The Ophir (6 page)

“Senior, please, please help me. I am
afraid for my father and have no one to turn to. I have always
tried to live in your way like my father and mother taught me, but
I have little hope. I ask for your guidance and protection, Senior.
Amen
.”

Juanito waited and listened for some kind of
sign, but none came. He swore that the day would come when he would
exact revenge for his father and all the other families brutalized
by the caliph and his minions. The Emir would pay for his
brutality.

* * * *

That night Juan Antonio went back to the cave
of the dragon. He made a small fire at the entrance, skinned and
cooked a rabbit and fell into an exhausted, fitful sleep.

His dreams were filled with a dragon flying
on a white cloud, whirling dervishes and blood. The next morning he
finished the last nights’ meal, and threw the bones into the fire
just long enough to burn the flesh off. He would use the bones to
make a needle, and using the hide and sinew of the rabbit, would
begin to make the clothing he would need to get through the coming
winter.

* * * *

Not wanting to disturb the royal cave,
Juanito moved into one of the neighboring caves nearer Porto
Cristo. Cueva del Hams was named so because of the natural
formations that looked like fishhooks. It was not as grand as the
dragon cave, and his stay was shortened when he awoke to a herd of
blind crustaceans crawling across his chest. It unnerved him and he
left that night.

Winter would soon set in; he had to find a
permanent shelter that offered space and warmth. Although Hams was
spacious and boasted a lake of its own, he was not comfortable
here. Antonio decided then and there that the Cuevas del Drach,
with its ghosts and unknown places, was more suitable with its mild
temperature. Even in the coldest weather it would maintain a
temperature of only 68 Degrees Fahrenheit. It would afford him the
opportunity to explore the caves and discover what lay beyond the
myths.

* * * *

Cuevas Del Drach welcomed him with an ocean
breeze. Juan could smell that this cave and Hams must both have a
subterranean connection to the Mediterranean Sea. He loved the
scent of the ocean; it often brought sweet dreams of an adventure
on the high seas. During the next three years, he lived in the
system of caves on the East coast of Majorca. He left only to hunt
and avoided the society of man.

Once, when he wandered too close to one of
the little villages, he was stopped by an official and his
entourage. When asked from where he hailed, Juan responded with
‘Cuevas Del Drach’.

When asked what his full name was, he drew up
straight and told them he was Juan Antonio Patino de Cueva Del
Drach. They all laughed, for no one was from Cueva Del Drach. They
patted him on the head as if he were addle-pated, and shooed him
back into the woods mumbling something about ‘those wild children
of the forest’.

Juanito thought them just as amusing and took
their direction; he headed back toward the woods. He sniffed the
air as he walked and found it salty, like his cave. Following the
scent of the ocean, Juanito skirted the town winding his way
through the wild olive and pine trees. He could not understand why
he could smell his cave from such a distance but stayed his course
until he reached the end of land, and saw an expanse of water like
never before. As he looked over the cliffs of Porto Cristo, he saw
a sight that would burn itself into his mind. He saw his
future.

There in the harbor, swaying at anchor, lay
the most beautiful vision a young man of fancy could ever imagine.
Juanito had seen this very sight in his dreams. The tall ship and a
life at sea called to him now, and he answered.

He didn’t understand all his dreams, or the
answers he got when he prayed and asked for divine guidance in
God’s work, but he trusted that he was led here, to this very spot,
for a reason. This was not an accident.

“Thank you, Senior Papa. I think I know
why you sent this ship to me. If you see my father, tell him I am
doing as he said, and someday the whole world will know who I
am
.”

For several years after leaving the cave,
Juan Antonio Patino de Las Cuevas Del Drach worked and learned all
he could about the sea going vessels. He listened to the stories
the old sailors told. He knew that stories were often based in
truth, and that truth both frightened and fascinated him. His
favorite stories were always the ones about ghost ships and
pirates.

