Witch's Island Short Story

WITCH’S ISLAND

by

Glenda Reynolds

     Captain Jon Devon stood at the wheel as he sailed his ship, the Devil’s Plunder, towards his home island of Jamaica. He pillaged the Caribbean as he sailed a fast caravel ship under a black flag with cross bones. Devon was a huge imposing figure dressed in dark weathered clothing. His hair resembled that of a lion’s mane with his dreadlocks framing his perfect, unearthly face. The wind ruffled his black hat, but it always managed to stay on his head with the front brim turned up. A double holster was strapped across his chest with two pistols in it. He wore a silver talisman given to him by his maker, Zafrina, which allowed him to be a “day walker”. Although he was a pleasure-seeking, dung-souled ruffian in his past life, he was ten times more now that he was an immortal. Only one thing reined him in: his love for a beautiful Jamaican woman named Desiree who sailed with him at all times.

     The sea became increasingly stormy as his ship approached an uncharted island. The sound of long horns and drums was carried on the wind. Try as he may, Captain Devon could not navigate the ship away from the mysterious island. A very old, dilapidated lighthouse stood on the craggy rocks like a beacon of doom. To his horror and that of his crew, the ship plunged headlong into the shoreline of huge imposing boulders, which stood like black fingers waiting to grasp the unsuspecting vessel. With one giant wave of the sea, the ship became wedged in between the boulders. The force of the wave and the quick stoppage of the ship caught in the boulders sent Devon and his shipmate Jamal overboard. The two of them managed to crawl ashore despite the pounding waves.

     They immediately noticed many weathered trees on the shoreline that looked to be sculpted by the wind and sea until they stood bare, smooth, and bent over. Suddenly a man’s face came to life on the nearest tree trunk.

     “Ye beware o’ the witch of this island. Leave now while ye can lest ye become part of the island.”

     “How long ha’ ya bin here, man?” asked Devon.

     “Thirty years now. We are all doomed, cursed by Raven. Ye be warned.” The face on the tree became silent. Devon and Jamal noticed other men who had been trapped inside of trees on the shoreline.

     Devon found a club that he found floating in the surf; he offered it to Jamal for protection. Together they strode into the interior of the island. Surely there was treasure to be found on here. They crossed a small glade at the foot of two mountains. A cave was spotted at the base. They made a torch out of an old leg bone that lit the way down to the belly of the island.

     They came upon a female who was working on her spells. Her pet snake was wrapped around her shoulders. The clothing she wore hinted of African-Caribbean origin. She knew the black magic of voodoo as well as being a “gifted” immortal. The room was filled with jugs of rum and loose and bagged gold coin, possibly stolen from her many victims that were lead to her island by way of the magical island music.

     “My name is Raven. What do ya seek on my island?”

     “Dat gold fo’ starters, girl,” replied Devon.

     “There is a price to pay for dis gold, Mista.”

     “I’m Captain Jon Devon. What price would you be meanin’?

     “You would make a fine addition to my island.” She came close to him and ran her hand up his arm. “For you, I would make my mate,” she said with seductive eyes.

     Devon would never betray his love for Desiree.

     “Woman, all the gold in the Caribbean would not be enough for that.” He turned to go back to his ship.

     Raven was not used to refusals. She watched his retreating figure and that of Jamal’s in disbelief. When the two men arrived back at the shore, their shipmates had just pulled the ship free of the boulders with the mooring ropes. Devon turned to see that Raven had followed them there. Desiree was watching the two from the bow.

     “Don’t be stupid, Devon,” Raven derided him. “She will grow old an’ die one day whereas we could spend eternity together on de high seas. She is nothing but a puny human, food for de immortals.”

     “Don’t vex me so. Go ’way, witch.”

     “Don’t be a fool. Your decision affects both you and your mate.”

     “Nothing you can do will eva change me mind.”

     “So be it.”

     Raven raised her hand and at once the silver talisman that Devon wore flew from his neck and landed in her palm.

     “Wha’ gwan? I need dat to survive a sea! De sun will turn me to ash without it.”

     “You will do well without it, and you will do well without something else too.”

     Raven looked at his ship where Desiree was watching from the bow. Raven extended her hand toward the mortal as she recited the dark curse that would bind them both. Desiree’s skin became as weathered wood as she climbed over the bow of the ship, extended her arms on either side of her, and hung there as the ship’s figurehead. In this state she was dead to Jon Devon neither speaking nor moving. Her eyes stared out into nothing.

     Devon whirled around to confront Raven who had disappeared from sight. Upon seeing his beloved for the first time in her cursed state, a mournful cry was wrenched from his lips and broke the silence of the night. From that night forward Jon Devon was cursed to remain in his coffin by day; Desiree was cursed to be the ship’s figurehead by night. They were forever together yet eternally apart. Devon appropriately renamed his ship The Cursed Leviathan as he continued to wreak havoc on the Caribbean Sea.

 

Read this story as well as others in the Giant Tales World of Pirates anthology sold at Amazon.

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