Chapter 8

  “Ah…seems…up…Nice…join…”

  Jonathon’s head swam as he struggled to make sense of the voices around him. They were muffled, like echoes through water. His eyelids felt like they were weighed down with lead, his body sluggish and heavy.

  Underneath, he felt something soft. Furs? He could feel the heat of something nearby. The smell of smoke told him he was near a fire.

  Memories flickered in his mind: a scream, a sharp pain, and the sensation of being dragged, his wrists held in the tight grip of figures dressed in grass-woven clothing. Then, darkness.

  Finally able to overcome the weight of his own head and body, he sat up slowly and began to look around. He was in a hut of some kind. Large, circular, and with a pointed top that had a covered opening in it through which smoke was currently billowing out of. The walls of this hut were made from animal hide, the floor covered with more hides and pelts, along with cushions for people to sit on. Looking around, he saw he was accompanied by the rest of his crew. They were all lying on one side of the circular tent, closest to a flap that led outside. On the side opposite them sat five individuals flanked by a guard on either side.

  The five seated individuals were all elderly women, and the middle of the five was seated slightly higher and further back than the other four, a subtle but clear indication of her status. They were all dressed in animal hide similar to that of the tent around them, but the clothing had many more layers with each layer having a different color–blue, orange, brown, sometimes red, with the occasional feather or animal foot tied at the end of a leather thong. It seemed so random and out of place as he tried to analyze each piece individually, but as he looked at them as a whole, he couldn’t help but think their clothes looked very comfortable and nice.

  His gaze shifted to the guards on either side of the women and recognized their dress immediately. They wore the same grass-woven clothing as the ones he remembered dragging him while he was unconscious. He didn’t remember seeing so much skin before, though. The tops covered the important parts, but left the arms and navel exposed. The bottoms similarly covered most of the good parts, leaving from the thigh down exposed, their boots going up to the knee. While the outfit seemed odd at first, he could tell it was designed to maximize cooling and freedom of movement while still protecting the sensitive and vulnerable portions.

  “I do not think the poor boy heard me,” said the middle woman. “Good evening, young one. It is nice of you to join us.”

  “Well,” Jonathon said, still groggy from the lingering effects of the drug. “I would’ve joined you sooner, but I’m afraid I was drugged, then dragged against my will to an unknown location in the middle of a murderous jungle.” He couldn’t help but feel a spike of irritation. He didn’t appreciate being treated as if he had any control over the fact that he had been drugged.

  The other women in the tent gasped, and the two guards shifted their posture into a more threatening stance. The older woman put up her hand. “It is alright. He is right, you know? It is not as if we came out and requested his presence here. Indeed, I imagine I would be similarly upset were I to be put through what these individuals were.” She turned to look at Jonathon. “Do you know who I am, boy?”

  The other members of his crew were beginning to rouse at this point. Jonathon turned to the elder and stated, “Well, we were in the jungle searching for a tribe. This tribe was likely to be part of the Barmuru Tribe. The Barmuru Tribe is a female-dominated society with the eldest among them serving as their leader. I assume that would make you The Matriarch.”

  His grogginess fading, Jonathon gathered his bearings and pushed his charming and calm demeanor to the forefront. He turned to the remaining four. “Which must mean these four lovely ladies in front of me are your Council of Elders.” He paused and looked at the guards. “And these fearsome figures the Banshees I’ve heard so much about. And I mean that literally,” he said, rubbing his ear with his finger. “After hearing them in action, I no longer question the name.”

  The guards’ faces did not change at this comment, but he could’ve sworn he saw them stand a little taller. As far as The Matriarch and the other elders went, well, it seemed flattery truly was a universal language.

  Smiling, The Matriarch said, “You are correct on all counts. Now, you say you were out looking for us? It must be something terribly important for you to have traveled directly into the heart of our jungle for seven days and risked running out of food before deciding to turn around. Please, tell me what it is you seek.”

  “Well,” Jonathon began before pausing, his brow furrowing. “Wait a minute, how did you know we had been here for seven days? Or that we were running low on rations? Or that we were planning to turn around? Were you watching us at camp last night?”

  “My child,” The Matriarch said, laughing softly at him, “We have been watching you since you entered our jungle seven days ago. How do you think it is that any of you are still alive?”

  Jonathon was dumbstruck. Since they entered? “Still alive?” he asked, his temper flaring as he thought of his crew’s hellish week. “We lost two good men to these jungles, and–”

  “And you would have lost a third if my granddaughter, Naomi, had not taken an interest in your friend there and thrown a rock at him to wake him from a slumber that was deep enough to be partially consumed by an anaconda.”

  Ryden, who was the last to join the crew in consciousness, perked up at this new bit of information, and the guard to the woman’s right gasped and said, “Grandmother! Do not say it like that! I just felt bad for the boy. Why must you say something so embarrassing?!”

  The Matriarch laughed at her granddaughter’s embarrassment and said, “Regardless, we also did our best to chase off predators while you slept each night, the anaconda, unfortunately, being an exception. Now, I believe you were about to tell us all why you have come here.”

