Cull the rats and be safe from disease. At least that is what the wizened oracle at Inassis once told me. I watched as she sliced the Bosun’s throat, relishing the sight of the crimson blood leaving his body. If I was not bound to share his same fate, then I would probably be doing the same. Cull the rats and be safe from disease.
“Another glorious offering for Parthos,” she announced. “Slip quietly into the abyss.”
I studied her in her tattered, black gown. How her eyes flared before she took the rat’s life, how the name Parthos flowed pleasantly and eagerly from her mouth like it was honey, how her golden chains jingled with each sudden moment. It did not take me long to conclude that she was a true Priestess to the Abyssal Creator; some half-crazed, blood-lusted bitch that was as fierce and unpredictable as any shark. I will surely die in a matter of minutes, I concluded, and I knew there was nothing I could do about it. All I could do was pray to the Maiden that she made my death a quick one, with a knife to my throat, and not by any sorcery.
I turned my head and caught a glimpse of Alexander further down the line. He stared at the Bosun’s corpse in horror, probably coming to the same conclusion as I have. Captain Muruna was beside him, downcast and probably refusing to accept her role in this.
Coward, I thought to myself, along with a handful of other choice names. We would all be safe if it wasn’t for her; her crew would still be alive. Instead, only a handful of us remain, choice offerings to Parthos, the Creator that lurks deep below the waves.
It wasn’t a battle on board the Swiftback; it was a slaughter. The Priestess’ ship splintered through our hull violently, fissuring the deck and thrusting the crowd of mutineers across the boat. The Priestess and her crew had already boarded by the time we got to our feet and grabbed our weapons. Like a wave, they washed over us until there was only a handful of us standing, backs together in a circle, ready to fight to the death if needed. That would have been a better death, truth be told; part of me welcomed a death like that, but once the Priestess demanded we surrender, the Bosun dropped his weapon and the others quickly followed. Cull the rats and be safe from disease.
Blood poured from another throat.
“Each one of you will give me your thanks today as I liberate your soul from your body and you sink into the abyss. There, you will have the highest honor of serving the Great Creator for all eternity!” The Priestess bellowed.
Her men cheered in response as she slit the Cabin-boy Micah’s throat. They were savages; probably from the Fairview Isles, just like Shiloh said, where they worship Parthos like a savior instead of the harbinger of death that she is. Despite their differences, the other Creators at least had the sense to band together to trap her in the abyss below the waves.
She drew close to me as I was next. The irony was not lost on me. I had escaped death only to meet it a few moments later. She stood before me, her knife a dark shade of crimson and dripping onto the deck. She was too busy admiring it to acknowledge me as a victim.
“The Great Creator below thanks you for your-“ she paused, gazing intently at my scar below my eye, and froze. She was caught off guard and leaned in closer to further inspect my scar.
“It’s you,” she whispered.
I reeled in confusion.
“You are Dagomar Dernbut, the mercenary, are you not?” She asked.
I turned to Alexander and found every condemned man staring back at me in surprise. The Priestess leaned in even closer, curly golden locks covering half of her face, and traced the outline of my scar below my eye. I traced the outline of her soft jawline and stubby nose; she looked so familiar. After a few moments, my memory came back to me and I immediately recognized her.
“You,” I said in awe, in a voice just louder than a whisper. “You are the girl from the swamp, the one who gave me this scar.” I paused. “The one I rescued from the Naga.”
Slowly, the Priestess leaned in and kissed my forehead softly. “And now I am the one rescuing you.”
My eyes widened in shock. “You’re letting me live?” I asked incredulously.
“For now,” she said as if her act of mercy was of no big thing to anyone. “Dandolo could use someone like the infamous Dagomar Dernbut in his fleet.”
“Dandolo?”
The Priestess did not respond. Instead, she rose to continue her sacrificial spree and brandished her knife as she walked towards Alexander.
“Please! Spare him too,” I begged as she placed a knife to his throat.
Her eyes flashed with fire as she spun around to face me. She snarled like a caged dog ready to bite. “And why should I deny the glorious Creator below? What right does he have to exist in this world?”
“He’s my son,” I said timidly.
The Priestess took a minute to respond as if carefully digesting the three words that I had uttered. “I owe no debts to the son of Dagomar,” she finally replied.
