| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
.
| Written by T.L. Barrett / Artwork by Marge Simon |
| Mother Cassie Goes on Account |
The cabin door creaked open, letting in dim lantern light and a hand bearing a crucifix. The old witch inside
chuckled at that. The ship let out a little groan of its own as it rocked on the choppy Atlantic waters.
“Know this, witch,” the puritan’s voice rang out in the dark muffled spaces below deck, “we are protected by
the holy spirit and the purifying wrath of Father and Son.”
“Aye,” she answered. “But what of the mother? Ye’ve forgotten about her. What would she think of what ye’
re doing, Little Tom?” The puritan hesitated, flustered by the name he had so desperately tried to outgrow.
“Sacrilege!” he said and opened the door wider. “Men,” Tom stepped to the side allowing two soldiers in
breastplate and helm to enter; crossbows at the ready. Another man bore a lantern high, although his hand
shook.
The lantern lit upon the stout old woman sitting peaceably on the floor. She wore the affect of a peasant over
her walnut brown skin. Her handsome features wrinkled and her large brown eyes squinted at the
unaccustomed glare.
“They won’t be of any use protecting ye either, Little Tom,” she said, her voice calm and pleasant.
“Cursed, witch,” Tom Drake sputtered, “by the name of the most holy and high, I command thee to release
the ship from the foul vapors which thou have summon’d!”
“Lost in a fog, are ye lad?” she asked.
“Ye shall hang, you know, for the witch thou art. The quicker thou relinquish thy binding with the devil the
quicker the pain will pass for thee.”
“Surely a dab of mist won’t matter to a great herd of Cornwall bred men such as ye’selves.”
“Do not jest. Thou hast bewitched our instruments and befuddled our navigation. I tell thee again, thou only
prolongeth thy own stay in the flames of purification, hell-bitch!” He leaned in but did not come forward to
strike. They were too afraid of old Mother Cassie. That was good. It might buy her enough time.
“Go pray to yer God, then, Little Tom. Mayhaps he’ll be a drot more charitable than an old woman ye’ve
chased from her own home in the dead of morning.”
They had come early, but not as early as dear young master Browning. The lad had shown up at her cottage
a-bare-back in his night clothes, having overheard his servants talking about the coming arrest.
“The blasted Roundheads, Mother, they mean to take thee ‘fore dawn. Tom Drake is calling for a hanging.
He’s called witchery on thee,” he said, all pale-faced and concerned.
“Right they might, but they won’t catch Mother Cassie unawares lad, bless yer heart.” She came forward and
kissed him and gave him sage and the deck of tarot she had taught him to use when he was a tot.
“But, mother, I cannot take these.”
“I don’t need ‘em, Will, and ye have the gift. Now, get ye gone fast. I’ve known this was a’comin’, just not this
eve. Thanks again, and may ye and yours be blessed with love and long life.” She sent him off, and,
reluctantly, he went. The fishermen who depended on Mother Cassie to mend infected hook wounds or gauge
the weather had been good enough to set out a dinghy with some supplies as she had asked. It wasn’t
second sight that caused Mother Cassie to make this request; she was old enough to know which way the
wind was blowing.
She only hoped the boys had done what she told them and not gotten in the roundheads’ way. She knew,
too well, the mouths they had to feed, and would not bring trouble down on them for the world. The boat had
been waiting for her, and feeling foolishly old to set off on this adventure, she had cast off into the night. Her
arms and back still ached, although the bruises from the roundheads’ rough handling when they had pulled
her from the dinghy onto their ship didn’t help much either.
“The negro boy,” Tom Drake barked, “what have you done with him? Have you devoured his heathen soul to
fuel your foul magics?” The armored roundheads flinched back. Rubbing her bruised ribs, Mother Cassie saw
this and suppressed a giggle. “Or does he serve a new master now, and wait in the shadows for evil and wet
work?”
You should have been a poet, Little Tom. Was what Cassie wanted to say. Instead she only sighed then said:
“Fear not. The negro flew back home to Africa.” He’s a man, too, a finer man, of nobler blood than any of the
likes of you. A more precocious younger tongue of Cassie’s might have added. The slave had brought her the
tidbits she had needed to do what had to be done. In exchange, she had instructed him to bring her the
feathers he would need to attempt the flight back home. He hadn’t much faith in the gull pinions which he had
stashed below decks, but she insisted they would do. His home song would make him free to fly back to his
people. After he had stashed the bits on a beam nearby, he had watched her for a long time in the dark with
shining eyes. Not accustomed to trusting white folks, the man had enough spirit in him to recognize the truth
of Cassie’s whispered words.
The hard part had been using the bits of driftwood and a lodestone to call out to the brothers of the air while
trapped in the musty dark prison bilge. With the black man’s help, she had managed it. And then with a nod
he had gone up into the mist which the powers of the east had provided. With her mind’s ear she had heard
his quiet singing and felt his toes leave the deck boards of the ship. She wished him well, and then set her
mind to the mist.
She had prayed the mist would hold; that the spirits of the air would be generous enough to grant her this
last request.
“All hands on deck!” a voice called from above. Everyone looked up at the sound that followed. It was the
warning bell that hailed another vessel in the mist.
“Thank ye, brothers,” she said. It looked like things were drawing into place.
“Ye’ll answer to this as well, witch, I promise ye,” Tom Drake said. The men drew back and shut and barred
the door. Cassie was alone to listen.
She heard the hails issued to the other ship floundering in the thick fog. Then, a terrible stillness descended
upon the ship.
“Pirates!” someone yelled in terror. Suddenly the ship lurched, as the roundheads tried to steer the ship
away; but all the wind had died.
A cannon boomed. The boat lurched and a great buffeting crack resounded through the boat. Screams and
musket fire filled the air. Soon after, the sounds of cutlass and rougher screams of battle proceeded. They
were being boarded.
Something hit the cabin door. A muffled scrambling, panting and cursing could be heard.
“Little Tom?” she asked. He did not answer, but she could hear his alternating cursing and frantic prayer. The
dying screams of men from above got louder. She could hear the pirates descending below decks. A pistol
shot rang out and the stench of the powder and blood reached Cassie’s sensitive nostrils.
“I shall fear no evil,” Tom Drake screamed in a high falsetto, “for thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”
Cassie thought Tom was trying to fend off the pirates with a crucifix. Derisive laughter from the pirates told
her she was right.
“What have we here, boys? A holy man? And what may his worship be guarding?” Tom yelped as he was
thrown aside. The bar was lifted. The door opened. A filth-headed lout with the bushiest eyebrows held a
lantern up and peered in at Cassie.
“A hag, an old bitch?” He grabbed Tom and pulled him up by his collar. “What’s the matter, holy man, the hag
refused to cook your vittles for ye?” he laughed and banged Tom’s head against a post for good measure.
“An old hag for booty? Cap’n Breck won’t be too happy when he hears,” a smaller man, with sores on his bald
head said at the other’s elbow.
“Well, Fergie, at least you will have somethin’ to play with. We all know how you like doodling grannies, like
you did in that Spanish villa,” he roared and slapped Fergie hard.
“I told you not to speak of it,” Fergie bawled.
“Oh, cast off with ye,” the other muttered. He grabbed up Tom and pulled him toward the ladder. “Bring the
bitch.” Fergie came forward. Cassie froze him with a look. He stepped aside as she followed the first pirate
out the door toward the open air.
The mist had started to clear, although the sun had still not penetrated the murky clouds, but lit the world in
a gray pall from beyond. Roundhead blood covered the decks. Pirates made quick work of those that still
gasped or struggled. Others were walking the plank bridge that had been lowered, carrying back the bits of
booty that had been stripped from the men, mostly cutlasses, a few muskets and plate armor.
Pulling herself up the plank using the ropes, Mother Cassie felt the aching fatigue deep in her bones. Tom
slipped in front of her, and for a moment both his weight and hers hung from her arms. To top matters off,
Tom stank of fear and piss.
Tom and Cassie were brought up before the Poop deck to await inspection. Tom madly muttered broken lines
of biblical talk to himself. Cassie sighed and turned her eyes toward home.
