Eternidad: The Serpent & The Dragon

Chapter I

Somber Melodies

When day broke over the southern shores of Camahogne, it did so under a wide open sky free of clouds and full of promise. Against the advice of his hosts, Peiman slept all by himself in a simple straw hut that was only a matter of feet from where the rolling waves of high tide met the land.

He preferred to be on the beach right when the sun rose. He wanted to wake amid the morning air, for it seemed fresher at the water's edge and somehow crisper at the dawn of a new day. He loved to smell the salinity of the ocean and the gentle morning breeze that carried it.

Within each morning, as he observed the sky's cloak of night peeled open by the first rays of light, he found his spiritual renewal. He enjoyed the feel of the sun on his skin before the heat of midsummer weighed in. He loved the serenity of calm waters, smooth as glass only a stone's throw away, but still gently lapping the shoreline just enough to make nature's heartbeat audible to the world.

So Peiman stepped out of the small hut, took a deep breath, and walked across the sand. He curled his feet as he went, so he could feel the cool grains of sand as they rolled over and between his toes.

No one really knew how old he was, but at a glance he looked to be around sixty. He typically wore a pair of tan knee-length shorts that were tattered and full of loose strings hanging from the bottom cuffs. Draped upon his shoulders was a shirt made of matching cloth and of similar condition which he rarely bothered to button. He also wore a necklace made of small animal skulls, mostly from birds and rodents, that were strung together amongst colorful beads and snail shells.

He was about five foot eight, thin and sinewy, with long, mostly silver hair that featured a few strands of black leftover from his younger days. His skin was dark, more weathered than aged, which left little doubt that he spent much of his life under the sunshine of islands he called home. His ears and nose had grown larger, as they often do on men of advancing years, and his cheek bones were high and pronounced. His eyebrows had grown gray and thin, while his torso and face grew little if any hair at all. His eyes were a sandy brown coloration, with tiny gold halos that ringed his pupils. For all his life, he had put those eyes to good use. He was known as a great observer, and perhaps an even greater interpreter of observations.

When the European settlers arrived among the islands, Peiman made it his personal mission to learn as much about them as he could. He did not necessarily like everything he observed, but he understood they were part of a greater destiny, and that they were among the islands to stay. He was a free thinker, a maverick among his people, very clever and resourceful.

In many ways, Peiman considered himself an independent historian, forever reviewing the past while also recording the present. But, his whole life had been shrouded by the ever growing shadow of Jeringas Mortifer. Peiman considered all native people his people. Whether they were islanders, mainlanders from the North or South, mountaineers from the Andes, or the lake dwellers of Central America, he considered them all to be his brethren. It pained him throughout his long years to witness the seduction, fall, and assimilation of one Native American culture after another, all due to the insatiable desires of one man's conquest, all because of Jeringas Mortifer.

Long had Peiman wondered how his world might have differed if only the native tribes had all been more united when Mortifer first arrived. Perhaps they would have resisted and defeated the black king. Perhaps it would have differed little. Not having the answer, and knowing he never would, was a burden his shoulders could never shake.

While he disliked many of the acts of the new settlers, he also saw in their arrival a chance at salvation. If, through the word of the lost prophecy, he could light just a single spark to inspire all the different cultures of Europe, Africa, and The Americas to unite and ultimately defeat Jeringas Mortifer, then Peiman would at last have fulfilled the purpose he so strongly believed his whole life was destined to serve. Perhaps that was why he found the perfection of that particular morning so exhilarating.

Peiman was in tune with the world like few others. He did not have the gift of the third eye like The Seer of the Sister Islands, but this did not mean he was completely without foresight. He could predict certain events just by the feel of the air, the scents on the wind, the movements of animals and birds, among other signs.

For lack of a better explanation, he often told others that the world and everything in it would sing to him. In those times, too often the songs Peiman heard were the most somber melodies.

Yet it was his spirit, the actual pulses of energy that moved through his nerves, connecting everything inside of him to the world around that for the better part of his entire life seemed to be invisibly hard wired into the lighter powers of the continuum. It was through this extra sensory perception, one entirely unique to him, that made him appear to have such exceptional responsiveness to events yet to take place. No matter what predicament unfolded in the course of his life, Peiman always seemed calm, collected, and inexplicably prepared.

His connection to the continuum was deeply spiritual, more holistic than magic, and perhaps more pure than anyone's because it was based on his faith alone. Those truly connected to the lighter reaches of the continuum felt the recent tremors within it in surprise and in fear, while Peiman remained steady, indifferent even, because he was years ahead of them.

When The Soul Collector was just a whispery legend in the minds of many, Peiman already knew he had arrived in the realm of the living. He also knew that at some point, the towering, faceless, diabolical servant of Mortifer would come for him. Yet, Peiman was strangely at peace with the prospect. Either the continuum would warn him in advance, and put pieces in motion to save him from El Ladrón de Almas, or it would not. As for Peiman, this arrangement had long been comfortably sufficient.

Through the sway of the continuum, Peiman learned that the Child of Prophecy had been born. He suspected his close friend, The Seer of the Sister Islands, was also aware of that monumental occurrence. As it was, Peiman expected her to seek his audience, and that new tidings would arrive by sea with her. He knew in his heart she yearned to be enlightened further, and that the time had come. In his estimation, she was ready. He had spent many long years digging in the sand, crawling in caves, even sneaking through ancient tombs, all to find the scattered bits and pieces of the lost prophecy.

Along the way, he found a wealth of knowledge far greater than he could have ever genuinely expected, and much of it had little to do with the prophecy at all. Peiman also understood he had to bestow this erudition to The Seer in their next meeting, for he was uncertain whether it would be the last. But in the very moment the sun broke completely free of the eastern horizon, Peiman broke completely free from every care and concern that occupied him.