Chapter
Seven

Immortality creates cowards. The Captain of
the dragon ship would never be able to join in pitched battle
again. He used the power of mind control from a safe distance to
direct skirmishes and major attacks. To do otherwise would be an
end to the men who stood by him, even in this.

The Ophir would be his ship forever. He could
only leave her deck by invitation for very short periods of time.
Fortunately, the challenge to ‘
come aboard’
came often. And
the swordplay became just that ... swordplay. After all, they were
now immortal.

This new breed of vampires would be able to
call the wind, create illusions in the mind of other seafaring men
and erase memories when needed for safety. But they would never be
able to step foot on land again, or so he believed. This would
prove to be the bane of their existence. Now there were two races
of the undead. One over land and one over sea.

* * * *

The Ophir followed its course to England, and
at Captain Antonio’s command, the pirates attacked and took the
wealth of several Spanish ships during day battles. His men grew in
strength with each battle but became more sensitive to light as
time passed.

“Lay to, you scurvy dogs. Face death head to
head like the brave men you claim yourselves to be.” Captain
Antonio would yell across the space between ships.

“Come aboard Cur, and we’ll see who proves
bravest.”

“Boys, you heard the invitation. It’s time to
feast!

The One and his tribe feasted off the
remaining crew of captured ship, but agreed to remain indoors to
prevent the separate factions from fighting one another. What the
Pirates lacked in strength, they made up for in ferocity. The One
could not afford to have another face off now.

* * * *

On the day when England’s shore was sighted,
forgetting Nazim's last words to me, I put into play the plan
birthed while at sea. This was a chance to gain freedom from both
tribes.

I separated and accumulated the most precious
of cargo to keep for myself. I secreted gold, silver, fine clothing
and jewels from my Arabian master known as The One, in one of the
ten caskets no longer occupied.

When the ship lay at anchor in a lagoon, both
tribes waited for that in-between time, the few minutes both tribes
would have to shift positions to ones of safety. I took advantage
of this freedom to prepare my escape as the vampire pirates stepped
aside to allow the lamia tribe to pass by and go ashore.

“Will you be in need of my services tonight,
Master?”

“No. We’ll be back after feeding to take
refuge and disembark. We will have enough boats to carry the
barrels to shore safely in tow. See to it that the barrel lids are
loose. We will be moving quickly when the time comes. Join us
tonight Ahkmed?” Dressed to avoid sea spray, my master and his
troupe were ready to take leave, anxious for the benefits night
offered. The day had been overcast; the night was darker than usual
with no moon or stars to be seen. Unsuspecting citizens lay
sleeping soundly. The more intrepid peeked from doors and windows
waiting for the storm to pass and waves to deliver flotsam to the
shores. One never knew what baubles might be dredged from the
deep.

“I’m pleased that you would consider my
company, but your activity is not of my preference. Besides, I must
stay aboard and see to your orders. Tonight we’ll all be free of
this vessel. Happy hunting, Sire.”

“Still holding to your dreams, I see. I
cannot find fault with such fantasy. Take care, my friend. Make no
mistakes, for if you do, they may be your last.” My master had
drained me in small amounts while at sea. Never enough to change
me, never little enough to leave me unchanged.

Determined to make no mistakes, I pried
planks loose from the bottom and back of the caskets. Unnoticed, it
would allow the seawater to run into the caskets, killing their
precious cargo, dissolving the flesh of The One and his tribesmen
forever. I didn’t care what might happen to the pirates and their
Captain. I knew I would never set foot on an ocean going vessel
again. But, I waited too long. I had no time to get all the
caskets. All I could do was hope that I had gotten the ones with
occupants. There was no time to consider possible outcomes at this
point. A storm was brewing.

My master came back while the waves knocked
gently against the ship. In his haste to get his tribe to safety
and into their caskets, hunched with hands and face covered under
tarps and rain gear to avoid being seared by the sea, he neglected
to take notice of the oncoming weather.