“Mother Cassie?” a gruff voice spoke on the deck. Cassie turned and her eyes fell on a face she had not seen
in almost a score of years. A tall and hale man with broad shoulders stood before her. He had a great beak of
a nose and terrible scar running across from his right ear to his lips, which drew the side of his mouth up in
puckered smirk. She recognized him, despite the years and the damage.
“Georgie Good?“ she asked. Georgie had been a rough and naughty boy at the docks, always fighting and in
the stocks. He had set out looking for the hard life. From the looks of it, he had found it; but from the cast of
his eyes, he also looked like he had his fill. She read this in him, as her brown eyes read so much. Under her
inspection he shifted his eyes away.
Cassie’s eyes fell on Captain Breck. All the fatigue drained out of her, and a cool, steely look came into her
eyes. Breck was taller than she had imagined. Far too handsome for a man so universally known for
wickedness. Breck the Brute had a waxed moustache and trim goatee. Lustrous black hair framed his flawless
visage. His deep set eyes, flashed with intelligence as he surmised the spoils on this strange foggy morning.
“You!” Cassie shouted and pointed a finger out at Breck. Breck’s icy gaze came up and regarded the old
woman. Everywhere hands went to their sabers. “You killed my grandson!”
The words spilled out of Cassie’s mouth and hung in the air before her. They had not announced themselves,
beforehand. Such a thing had not happened since Cassie had been a wee girl, in trouble for speaking the
truth unbidden to her elders and the suspicious country folk.
When her Robin had died, her heart had broken. When his bumbling ghost had kept the tears in her eyes for
weeks, she had told him to go out and leave her in peace until she was ready to join him. Her heart had
stopped when his warm presence had left their home with her request.
But it had been the loss of her Johnny which had left a wound that would not heal. A child in spirit so like her
own when she was a lass, Johnny had looked out over the waves and had dreamed of travel and adventure.
Like his father, he did what he thought right, and joined the royal navy. Not a moon had expired since his
graceful leave, when news came back to her about the attack of Breck the Brute and the slaughter of
Johnny’s crew. Cassie had not wept, but a cold wind had encircled her heart. She dreamed of the day when
she would face this fiend of the seas.
But what now? She had no further plans. She had no weapon. Old, sore and exhausted, she waited.
“Who be this woman?” Breck asked. He stepped forward.
“Cap’n,” Georgie Good stepped forward, “’tis Mother Cassie. She be the wise-woman of Cornwall.”
“She be a witch?” He raised an arched eyebrow.
“I be,” she answered.
“Cap’n, she is not the like to be trifled with,” Georgie stammered.
“Are ye here to curse me then, hag?” Breck asked.
“If there is any that deserves a cursing, it be ye.”
“Well, ye’ll have to get in a very long line, hag. Methinks ye are a trifle old for such a wait.” Many in his crew
barked laughter at his show of flippancy.
Cassie spat in his face. The laughter stopped. Breck brought a steady hand up and wiped the spittle from him.
“That will do,” he said in a low voice. He stepped to the side and looked at where Tom Drake stood trembling.
“And who is this jake in long clothes?” he asked, inspiring tentative chuckles from his men.
“He’s a holy man, cap’n,” the rough with the eyebrows said. Breck leaned in very close as if he were to kiss
Tom.
“Where is yer God, now?” he nearly whispered. Tom did not look up.
“Well, boys, we can’t have ye all fighting over the hag, nor father sweet-cheeks, here. We have piratin’ to do.
It’s the plank for the two of ‘em!” He shouted the last and pumped a fist into the air. The crew cheered and
came forward to take hold of the two condemned prisoners. As Breck walked away he put a hand on the little
bald man’s shoulder who stood beside Cassie. “Sorry, Fergie, you’ll have to wait till winter and Spain for yer
merry love.” The crowd roared approval.
Cassie looked over at the captured ship. The pirate vessel had moved away. Flames poured out of the deck
trap and the windows of the aft cabin below its poop deck. The plank was pulled taut, Cassie and Tom were
brought to the rail. An expectant hush fell over the crew.
“Cap’n, I forbid this.” Georgie Good, his scarred face pale, stepped between Brent and the condemned. It’s
Breck who gave him that half-smile, Cassie realized, with the knowing of the witch she was.
Breck looked to the side, and like good marionettes, his men jumped. Before Georgie had his cutlass a finger’s
width from its scabbard, they had his arms and took his sword.
“Well, then Goody Good. It looks like that makes a witch’s three,” Breck announced. Georgie flailed his head
and smacked a crewmate soundly, but they cuffed him thrice and held him tight. Breck pulled his saber, and
held the point to Georgie’s face. “You first Goody.”
The men hoisted him up to the plank as he struggled. They gave him a hearty shove. Waving his arms for
balance, he pitched off the plank and dropped out of sight.
“Ladies first,” someone yelled. They laughed and hauled Cassie onto the plank.
“Breck,” Cassie said over the tumult, “what be the name of this here ship?”
“Me ship be the lovely lady, Caledonia. I suppose you be needing her name for the curses you’ll waste yer
last breath on,” Breck answered.
“No,” Cassie said, “but this way I can find ye again.” With that she took three steps and leapt off the plank,
holding her skirts as she fell. She hit the cold Atlantic water and surfaced in time to see Tom Drake holding
onto the plank above with his fingertips. Someone gave them a sound stamping. Tom joined them in the drink.
The Caledonia sailed on. Someone had picked up a squeeze-box. A ribald song carried over the turgid waves,
to where Cassie treaded water.
“I’ve got ye, mum,” Georgie said, as he wrestled his great arms under her arms and around her substantial
bosom.
“I’ve swum these waters before yer ma was born,” Cassie grunted. “Leave off now, lad!” She elbowed him
and he moved away.
“Sorry, mum,” he said.
“Ye are a good boy, Georgie,” she said. Georgie’s face expanded with pride. Tears coursed his cheeks. He
sobbed as he bobbed.
“Get yeself together, Georgie. I‘ll think of something.”
“Yes mum,” he said.
“But, ye better help Little Tom, if ye be needing an occupation,” she said. Little Tom’s flailing hand broke the
surface near them and then submerged, again. George dove. All was still except for the ceaseless waves.
Cassie twisted her sore body in the water and floated on her back. The clouds above her darkened
dangerously—brewing a summer storm. She tried to calm herself and sent her spirit call out to the deep. It
would be pleasant to hear the chirruping of dolphins, but Cassie didn’t expect any miracles. Her luck had run
out, it would seem. She suddenly felt very foolish for having promised to return to the Caledonia. All she could
amount to do would be to haunt its poop deck, or so it would seem, a vengeful spirit.
“I be too old for such nonsense.” She scorned herself.
The two men broke the surface, George gasping and Tom chocking and sputtering. With speaking firmly,
Cassie and George were able to get Tom to stop struggling and float on his back so George wouldn’t be
pulled under.
The sky continued to darken. The flaming ship sank in the distance. The wide ocean surrounded them.
“God has abandoned me,” Tom sobbed.
“Hush now. That may be, but George has you,” Cassie said.
Something luminescent rippled above a wave. Something curved and ridged slid over and let out a little slap.
“A Shark!” Tom screeched. He began to kick up a frothing and tried to twist in the water, presumably to scale
George.
“Stay still, Blast thee!” George cried.
A woman’s head protruded from the waves. Long waving dark tresses floated in the water. Her face shone
painful beauty and a faint luminescence in the gloom of the day. Another, a golden haired beauty, surfaced
and rose up, her large round breasts rising just above the cresting waves. More shapes moved just below
the surface of the water, serpentine scaled coils shimmered.
“Women, beautiful women,” George gasped.
“Succubae! Succubae from hell!” Tom wailed and kicked out at them, struggling to bring his hands together to
ward them with the cross.
“Meriads,” Cassie said, her heart sinking. “Stay close, boys.” She swam close. The three of them were soon
surrounded on all sides by these beauteous sirens from the deep. They drew closer, blushing, pouting their
parted lips. George reached a hand out of the water. The golden haired beauty slid ever closer to him.
“Ka-he-eek! Makai! Dolo-tok-tok!” Cassie shouted. The meriads flinched back hearing a command in their own
tongue. Their eyes dilated, their mouths opened in a great hissing, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.
“How speak you the tongue of the deep, old woman?” the first raven-haired beauty hissed. “How dare you?
How come you to know it?”