“Have mercy, Priestess, we both know what the Naga would have done to you, the agony you would have endured if I hadn’t come along and found you. Surely that is worth more than just one poor soul’s life.”
Her eyes narrowed and I knew what I said was a mistake. I just hoped she didn’t take it out on him instead. She moved closer to Alexander, who was now sweating vigorously at this point, and gripped the back of his long hair as she inspected him intently as if he were some prized dog.
“What say you?” Her voice cutting through the silence. “You’re his son? Truly?”
The poor lad must have thought he was about to die. His eyes were wide and bulging and he froze as if he was some poor rabbit who had accepted their fate when a predator carries them away. “Y-yes,” he managed to say.
“I see it now,” she said as she turned to me and smiled. “Yes, he is your son. You both share the same look of ignorance strewn across your faces. Not to mention that you both reek of death.”
She stood and sighed to face me. “Anyone else?” She asked impatiently. She pointed to Captain Muruna. “What of this one? Did you whelp her too? Or is she just a tight ass for you to use?”
“I don’t care for her,” I shrugged. “Go ahead and kill her if you’d like. You’ll see no argument from me.”
“No!” My son shouted. All eyes turned to him as he still laid kneeling on the deck, hands bound, and completely powerless as he objected to a half-crazed Priestess of a violent Creator.
“Not the father’s bitch, but rather the son’s.” She jested. There was no doubt that this was all a game to her.
Alexander blushed. “I only mean that she would be more useful to you alive than dead. She is a fine sailor and an even better captain.”
The Priestess took great amusement to this. She turned to her crew and laughed, with them subsequently joining. “You hear that lads? We are good! Capturing the ship of a fine sailor and an even better captain without losing a single soul!” She turned back to the former captain, who refused to look up even once during this degradation. “But tell me, great captain, if you are as skilled as the bastard’s bastard says you are, then where is your ship?” She mocked.
Isabel only spat in response, but the Priestess must have liked that, for she laughed wildly. “You have some life in you,” she said.
She sent her fist flying into the side of Isabel’s face, punching her with such impact and shock that she fell to the ground. “We’ll need to fix that. In the meantime, however, I think I will keep you around, but only so the son of Dagomar can keep playing with his pretty little thing.”
Isabel had risen to her knees again, still refusing to look up from the ground. The Priestess knelt down to her, and in a low voice, barely louder than a whisper, she said “If you disrespect me again, I will make sure every single crew member will have a turn with you before I use you as bait for the Mosa.”
Having enough of her games, the Priestess dropped her dagger and retreated to her cabin. “Throw those three in the brig,” she commanded as she did. “And kill the rest.”
********
An older man with a large mole below his eye and a busted chin took us to our cell. It wasn’t much; a small space with a feeble spattering of hay. Truth be told, I was too shocked by the fact that I was alive to care about our conditions. Alexander must have thought differently, however, for there was a large scowl strewn across his face. He had refused to make eye contact with me since before the mutiny and now he sat in silence, smoldering. Maiden knows why he’s mad at me, I thought. This is all because of that bitch. His mood was infectious and soon all of us were bitter about our situation, sitting in silence in our separate corners. I did not know how long it lasted, only that my son’s anger finally rose to the surface and snapped.
“Will you fucking shut your mouth already, old man?” He spat at me out of nowhere. “I’ve been stuck listening to your wheezing for Maiden knows how long now!”
“Piss off, you little brat,” I shot back. I was in no mood after the fiasco of today. Both of them, but especially Alexander, had failed me. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for her.” I pointed to Isabel as all of my anger spewed forth.
“You couldn’t just wait two more days?” I roared at her. “Just two days, that’s all you had to endure of that old bastard Shiloh then you could have walked away and you would have never seen him again. Instead, you had to let your pride get in the way and you got greedy! Now look where we are, prisoners to a mad-woman and your whole crew dead.”
“Dagomar,” Alexander said.
Isabel shrunk in her corner. “It was not supposed to go down like this,” she said quietly; all of the fight that I had seen before had left her eyes.
“No shit it wasn’t! It was an ill-thought plan executed in broad daylight and in hostile waters. How the fuck did someone so stupid become Captain of anything? Furthermore, how dare you think some sorry sailor like yourself could think to take me as a prisoner? Maiden knows why I haven’t strangled you yet; I’ve killed a lot more capable bastards than you for a lot less.”