He closed his eyes, spread his arms, and started walking blindly into the surf ahead. He stopped when it became waist deep. Then, as he waded alone into the soft still water, he began to hum aloud in a cheerful chord that was in tune with nothing but the turning of the Earth itself.

The sun had completely risen above the far horizon when Peiman felt the stare of familiar eyes on his back. After he turned around, he smiled in recognition, splashed some water onto his face and hair, and returned to the beach. Andre Washington was seated in the sand, with one hand upraised to block the light of the sun, smiling back in return.

I did not know I had an audience, began Peiman. Had I known, perhaps I might have sung something else." Andre smiled widely and shook his head.

I rather enjoyed what I heard. I think the powers that be enjoyed it too. One day I hope to find the same harmony with the world that you have, Peiman. The old shaman nodded appreciatively and extended his hand to help Andre up from the ground.

You are already on your way, my friend. You have a good head on your shoulders. Your mind is an open one. Keep it that way. Your heart is wholesome and light. Do not let yourself darken it. There will be plenty of people and affairs of the world all too willing to do that for you. It is a glorious morning. I sense a good day ahead of us. But to see you out here so early, I must suppose you have some news to share, Andre Washington, Master at Arms.

Peiman was one of those men who sounded exactly like they appeared. His voice was faded with age, his Arawak accent unmistakable, yet he sounded like a teacher and man of faith; kind, intelligent, soft spoken, but resolute.

When Andre rose to his feet, he brushed the sand from his seat and motioned for Peiman to begin walking ahead.

No, I haven't any news. My wife is making some breakfast. I just thought you might like to join us. I also wanted to ask if you needed help with any preparations before our departure to Kairi. Peiman smiled upon hearing the invitation.

No, I do not think I will need any help. I do not have much to bring. But I thank you for the kind offer of breakfast. I am a little hungry. You are always so thoughtful, answered Peiman.

The walk to Andre's house was short, but one that Peiman always had a way of lengthening by stopping to smell a flower, or to observe a bird, or even an insect. Yet for Andre, the walk was never long enough. He loved to listen to the old man speak, as the world and all its natural glory was speaking to the old man. For his part, Andre was only beginning to learn the language of the latter for himself.

Meanwhile, some 380 miles north of Camahogne, on the island of Statia, Franklin had the smokehouse burning wood through the night. Even with the smoker packed to capacity, the previous day's haul of fish was too large to complete in a single batch. By the following morning, it was all the men could do to get the finished product packed up and ready for market while transporting the remainder of live fish from the Vissen to land for another round.

Pieter was unusually sullen given the bounty they had ready for market. The men had gotten up early enough to make any number of harbors and back within a day's time. Selling their entire haul was a virtual lock. They stood to earn a small fortune, and the excellent weather only served to make traveling easy.

However, Pieter was still deeply troubled by his wife's comments from the night before. Prior to their departure for the day, Pieter asked Dorothy to stay in the company of Lauren and Stephen until he returned. His request came off much like an order, and Pieter did not allude as to why. Franklin, knowing Pieter as well as he did, was at a loss for the change in his captain's demeanor.

What's got you all out of sorts this morning? Did you stay up half the night on the bilge pump? I noticed the ship is dry today, said Franklin. Pieter thumbed the wheel in silence, and then flipped the page in his homemade chart book.

I did work the bilge after dinner last night. We must have had two foot of water standing in the ballast. My arms are tired from turning that crank, Pieter said in response.

I see. That explains why you are... cranky, Franklin returned with a sarcastic smile. Even the subtle jab of humor failed to swing his captain's mood.

Pieter, do you want me to take the wheel? You could go down below and take a nap for all I care. The seas are smooth and the winds are more than manageable. We only need one person at the helm in these conditions. Pieter considered the offer for a moment, and then looked back to his chart.

Today we make for San Kitts. If we sell our entire payload there, then we head straight for Aichi. If we do not sell out at San Kitts, then we make for Grande Terre. We will end our trip at Aichi either way. We should make it there with enough time to get home right after dark and not much later, Pieter answered at last. Franklin took note of his captain's tone, which sounded vacant, almost distant.

I thought you wanted to avoid the southern ports. We can make Antigua, Montserrat, and loop back to San Kitts. This route would get us home before supper time, Franklin countered. Captain Thomas shook his head silently, never looking back at his first mate.

We have to make Aichi. I don't care much about what time we return. I have an appointment there I intend to keep, Pieter said cryptically.

An appointment? Franklin inquired. Look, Captain, it's not my intention to pry, but this day you are not much like yourself at all. Whatever the trouble may be, you know you can lean on me for help if you need it.

Pieter briefly smiled in appreciation. However, he didn't want anyone, Franklin included, knowing about his previous encounter with The Seer of the Sister Islands. He did not want anyone to know he planned to visit her again either.

It's Lauren. I think she may be having some difficulty with the baby. That is why I asked Dorothy to watch over them both in our stead. Last night, Lauren told me she saw some unusual things. I don't want to put it like this, but I am afraid... that she's losing it. So I am going to Aichi to speak to... a physician about her. As Pieter spoke, his words came out slowly and carefully planned. His eyes wandered around, but never directly into Franklin's concerned face.

"Then it is good to have Dorothy stay with them. Pieter, you know, women sometimes get this... sadness... after having a child, especially the first one. Men don't often understand it. There are a lot of changes going on within her body. The long, slow gain of weight, the rapid loss of weight after, the spells of hunger and sickness in between. Plus all the time she now spends waking up, caring for the child, the times in the dead of night you probably don't even know about. The broken sleep can be rugged on a mom. The good news is this sadness always seems to pass." Franklin put his hand on Pieter's shoulder.