“I was taught by your queen, Jagonna-gon, when she and I were young and fair. It is her presence which I
summon and demand.” More hissing followed this discourteous order.
“After we have slaked our hunger on these mortals we shall summon forth the queen,” the beauty replied.
They reached forward. Tom kicked at a webbed hand.
“I claim them as me own. Their spirits are in my sway! They are mine by rights.” The meriads pulled back, their
tails lashing at the waves.
The Golden haired beauty pouted and spoke in a voice to match her shining plaits. “Is this true, mortal, does
thou bind thy spirit to this witch’s dominion?” she nearly whispered in George’s ear. She ran a finger over the
edge of his face, and he shivered.
“Yes! Mother Cassie. Me life is hers,” he stammered.
“And thee, delectable thrashing one?” A red haired vixen rose from the water. Her breasts lolled against his
cheek.
“How might I damn myself? This is God’s test,” he cried.
“They’ll eat thee, fool! For God’s sake, swear thyself to Mother Cassie,” George cried, trying to keep them
both afloat. Another sister of the deep came up close and eyed Tom lovingly.
“Yes,” he screamed. “I am lost, but yes. I condemn myself to the witch,” he cried and kicked out at them.
“You heard them!” Mother Cassie said. How wearily her arms dragged in the brine, how difficult to keep that
weariness from her voice. “Now, I command ye to take me and mine to a safe place to rest and await
audience with thy queen!”
The water rose to a frothing with the hisses and frenzied thrashing of serpentine tails. Then Cassie and her
men were taken up by strong cold hands and guided to the backs of these sensuous beauties. The tails
coiled and lashed, and they were born up out of the water and forward. Soon, the three jetted over the
waves, spray making them squint as the storm above them began in earnest, letting down its lightning and
rain.
The meriads bore them for some leagues in this manner, until they were dumped unceremoniously upon
unforgiving rock that rose out of the sea, like a jagged black peak rising above the clouds.
“Sooooon. Thee shall know the wrath of her highness, sooooon,” the sirens sang a sinuous threat and
disappeared into the deep once more.
Mother Cassie clung to the rock and panted and wondered if she had strength to rise up when her audience
was required by the one whom she had summoned. George crawled up and helped her to sit, and held her,
his warm stomach against her back.
“God has not abandoned me. I have abandoned God! All is lost, and only the fires of perdition await me.”
Little Tom let out a scream of anguish and then leaned forward and vomited the salty brine he had swallowed
down onto his own lap.
“Thy faith smacks me as short of sight,” Cassie pulled the long white clumps of hair from her face and
squeezed out the cold damp. “Mayhaps, God be more strange and clever then ye give due. His ways are
wondrous strange, or so they have told me. Ye have not shuffled off this mortal coil. Mayhaps ye’ll be of some
worth to someone then, before ye do.”
“You speak blasphemy,” Tom muttered.
“Avast, varlet!” Georgie barked. “To Mother Cassie thy life and word are owed! God help me, these hands
that held thee up, will cast thee back to the deep for the fiends to feed on!”
“Boys,” Cassie said, and then the waves grew still and a great shape moved out of the water.
Water splashed down three stories from the great bulk of the queen, Jagonna-gon. Her flesh was striped
with swathes of luminescent scales, all purple, and aqua. Between these swathes, her flesh bloated, a pale
moon color, which spoke of the dead of the deep, but also of the fertility of fresh bellies festooned with eggs.
Great swollen teats with purple nipples hung down and dripped a rich fish smell upon the rocks. Her eyes
were illumined with inhuman beauty and her abundant platinum hair hung over the bulk of her shoulders. Her
nose was as exquisitely formed as her eyes, but her mouth ran straight across both cheeks, and when she
spoke, many rows of terrible teeth shone in the ethereal light that surrounded her.
George turned, realized that her great tail encircled the entire isle of rock, and gulped.
“Cassandra Finch,” the she-queen smiled down at the old woman. Cassie bowed low. She grunted, and
George helped her back up.
“Your highness, Jagonna-gon, your beauty has only grown in the years since our last meeting.”
“Your beauty, I see, has withered into wretched mortal age.” The immortals enjoy the luxury of truth mortals
could not afford. When they had first met, a young mischievous Cassie rescued the meriad princess from the
nets of a group of wicked boys who had lured her to shore using the beautiful face of a Cornwall boy as bait.
In those days, Jagonna-gon had been a fair-haired sprite of the water, no larger than Cassie herself. They
had spent a rare few days together, learning of each other’s people, until Jagonna-gon was forced to return
to her people and Cassie was sent to a kinsman’s farm in an inland county for a whole year. When Cassie
returned, her own dark beauty made the boys forget her transgressions.
The fair-faced dolt was now in debtors’ prison. The boys had been married off to scolds who kept their sea-
side shanties straight. And here stood the old woman and the bloated queen of the Meriads regarding each
other once more. Cassie mused how one fateful day can be tied to another, so far away.
“I have come here, my queen, to beg recompense for saving ye from mortal hands, rough and careless, all
those years hence.”
“Cassandra, we are shocked that thou so lightly disregards the royal gifts we bestowed upon thee in thy
youth,” she chuckled from deep in her bulbous gullet. “We taught thee the tongue of the deep, a forbidden
thing. We trusted you with the names and the ways of all the people of the water. Such was never given,
lightly.”
“Then I beg of ye to remember the love between us, the sister-bond that bridged the gap between yer world
and mine. Please, Jagonna, spare my life and life of these two mortal men who are bonded to me by oaths.”
“But we see in thy heart another desire lurks, waiting to be asked, a darker purpose.” The creature folded
her arms over her great bosom, making them bulge obscenely.
“I have but one sole wish in this world,” Cassie began.
“Thou seeketh the taste of revenge. It is the bitterest of cups. Surely, the girl we knew cannot have given
herself over to this pursuit.”
“He murdered me grandson and all his mates for nothing, no profit, but for sport!” Cassie yelled.
“We know it,” Jagonna-gon said, putting out a webbed hand to stay her old acquaintance. “It happened on
our sea. We knew this boy to be of thine, as his throat was cut and his spirit left his body. Such a spirit, we
said, resembled so closely, one we had known. We could not see him dwell in the deeps, confused and
terrified, as so many do. We showed your Johnny the wonders of our home, we filled that spirit rich with
sights, and then showed him back to where he belongs, where the tree winds its way through all the worlds.
Such we have already done. Let it be enough.”
“I cannot. I have sworn to it. I cannot let this man make any more grieving mothers or widows, not as long as
I draw breath.”
The creature-queen opened her terrible mouth and let a great laugh echo across the sea.
“Such is the girl we remember. Such is the girl who risked herself for us! Still, Cassandra, do you really think
that all that transpires does so due to your will and wraps itself about your meager and thread-bare plans?
No, Cassandra, you and your men folk have been brought here to fulfill a purpose, beyond your reckoning.
“We thought to spare you of it, but since you are so determined, we will tell you the price for the things you
desire. For your life, we require you to go to the New World, there are things that need to be done there that
will be only revealed in the deep passage of time.”
“I am old,” Cassie spoke. “My time is nearly done.”
“Your spirit burns bright within you still. It will sustain your bones ‘til what should be done, is done.”
“Why the new world?” Cassie asked.
Jagonna-gon heaved a mighty sigh. “There festers in the spirit of your people a great sickness. In the time to
come, it shall manifest itself in the air, the land and the water. Our people will be poisoned to silence; the old
ways will be nearly lost. All hope lies in that hundreds of years hence the spirit of man will have a chance to
be reborn anew; the old ways will then be remembered. The serpent of light will dance again, but it will dance
in the new world.”
“What of Breck?” Cassie asked, folding her own arms against her bosom and putting one foot forward, as she
would on any day, a-bartering in the market.
“For this silly request, thou and thine must make a solemn pledge: to become children of the sea. For the rest
of thy days, thou shall not spend more than a moon’s time on the land without taking to the waves once
again.”
Cassie looked out across the waves. A hard life awaited on the seas. Still, it followed the dreams of the little
girl she had been once, long ago.
Cassie spat into her hand. “’Tis a bargain, my queen. I shall do these things ye require for life and justice.”
“Then, old friend,” the queen said, “so we are bonded. Wait and rest awhile, and ye shall be delivered.” And
with that, the Queen of the Meriads, the great Jagonna-gon slipped with grace back into the deep. The three
castaways were alone on the great rock. The sky began to clear.