  Jonathon’s mind was racing. They had been following them since they came into the jungle? And none of them had noticed? How were they able to track so well and so quietly without even leaving so much as a footprint behind? He felt his skin prickle at the thought of the unseen eyes that had been watching their every movement, his nightly feelings of observation validated.

  Suddenly, he realized that everyone in the room was waiting for him to respond to The Matriarch’s query. He cleared his throat and responded, “You’re right, Matriarch, I was. You see, my name is Jonathon Harding, and ever since I was a young child, I have dreamt of finding something. Something most consider to be mere legend. And rumor has it, you have a piece of this something that will lead me to my dream. Rumor has it, you have a piece of The Spectre.”

  The mention of the ship’s name sent a visible ripple of unease through the group of women. Fear flashed in their eyes, and even the guards seemed to tense. The Matriarch’s gaze hardened. “And how is it that you came to hear this information?” she asked.

  Jonathon shrugged, “Just rumors here and there.”

  “And this was enough to prompt such a dangerous expedition into the jungle?” she asked incredulously.

  “What can I say? I’m an optimist. But now that I’ve answered your question, perhaps you can answer mine: are the rumors true?” Jonathon asked.

  The Matriarch stared intently at Jonathon, her eyes piercing and unreadable behind her wrinkled face. “Tell me, child,” she said, “what is it you think you know of this ship?”

  “Everything,” Jonathon answered confidently, “The Spectre, or Love’s Radiance, as it was called at the time, was a galleon captained by a man named William Lancaster, or ‘Ruthless Billy’ as he would come to be known in his later life. Billy started out as a merchant trader sailing between the three major ports of the region. He and his wife, whose name varies depending on who tells the story, sailed together as a team. A successful one at that. In fact, some accounts say they sailed out into the unknown, returning with foreign treasures the likes of which no one had seen, though I’m not sure I’ve seen enough evidence to say I believe that part.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Regardless, one day, on the passage from Silverport Harbor to Gravenfair, Billy was attacked by pirates. He hid his wife, who at the time was heavy with their first child, in the captain’s cabin and offered the pirates no resistance for the goods. In exchange for this, they spared him and his crew. However, as they were leaving, the pirate captain noticed Billy’s wife looking through the window from the captain’s cabin. Upon seeing the woman, the pirate captain ordered his men to bring her out. Despite the pleading and begging from Billy and his wife, she was soon out on the deck, the tension higher than the rigging of a ship that didn’t manage to furl her sails before the storm hit. When the pirate captain’s desire became more carnal for the wife, Billy was unable to control himself. He lashed out at the pirate captain, slashing and cutting with his cutlass. While Billy did cut an impressive and intimidating figure, he had had no formal training in swordplay.

  “The pirate captain quickly turned the offensive back on the young merchant, easily pushing him across the deck. He had backed Billy into a corner and was on the downswing of delivering the death blow when his sword met something unexpected–Billy’s wife. Knowing the fate that awaited her and wanting to hopefully spare the life of her beloved, she placed herself between the two men and took the killing blow on Billy’s behalf. Furious at the loss of his prize, the pirate captain backhanded Billy unconscious and ordered his men to kill the entire crew, leaving Billy alive as punishment for opposing him.

  “When Billy awoke later that night, he found his crew all hung from the rigging, their throats slashed. His wife lay on the deck next to him where she had been struck down. The blood of his crew and wife had soaked through the planks of the deck, staining them a dark, ominous color. In a single afternoon, all that Billy had worked for his entire life had been taken from him by men who simply took what they pleased. The grief from his loss and the injustice of what he was being forced to endure caused a break in the man.

  “When he finally stood, he was changed. From that day on, he turned to piracy. He changed the name of his ship and outfitted her for war. He sought, and eventually found, the pirate captain who had taken his prior life from him. Eventually, however, he became greedy and his madness caught up with him, and he and his crew died at sea. Since that day, The Spectre has floated aimlessly, filled to the brim with the treasure Billy had been hoarding.”

  It had been a while since Jonathon had recited the full story out loud to anyone. He had admittedly forgotten how sad the tale was, his mind always jumping to the treasure at the end. The story also reminded him of why he had a strict “no killing unless necessary” policy. Aside from the fact that it would only serve to create an enemy somewhere that was intent on killing you, as was the case with Billy, it also robbed the killer of a potential future source of income. Kill a village and steal their treasure? Sure, but what happens when you’ve killed all the villages and no one builds in the area anymore?

  The Matriarch’s voice brought his train of thought back to the topic at hand. “Well well well, you are indeed very well read on the subject. However, you only told,” she paused, placing an old, thin finger to her chin and staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling, “I would say you only told around three-quarters of the whole story.”

  Jonathon’s eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped slightly. He stared at The Matriarch in disbelief, “Three-qu…I only tol…three…I…I’m missing an entire quarter of the story?!” he asked, aghast. “How is that possible? I’ve read every book I could find; spoken with every person I could about this legend. Had you asked me before just now, I would have told you that there’s not a person alive who knows more than I on The Spectre. What could I possibly be missing?”

  She smiled and gave him a serious look. “The important part, child. You have told me of how he came to be and how he ended, but you never thought about what lied in between?” she asked accusingly.