Go on, Captain, go take some rest down below. I mean it. You look terrible. If you intend to make the trip to Aichi and back in one day, you'll need your wits about you for the voyage home. I'll wake you up when we make the turn to San Kitts. Pieter nodded just slightly, smiled halfheartedly at the remark regarding his appearance, and then went below deck for a nap.

Meanwhile, back on the island of Camahogne, Andre and Peiman were enjoying a cup of fresh juice at the conclusion of their breakfast. Peiman’s eyes glanced around Andre's residence fondly. It was a simple, rustic wood frame house with two bedrooms and a large sitting area with lofted ceilings. Peiman always felt at home there. They were casually chatting up the late day morning when an unexpected knock came at the door. Andre looked at Peiman for a moment, who shrugged his shoulders in return.

Though he didn’t let on, Peiman did expect something. He was expecting a messenger, which is precisely who Andre found when he opened the door. The messenger was just a boy, probably fifteen years old, and rail thin. He was breathing heavy, as if he had run a long way with a great sense of urgency.

Master at Arms, the boy began. General Brown sent me here to find Sir Peiman. The old shaman met them both at the door after hearing his name called.

What is it? Peiman asked.

A fair looking woman arrived here just a short time ago. She came to port in a dugout with a small traveling party. She claims to know you, Sir Peiman. Goes by the name Yoana, says she is from the island of Aichi. The boy spoke so rapidly, he barely had time to catch his breath between words. By that point, it was Andre’s turn to shrug at Peiman's curious face.

It is okay, my friends. I know this girl, Yoana. I did not expect to see her so soon. She must have traveled through the night to be here at this hour. I should go to her, Peiman said with a thoughtful smile.

Let me put some horses to the wagon, Peiman, Andre offered. Peiman immediately shot a dissatisfied glare at him.

I am not so old as to need a ride from here to the shore. I can probably walk to the harbor by the time you have the wagon ready. But Andre, son, if you would, bring the carriage down after me. She might have belongings to carry, and I know she will appreciate a ride up the hill after her long journey. Let us make the best arrangements we can. You are about to meet The Seer of the Sister Islands. Andre smiled brightly as Peiman took his walking stick and began pacing down the sandy trail that led to the port town of La Bay.

Peiman was correct about the timing. He reached the stone building known as Fortaleza Reale just moments ahead of Andre and the messenger boy riding in the horse drawn wagon. There were several men lining the walkway up to the fort, all curious about the striking woman they had seen pass by only a short while before.

When Peiman found The Seer and her companions, they were all seated with General Brown in the same room that held the tribal conference earlier that week. The Seer and her party were all being treated as Peiman would have expected. Water and food had been brought in, and as a group, they were all carrying on in friendly conversation with the general and his officers. Peiman could see in the travelers’ faces they were on the verge of exhaustion. Even so, Yoana beamed with excitement when she saw the old shaman walk through the entryway and into the great room.

Peiman! she hollered as she darted across the floor to embrace him. As soon as General Brown saw that Peiman was indeed familiar with her, he ordered his troops to vacate.

My lady, may your stay here be enjoyable. I apologize for keeping you confined to this fort, but with times being as they are, I am certain you understand our need for precaution. A friend of Peiman's is a friend of mine, General Brown stated kindly.

I understand, and I thank you for your hospitality. It was a pleasure meeting you, General Brown, The Seer replied in kind.

General, if it is okay by you, I intend to take Yoana and her group to Andre's compound up the hill. They may be staying a while. She and I have much to discuss, said the shaman.

Of course. Our island is yours, Peiman. You know that, answered the general. Peiman nodded abruptly, and then summoned The Seer and her crew to follow them back outside where Andre was waiting with his horse drawn cart.

We have much to talk about? The Seer asked with a smile. You knew I was coming, she said, answering her own question. As usual, she added as a matter of fact, but with a look of amusement.

I heard your song played on the ocean winds this morning, Yoana. Of course I knew you were coming. And yes, we really do have much to talk about, said Peiman, as he helped her into the wagon seat next to Andre. Her party only consisted of four men, and once they settled in the rear of the wagon, Peiman climbed in the front and sat beside her. After the shaman introduced Yoana and her company to Andre, together they rode the trail back up the hill to the compound.

Earlier that same day, 165 miles south of Camahogne, the Unda Jaulaor had passed through the Dragon's Mouth just as dawn was beginning to break. She had sailed under a shroud of fog so thick that visibility was limited to a few hundred feet at best. To remain undetected, she was anchored just beyond the mouth of the Caño Macareo river delta, which kept The Soul Collector and his convoy out of view from even the most powerful telescopes on the nearby island of Kairi. The Soul Collector presumed the strait was being watched. It was doubtful there was ever a time when it wasn't being monitored.

Even under the dawn’s rising sun, a heavy fog lingered. The air was unusually thick and rancid. There, at the very end of Mortifer's dominion, very little of the land was suitable for habitation, and only a few small encampments guarded the delta. The Soul Collector came to land by rowboat with Damián and his elite squadron of body guards. They arrived to little fanfare. There was no welcoming party. There was little movement of any kind, and likely would have been none, if not for the two soldiers seated on the dock who noticed the chill that always arrived just ahead of El Ladrón de Almas.