* * *
The night held clear, the moon bright. Captain Breck the Brute walked aboard. A panther in grace, Breck
paced the confines of Caledonia’s poop deck lost in thought. The pillage of the county ship had gone well, but
it would bring more redcoats into these waters, that he knew, well. Yet, the high summer had just begun, the
northern coasts awaited his picking, and then he would take his crew south in the autumn. His continued
success blazed out before him, as the constellations that lit the night. Still, something bothered him.
It had been the woman, old hag, the witch. Earlier, in the heat of the day, he had gone into his cabin and
rested himself down to dreams of blood and the taking of women. But, in that ranging world of sleep, the old
woman’s face, her large dark eyes haunted him. Her words echoed even now in his ears: So, I can find you
again.
They would go to land. The redcoats would not expect it. They would put a village to the torch and take their
women and sell them to Moorish slavers, after they were done with them. Yes, he smiled to himself. This is
what the men and he needed.
All this while, as the fantasies of what was to be done got his heart a-thumping, Breck did not notice the
growing song on the wind. Now men were stopping their tasks and staring off into the great dark expanse of
waters. The song rose up off the waves. It was a blood song. It filled the ears of the pirates and went deep
into the savage hearts of those most lustful for the shedding of blood.
Fergie, nervous, and filled more with the silken dreams of a lover’s touch, lifted a lantern to survey the source
of the song. Beautiful women swam there, impossibly, in the night waters of the Atlantic. Men’s eyes lit up
and their mouths fell open, they had not seen women such as these in all their years. These women smelled
of mothers. Their smiles and bare chests were invitations. Their arms stretched out with a great yearning.
“Sirens!” Breck screamed. He had heard of them, but not seen them before. “Keep ye to your stations!” But it
was too late, the song too strong. Soon half the crew had run and thrown themselves down over the rail and
were accepted in those eager embraces. Fergie watched from his vantage point, amazed.
Then the screams filled the night, like a counterpoint and finale to the meriad blood song. Breck and his men
watched the thrashing, the great spouting of blood. The frothing grew to a frenzy and then all was calm once
more.
“Breck!” a woman’s voice arose from behind the men at the rail. Breck turned and was amazed to find Mother
Cassie standing on the main deck regarding him with cool eyes. The thin handsome holy man stood on her
left, Georgie Good stood at her right.
“Shiver me timbers,” Breck whispered. His hand went to his saber and drew it. Across the deck, George
reached forward like a whip and grasped a man’s cutlass from his belt before the astounded man could
register who he was standing near. George shoved him away and held the saber high in challenge.
“Thank you, Georgie,” Cassie held out her hand. Georgie looked at the hand, his brow furrowed. Then with
great reluctance and a sigh, he handed the cutlass to Cassie.
Cassie held it out and faced her adversary.
“Ye’ll be getting’ no quarter from me, I warn ye, witch,” Breck shouted.
Cassie did not respond. The indignation glittered in her eyes. Her teeth were set. She rushed forward. The
pirate scurried to meet her. And then she brought the cutlass down against Breck’s parry with a wicked peal
of steel. She dealt vicious stroke after stroke. Cassie had been an industrious woman, born of strong
Cornwall folk. Her arms and shoulders were marvels, the calves on her short legs legends of the county. Such
a furious assault most men would have been pushed back to the very rails; but Captain Breck the Brute was
no ordinary man.
A grin stole over him as Cassie’s blows weakened and her mouth came open in a pant.
He let her tire herself out with a few more blows and then heaved her back with a hilt-locking block.
Cassie gasped for breath and held the sword out ineffectually.
Breck let out a great cry of triumph and slashed out with his sword. The cutlass flew from Cassie’s right hand.
Cassie’s left hand lifted and opened, palm up. Something lay over the creased and calloused lines of her
hand. She stepped in unexpectedly and blew quickly into her hand. Mustard seed flew up into Breck’s eyes.
Cassie moved in one step closer. Whipped her right foot out and caught the back of Breck’s left heel. He let
out a cry of pain and surprise and stumbled. Cassie was on him, twisting Breck’s sword out of his hand, and
landing on him on the deck.
She pressed the blade against the captain’s throat. A thin red line welled up.
Tears streamed out of Breck’s blinded and blinking eyes. Cassie grunted and got off the defeated pirate.
“Chain him and put him in the bilge!” she said. A few crew members scurried to pin Breck’s arms and dragged
him to the deck trap. “We’ll deal with him when the sun comes up.” The rest of the crew looked at this
panting old woman still holding the Captain’s saber with astonishment.
“As for the rest of you, get back to your tasks!” The men stared at her still with wonder.
“You ‘eard Captain Cassie,” George Good roared. “Get back to your tasks!”
The crew jumped and moved to complete their nightly jobs, and cover the chores of the ones who had
heeded the siren’s calls.
Cassie mounted the poop deck ladder on trembling legs. At the top she looked over the ship. A wry smile
crept over her face.
* * *
In the twilight of dawn, First Mate Good came to where Captain Cassie still stood on the poop deck. “You
might think of getting rid of Little Tom, Mum.”
Cassie looked over to where the handsome sandy-haired man was swabbing the deck disconsolately. “The
other’s have already started complaining about him, they claim he will swing the lead.”
“He’ll learn to earn his keep,” Cassie assured him.
“He’ll also wag his tongue. He may try to foster a mutiny, s’what I fear of, mum,” George said.
“No, Georgie. He gave his word. Little Tom won’t break it. He was such a good lad, Little Tom was. Big Tom
beat him terribly and was always shaking that damn black book over his head.”
George shrugged and went below decks to bring up the prisoner.
Red-eyed, and tousle-haired, Breck no longer looked the cool commander of the seas.
“Now, what shall we do to this scallywag, boys?” Cassie asked the crew.
“Should we keel haul him?” she asked. Someone hooted. Breck looked around in fury.
“Should we tar him?” More hoots. A few clapped.
“Should we hoist him on a lanyard, boys?” she shouted. The crowd burst. Fergie wept and clapped.
“I think ye should grant him mercy,” someone said.
George’s hand went to hilt, but Cassie stayed it.
“Who said that?” she asked, walking through the crowd of men.
“I did, Captain,” Little Tom was leaning against his mop.
“Ye think I should let this murderer, this cutthroat loose on a dinghy and wash me hands of him?” Cassie
asked.
“Aye, I do. I think it would be the godly thing to do,” Tom said and looked Cassie square in the eyes. Cassie
saw the hurt there, and the grace there, too.
“All right, Little Tom!” She clapped him on the arm and turned to her men.
“Leave him chained to warn anyone who comes across him. But give him the smallest dinghy and a bit of food
and something to paddle with.” The men looked perplexed as they went about fetching the boat. No one did
more so than Breck the Brute.
“This changes nothing,” Breck said as they lowered him into the water. “Now, it is I that will find you.”
“We’ll see, ye good for nothing ape,” she said and motioned for the men to cut the line. Breck looked up in
horror as the rope was cut, and the boat fell the last ten feet into the water and cracked Breck a good one.
The men cheered.
A few of them took the opportunity to void their bladders out onto the little boat and its miserable occupant.
Cassie went to the poop deck.
“Where to, Cap’n?” George called.
“West. To the new World.”
“Why are we going there?” Fergie asked.
“They say, louts, that the days are long and warm. They say that there are Cities of Gold just lying there to
be plundered. What say ye?”
They cheered, enthusiastically.
“West, then!” she shouted and pulled her saber and pointed it to the far horizon.
“But that will draw us into Red Flag Finnegan’s territory,” someone dismayed.
“Well, then,” Cassie retorted, “won’t that be a mighty fine surprise for him,” she shouted. The men roared
with approval.
The lady Caledonia set her sails and turned to the west.
chuckled at that. The ship let out a little groan of its own as it rocked on the choppy Atlantic waters.
“Know this, witch,” the puritan’s voice rang out in the dark muffled spaces below deck, “we are protected by
the holy spirit and the purifying wrath of Father and Son.”
“Aye,” she answered. “But what of the mother? Ye’ve forgotten about her. What would she think of what ye’
re doing, Little Tom?” The puritan hesitated, flustered by the name he had so desperately tried to outgrow.
