.

            He said, “I know they draw straws to see whose turn it is to serve me. Am I to believe you lost these last twelve?”

            “”No, sir,” I stammered. “I volunteered, sir.”

            “Why?”

            My face grew hot, but I knew better than to lie. “I was curious, sir.”

            “The men tell enough stories to satisfy every question.”

            “I don’t always believe rumor, sir.”

            He nodded.

            “Good,” he said. “That is good.”

            He reached for his coffee. Now, in those waters, the air was often cold, but tonight had grown unseasonally balmy. The captain, usually dressed so formally, was not wearing his jacket and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. I saw for the first time dark ink against his forearm, a scorpion curled around a skull. He felt my gaze, and withdrew his arm, hiding the mark. I turned away, pretending I had not seen, though we both knew better.

            He sighed. “Your eyes teach better than rumor.”

            He clearly though I had learned something, though I had never seen a tattoo like it and was clueless to its meaning. I said, “I don’t fear you like the others.”

            He barked out a laugh.

            “Brave,” he said. “Brave and stupid. Like us all at your age.”

            “Aye, sir,” I said.

            “Get back to work.”

            I saluted and left.

            The captain was right, I was young, perhaps stupid, and, as I have already confessed, curious. That night, I logged into the ships terminal. I had no fear of being caught. I knew more about technology than most of the crew, and I made sure I covered my tracks. I’m not sure why I took such caution to hide my activity. After all, most of the crew used the terminal to find dirty movies, even around Central’s bans, what was one search for a tattoo?

            Immediately, the terminal flooded with images. Men, my age, in outdated battlesuits, holding helmets and grinning. Tests with battlesuits sealed against the cold of space, nimble enough to operate laser rifles, mines, even knives. Maps of a war fought across three backwater planets by forgotten alliances.

            The empty space between the planets strewn thick with nanoclouds. Images of those same battlesuits, choked and lifeless. Severed torsos, limbs, helmets, shredded into flash-frozen lumps of human flesh by activated laserfields.

            I kept scrolling. I could not look away.

            Transport rockets landed on those same backwater planets. Forests. Rows of civilians in black body bags. Burned settlements. Mass graves. Men in camouflage with hooded eyes, casually holding laser rifles and cigarettes, tattoo insignias on their arms.

            I hit a dead end when the trials began. Official records were sealed, and purged from any source I could find, even given my skill with the terminal. The only crumb came from a solo admin, reposting another user, supposedly quoting the unit commander.

            From what homes do you banish us? They are burned-out ruins. Our lands are given to our invaders. They killed our leaders, our wives, our children. They killed us. We returned the favor.

            Commander Halstead’s last words before his execution.

            The following day, I watched the captain as he stood on the prow of the ship, eyes narrowed, reading the sea. His pale blond hair whipped around him as the wind picked up.

            “Captain,” Bartley said. “We have never sailed the Eirian passage in seas this choppy. Should we take the northern route instead?”

            The captain considered for a moment.

            “No. We will lose two days that way.”

            “Aye, sir.”

            “There’s a storm building, and I mean to run ahead of it.”

            “Aye, sir”

            The captain turned and saw my stare and knew what I had learned. He walked past without a word.

            I followed him back to the cabin on the pretext of filling his coffee. He sat at his desk, facing the door. He stared at me as I came close and poured the coffee. I felt his gaze through me like ice, as if he could read my whole measure in one look.

            “Now,” he said quietly. “You fear me too.”

            He reached out a hand, and I jumped back. But he was only wrapping his fingers around the tin mug. My eyes fixed on the hand, strong, calloused, veins blue and corded.

            His knuckles turned white with the tautness of his grip.

            I would not have noticed had I not been looking so closely. My eyes went to his face. In the glint of his shadowed eyes, I saw the wariness of a hunted animal.

            I backed out of the room and closed the door.

            I needed off this ship, I told myself. The pay was good, but we were running full power towards the Eirian passage and shipwreck and drowning at the command of a madman was not the future I wanted.

            Now, since you’re from offworld, let me tell you. The Eirian passage runs between five little islands. There’s nothing interesting about them, just rocks constantly battered by the waves. A ship can cut through the channels between them, if she has an experienced captain with a good eye and steady hand. Still, one false move and your ship is on the rocks. The islands are scattered with the bones of ships and men to prove it. The old sailors blame the wrecks on mermaids, or sirens, claiming they sang the ships onto the rocks. Still, sailors risk it. The sea grows shallow to the south. Circling north adds two days to a voyage.