“Dagomar!” Alexander shouted. I was too blind in my tirade to see him standing there with his fists clenched, face red, and seething like a rabid dog.
“Keep my name out of your bloody mouth, boy!” I roared. “Why are you trying to defend her?”
His eyes widened and for a split-second, his rage was replaced with nerves. His eyes flicked between myself and the former Captain as he tried to stutter out an answer.
I could only sigh. What the fuck am I doing out here? I asked myself.
“You were in on the bloody mutiny, weren’t you?” I said tersely.
His face said it all, but he still tried to come up with a response. “Dag- father,” he began.
“Oh, fuck all!” I shouted. “I don’t want to hear your sorry excuse.”
“I saved us!” He responded, fire surging through him again. “You were to be in no real harm, Isabel had guaranteed your safety, and there was no point going down with that sad, old man!”
“You saved yourself, you bloody bastard. Your face is buried too far between her thighs to even remember what we are even doing out here!”
For a second, my words lingered in the air as a deafening silence filled the cell. Within only a few seconds, the tension between us rose as high as a mountain before snapping. In my anger, I moved to charge him and wrestle him to the ground, but his rage was greater. He lunged at me before I could make any movement and my head slammed into the hard, wooden floor. I landed a few punches that knocked him off of me but as soon as I tried to rise, he recovered and lunged at me again. Blow after blow landed on my face, and with it, blunt shockwaves of pain. I saw the rage in my son’s eyes as he lost control of himself. He was a wild monster, a fiend, an animal; he was not my son. He didn’t stop until Isabel was finally able to wrestle him off of me.”
“That’s enough!” She shouted. “Get off of him, Alex, you’ve made your point!”
His heavy breathing was pained as it filled the room. I laid motionless, looking up at the ceiling, as I contemplated the mistakes I have made to have been led here. I was a sorry sight; a sad old man, captured by pirates and beaten by his son, seeking revenge that he did not deserve.
“I hate to break up this sorry excuse of a fight,” a voice cut through the cell. We turned to find a crewman staring at the lot of us with a wide grin. “But the Priestess wants to see you.”
Slowly, I rose to my feet and wiped the blood from my lips, growling as I walked past Isabel and my son. Neither dared to look at me.
I bit my bloodied lip as the squalid crew taunted and sniggered while I followed my captor across the deck. Bastards the lot of them; they’re nothing better than starving dogs waiting to pounce on any scrap of meat they can get. My captor must have taken joy in his crew’s taunting, for he laughed and felt compelled to join them.
“Truth be told, I don’t know why the Priestess saw fit to save you.” He sneered. “I’ve heard stories of you, and you do not live up to the legend. Seeing you getting beaten by that small man you call your son, well I don’t think I have ever seen someone that cowed. It’s pathetic, really; you’re a ghost of a man.”
“As soon as I get out of these chains, I’m going to strangle you with them,” I said, but the threat was half-hearted.
My captor stopped and turned around to face me. He looked me up and down, weighing the risks. His frown turned into a bemused smile and unexpectantly headbutt me. The shock of the action caught me off guard more than anything, but it was still enough to send me to the ground; the crew cheered as I crashed onto the deck.
“I’d like to see you try, you piece of shit,” he sneered.
With a yank, he pulled me forwarded, stumbling back onto two feet as we continued to the Priestess’ chamber.
In my glory days, I may have tried to kill him then and there. You’re a ghost of a man. The phrase rang through my head and tucked itself deep into the recesses of my brain. One stranger needed only a few minutes to vocalize something I have been unable to figure out about myself for years. Pathetic.
My escort’s cocky demeanor changed immediately as we entered the Priestess’ cabin. A feeling of suffocation crashed over me. The inside was dark and ominous. Crimson curtains blocked out any light emanating from the windows and the room glowed a dull orange from the dozens of candles. The Priestess was on the other side of the cabin, her back to us as she brewed something tart-smelling in a cauldron.
“Unchain him and leave us,” she commanded, not bothering to look up from the concoction she was preparing.
The pirate unshackled me. “Now’s your chance,” he sniggered before exiting the cabin.
I watched her as she poured her creation into a decanter full of wine and then into two goblets. As the candlelight glowed against the outline of her body, there was an allure to her of primal youth, even though age had already begun to take its toll on her beauty; her gaze pierced through me as she seemed to float closer. There was power behind her eyes, power in every step she took, and power residing in the essence of her very being. Silently, she approached and handed me the goblet.