“Sacrilege!” he said and opened the door wider. “Men,” Tom stepped to the side allowing two soldiers in
breastplate and helm to enter; crossbows at the ready. Another man bore a lantern high, although his hand
shook.
The lantern lit upon the stout old woman sitting peaceably on the floor. She wore the affect of a peasant over
her walnut brown skin. Her handsome features wrinkled and her large brown eyes squinted at the
unaccustomed glare.
“They won’t be of any use protecting ye either, Little Tom,” she said, her voice calm and pleasant.
“Cursed, witch,” Tom Drake sputtered, “by the name of the most holy and high, I command thee to release
the ship from the foul vapors which thou have summon’d!”
“Lost in a fog, are ye lad?” she asked.
“Ye shall hang, you know, for the witch thou art. The quicker thou relinquish thy binding with the devil the
quicker the pain will pass for thee.”
“Surely a dab of mist won’t matter to a great herd of Cornwall bred men such as ye’selves.”
“Do not jest. Thou hast bewitched our instruments and befuddled our navigation. I tell thee again, thou only
prolongeth thy own stay in the flames of purification, hell-bitch!” He leaned in but did not come forward to
strike. They were too afraid of old Mother Cassie. That was good. It might buy her enough time.
“Go pray to yer God, then, Little Tom. Mayhaps he’ll be a drot more charitable than an old woman ye’ve
chased from her own home in the dead of morning.”
They had come early, but not as early as dear young master Browning. The lad had shown up at her cottage
a-bare-back in his night clothes, having overheard his servants talking about the coming arrest.
“The blasted Roundheads, Mother, they mean to take thee ‘fore dawn. Tom Drake is calling for a hanging.
He’s called witchery on thee,” he said, all pale-faced and concerned.
“Right they might, but they won’t catch Mother Cassie unawares lad, bless yer heart.” She came forward and
kissed him and gave him sage and the deck of tarot she had taught him to use when he was a tot.
“But, mother, I cannot take these.”
“I don’t need ‘em, Will, and ye have the gift. Now, get ye gone fast. I’ve known this was a’comin’, just not this
eve. Thanks again, and may ye and yours be blessed with love and long life.” She sent him off, and,
reluctantly, he went. The fishermen who depended on Mother Cassie to mend infected hook wounds or gauge
the weather had been good enough to set out a dinghy with some supplies as she had asked. It wasn’t
second sight that caused Mother Cassie to make this request; she was old enough to know which way the
wind was blowing.
She only hoped the boys had done what she told them and not gotten in the roundheads’ way. She knew,
too well, the mouths they had to feed, and would not bring trouble down on them for the world. The boat had
been waiting for her, and feeling foolishly old to set off on this adventure, she had cast off into the night. Her
arms and back still ached, although the bruises from the roundheads’ rough handling when they had pulled
her from the dinghy onto their ship didn’t help much either.
“The negro boy,” Tom Drake barked, “what have you done with him? Have you devoured his heathen soul to
fuel your foul magics?” The armored roundheads flinched back. Rubbing her bruised ribs, Mother Cassie saw
this and suppressed a giggle. “Or does he serve a new master now, and wait in the shadows for evil and wet
work?”
You should have been a poet, Little Tom. Was what Cassie wanted to say. Instead she only sighed then said:
“Fear not. The negro flew back home to Africa.” He’s a man, too, a finer man, of nobler blood than any of the
likes of you. A more precocious younger tongue of Cassie’s might have added. The slave had brought her the
tidbits she had needed to do what had to be done. In exchange, she had instructed him to bring her the
feathers he would need to attempt the flight back home. He hadn’t much faith in the gull pinions which he had
stashed below decks, but she insisted they would do. His home song would make him free to fly back to his
people. After he had stashed the bits on a beam nearby, he had watched her for a long time in the dark with
shining eyes. Not accustomed to trusting white folks, the man had enough spirit in him to recognize the truth
of Cassie’s whispered words.
The hard part had been using the bits of driftwood and a lodestone to call out to the brothers of the air while
trapped in the musty dark prison bilge. With the black man’s help, she had managed it. And then with a nod
he had gone up into the mist which the powers of the east had provided. With her mind’s ear she had heard
his quiet singing and felt his toes leave the deck boards of the ship. She wished him well, and then set her
mind to the mist.
She had prayed the mist would hold; that the spirits of the air would be generous enough to grant her this
last request.
“All hands on deck!” a voice called from above. Everyone looked up at the sound that followed. It was the
warning bell that hailed another vessel in the mist.
“Thank ye, brothers,” she said. It looked like things were drawing into place.
“Ye’ll answer to this as well, witch, I promise ye,” Tom Drake said. The men drew back and shut and barred
the door. Cassie was alone to listen.
She heard the hails issued to the other ship floundering in the thick fog. Then, a terrible stillness descended
upon the ship.
“Pirates!” someone yelled in terror. Suddenly the ship lurched, as the roundheads tried to steer the ship
away; but all the wind had died.
A cannon boomed. The boat lurched and a great buffeting crack resounded through the boat. Screams and
musket fire filled the air. Soon after, the sounds of cutlass and rougher screams of battle proceeded. They
were being boarded.
Something hit the cabin door. A muffled scrambling, panting and cursing could be heard.
“Little Tom?” she asked. He did not answer, but she could hear his alternating cursing and frantic prayer. The
dying screams of men from above got louder. She could hear the pirates descending below decks. A pistol
shot rang out and the stench of the powder and blood reached Cassie’s sensitive nostrils.
“I shall fear no evil,” Tom Drake screamed in a high falsetto, “for thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”
Cassie thought Tom was trying to fend off the pirates with a crucifix. Derisive laughter from the pirates told
her she was right.
“What have we here, boys? A holy man? And what may his worship be guarding?” Tom yelped as he was
thrown aside. The bar was lifted. The door opened. A filth-headed lout with the bushiest eyebrows held a
lantern up and peered in at Cassie.
“A hag, an old bitch?” He grabbed Tom and pulled him up by his collar. “What’s the matter, holy man, the hag
refused to cook your vittles for ye?” he laughed and banged Tom’s head against a post for good measure.
“An old hag for booty? Cap’n Breck won’t be too happy when he hears,” a smaller man, with sores on his bald
head said at the other’s elbow.
“Well, Fergie, at least you will have somethin’ to play with. We all know how you like doodling grannies, like
you did in that Spanish villa,” he roared and slapped Fergie hard.
“I told you not to speak of it,” Fergie bawled.
“Oh, cast off with ye,” the other muttered. He grabbed up Tom and pulled him toward the ladder. “Bring the
bitch.” Fergie came forward. Cassie froze him with a look. He stepped aside as she followed the first pirate
out the door toward the open air.
The mist had started to clear, although the sun had still not penetrated the murky clouds, but lit the world in
a gray pall from beyond. Roundhead blood covered the decks. Pirates made quick work of those that still
gasped or struggled. Others were walking the plank bridge that had been lowered, carrying back the bits of
booty that had been stripped from the men, mostly cutlasses, a few muskets and plate armor.
Pulling herself up the plank using the ropes, Mother Cassie felt the aching fatigue deep in her bones. Tom
slipped in front of her, and for a moment both his weight and hers hung from her arms. To top matters off,
Tom stank of fear and piss.
Tom and Cassie were brought up before the Poop deck to await inspection. Tom madly muttered broken lines
of biblical talk to himself. Cassie sighed and turned her eyes toward home.
“Mother Cassie?” a gruff voice spoke on the deck. Cassie turned and her eyes fell on a face she had not seen
in almost a score of years. A tall and hale man with broad shoulders stood before her. He had a great beak of
a nose and terrible scar running across from his right ear to his lips, which drew the side of his mouth up in
puckered smirk. She recognized him, despite the years and the damage.
“Georgie Good?“ she asked. Georgie had been a rough and naughty boy at the docks, always fighting and in
the stocks. He had set out looking for the hard life. From the looks of it, he had found it; but from the cast of
his eyes, he also looked like he had his fill. She read this in him, as her brown eyes read so much. Under her
inspection he shifted his eyes away.