            I had sailed that way a few times before. Saw the wrecks. Never saw anything resembling a woman, never heard one note of music save the wind in the rigging and the waves on the shores. But I did know the treachery of the ocean currents. One wrong move and we were dead.

            I watched the islands draw closer. The choppy sea shook the deck. Would these two days cost us our lives? Men had wrecked for less.

            The sun was setting when we entered the first channel. None but a madman would risk the rocks at night. But we were led by a madman, I concluded. I stood on the starboard side, fingers white-knuckled around the railing, and watched the first island approach with a cold feeling of impending doom.

            It happened as we rounded the first island, with the second creeping up on our port side and the third dead ahead. The sky grew dark. The shadows of the wrecked ships lay like the skeletons of giants.

            At first I thought it only the wind. A lulling melody, that spoke of a warm bed, soft pillows, and a lazy fire. I rubbed my eyes, thinking I was falling asleep. A dark shape slithered off the bones of a wreck and dropped into the sea with barely a splash. I shook my head, and the moment passed. A shadow, nothing more.

            Yet, the song resounded in my mind. Had I heard it before? I could not recall. Perhaps it had fallen from the red lips of the girl I left behind when I first stepped onto the deck of the ship. It spoke of shining eyes, and tight embrace. Soft caresses and warm fingers on bare skin.

            More of the crew joined me at the railing. They too, seemed lulled by the gentle tones. Perhaps it was a trick of the wind, I thought, though thinking had grown difficult. It was like the moment between wakefulness and sleep. I could not have said who I was, but I knew I did not want to leave the dream.

            We slipped around the third island, barely noted.

            Suddenly, a wild melody broke out from all sides. The deep notes pounded with energy, a vibrating bass rattling the deck. Undulating high notes set our blood racing. The music pulsed across the ship, overpowering the senses. Sleep was driven from our mind. We had entered another world. Mad, beckoning, full of longing and desire.

            Then, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen perched herself on the railing beside me. Seawater ran from her long black hair and over her pale skin. Her dark eyes shone, inviting me closer.

            I could not look away.

            Her ruby red mouth split opened in a strange song. I was mesmerized by that mouth. Her lip widened in a high vibrato, then drew together in a whisper. She tossed her hair and belted a note so tempestuous, I thought I would drown in her storm. Moonlight flashed on gleaming white teeth.

            She reached out a long, pale hand. I reached back. Her fingers closed around mine. Her skin was cold and rough, and I now shudder to think of that inhuman touch. But we were all aflame with desire. She wrapped her arm around my neck, that red mouth drawing closer to mine.

            Suddenly, the ship veered, pitching us onto the deck. The woman fell with me. Screams of surprise interrupted the song. We tangled together, captivated crew and singing women.

            “Fools,” shouted the captain at the wheel.

            He increased the ship’s speed and threw on the autopilot. A dangerous choice in those waters. Yet, our situation was dire. He leapt to the deck and charged a woman, blond, reaching for the first mate. She turned on the captain. His hand clutched his long knife.

            “No,” I tried to stammer. The captain plunged the knife into her chest.

            Then the woman beside me let out a scream of rage. It was like I was plunged into ice-cold water. The shreds of dream split apart, and I saw the scaled tail where legs had been. I saw the razor claws and pointed teeth. The inhuman face.

            She attacked the captain, her black, pupilless eyes full of hate. Claws raked his arm. They sliced through his heavy jacket like a blade, leaving the fabric in ribbons and blood welling from his arm. He caught her hair and cut open her throat with a spray of blood.

            He kicked another in the stomach. She choaked on her song, then screamed when he crushed her tail beneath his steel-toed boot. He tore a siren off a crewman. Her claws and mouth were slick with blood. His knife rammed into her gut and he tossed the body aside.

            The crew were still dazed. I struggled to comprehend reality, my mind torn to pieces. Music throbbed against every nerve, making me sick with passion. The deck was awash in blood and scales, and the guttural screams of the sirens. I wiped my hand over my face, to see one crawl toward me. Her mouth was open in song, and at first I saw the woman, seductive, eager, looking like a model.

            The captain shouted above the song, and my vision wavered like a glitchy terminal between the beauty and the thing from the sea. An unearthly hunger needing to feed.

            I screamed and tried to crawl away. Her hand clutched my boot, slicing open the leather. Blood welled up and pain drove the last shreds of fantasy from my mind. The captain caught her by the tail and dragged her back to his waiting knife.