“Drink.”
I hesitated, unsure of the mysterious concoction she added to the wine.
“I can think of much more entertaining ways than poison to watch you die,” she said nonchalantly. She raised her goblet to her lips and sipped.
“Drink,” she repeated.
I drank because I had nothing to lose. If it was poison, then I would die and that would be the end of me. Life will go on for everyone else in Ibara; no one would care, would they? I downed the entire goblet with one large gulp. The Priestess smiled. She reached for the decanter and poured me another glass before sitting down at the empty table. She gazed at me unrepentantly with her hazel eyes, studying my every move with the utmost attention. I felt as if I were a fawn who had come face-to-face with a fanged leopard.
“I was fully prepared to die that day you found me in the swamps,” she finally said, breaking the silence. “As I hung there, the rope rubbing all of the skin from my wrists as I swung from that tree, I had already accepted my death. Death at the hands of the Naga and the horrendous pain that was bound to come with it. What a horrible way to die, I thought, but there was nothing I could do about it.
“I cared not where my soul went after I passed from this world, only that I died well and not in agony. So, I prayed to Parthos, our great Creator of the Abyss, although at the time I shared the same sentiments about her that most Ibarans do. I prayed to her, begging her for two things. The first being that her daughter kills me quickly, and the other being that her daughter kills that traitorous coven of bitches next.” She paused, taking a long sip from her goblet.
“I didn’t expect her to answer, but answer me she did. She came to me in those swamps. It was unbelievably hot, and I had not a sip of water for three days, so I thought I was delusional as I saw a silhouette appear before me. At first, it lingered on the rock, a figure that was lanky and frail, and though I saw no one around, I felt a stare that clawed into my body. And when it grew close, I could taste the salt in the air and smell a foul, rotting scent. A scent that grew stronger until it was right in front of me.”
The Priestess looked up at me with watery eyes and smiled. A smile of gratitude and joy.
“You would not believe what I saw as the shadow pried my mouth open and crawled inside me,” she whispered.
“You were delirious when I came across you,” I said slowly, hesitantly, my voice almost a whisper. “You were screaming so loud that I thought that the Naga was eating you alive.”
She chuckled and leaned in close. I could smell the sandalwood and lime as she traced my scar with her finger.
“When you came upon me, I had no sense of what was real and what was not, but you looked at me with such tender and concerned eyes, and I knew that you were there to save me from my impending doom. But as you untied me, I heard a calling from my creator, so I snatched the dagger from your hands, gave you that scar, and ran off deeper into the swamp, never expecting to see you again.”
“Until now,” I said.
“Until now,” she agreed. “I spent three more days in that delirious state in the swamp. On the fourth day, I woke in a nest of soul-biters slithering over me, but they did not bite; there was nothing else that I needed to know. Immediately after my transformation, I sought out my traitorous coven, ready to slaughter every one of them, only to discover that you had already been there.”
She paused, her eyes lingering on me; they were much softer than this morning on the deck. “Thank you,” she said warmly.
I could not help but smile. It has been so long since anyone has shown me affection such as this, gratitude for me that I never thought existed. I did not know what to say and for that reason I was embarrassed.
“To Dagomar,” she raised her glass.
“To your generosity,” I choked out.
She smiled after taking a swig of her drink and tipped her hand on the bottom of my goblet, forcing me to finish my cup. A rush of warmth surged through my body as I shuttered and my face grew red. This was good wine, not that piss-water they drink in Cold Harbor.
“So, Dagomar Dernbut,” she said playfully. “Why are you here?” Her question was restrained and she stared at me intently, almost as if she knew a secret she was trying to keep locked behind her lips.
“Only the Maiden knows,” I grunted, quickly remembering the incidents of the day. The Priestess poured more wine into my goblet. “I should be back at my cabin skinning pelts rather than being on this ship.” I needed an outlet and she was there, eager to listen. “Instead, I’m here, a prisoner on a bloody ship alongside my ungrateful son and his bitch that tried to kill me.”
“I can certainly make your treatment as my prisoner worse if you’d like, all you would have to do is ask,” she joked. She looked me up and down, unable to contain her curiosity. “You came in here with bruises, new ones, and not from me. Did my crew do that?”