  Jonathon shrugged. “I admittedly never thought it mattered,” he said defensively. “He was driven mad by the loss of his wife and firstborn, and that madness followed him to his deathbed. What more is there to it?”

  The Matriarch stared at Jonathon, silently judging him. “Tell me, child, how long would you say the average pirate remains alive?” she asked.

  “Well,” Jonathon thought, “the average pirate actively involved in fighting and pillaging typically only lasts a few years. An above-average pirate may be able to squeeze eight or so years out before either running out of luck, moving to a position that is less involved in fighting, or retiring. Why?”

  “Because William Lancaster was no older than you when he turned to piracy, and yet he actively terrorized the seas for four decades before disappearing out on the ocean. Have you never thought that to be odd?”

  The Matriarch had an excellent way of making him feel like a child who was proposing a plan he had put absolutely no thought into. Her constantly calling him “boy” and “child” certainly didn’t help matters either, he supposed.

  “Well, no,” Jonathon began sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I mean, yes, I did think it strange, but I always assumed his madness was what provided him with his protection. Take a trained fighter and a madman with the bare minimum of fighting experience and pit them against each other, and you’ve got a close match on your hands. The madman is unpredictable, often taking actions that most would not in an attempt to get at his target. Pit this against any man, even a trained one, and all but the most dedicated of masters will quickly lose their training in the face of such unpredictability, falling back to the most basic of defenses. Add the terrifying mythos and his intimidating figure to the mix, and I figured that was enough to explain it.”

  The Matriarch raised her eyebrows and gave Jonathon a conceding nod, “You do make an excellent point. I will accept your reason for ignorance. Tell me, child, have you ever seen a piece of this ship in person? Ever stood in its presence?”

  “If I had, would I be here?” he joked.

  “I see,” she said, unamused. “Very well, I will enlighten you as to what it is you are missing since you seem so dedicated to this story. Perhaps then you will see the folly of your pursuit.”

  Jonathon suddenly became very intrigued. He had hoped she would tell him, but he didn’t think she actually would. “That would be amazing…um, ma’am,” he said, realizing for the first time he had no idea how to address this woman. “Though I must warn you, I don’t see myself changing my mind on this venture.”

  The Matriarch nodded, “Mayhaps you will not. But we will discover that answer on the morrow. Tonight, it is late, and these old bones need to rest. Naomi here will guide you all to your accommodations.”

  At this, The Matriarch’s granddaughter stepped forward and said, “As you wish, Matriarch.”

  “Oh stop that,” the old woman said, “just call me Grandmother as you always do. Now, take these good people to their huts. And do try not to avoid getting ‘lost’ whilst showing the young one there to his.”

  Naomi instantly blushed at this statement. Even with her dark skin, he could see the redness building in her face and ears. As he examined her closer, Jonathon decided she looked to be around the age of eighteen or so. She had skin the color of chocolate, and while she was average when it came to her chest, she was certainly above average in her bottom; as were her thighs. All in all, a very aesthetically pleasing woman, though maybe a little more trouble than Jonathon would want to take on. Ryden, on the other hand, likely couldn’t do much better. In fact, he thought, this Naomi would likely be the one settling.

  Keeping her head turned downward in an attempt to obscure part of her face, the young girl quickly moved past the group. She held the flap of the tent open with her spear, avoiding eye contact as she said, “Come with me please. I will show you to your tents for the night.”

  They all got up, thanked The Matriarch for her time and hospitality, and exited the tent. They followed Naomi down the hill that The Matriarch’s own dwelling resided on and into the nearby valley where Jonathon was surprised to see dozens of tents. It was still very dark, but looking back in the moonlight, he could also make out a large, pointed structure further up the hill from The Matriarch’s tent.

  Naomi brought them to a group of nine tents, all arranged in a circle spaced slightly farther from the other tents than what seemed to be normal. She showed them to each of their own tents.

  “Please do not wander. The jungle is dangerous, and it is easy to get lost,” she warned before dismissing herself.

  As they all stood there, still tired from the hour and recovering from the poison, Jonathon said, “I know this is all a lot to take in, but perhaps for now we should focus on the fact that we managed to find the tribe we were seeking. And based on the way The Matriarch spoke, it sounds like the rumors are true! Let’s sleep this off and reconvene in the morning to discuss our situation further, if we have the time. For now, do not leave this area. We are technically guests–and guests in need of something they possess, at that. So let’s not do anything to make them our enemy, understand?”

  “Yes, Captain,” answered six tired voices.

  They all disappeared into their tents. They weren’t as large as The Matriarch’s of course, but there was enough room to stand comfortably. There was room for a small area of cushions, a small, squat table with cushions serving as seats, and a bed covered with animal furs.

  Jonathon lay on the bed, the soft fur of the pelts pressing against his back as his mind processed the events of the day. The Matriarch’s words echoed in his thoughts. He couldn’t believe that after all of his research and lore seeking, he was still apparently missing such a large portion of the story. He looked forward to all that he would learn when he awoke in the morning. As he drifted off to sleep, he could’ve sworn he heard the sound of one of the tent flaps outside opening and the soft footsteps of someone entering.