            She crumpled at his feet, her blood pooling across the deck. The captain looked above me, cursed, and shouted a command. He was not speaking any language I knew. I looked up, over my shoulder. The autopilot, and the breaking waves had taken us close to the rocky cliffs of the fifth island. Women’s silhouettes lined the jagged cliff, shadowed in the moonlight. Their scales glinted silver.

            The captain sprinted to the wheel and turned the ship. I clutched the starboard rail as the deck pitched. A wave rose beside me and a hand shot out from it, reaching for my face. I threw myself back, rolling across the deck slick with gore.

            Suddenly, we were away from them, moving past the rocks, back to the open sea. I stumbled to the side of the ship and threw up. I was not the only one. My head pounded, still dizzy with their songs. My ankle ran with blood. I looked to the captain for orders, but he did not say a word. His face was empty, his eyes gleaming like a predator.

            Bartley took over. He ordered the deck cleared. The bodies of the sirens we threw into the sea. Every one of the crew survived, though some had injuries like mine, and one was critical where a siren had opened him across the chest. Yet, even he pulled through, stabilizing before sunrise under the medic’s careful attention.

            By breakfast, the whole event had been discussed, rehashed, and dissected. Each man’s own private story of terror and desire was plastered over with jokes and liquor. At first, the captain’s brave actions were celebrated. His quick thinking had saved our lives.

            Then one man asked, “Why did he not hear the songs?”

            The room fell silent. We had no answers except the old fears and superstitions. Was the captain human? Did he have a heart and mind like ordinary men, or was he, himself some kind of abomination, more akin to the sirens than us?

            After a time, I left the others. I held the same fears as they, but it seemed disrespectful to give them voice so soon after the captain’s rescue.

            The day passed, and, at nightfall, I went to the captain’s cabin to serve him as usual. The room was empty. After a quick search, I found him standing at the prow, looking to the horizon. A cigarette glowed in his hand. The ship was settling for the night and the waves lapped gently against her.

            I was afraid, but curiosity drew me near. I stepped beside him, looking out at the same dark ocean.

            “Where do you come from, boy?” he asked after a long silence.

            “Bradig,” I answered, for I was raised in this town.

            “You have a family? A sweetheart?”

            I was surprised the captain would take interest in personal details. “Yes, sir. Both.”

            “Why don’t you marry your girl?”

            “Well, sir, I have no money for the wedding.”

            He took a drag of the cigarette. Its glow cast long shadows across his face.

            I blurted out. “Did you not hear the siren song, captain?”

            I shudder now to think of my boldness. It was an impertinent question from the youngest crewman. He could have had me whipped, or gutted me with that long knife.

            Still, I had to know. Was he human or monster? The steady order of a well-run ship, or the fickle chaos of the sea itself?

            “I heard,” he stated simply.

            After that, I could not contain myself. I pressed on. “How? How could you resist them?”

            He looked at me for a long time. His eyes glittered strangely in the darkness.

            “They sang to a dead man,” he said. He lifted his cigarette and I saw his hand shook. “It takes time to wake the dead, time enough to save the ship.”

            “Thank you, sir,” I said. “You saved my life.”

            “Go back to your girl,” he said. Now, his whole body trembled. “She will love you even without a fine wedding.”

            The captain’s face grew pale.

            “What did they sing to you?” I asked.

            The wind began to rise. It started as a whisper, ruffling the captain’s pale hair.

            “An old song,” he said. “Forgotten. Erased.”

            The cigarette quavered as he drew in a long breath. He closed his eyes and breathed smoke into the salt air. I did not speak. He had me under a spell, mesmerized by each lift of his glowing cigarette, clutched in strong, weathered hands.

            Suddenly, I knew the crew was wrong. He was human, like the rest of us.

            That was the last anyone saw him. After a time, I retreated to my bunk and left him to face the sea alone, while the wind grew stronger and his cigarette burned down to nothing.

            In the morning, he was gone. There was no sign of him returning to his cabin. The men made a frantic search of the ship, finally concluding he must have fallen overboard while drunk.

            That was the report we gave in Bradig harbor, when we were cleared of wrongdoing for the missing captain. We did not tell of the missing lifeboat. We did not speak of the sirens. The reports were signed and sent to the official logs at Central, sealed away as one of life’s accidents.

            I shared my report as well. Yet, I never spoke a word about our conversation that final night. Maybe it was self-preservation. It is dangerous to be the last person to see a man before he disappears. Still, my silence went beyond survival. While the accusations flew, and the captain’s name was dragged through the mud, only I knew the last word he spoke.

            “Reveille.”

            He was us after all. And the wind from the sea whispered his song.