The two soldiers felt the bleak draft of air before his rowboat even came into view. It seemed as if the fog grew even thicker as The Soul Collector approached. Both soldiers were visibly startled by the appearance of his unmistakable helm as it cut through the mist into plain view. And when they knew for certain who was coming, one of the men ran back to the main fort to retrieve the captain of their outpost. His counterpart could only stand there, shivering, and wished he had gotten the notion to leave first.

When the towering figure stepped forward and onto the dock, the small row boat he was traveling in seemed to rise six inches due to the sudden departure of his weight. The primitive wooden structure rattled and shook beneath the steps of his boots as he strolled onto land. Damián and The Soul Collector took no note of the lone soldier standing in wait. Together they walked right past him and onto a narrow path cut into the thick undergrowth while the rest of the squad stayed behind.

Before long, the captain of the outpost met them on the trail with a small company of men. The group was a mixed bag of native mainlanders, some of whom were dressed in a manner of tribal attire The Soul Collector had never laid eyes upon before.

Captain Maja was a member of the Warao tribe. He was a man of average build and height, nearing forty years of age, with short, bowl cut hair. Like many of Mortifer's army captains who spent time in the jungle, he wore modest, loose fitting clothing made of green cloth because it served as better camouflage. Unlike many of Mortifer's army captains, Maja was barely intimidated by The Soul Collector's towering visage. Maja did not speak English, and his Spanish was limited at best, so Damián acted as translator.

This is Captain Maja, my lord. He says he welcomes you and gladly offers any assistance that he and his men can provide, Damián began. The Soul Collector nodded quietly at the captain.

Ask him how many men are stationed here, how many more are in reserve, and of the total, how many are prepared to conduct war if it comes, The Soul Collector requested. Damián hesitated for a moment, and then translated the inquiry. Maja's eyes widened at the question at first. Then he smiled, and answered in a confident tone.

He says there are two hundred fifty in the compound as we speak, another five hundred in reserve, all trained and ready to defend this territory, my lord. As Damián translated, The Soul Collector kept a keen eye on the captain's body language and facial expressions. Maja was a proud man, and The Soul Collector silently agreed his soldiers were probably prepared to make a stand on their home soil.

Tell him to call all of his reserves into the main fort. Have them set up whatever temporary sleeping quarters are needed to accommodate one thousand soldiers, The Soul Collector ordered. For the second time, Damián hesitated, much to the chagrin of his hulking master.

Tell him! The Soul Collector angrily repeated. Damián calmly translated the order as instructed. Captain Maja swelled with pride upon hearing the directive. Then he nodded toward Damián, saluted The Soul Collector, and immediately beckoned his officers to fulfill the command.

After Maja and his troops departed, Damián watched as they disappeared into the brush. He did not wish to turn around right away. He could feel the glowing yellow stare of his master's eyes upon his back.

Damián, you need to remember your place. When I give an order, you follow it. An army cannot function if its leadership suffers even the appearance of disagreement from its subordinates. Do not make me remind you again. The Soul Collector's words clung to Damián's skin like a barrage of arctic seawater.

My lord, you know I would never openly question your authority before our men. But... I was under the impression that Lord Mortifer himself forbade us from invading Kairi, Damián replied, and cautiously turned around to face his master.

Just then, a howler monkey cried from atop a nearby tree, followed by another that answered in the distance. Their echoes made it seem as if dozens of them were climbing about. Damián found that the sounds of the jungle were both haunting and beautiful all the same.

You will assess their readiness for battle. Given what I have seen thus far, I suspect you will find this company is short on training in modern warfare. It will be your job to correct this and with little time. Remember that Lord Mortifer has already cleared me in advance to take whatever actions I deem necessary. He merely suggested I should leave the islands of liberated slaves for him to deal with on his terms and timeline. I intend to. We are not invading anyone. The plan is much more complex than that.

As The Soul Collector spoke, he did so in a very aloof and reserved manner. He even tried to keep his booming voice down; though it was doubtful anyone who might have overheard him would actually have understood a word of what he said.

Then what sort of action should I prepare these men for, my lord? Damián asked the question with a tone of genuine curiosity while The Soul Collector studied the area for a moment.

The jungle was intensely lush and green. A whole legion of men could be hidden only a few meters inland. There, the waters were filled with piranha. Snakes lurked beneath every bush. Bird eating spiders roamed the tree tops, and jaguars patrolled the forest floor. There, the Warao not only survived, they thrived, and they were fearless against the nature of their surroundings.

The Warao people were noted for their bravery when traversing water, often going miles across the sea and down croc infested rivers in simple canoe-like boats. They were skilled archers and adept at hiding in plain sight, which made them exceptional ambush warriors. The Soul Collector considered all of these things as he formulated his plan. Then he unfolded a map that detailed the Gulf of Paria.

It covered all the coastlines from the Dragon's Mouth, a strait between the Paria Peninsula of Venezuela and the northwest corner of Kairi, all the way to the Serpent's Mouth which was only a few miles northwest of Caño, where The Soul Collector and Damián’s men were temporarily stationed. Damián stepped over to get a better look at the paper his master was so carefully flattening across the table.

The continuum has spoken, The Soul Collector began. Our man, Peiman, is out there, somewhere among the Africans. It may be Camahogne. It may be Kairi. It may be Bella Forma. All I know for now is that he is close enough to pinpoint. My plan is to utilize Grul's unique talents for night time surveillance. The continuum has led me to believe that Peiman will arrive on Kairi in the coming days. I suspect that wherever Peiman goes, he draws a crowd. There are only so many established communities on Kairi. It might take a day or even a week, but Grul will find him. While you are training and equipping the men here, I will pull a regiment of five thousand soldiers from Porlamar. The men we have stationed there are among the most battle hardened in all the empire. They will be positioned across the Dragon's Mouth at Macuro. I will also bring one hundred ships from Catia La Mar and have them anchored off the north shore of the Paria Peninsula where they can remain undetected. Once we know where Peiman is, the rest of the plan will unfold from there. The Soul Collector turned towards the foggy inlet behind them, holding the map out to illustrate the remainder of his design.