Cassie’s eyes fell on Captain Breck. All the fatigue drained out of her, and a cool, steely look came into her
eyes. Breck was taller than she had imagined. Far too handsome for a man so universally known for
wickedness. Breck the Brute had a waxed moustache and trim goatee. Lustrous black hair framed his flawless
visage. His deep set eyes, flashed with intelligence as he surmised the spoils on this strange foggy morning.
“You!” Cassie shouted and pointed a finger out at Breck. Breck’s icy gaze came up and regarded the old
woman. Everywhere hands went to their sabers. “You killed my grandson!”
The words spilled out of Cassie’s mouth and hung in the air before her. They had not announced themselves,
beforehand. Such a thing had not happened since Cassie had been a wee girl, in trouble for speaking the
truth unbidden to her elders and the suspicious country folk.
When her Robin had died, her heart had broken. When his bumbling ghost had kept the tears in her eyes for
weeks, she had told him to go out and leave her in peace until she was ready to join him. Her heart had
stopped when his warm presence had left their home with her request.
But it had been the loss of her Johnny which had left a wound that would not heal. A child in spirit so like her
own when she was a lass, Johnny had looked out over the waves and had dreamed of travel and adventure.
Like his father, he did what he thought right, and joined the royal navy. Not a moon had expired since his
graceful leave, when news came back to her about the attack of Breck the Brute and the slaughter of
Johnny’s crew. Cassie had not wept, but a cold wind had encircled her heart. She dreamed of the day when
she would face this fiend of the seas.
But what now? She had no further plans. She had no weapon. Old, sore and exhausted, she waited.
“Who be this woman?” Breck asked. He stepped forward.
“Cap’n,” Georgie Good stepped forward, “’tis Mother Cassie. She be the wise-woman of Cornwall.”
“She be a witch?” He raised an arched eyebrow.
“I be,” she answered.
“Cap’n, she is not the like to be trifled with,” Georgie stammered.
“Are ye here to curse me then, hag?” Breck asked.
“If there is any that deserves a cursing, it be ye.”
“Well, ye’ll have to get in a very long line, hag. Methinks ye are a trifle old for such a wait.” Many in his crew
barked laughter at his show of flippancy.
Cassie spat in his face. The laughter stopped. Breck brought a steady hand up and wiped the spittle from him.
“That will do,” he said in a low voice. He stepped to the side and looked at where Tom Drake stood trembling.
“And who is this jake in long clothes?” he asked, inspiring tentative chuckles from his men.
“He’s a holy man, cap’n,” the rough with the eyebrows said. Breck leaned in very close as if he were to kiss
Tom.
“Where is yer God, now?” he nearly whispered. Tom did not look up.
“Well, boys, we can’t have ye all fighting over the hag, nor father sweet-cheeks, here. We have piratin’ to do.
It’s the plank for the two of ‘em!” He shouted the last and pumped a fist into the air. The crew cheered and
came forward to take hold of the two condemned prisoners. As Breck walked away he put a hand on the little
bald man’s shoulder who stood beside Cassie. “Sorry, Fergie, you’ll have to wait till winter and Spain for yer
merry love.” The crowd roared approval.
Cassie looked over at the captured ship. The pirate vessel had moved away. Flames poured out of the deck
trap and the windows of the aft cabin below its poop deck. The plank was pulled taut, Cassie and Tom were
brought to the rail. An expectant hush fell over the crew.
“Cap’n, I forbid this.” Georgie Good, his scarred face pale, stepped between Brent and the condemned. It’s
Breck who gave him that half-smile, Cassie realized, with the knowing of the witch she was.
Breck looked to the side, and like good marionettes, his men jumped. Before Georgie had his cutlass a finger’s
width from its scabbard, they had his arms and took his sword.
“Well, then Goody Good. It looks like that makes a witch’s three,” Breck announced. Georgie flailed his head
and smacked a crewmate soundly, but they cuffed him thrice and held him tight. Breck pulled his saber, and
held the point to Georgie’s face. “You first Goody.”
The men hoisted him up to the plank as he struggled. They gave him a hearty shove. Waving his arms for
balance, he pitched off the plank and dropped out of sight.
“Ladies first,” someone yelled. They laughed and hauled Cassie onto the plank.
“Breck,” Cassie said over the tumult, “what be the name of this here ship?”
“Me ship be the lovely lady, Caledonia. I suppose you be needing her name for the curses you’ll waste yer
last breath on,” Breck answered.
“No,” Cassie said, “but this way I can find ye again.” With that she took three steps and leapt off the plank,
holding her skirts as she fell. She hit the cold Atlantic water and surfaced in time to see Tom Drake holding
onto the plank above with his fingertips. Someone gave them a sound stamping. Tom joined them in the drink.
The Caledonia sailed on. Someone had picked up a squeeze-box. A ribald song carried over the turgid waves,
to where Cassie treaded water.
“I’ve got ye, mum,” Georgie said, as he wrestled his great arms under her arms and around her substantial
bosom.
“I’ve swum these waters before yer ma was born,” Cassie grunted. “Leave off now, lad!” She elbowed him
and he moved away.
“Sorry, mum,” he said.
“Ye are a good boy, Georgie,” she said. Georgie’s face expanded with pride. Tears coursed his cheeks. He
sobbed as he bobbed.
“Get yeself together, Georgie. I‘ll think of something.”
“Yes mum,” he said.
“But, ye better help Little Tom, if ye be needing an occupation,” she said. Little Tom’s flailing hand broke the
surface near them and then submerged, again. George dove. All was still except for the ceaseless waves.
Cassie twisted her sore body in the water and floated on her back. The clouds above her darkened
dangerously—brewing a summer storm. She tried to calm herself and sent her spirit call out to the deep. It
would be pleasant to hear the chirruping of dolphins, but Cassie didn’t expect any miracles. Her luck had run
out, it would seem. She suddenly felt very foolish for having promised to return to the Caledonia. All she could
amount to do would be to haunt its poop deck, or so it would seem, a vengeful spirit.
“I be too old for such nonsense.” She scorned herself.
The two men broke the surface, George gasping and Tom chocking and sputtering. With speaking firmly,
Cassie and George were able to get Tom to stop struggling and float on his back so George wouldn’t be
pulled under.
The sky continued to darken. The flaming ship sank in the distance. The wide ocean surrounded them.
“God has abandoned me,” Tom sobbed.
“Hush now. That may be, but George has you,” Cassie said.
Something luminescent rippled above a wave. Something curved and ridged slid over and let out a little slap.
“A Shark!” Tom screeched. He began to kick up a frothing and tried to twist in the water, presumably to scale
George.
“Stay still, Blast thee!” George cried.
A woman’s head protruded from the waves. Long waving dark tresses floated in the water. Her face shone
painful beauty and a faint luminescence in the gloom of the day. Another, a golden haired beauty, surfaced
and rose up, her large round breasts rising just above the cresting waves. More shapes moved just below
the surface of the water, serpentine scaled coils shimmered.
“Women, beautiful women,” George gasped.
“Succubae! Succubae from hell!” Tom wailed and kicked out at them, struggling to bring his hands together to
ward them with the cross.
“Meriads,” Cassie said, her heart sinking. “Stay close, boys.” She swam close. The three of them were soon
surrounded on all sides by these beauteous sirens from the deep. They drew closer, blushing, pouting their
parted lips. George reached a hand out of the water. The golden haired beauty slid ever closer to him.
“Ka-he-eek! Makai! Dolo-tok-tok!” Cassie shouted. The meriads flinched back hearing a command in their own
tongue. Their eyes dilated, their mouths opened in a great hissing, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.
“How speak you the tongue of the deep, old woman?” the first raven-haired beauty hissed. “How dare you?
How come you to know it?”
“I was taught by your queen, Jagonna-gon, when she and I were young and fair. It is her presence which I
summon and demand.” More hissing followed this discourteous order.
“After we have slaked our hunger on these mortals we shall summon forth the queen,” the beauty replied.
They reached forward. Tom kicked at a webbed hand.
“I claim them as me own. Their spirits are in my sway! They are mine by rights.” The meriads pulled back, their
tails lashing at the waves.
The Golden haired beauty pouted and spoke in a voice to match her shining plaits. “Is this true, mortal, does
thou bind thy spirit to this witch’s dominion?” she nearly whispered in George’s ear. She ran a finger over the
edge of his face, and he shivered.
