|
CHAPTER THREE - The Curse of the Black Wake:
It followed her wherever she sailed.
A darkness beneath the water - cool, silent, patient. Ships Raven sank did not always stay sunk. Some were found days later, hollowed and drifting, crews vanished, hulls gnawed from within.
I swore I heard whispers beneath the waves. Her gunner refused to sleep near the bow.
Raven never asked questions she already feared the answers to.
She learned the truth from an old sea-witch in Tortuga, a woman with eyes clouded white from staring too long into tides not meant for mortals.
“You command a Black Wake Ship,” the witch rasped. “A vessel bound to the Deep. It feeds on conquest. It will protect you… until it decides to keep you.”
Raven paid the witch in gold and silence.
***
The man sitting across the table from Mr. Cutlass, of The Tamisra - stared at the sea battered quartermaster who continued to tell the tale of how the infamous female captain obtained such a vessel.
“The Tamisra was not born”, he continued, “She was awakened.”
Raven Morana felt it the night she took command - felt the deck breathe beneath her boots, felt the timbers tighten as though bracing for battle. The ship was old, older than her markings suggested, its blackened hull carved with sigils mistaken for rot.
The previous captain had screamed as the ship burned around him, yet the fire never touched the keel.
Raven placed her palm against the mast and whispered a vow—not to any god, but to the sea itself.
“Carry me, and I will feed you tyrants.”
The ship answered with a low, unseen groan—timber settling, sails snapping awake.
From that night on, The Tamisra bled when wounded… and healed when fed victory. The ship was an ever breathing, living beast that thrived on the blood of those that would cross her captain.
***
The man sitting across the table from Mr. Cutlass tilted his head with a bit of disbelief and then laughed in his face.
“Aye, and she’s a sea witch controllin’ the ocean wi’f her every whim!” He said and continued to laugh - almost choking on his mug of rum.
Mr. Cutlass smiled wryly at his drinking companion, “Care to make a wager, friend?”
The man took a large gulp of his drink, “What’s that, then? A wager of what?” He smiled, enjoying the tale.
“I’d wager your service, that the ship’s real enough to make you think twice ‘bout callin’ it out.”
“My service?” He asked.
“Aye! Your service to the ship and crew.” Mr Cutlass answered.
“Aw’right!” The man said, “What’s that mean, exac’ly?”
“Meet me at the jetty, and walk with me. I shall show you everything in exchange for your service to The Tamisra.”
Mr. Cutlass threw three coins on the table and walked out. The man finished his drink and followed.
As they walked down the pier, the man with Mr. Cutlass stared with wide eyed wonderment. There at the end of the jetty, stood a proud black hulled ship. While the other ships moved with the tides, The looming man-o-war ship was as still as the doldrums.
It appeared to loom over the rest of the sloops in the bay. Curiously, it seemed to creak and moan as if rocking in the waves, but stood completely still in the night.
As they approached, the man with Mr. Cutlass began to second guess his nearing of the ship. But, by the time he’d come to his senses, it was already too late.
The Tamisra claimed its next payment in blood, as Mr. Cutlass slit his throat and offered him to the ship. A payment that was well received by the ship. The wood creaked and groaned and the lantern lights in the captain’s quarters at the stern of the ship seemed to grow brighter - if only for a moment.
Mr. Cutlass smiled and thanked the man for his service to The Tamisra and her crew. |