There are only a handful of trade routes that connect the villages on Kairi together. Every major town is on or near the coast. The ships will carry the assault teams to Peiman's location. The Africans will do what it takes to dig in, and attempt to repel what they believe is an invasion. Their forces will all gravitate to the main battle. With so many of our ships backing the invasion force, the Africans will have no choice but to move Peiman by land to another port, one they think he can escape from. That is where we come in. The Soul Collector paused for a moment when a stray bird passed through his view.

With any luck, Grul will give us some insight as to what route the Africans will ultimately choose to evacuate Peiman. He will be well guarded, but by a much smaller force than if we tried to capture him head on in the initial attack. A thousand men are more than enough to split up and make chase. We will send some to form a rear flank, to chase the shaman and his group from behind, forcing them to the sea. Then, just as he reaches the shore, we will capture him in whatever port he arrives. Even if he reaches one of the coastal towns, I suspect it will be left relatively unguarded. If he becomes entrenched there at all, we will sack that town. No matter how it plays out, once the shaman is in our custody, the main invasion forces can then retreat before the Africans truly understand what we came for in the first place. Damián quietly nodded in concurrence.

So the invasion is really just a diversion. And I agree that the Africans would likely try to move Peiman away from any large scale battle. It is a good plan, but there is a chance that our invading forces will suffer high casualties, Damián concluded.

"Our casualties will be acceptable. The losses inflicted upon the Africans will be greater. Kairi is in no shape to take on a full frontal assault, not today. If we launch the attack soon, we can completely cripple their ability to respond. Without Peiman, their belief in the lost prophecy will be shaken. Their spirit will be crushed. Then, Kairi will be ripe for Lord Mortifer's taking, and ultimately at his discretion. He has been searching for the means to gain a foothold in the Windward Islands. The end result of this mission will provide him with the perfect means and opportunity. Like dominoes in a line, Kairi will be the first of the Lesser Antilles to fall." Damián tilted his head inquisitively while The Soul Collector folded his map.

"So these men should be trained in a mixture of pursuit and shadowing, with a more delicate variety of close range combat," Damián suggested.

Delicate? No. Selective? Yes. While I believe the squadron assigned to the shaman will be small in number, they will likely be first class guardians; the best Kairi will have to offer. And, I suspect, willing to fight on Peiman's behalf to the death. It is imperative we take the shaman alive, The Soul Collector replied.

Not to be a harbinger of the obvious, but then it is imperative we get a good description of the shaman, and I mean beyond just his clothes which are easily changed, Damián warned.

"Leave that to our young strigoi companion. He will provide us with what we need. For now, you had best get to work training the men here, Damián.

Upon reaching the dock, The Soul Collector ordered the rest of his elite squad to the fort as training support. Then he returned to the Unda Jaulaor to review his plans privately and in isolation.

The Soul Collector had already sent one messenger ship to Caracas to inform the king of Grul's assimilation into his crew. That messenger ship was due to rejoin them in the Gulf of Paria by the next day. The Soul Collector formulated his entire plan for capturing Peiman after his messenger ship departed. At best, he was sending the king incomplete report. The towering figure knew he was standing right on the edge of a boundary where Mortifer was concerned.

Without the king's direct consent, he was planning to commandeer a hundred ships, maybe more, and five thousand of Mortifer's most capable soldiers. The Soul Collector had to consider that if he sent a subordinate to make these requisitions, whoever received the request might very well refuse without proof of Mortifer's personal approval. Such a turn of events could delay matters considerably.

However, he knew if he went to Catia La Mar and then Porlamar in person, there wasn't a single person in either location who would dare to deny him or question anything he chose to requisition. His plan for capturing Peiman was delicately dependent on timing. If he chose to acquire the necessary ordnance in person, he also had to consider that Grul might locate the shaman before he returned from the journey.

And what will the men do if they learn of Peiman's whereabouts in my absence? He wondered.

He trusted Damián and the rest of his elite six without any reservation. The Soul Collector did not know enough of Grul to fully formulate an opinion one way or the other. Yet he sensed through the dark powers of the continuum that Grul would be faithful to the mission if only to preserve his strigoi brethren back on Isla Mona.

Without the ships and without the men I need to launch this bloody subterfuge, the knowledge of where Peiman is located would be irrelevant, he quietly concluded.

As soon as the first messenger ship returns, I will sail back to Catia La Mar with them. By the time Lord Mortifer is even aware his ships and his men have been relocated, the operation will be nearly complete. He might not agree with the initial redeployment of his forces, but he will be most pleased with the outcome, he quietly added in hindsight.

Meanwhile, nearly 400 miles north of The Serpent's Mouth, the Vissen was turning eastward on a heading toward San Kitts. Franklin was still at the helm while Pieter slept in the lower level beneath the deck. The Vissen had made very good time, and as the port of San Kitts came into view, Franklin looked out over the water through his looking glass and noted the general emptiness of the harbor.

Gone were the massive British ships of the line they had seen in port only a few days before. There were only a handful of French merchant ships docked relatively close to land. The town itself wasn't bustling as it was before. It seemed lazy, inactive, like most of the townsfolk had slept in too late. Franklin debated whether it would be worth the hassle to dock there at all.