“Yes! Mother Cassie. Me life is hers,” he stammered.
“And thee, delectable thrashing one?” A red haired vixen rose from the water. Her breasts lolled against his
cheek.
“How might I damn myself? This is God’s test,” he cried.
“They’ll eat thee, fool! For God’s sake, swear thyself to Mother Cassie,” George cried, trying to keep them
both afloat. Another sister of the deep came up close and eyed Tom lovingly.
“Yes,” he screamed. “I am lost, but yes. I condemn myself to the witch,” he cried and kicked out at them.
“You heard them!” Mother Cassie said. How wearily her arms dragged in the brine, how difficult to keep that
weariness from her voice. “Now, I command ye to take me and mine to a safe place to rest and await
audience with thy queen!”
The water rose to a frothing with the hisses and frenzied thrashing of serpentine tails. Then Cassie and her
men were taken up by strong cold hands and guided to the backs of these sensuous beauties. The tails
coiled and lashed, and they were born up out of the water and forward. Soon, the three jetted over the
waves, spray making them squint as the storm above them began in earnest, letting down its lightning and
rain.
The meriads bore them for some leagues in this manner, until they were dumped unceremoniously upon
unforgiving rock that rose out of the sea, like a jagged black peak rising above the clouds.
“Sooooon. Thee shall know the wrath of her highness, sooooon,” the sirens sang a sinuous threat and
disappeared into the deep once more.
Mother Cassie clung to the rock and panted and wondered if she had strength to rise up when her audience
was required by the one whom she had summoned. George crawled up and helped her to sit, and held her,
his warm stomach against her back.
“God has not abandoned me. I have abandoned God! All is lost, and only the fires of perdition await me.”
Little Tom let out a scream of anguish and then leaned forward and vomited the salty brine he had swallowed
down onto his own lap.
“Thy faith smacks me as short of sight,” Cassie pulled the long white clumps of hair from her face and
squeezed out the cold damp. “Mayhaps, God be more strange and clever then ye give due. His ways are
wondrous strange, or so they have told me. Ye have not shuffled off this mortal coil. Mayhaps ye’ll be of some
worth to someone then, before ye do.”
“You speak blasphemy,” Tom muttered.
“Avast, varlet!” Georgie barked. “To Mother Cassie thy life and word are owed! God help me, these hands
that held thee up, will cast thee back to the deep for the fiends to feed on!”
“Boys,” Cassie said, and then the waves grew still and a great shape moved out of the water.
Water splashed down three stories from the great bulk of the queen, Jagonna-gon. Her flesh was striped
with swathes of luminescent scales, all purple, and aqua. Between these swathes, her flesh bloated, a pale
moon color, which spoke of the dead of the deep, but also of the fertility of fresh bellies festooned with eggs.
Great swollen teats with purple nipples hung down and dripped a rich fish smell upon the rocks. Her eyes
were illumined with inhuman beauty and her abundant platinum hair hung over the bulk of her shoulders. Her
nose was as exquisitely formed as her eyes, but her mouth ran straight across both cheeks, and when she
spoke, many rows of terrible teeth shone in the ethereal light that surrounded her.
George turned, realized that her great tail encircled the entire isle of rock, and gulped.
“Cassandra Finch,” the she-queen smiled down at the old woman. Cassie bowed low. She grunted, and
George helped her back up.
“Your highness, Jagonna-gon, your beauty has only grown in the years since our last meeting.”
“Your beauty, I see, has withered into wretched mortal age.” The immortals enjoy the luxury of truth mortals
could not afford. When they had first met, a young mischievous Cassie rescued the meriad princess from the
nets of a group of wicked boys who had lured her to shore using the beautiful face of a Cornwall boy as bait.
In those days, Jagonna-gon had been a fair-haired sprite of the water, no larger than Cassie herself. They
had spent a rare few days together, learning of each other’s people, until Jagonna-gon was forced to return
to her people and Cassie was sent to a kinsman’s farm in an inland county for a whole year. When Cassie
returned, her own dark beauty made the boys forget her transgressions.
The fair-faced dolt was now in debtors’ prison. The boys had been married off to scolds who kept their sea-
side shanties straight. And here stood the old woman and the bloated queen of the Meriads regarding each
other once more. Cassie mused how one fateful day can be tied to another, so far away.
“I have come here, my queen, to beg recompense for saving ye from mortal hands, rough and careless, all
those years hence.”
“Cassandra, we are shocked that thou so lightly disregards the royal gifts we bestowed upon thee in thy
youth,” she chuckled from deep in her bulbous gullet. “We taught thee the tongue of the deep, a forbidden
thing. We trusted you with the names and the ways of all the people of the water. Such was never given,
lightly.”
“Then I beg of ye to remember the love between us, the sister-bond that bridged the gap between yer world
and mine. Please, Jagonna, spare my life and life of these two mortal men who are bonded to me by oaths.”
“But we see in thy heart another desire lurks, waiting to be asked, a darker purpose.” The creature folded
her arms over her great bosom, making them bulge obscenely.
“I have but one sole wish in this world,” Cassie began.
“Thou seeketh the taste of revenge. It is the bitterest of cups. Surely, the girl we knew cannot have given
herself over to this pursuit.”
“He murdered me grandson and all his mates for nothing, no profit, but for sport!” Cassie yelled.
“We know it,” Jagonna-gon said, putting out a webbed hand to stay her old acquaintance. “It happened on
our sea. We knew this boy to be of thine, as his throat was cut and his spirit left his body. Such a spirit, we
said, resembled so closely, one we had known. We could not see him dwell in the deeps, confused and
terrified, as so many do. We showed your Johnny the wonders of our home, we filled that spirit rich with
sights, and then showed him back to where he belongs, where the tree winds its way through all the worlds.
Such we have already done. Let it be enough.”
“I cannot. I have sworn to it. I cannot let this man make any more grieving mothers or widows, not as long as
I draw breath.”
The creature-queen opened her terrible mouth and let a great laugh echo across the sea.
“Such is the girl we remember. Such is the girl who risked herself for us! Still, Cassandra, do you really think
that all that transpires does so due to your will and wraps itself about your meager and thread-bare plans?
No, Cassandra, you and your men folk have been brought here to fulfill a purpose, beyond your reckoning.
“We thought to spare you of it, but since you are so determined, we will tell you the price for the things you
desire. For your life, we require you to go to the New World, there are things that need to be done there that
will be only revealed in the deep passage of time.”
“I am old,” Cassie spoke. “My time is nearly done.”
“Your spirit burns bright within you still. It will sustain your bones ‘til what should be done, is done.”
“Why the new world?” Cassie asked.
Jagonna-gon heaved a mighty sigh. “There festers in the spirit of your people a great sickness. In the time to
come, it shall manifest itself in the air, the land and the water. Our people will be poisoned to silence; the old
ways will be nearly lost. All hope lies in that hundreds of years hence the spirit of man will have a chance to
be reborn anew; the old ways will then be remembered. The serpent of light will dance again, but it will dance
in the new world.”
“What of Breck?” Cassie asked, folding her own arms against her bosom and putting one foot forward, as she
would on any day, a-bartering in the market.
“For this silly request, thou and thine must make a solemn pledge: to become children of the sea. For the rest
of thy days, thou shall not spend more than a moon’s time on the land without taking to the waves once
again.”
Cassie looked out across the waves. A hard life awaited on the seas. Still, it followed the dreams of the little
girl she had been once, long ago.
Cassie spat into her hand. “’Tis a bargain, my queen. I shall do these things ye require for life and justice.”
“Then, old friend,” the queen said, “so we are bonded. Wait and rest awhile, and ye shall be delivered.” And
with that, the Queen of the Meriads, the great Jagonna-gon slipped with grace back into the deep. The three
castaways were alone on the great rock. The sky began to clear.
* * *
The night held clear, the moon bright. Captain Breck the Brute walked aboard. A panther in grace, Breck
paced the confines of Caledonia’s poop deck lost in thought. The pillage of the county ship had gone well, but
it would bring more redcoats into these waters, that he knew, well. Yet, the high summer had just begun, the
northern coasts awaited his picking, and then he would take his crew south in the autumn. His continued
success blazed out before him, as the constellations that lit the night. Still, something bothered him.