I shuddered and took a long sip from my goblet. “There’s probably one on my forehead from that bastard who escorted me to your chambers. That one hurt like a bitch,” I said, slurring my words and lingering on every syllable. “If I ever get my chance, I would beat him until he couldn’t move. But the truth of the shit is that my own bloody son did most of this to me. That ungrateful prick, can you believe it? I saved him!” My voice grew to a crescendo to the point I was yelling. “I saved that bastard’s life! Twice now! And this is how he wants to thank me?”
“The audacity,” she said sardonically, though I was too drunk to notice. “I have heard quite a bit about you, but never that you had a son. Tell me about him.”
Why would she give a flying rat’s ass about my son? Just hours ago she was fully prepared to kill him. But I didn’t know how to vocalize those thoughts. “Well, what is there to know about him?” I asked instead.
“Nothing,” she shrugged. “And everything. The infamous Dagomar does not strike me as the fatherly type.”
“Well, I wouldn’t either,” I laughed obnoxiously. “But he’s the one that found me. Some bastard son whelped by a whore from a tavern I used to frequent in Cronosia. I’ll admit, the lad is growing on me,” I remembered the impact of his fists, the blunt pain in my back as he tackled me into the ground. I finish the rest of the wine in my goblet. “Or at least was.”
The Priestess leaned in, looking at me quizzically with large hazel eyes. She brushed a curly lock of hair away from her face. “What’s his name?” She asked.
“Alexander.”
“Alexander,” she repeated. She leaned back and looked down at her goblet. The name lingered on her lips as if she was ruminating something.
“You said he was the one that found you?” She asked.
“Aye,” I nodded. “The lad just appeared one day at my doorstep asking for my help. I almost killed him before he could explain. His wife’s been taken by an old friend of mine, and he needs my help in getting her back.”
“An old friend.” The Priestess smiled wickedly. She took another sip of wine to try and regain her composure. “So, the great Dagomar is looking to finally get his revenge on Ascianus? I know that story well.”
My face soured. “You know nothing about me and my stories,” I growled.
“On the contrary, Dagomar,” she chuckled. “I know everything about you, as well as the stories they tell of you. You forget who whispers in my ear. I know you and I know your past; I even know what you will do before you do it. That is why I am taking you to Dondolo, for he will see what I see: a good soldier, pained and lost, but one that can still make a difference in this world. Doesn’t that sound better than chasing ghosts from the past?”
“Are they ghosts if they have never really left me?” I asked, “I care not what story about me that you believe, all that matters is that my knife plunges into that bastard Ascianus’ heart.”
“So be it,” she sighed. “A word to the wise, if I might add one, even if you manage to slay the Baron of Bracchano, it will not be as rewarding as you’d expect.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t try.” My words were barely comprehensible at this point. I reached for the decanter but found it empty. In a matter of minutes, my vision became blurry and I could hardly keep track of my surroundings. It felt as if all the blood had rushed from my head and into my groin as I stood at attention, bursting for a release.
The Priestess smirked. “It seems we are all out of wine,” she said casually. “Perhaps there is something else I can offer you instead? A token, you might say, for my gratitude.” She moved across the table directly toward me. Straddling my lap, she stared at me with eyes that signaled her dominance and demand for my submission. Even if I wanted to object, I did not think I could.
“It seems my concoction is doing the trick,” she whispered before biting my shoulder.
My hands crawled down her back until I found her butt. As I did so, she placed her hand on my hard cock, grinding into my lap.
That was the last I remembered of that night.
I woke in my cell to an ache so fierce it felt as if one of the crew took an axe to my head. The bright golden beams of a rising sun cut through the cell’s window and bore into my face. I groaned as I rose, trying to collect my bearings. What happened the night before? What did the Priestess add to our wine? Was this all a dream? Half-constructed memories swirled around my head, hazy and hallucinogenic yet also concrete. It took all of the strength in my body to not vomit on myself.
“You’re awake,” a voice stated, soft yet definitive.
Groggily, I turned and found Isabel sitting in a corner, her body curled and her short hair disheveled. My son was asleep next to her, his head resting on her thigh.
“They had to drag you back to the cell. You were delirious, speaking in a different language and reeking of wine. You passed out as soon as your head hit the floor.”