He considered skipping the port of San Kitts altogether which would allow his captain time to sleep some more. The advantage being, neither he nor Pieter would have to deal with their merchant friend, Pierre. Yet Franklin had his instructions. He knew Pieter's intent was to arrive at San Kitts for better or for worse. So Franklin decided to turn towards port, do his best to dock the Vissen single handedly, and let his captain continue sleeping below.

Meanwhile, back on the island of Camahogne, Andre Washington arranged to have The Seer of the Sister Islands set up in a private cabana while her personal guards were stationed in a spare house immediately next door. Andre's compound had many small lodging structures adjacent to his personal home, as he often took in newer soldiers so they would be close by and ready for training exercises at the crack of dawn.

Peiman had somewhat of a permanent place in the compound to call home in a modest wood shanty. It was little more than an A-frame hut with glassless windows and a hybrid sofa-bed. In spite of its modesty and rugged appearance, it was Peiman's favorite guest house of the lot, which was fine by the master at arms.

Andre preferred when Peiman slept inside the tall wooden fence of the compound, as there were always soldiers mingling around and rotating crews of armed guards. But invariably, Andre would wake more mornings than not to find that Peiman had eluded everyone to go sleep alone in the same seaside hut the shaman was found in front of earlier that day.

It was a habit that confounded him at times, but Andre understood that the shaman yearned to rise in concert with the sun at the water's edge. Having Yoana stay within the compound put Andre’s nerves at ease at least a little. Not only was she safe behind the walls, as long as she was a guest there, Peiman was unlikely to leave her company in the middle of the night.

Shortly after the travelers had settled in, Peiman took Yoana by the hand, and led her out to the small hut on the beach. Ever fearful of the worst, Andre asked two of The Seer's personal bodyguards to follow at a distance. Andre then ordered a few of his own men to watch over the entire group from yet another distance.

Meanwhile, at that exact same time and some 370 miles Southwest of Camahogne, Jeringas Mortifer and Hadrian were in the higher reaches of the fortress at Caracas. Together, they were studying a map of the Windward Islands to better understand the news they’d just received from The Soul Collector's messenger ship.

So, it appears Angelis was successful in recruiting a strigoi from Isla Mona, and now they are headed somewhere close to Peiman's last known location, Mortifer said aloud as his eyes wandered around the map.

Finally, after all this waiting, century upon century, the tomes of the lost prophecy are within my grasp, he added in a voice mixed with both excitement and relief. Mortifer's eyes began circling the outline of Camahogne.

Let us hope that Angelis, for once, can be subtle in his actions. He will need to be, if he is to pull this off. My lord, I have no doubt that he will find the shaman. His profound connection to the dark powers of the continuum virtually assures you that the shaman will be located and captured. However, the tomes are nothing more than carved stone. I am curious to see if Angelis and his arcane set of skills can hold the same persuasion over things that are not alive and breathing. If we can get the original tablets, I am certain we can get their translation as well. This man, Peiman, cannot be the only one left alive who knows the language. While Angelis may be confident he can get the shaman to reveal the secrets of the tomes, my lord, I have my doubts. The fact that Peiman has remained unknown to us for all these years is a testament to his adroitness, and speaks to the possibility he may not be the last of his kind, Hadrian thought aloud as he studied the map alongside his king.

The Thief of Spirits knows what he is doing, Hadrian. After having a better look at this map, I feel even better about the decision to recruit a strigoi. There are so many islands near Camahogne. As you said, the shaman is cunning. He managed to stay out of our web of intelligence for a long time. He will not be careless with the tomes. He will have moved them off Camahogne by now. He might have split them up. Caille, Ronde, Diamante, Les Tantes, Isla Grande, Fragata, Promiencia, Carriacou; all are within fifteen or twenty miles of Camahogne. Angelis and his men have their work cut out for them. That much is absolutely clear. Mortifer shook his head at the map, but continued to smile with an amused prescience.

"There are more than twenty islands from Camahogne to Hairouna, and it is the last island that seems important for whatever reason, at least to me. Hairouna is one of the few islands among the Lesser Antilles still occupied entirely by independent natives, my lord. The Caribs hold dominion over that island. The name, Hairouna, it means The Land of the Blessed in the Carib tongue. But even more intriguing is this: The Arawak people originally controlled the island. It is said that some of their places of worship still survive there, even to this day. What better place for an Arawak shaman to hide any artifacts related to the prophecy? Given the acrimonious past between the Arawak and Caribs, no one would think to look there," Hadrian interjected. Mortifer took a few moments to absorb his counselor's history lesson and then nodded in understanding.

We should send another messenger ship in pursuit of the one that just left. Your information could prove to be of benefit to Angelis, the king added. Hadrian thumbed through one of his old language references for a particular page. When he found what he was seeking, he smiled right into a scandalous burst of laughter. Mortifer looked up from the map in curiosity.

What is it? The king inquired.

"Five hundred years ago the Arawak referred to Hairouna as Youlimo, which means Peace for the soul. If The Soul Collector is truly meant to find his eternal peace by preventing the lost prophecy from coming to fruition, can there be a more aptly named place for his journey to end? My lord Mortifer, if this is not a sign from the powers that be then I do not know what is." Hadrian's eyes widened with excitement as he looked back to the text, double checking, to make certain his translation was correct.

Mortifer did not wait to hear it spoken a second time. When Hadrian looked up, the king had departed so swiftly, the draft of his wake caused the maps to flutter from the table and down to the floor. Hadrian had rarely seen the king stand up and vanish so fast. It seemed as if Jeringas Mortifer's feet never touched the ground while he made his way down the stairs.