Lamia, stripped of their cover and rain
slicks, tucked away in their wooden nests, waited for the right
time. The storm began to blow. No time left, the caskets were
lashed together, and lowered into the waiting skiffs along with two
personal trunks of clothing and some miscellaneous items. I headed
to shore in my own skiff, rowing hard.

Almost to shore, a rogue wave swamped the
skiffs. The last thing I saw was the hideous smile on the ship’s
crew. The Ophir sailed toward a bank of thick fog.

Knocked askew by a loose casket, I fell
overboard. My body hit the water and was pinned beneath two of the
barrels. I could hear the thrashing from within. The caskets pinned
me to the ocean floor as the occupant thrashed in agony.

The second casket broke open, and I saw it
spilling its shining contents as I took what I believed to be my
last breath.

The fog roiling toward the English shores at
Brighton slid forward on the now glass-like surface of the ocean.
The Ophir disappeared into the billowing clouds of moisture as they
welcomed the ship to an adventure that would last many centuries.
Its travels and exploits would become part of the unfinished
Legend of the Ophir.
Its tales would mix with the fantastic
and largely unproven history of the Knights Templar.

As for The One, his quest to meet with Kadar
Nazim a final time would at last be met. But it would not be
written in any book except this one.

Chapter
Eight

Juan Antonio de Patiño, Captain of the Ophir,
was a practical man, a man of his word. He’d struck a bargain with
Satan, and it would be honored. There was no turning back. Evil
always stands innocent when first born.

In time, Antonio and his crew would become
jaded to the macabre existence they led. For now, he smiled as he
envisioned the battles in which they would engage. He could see
galleons being scuttled, crews being devoured, and the fear
instilled in the hearts of brave sailors all over the world as they
came upon the ship of death.

Ghost ships, inhabited by monsters, would
soon become part of sea lore. Pirates coming up from the ocean's
depths to attack ships of size and unprotected islands, would be
part of the stories told and retold to instill fear in any
adventurous child, and they always began with,

“Listen! Listen close for this tale be
real...
”

Shivers would wrap around their spines in
anticipation of the frightening tale. And there would be many told,
many that were true.

Listen! Listen close for this is a true
story...

“There once was an island off the coast of
Greece. They were beautiful people, and peaceful they were. One
night while the stars shined down on this sleepy little town, a
mighty ship came sailing into the harbor. It lay in chains until a
brave young man with visions of running off to sea, rowed his
little skiff up to its side and yelled, 'Ahoy there! Be there room
for one more?’ But no one answered.

Thinking them asleep on post, he banged
hard on the side of the ship with his paddle. BANG! BANG!
BANG!
”

And here the storyteller would crash his fist
hard onto the tabletop three times, just to make sure they were
listening.

Eyes big and round would blink once, maybe
twice, and then the listener’s head would sink into their necks
like that of a turtle. Sometimes the listener would jump in fear
and run away to the safety of their dear mother's arms, and the
story went no further. But sometimes, they drew in their arms and
legs, curling them under a sleeping gown for protection, afraid to
listen, afraid to move and afraid to miss any part of the story
being told. The story changed places, people and events, but it
always ended with gory details.

* * * *

Captain Antonio stood at the wheel of his
mighty dragon ship, arms crossed against his chest, legs spread in
dominant fashion. The Ophir anchored off shore in the smoother
waters at the mouth of the bay at Brighton. As he watched the skiff
fighting the freak wave, he knew that he would soon test the
acquired skills of the vampiric world he and his crew had entered.
He also knew that he would need a servant still capable of
bargaining with humans. And so he waited. The man called Ahkmed
would soon be brought to him; they could then begin their journey
in earnest.

Ahkmed’s mind and body relaxed in death; the
past was of no concern. He was aware of the present. In the present
there was no pain, no fear, no need, no hope. All thoughts were
erased.