It had been the woman, old hag, the witch. Earlier, in the heat of the day, he had gone into his cabin and
rested himself down to dreams of blood and the taking of women. But, in that ranging world of sleep, the old
woman’s face, her large dark eyes haunted him. Her words echoed even now in his ears: So, I can find you
again.
They would go to land. The redcoats would not expect it. They would put a village to the torch and take their
women and sell them to Moorish slavers, after they were done with them. Yes, he smiled to himself. This is
what the men and he needed.
All this while, as the fantasies of what was to be done got his heart a-thumping, Breck did not notice the
growing song on the wind. Now men were stopping their tasks and staring off into the great dark expanse of
waters. The song rose up off the waves. It was a blood song. It filled the ears of the pirates and went deep
into the savage hearts of those most lustful for the shedding of blood.
Fergie, nervous, and filled more with the silken dreams of a lover’s touch, lifted a lantern to survey the source
of the song. Beautiful women swam there, impossibly, in the night waters of the Atlantic. Men’s eyes lit up
and their mouths fell open, they had not seen women such as these in all their years. These women smelled
of mothers. Their smiles and bare chests were invitations. Their arms stretched out with a great yearning.
“Sirens!” Breck screamed. He had heard of them, but not seen them before. “Keep ye to your stations!” But it
was too late, the song too strong. Soon half the crew had run and thrown themselves down over the rail and
were accepted in those eager embraces. Fergie watched from his vantage point, amazed.
Then the screams filled the night, like a counterpoint and finale to the meriad blood song. Breck and his men
watched the thrashing, the great spouting of blood. The frothing grew to a frenzy and then all was calm once
more.
“Breck!” a woman’s voice arose from behind the men at the rail. Breck turned and was amazed to find Mother
Cassie standing on the main deck regarding him with cool eyes. The thin handsome holy man stood on her
left, Georgie Good stood at her right.
“Shiver me timbers,” Breck whispered. His hand went to his saber and drew it. Across the deck, George
reached forward like a whip and grasped a man’s cutlass from his belt before the astounded man could
register who he was standing near. George shoved him away and held the saber high in challenge.
“Thank you, Georgie,” Cassie held out her hand. Georgie looked at the hand, his brow furrowed. Then with
great reluctance and a sigh, he handed the cutlass to Cassie.
Cassie held it out and faced her adversary.
“Ye’ll be getting’ no quarter from me, I warn ye, witch,” Breck shouted.
Cassie did not respond. The indignation glittered in her eyes. Her teeth were set. She rushed forward. The
pirate scurried to meet her. And then she brought the cutlass down against Breck’s parry with a wicked peal
of steel. She dealt vicious stroke after stroke. Cassie had been an industrious woman, born of strong
Cornwall folk. Her arms and shoulders were marvels, the calves on her short legs legends of the county. Such
a furious assault most men would have been pushed back to the very rails; but Captain Breck the Brute was
no ordinary man.
A grin stole over him as Cassie’s blows weakened and her mouth came open in a pant.
He let her tire herself out with a few more blows and then heaved her back with a hilt-locking block.
Cassie gasped for breath and held the sword out ineffectually.
Breck let out a great cry of triumph and slashed out with his sword. The cutlass flew from Cassie’s right hand.
Cassie’s left hand lifted and opened, palm up. Something lay over the creased and calloused lines of her
hand. She stepped in unexpectedly and blew quickly into her hand. Mustard seed flew up into Breck’s eyes.
Cassie moved in one step closer. Whipped her right foot out and caught the back of Breck’s left heel. He let
out a cry of pain and surprise and stumbled. Cassie was on him, twisting Breck’s sword out of his hand, and
landing on him on the deck.
She pressed the blade against the captain’s throat. A thin red line welled up.
Tears streamed out of Breck’s blinded and blinking eyes. Cassie grunted and got off the defeated pirate.
“Chain him and put him in the bilge!” she said. A few crew members scurried to pin Breck’s arms and dragged
him to the deck trap. “We’ll deal with him when the sun comes up.” The rest of the crew looked at this
panting old woman still holding the Captain’s saber with astonishment.
“As for the rest of you, get back to your tasks!” The men stared at her still with wonder.
“You ‘eard Captain Cassie,” George Good roared. “Get back to your tasks!”
The crew jumped and moved to complete their nightly jobs, and cover the chores of the ones who had
heeded the siren’s calls.
Cassie mounted the poop deck ladder on trembling legs. At the top she looked over the ship. A wry smile
crept over her face.
* * *
In the twilight of dawn, First Mate Good came to where Captain Cassie still stood on the poop deck. “You
might think of getting rid of Little Tom, Mum.”
Cassie looked over to where the handsome sandy-haired man was swabbing the deck disconsolately. “The
other’s have already started complaining about him, they claim he will swing the lead.”
“He’ll learn to earn his keep,” Cassie assured him.
“He’ll also wag his tongue. He may try to foster a mutiny, s’what I fear of, mum,” George said.
“No, Georgie. He gave his word. Little Tom won’t break it. He was such a good lad, Little Tom was. Big Tom
beat him terribly and was always shaking that damn black book over his head.”
George shrugged and went below decks to bring up the prisoner.
Red-eyed, and tousle-haired, Breck no longer looked the cool commander of the seas.
“Now, what shall we do to this scallywag, boys?” Cassie asked the crew.
“Should we keel haul him?” she asked. Someone hooted. Breck looked around in fury.
“Should we tar him?” More hoots. A few clapped.
“Should we hoist him on a lanyard, boys?” she shouted. The crowd burst. Fergie wept and clapped.
“I think ye should grant him mercy,” someone said.
George’s hand went to hilt, but Cassie stayed it.
“Who said that?” she asked, walking through the crowd of men.
“I did, Captain,” Little Tom was leaning against his mop.
“Ye think I should let this murderer, this cutthroat loose on a dinghy and wash me hands of him?” Cassie
asked.
“Aye, I do. I think it would be the godly thing to do,” Tom said and looked Cassie square in the eyes. Cassie
saw the hurt there, and the grace there, too.
“All right, Little Tom!” She clapped him on the arm and turned to her men.
“Leave him chained to warn anyone who comes across him. But give him the smallest dinghy and a bit of food
and something to paddle with.” The men looked perplexed as they went about fetching the boat. No one did
more so than Breck the Brute.
“This changes nothing,” Breck said as they lowered him into the water. “Now, it is I that will find you.”
“We’ll see, ye good for nothing ape,” she said and motioned for the men to cut the line. Breck looked up in
horror as the rope was cut, and the boat fell the last ten feet into the water and cracked Breck a good one.
The men cheered.
A few of them took the opportunity to void their bladders out onto the little boat and its miserable occupant.
Cassie went to the poop deck.
“Where to, Cap’n?” George called.
“West. To the new World.”
“Why are we going there?” Fergie asked.
“They say, louts, that the days are long and warm. They say that there are Cities of Gold just lying there to
be plundered. What say ye?”
They cheered, enthusiastically.
“West, then!” she shouted and pulled her saber and pointed it to the far horizon.
“But that will draw us into Red Flag Finnegan’s territory,” someone dismayed.
“Well, then,” Cassie retorted, “won’t that be a mighty fine surprise for him,” she shouted. The men roared
with approval.
The lady Caledonia set her sails and turned to the west.
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T. L. Barrett is a fantasy and horror writer that lives in
Vermont's Northeast Kingdom with his wisewoman wife,
Sandra, and their pack of five pirates. Although a teacher
by trade, not a sailor, he spends most of his summer writing
and canoeing on the Connecticut river.
His work can be found in Shadows of the Emerald City,
Sideshow Fables #3, Kings of the Realm: A Dragon
Anthology, The Best of Lame Goat Press, Necrotic
Tissue, and FastForward 3.
You can learn more about him and his writing at:
tlbarrett.blogspot.com.
Vermont's Northeast Kingdom with his wisewoman wife,
Sandra, and their pack of five pirates. Although a teacher
by trade, not a sailor, he spends most of his summer writing
and canoeing on the Connecticut river.
His work can be found in Shadows of the Emerald City,
Sideshow Fables #3, Kings of the Realm: A Dragon
Anthology, The Best of Lame Goat Press, Necrotic
Tissue, and FastForward 3.
You can learn more about him and his writing at:
tlbarrett.blogspot.com.