Hadrian moved to the window of the castle’s fifth floor study and peered outward toward the main road. He noticed that for the first time in weeks, the rain had relented. Within a few minutes, Mortifer had assembled his riding company. The king then shot across the drawbridge on his steed followed by the violent chorus of fifty horses eager to stretch their legs in spirited chase.

Hadrian gazed out the window almost gleefully at the sight. He was pleased with his effort, but it seemed that Mortifer understood something of even greater significance in the island's translated name. It was of such importance that the king took it upon himself to ride the twelve mile road to Catia La Mar, and in quite a hurry from all appearances. Hadrian knew that when Mortifer arrived there, the king would put the information to parchment with ink. Then the message would set sail on a swift boat with a capable captain, to reach El Ladrón De Almas, somewhere beyond the far end of the continent.

Meanwhile, back on the island of San Kitts, Franklin had deftly situated the Vissen in one of the shallow water docking slips without disturbing his captain. He had managed to find some traveling merchants on their way out of the harbor, and sold two crates of fish at a fair enough price. He was in the process of lowering two more by rope and pulley when Pieter finally climbed out of the deck below. Pieter saw that Franklin had his cutlass strapped to his hip, and the blunderbuss slung over his back. Pieter quickly donned his own saber, and swung over the ship's gunwale to join Franklin before his first mate departed.

Oh, there you are, said Franklin, just as he positioned one crate on top of the other.

Let me carry those, Pieter insisted. You should have woken me. I don't think it is a good idea for either of us to go walking around port alone, the captain added. Pieter then heaved the two crates off the ground and began lumbering his way down the dock.

I know, began Franklin. But look around, Pieter. This place is empty. I only sold two crates dockside before you woke up. So you know Pierre is only going to pay us the minimum, if he buys anything at all. That's why I only bothered with two more crates.

Pieter began to get his legs fully under him again by the time they reached the end of the dock, so he quickened his pace. He seemed indifferent to his first mate's comments.

We get what we get, is all Pieter managed to say in reply. Franklin nodded in affirmation. He was surprised at how quickly his captain could move while carrying eighty pounds of crated fish.

Are we in a hurry? Franklin inquired.

When aren’t we hurried? Pieter shot back somewhat angrily, but then paused to examine his reaction.

I am not upset with you, Franklin. I just don't want to deal with that big ball of butter, Pierre. He's probably all full of piss and vinegar because we skipped over him the last time we came here. And, I know that after he skimps us on price, he'll try and strike up a conversation since no one else is around. If I didn't need to come back, I'd shove a whole grouper in his gullet, bones and all. Franklin burst out laughing at the imagery in his mind.

Hell, he'd probably enjoy it, said Franklin, just as they reached the stairs to Pierre's store. Franklin then took hold of the crates while Pieter opened the door outward.

Just stay here. I'll tell him you have a cold. I'll get what we have coming, said Franklin, as he swung the crates in through the doorway.

Be quick about it, said Pieter, unsure whether his first mate heard him before the door smacked back into its frame.

Meanwhile, back on the island of Camahogne, Peiman and Yoana sat down at the open end of the little straw hut. The structure was elevated from the sand just enough that their feet could swing freely off the edge when they sat facing the sea.

So what did you plan to talk with me about? The Seer initially inquired. Peiman's eyes were closed. He had heard the question, but he was listening to the sounds of the world around them.

The waves that rolled onto shore were small, gentle, and wonderfully repetitive. The refreshing breeze was mild and steady. A pair of sea gulls hung low in the air, and cried sporadically to one another in their search for food. The shaman smelled the air; repeatedly pulling in deep breaths through his nose. At last, he turned toward her and smiled.

What I have to say can wait. I am surprised that you came all this way. Travel by sea is dangerous at night, even more so given the storms we had yesterday. So perhaps we can begin with why you have come here, the old shaman countered.

To begin, The Seer of the Sister islands recounted her experience in meeting Pieter, though she never referred to him by name, only as the father of the Child of Prophecy. She figured if Peiman wanted to know Pieter's name, he would ask for it.

The Seer detailed the vision that she and Pieter shared above the textile store. Through it all, Peiman sat facing the sea, with his elbow planted on his thigh, hand to his chin, and thumb over his mouth, as if to prevent himself from interrupting her. He nodded ever so subtly with each new detail. However, upon mentioning the name of Azura, the old shaman ripped his gaze from the sea and glared at Yoana in surprise and horror. As far as he knew, the former Mother of the Third Eye had been dead for years.

She is alive? Captured? Peiman asked. Yoana's slow moving nod and the austerity in her eyes confirmed the answer.

I am ashamed I did not know. I have not heard her song play on the winds for so long. I was certain she had passed on. Her song was like that of the sparrow. How terrible it must be for her to be caged up now, near the end of her days. Azura, like the sparrow, was meant to be free. Peiman's eyes blinked repeatedly as he thought aloud.

She was a good friend to my people, the shaman added, just as a single tear glissaded across his weathered cheek.

Her body may be alive, but your friend is not. She has been turned, whether by the dark powers of the continuum, by some spell of Jeringas Mortifer, or by the despair of having been imprisoned all these years. Her name is all that survives her. It is right to mourn her, for the woman who was once your friend and my mentor is dead. All that remains of her now is an enemy of our cause. She is still a potent purveyor of the third eye, one who serves the black king. We must be cautious, and ever mindful of that truth, said Yoana, as she gently wiped the lone tear from Peiman's skin. Yoana knew more about Azura's condition, but she spared the old man the more gruesome details. Peiman took a deep breath, stared back towards the sea, and steeled his heart towards acceptance of the news.

You have warned the fishing boat captain against sharing word of his son's birth too freely? Peiman asked. Yoana nodded with a slanted smile as if to say, of course.