I listened as she spoke, hearing the words leave her mouth but not registering them or their meaning.
“I’m guessing the Priestess got you good,” she chuckled as a long silence fell between us. “I’m sorry,” she admitted. “What happened on the Swiftback wasn’t anything personal between us. And as for him,” she nodded towards Alexander lightly snoring. “I know he regrets what he did too, more than you know; I think the stress of yesterday got to us all.”
I stared blankly at her.
She sighed. “I know an apology doesn’t set everything right, but we’re a team now, Dagomar, whether you like it or not, and we have to stick together. It’s the only way we are going to get out of this mess alive.”
This mess, I think to myself. Memories of yesterday come to the surface; memories of the Isabel holding a knife to my throat, Shiloh’s crimson blood flowing from his neck, Alexander on top of me, his eyes wild and fierce. The room started to spin.
“Piss off,” I growled before immediately passing out again.
********
“Wake up,” the voice commanded, cutting through the emptiness of my sleep.
I cringed at the unexpected impact of a boot slamming into my rib. When I opened my eyes, I found myself looking up at a burly man in the prime of his youth sneering at me. We were the only two in the cell.
“We’re here.”
The brute led me up onto the deck and into the sun. It was almost midday and the sky was a bright, sunny, and vibrant blue. We were moving at a snail’s pace, but when I looked around, I found we were surrounded by dense mangrove forests on all sides. I glimpsed the helmsman. He was tense and focusing intently on the path ahead, his hands gripping the helm with such vigor that they began to turn white. I was led past Alexander and Isabel, who werer sitting quietly on deck and guarded by a fierce-looking woman. Neither looked to meet my gaze.
I was brought to the Priestess who stood at the bow, looking ahead. She looked much different than the day before. She wore a long black gown that sparkled in the sun and dragged across the wood instead of the tattered one that was practically shredded; her hair too was no longer a frizzled nest but rather elegant, wavy, and curly. Seeing her revived the memories of last night: the scent of her sandalwood and lime on her skin, the tart taste of the wine, the craving I felt when she touched my skin. Deep breath, Dagomar.
“So, the infamous Dagomar is indeed alive,” the Priestess mocked. She frowned when the guard did not leave immediately. “Leave us, for abyssal sake,” she demanded as the man slinked away.
“How do you feel?”
“Like there is an axe lodged in the back of my head,” I replied.
The Priestess let out a laugh. A laugh that was so loud and boisterous that every crew member nearby flinched at the sound. I reckon they did not hear that often.
“Perhaps that is more desirable than my company?”
“Never, my lady.” I managed to smile, and a rush of heat flooded over me.
“Be careful what you say, you have no idea how unpleasant I can be.” Our eyes lingered for a brief second before she looked away.
“We’ll reach the hideout within an hour,” she said curtly. “There you will meet with Dandolo, and your fate, as well as the fate of the other two, will be decided by him.”
“And what do you think our fate will be?” I asked.
The Priestess smiled ominously, her hair fluttering in the breeze. “That depends entirely up to you.”
“Some help that is,” I mumbled.
“It is the truth. Dandolo could use good men, you could be of value to him, you just need to prove it.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Parthos give me strength,” she sighed. “I grow weary of this insecure person that stands before me. What happened to the man that slaughtered a coven deep in the Taiyiban Swamps? The man who rescued me from the Naga?”
Images of Natalie’s corpse, with my knife buried deep in her neck flash before me. “That man is no more,” I said sternly. “He died years ago.”
“A pity,” the Priestess frowned. “That is the man that we could use, not the one before me; that is the man that Dandolo wants.” She gazed into the distance, searching for the towering masts of Dandolo’s ship above the canopy of the mangrove forest.
“If it wasn’t for our hideout, this forest would be a good place to leave you, a place where you could die shriveled and forgotten, erased from history as you desire so desperately.” Her words pierced me like a dagger in my body. It was the truth I accepted of myself back at my cabin for years, but I flinched hearing another person say it. As terrible as yesterday was, this journey had awakened feelings inside me that I thought had long disappeared. With every step further, every hazard triumphed, and every death avoided I have felt more and more alive. And the more I felty alive, the more I regretted spending all those years living in the past. It mattered not, though, for I would not be given a choice. In the far distance, obstructed by the dense mangrove shrub was Dandolo’s ship.