Rover of the Sands
“Go on, Malone!” you shout to the man. “Go and take care of her. Take my key!”
“But you’ll be trapped out here, with them!”
“Go! I’ll be there soon.” Another scream rips through the twilight. “Go!”
You turn to face your attackers, wielding your knife as you counterbalance with the other arm poised, ready, feeling the air up and down as the old ship lists in the doldrums. Barnes, emboldened by his stomach full of drink, takes the first wild swing, charging you with his knife pointed towards your guts. You step out of the way, deflecting his blade with your own and making sure to leave a good long scratch down his arm as he passes. He barely seems to feel a thing, though his blood starts to drip on the deck, drying almost as it falls. He turns around and charges you again, this time faster and full-on. You meet him in a bone-crashing collision of body and blade, pushing his dagger out of the way as you grapple at one another’s shoulders and neck, pushing each other all over the deck, until you gain the advantage and thrust him away. Caught off his balance, he reels for just a moment too long. You waste not a second, but thrust your knife up under his ribs. He seems not to comprehend what has happened, but drops heavily to the ground, the blood flowing copiously in all directions.
“It’s done,” you say.
But it isn’t. This was never going to be a fair fight. The rest of them all set upon you, punching and kicking, tearing at your skin with their nails like wild cats. The knives lie where they fell, forgotten under the far more satisfying savagery of beating a man to death.
Reeling with pain and confusion and grief, you are barely aware of being carried by each limb down into the hold. The strongest of the men charges the door of your quarters, which gives way after the fourth ram. They flood the room and you scream just once as they fall upon Viola.
Then the world goes black.
*********************************************
You look at Malone, sitting there in the corner with the bandage over his eyes. It’s been years, but still he won’t let anyone see him. Perhaps because he cannot see for himself.
After the fight, you lost most of your hearing. You live now in a submerged world of far-away horn calls and static, trying to see the sounds all around you.
“Tell me again,” you say, smiling at your friend. “Tell me the story of how the Sands came to an end.”
He smiles sadly at you and begins his tale for maybe the hundredth time, maybe the thousandth.
“The men rushed in and they set upon Viola.” He pushes a tear from his cheek. “All I can say is that it was over quickly and she did not struggle. But the moment she closed her eyes for the last time, they say the wind began to blow and sands started to fall, while at the same time, the water rose. We thought the child had been born dead, but with her very first cry, the clouds all cleared and the stars filled the sky. Something in the men changed. They lay down their bludgeons and took up the child, declaring her their savior. She was whisked away and made crown princess of the new realm, the one of land and sea, air and sky, which we had always known but feared never to see again. They too were made heroes, the brave few who fought the evil witch, who with her hellish companions had enslaved the whole world.”
His smile freezes there and you too feel uneasy, though you’re not quite sure why. You know the whole story, though you’ve barely heard a word.
“I wonder,” you say unsurely, “Whether it was the child who brought good or the mother who brought evil.”
Your friend shakes his head and you sit there in silence, in your quiet little corner in the house for convalescence.