You said that both the father and the child have striking blue eyes, yes? asked Peiman. Yoana answered with yet another nodding of her head.

It is good that you keep his name known only to those within your order. In the event I am ever captured, and questioned by the unworthy, I will be happy to say I do not know it. But tell me, Yoana, what country is the captain from? The Seer hesitated at first, but then decided there could be no harm in answering.

He is Dutch, she replied. Peiman cocked his head to one side and looked upon her quizzically.

"Dutch? He is from Dutchland? Is that the same as Deutschland? Aren't Deutschlanders called Germans?" Peiman was clearly confused by the reference. Yoana laughed, for she didn't entirely know how to explain the term for herself.

No, he referred to his home as Netherlands. And, apparently people from the country of Netherlands are called Dutch or Dutchmen. I had a sailor show me Netherlands on a map, though I can't say that was of much use. It looked... small, compared to... I think France, she replied, though the confidence in her words was waning.

I would think he would be a Netherlaniard, or Netherish, if his home is called Netherlands. Yoana... Some of the white people... Their languages are very hard to make sense of. The Seer giggled briefly at the comment.

Huh. I know of the netherworld, and the nether regions of the continuum. I doubt they are related to this country of Netherlands. I have never met a Dutchman that I can recall. Perhaps I still have time in these coming days to do so, said Peiman, who suddenly became adrift in thought.

Yoana’s brow tilted slightly at the tone in his voice. Several times throughout their conversation, he had spoken in a manner that sounded like an allusion to his time running out. Given all that was unfolding so fast around them, she couldn't bear the thought of him not being there. He was elderly, but she knew he wasn't all that old. He certainly looked fit and healthy. Evidently, he was never more in tune with the world around him. Such dark intimations made very little sense to her. So she took a deep breath, and prepared to guide their conversation to the place that she had been avoiding until then.

Peiman, there is something else I must know. It is perhaps the very reason I came to find you. Your heart beats in rhythm with the continuum like no other. Just as you knew the Child of Prophecy had been born, I know you felt the commotion that followed. Surely you saw the stars falling after the rains last night. They came hard and furious, like the relentless drops of a summer storm. It was a sign. The prophecy foretold of an ascension, an ascension of evil, the Cimmerian Rising. You must know that it is already underway. You must also be aware of the one Mortifer has turned loose upon the lands of our ancestors, said Yoana.

She tilted her head and waited patiently for him to respond. His kind and gentle face quickly turned stone cold and serious. As if he had planned it for himself, a lone cloud rolled right in front of the sun, and a wide shadow was cast across the beach. However, Peiman was not a conjurer of weather. The silence was brief, but it hung heavy in the air between them.

El Ladrón de Almas, Peiman answered at last.

I had a vision… The Seer began, but she sensed Peiman had not finished and stopped talking.

You had a vision that El Ladrón de Almas was headed this direction, that he is coming to claim my soul, the shaman said stoically. Yoana nodded.

I have heard the dissonance of his song on the angry winds of a menacing tempest. His song, it is epic in length, the darkest symphony this realm has ever heard. My song will play alongside his at some point. However I cannot hear how the final verse of our chorus plays out, my dear Yoana.

Peiman's eyes never blinked in reply. The Seer believed him, but she still wondered whether he would actually tell her what the ending was should it ever reveal itself to him.

My faith lies in the Hallowed Guardians of the light. My fate will be decided by the continuum. I accept that, as you have no choice but to accept the same, Peiman added. The Seer could feel herself begin to tremble slightly. She had to know.

"I have been asked questions for which I have no answer. I have some vague understanding where the thief of spirits is concerned, but my knowledge is based on the fragments of legends and my own dreams. You must help me understand him better, if you can. The survival of the prophecy's child may depend on it. Who, and what, exactly, is this being, El Ladrón de Almas? And can he be stopped?"

Yoana felt a small sense of relief that she had finally uttered the question. But she also felt the utmost apprehension as to whether he would answer, and then even more so as to what the answer actually was.

There was no debate in Peiman's mind. He silently agreed that she had to know. There was something else though. Something else he yearned to tell her. So the old shaman watched as the rainless clouds gathered from afar. He watched as some smaller clouds were drawn to the larger ones, forming one singular and purposeful mass in the sky. Then he organized his thoughts in much the same way, and prepared to deliver, as best he could, the exposition of the damned.

Chapter II

Exposition of the Damned

Considering Peiman’s reputation as a gifted speaker, the words did not come to him easily. The lost prophecy, as Peiman had interpreted it, made only the faintest allusions to a being like The Soul Collector. Even then, those allusions merely made mention of an extraordinarily powerful servant of Jeringas Mortifer. The prophecy did not specifically refer to him by any name.

The Spaniards based their understanding of him on a very similar entity from a centuries-old legend of their own, hence the name they came to call him, El Ladrón de Almas. Though the similarity between the Spanish legend and the towering caped figure of the time was striking, it was little more than a hapless coincidence.

The secret to The Soul Collector's very existence dated to a time long before anyone thought to matriculate history as it unfolded. Then, shortly after The Soul Collector first came to the living realm, there was an event that took place, a change of such magnitude, that even the Primordial Guardians of light would not fully realize what had occurred until many years later.

Peiman understood that there were so few left in the world who could understand the ancient texts and tongues; the ones that could explain occurrences that dated back to the dawn of time. For his part, Peiman grouped science, medicine, industry, language, and spirituality together. These things all contributed to the evolution of the world, as they themselves evolved over time.

As for spirituality, Peiman considered the different religions of the world to be no different than languages. To him, languages were like water, which flowed in different manners in different places of the world, much in the way no