Murdock

I drifted in and out of sleep. I dreamt of coffee. Jake and Maya were there too.  

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” her voice sounded. My mind slipped back into dream and I saw my friends. We were sitting inside the Sunset Café. It was morning, and I could smell the freshly baked goods and the thick scent of roasted beans being pulverised into powder. 

Soon the transmutation was complete; our little booth was laden with coffee. A latte for Maya. Iced coffee for Jake. I had the cappuccino. “Enjoy!” Maya said. “It’s on me this time.” 

Yet just then came a devastating crash beside me. I snapped out of my dream and found myself exactly where I had been. The entire world spiraled into lucidity  

“Not you too, Jake. What is wrong with you guys today?”  

I looked over to him as he pulled his head away from the oak wall. “I don’t know… I don’t know!” He began to look around, cradling his forehead and instinctively reaching for his drink. “Where are we again?” 

“C’mon Jake,” Maya reeled. “I’m taking you out.” 

“A date? Maybe I am dreaming,” he groaned. 

“Yeah, it’s a date. You know, with the gang. You and Cal!” 

“Oh,” he said bluntly. “Definitely not a dream then!”  

She looked at us both with a growing suspicion as she stirred her drink. Its delicate pattern of powder, a sunset, was swiftly swept out of existence; its only trace was a brown spiral swirl; even that too was fast fading away.  

Jake and I were caught in a trap – one that sat opposing us. Slowly we took our sips, silently hoping that the caffeine would save us from our vulnerable torpor. But nothing could stop her. Her stare that both pierced and pervaded us. Her microscopic movements that with every twitch paralysed us. Her tone of voice that had every note of the wind – from a wintry whistle to the low howl of a tropical storm. She had a certain art about her; the artistry was that she had no idea of the spider’s web she was weaving for us. 

Then it began. “So, what were you two doing yesterday, that made you so tired?” she demanded. 

Jake’s eyes lurched to me strangely. “Excuse me, Maya?” he said with a choke, almost laughing, until he realised what she had meant. His lips suddenly froze, and his gaze shot down to his drink. He took another slow and awkward sip; the mug concealed his face. She was being serious.   

I knew that I could not lie to her; I would not. Although Jake and I were bonded in our shared and silent states of disrepair, Maya was like the glue that held us together. Our two broken parts would forever be apart without her. She was the most rational of us all and she carried with her many traits that we simply did not. Besides her prowess in passive aggressiveness came a pattern of highly logical thought, and then – now – came emotions. That was not to say that Jake and I did not feel, rather we felt intensely. Jake held a constant fear of loss; he hid it well, but it was still there. And myself? Anger was my dysfunction. I could always feel its little hints, nagging away. Years of therapy taught me to recognise them and put them aside. Nowadays they felt indifferent to nothing. Yet when something came that was actually meant to make one angry, then the feeling came in abundance. Now Maya was far more balanced, but in her equal share of emotions came a great unpredictability. 

Yet we did not have a chance to tell her; she already knew. “You went to get it without me!”   

Our guilty glances gave us away, but we were not trying to hide anymore, so we let them show.  

She stared at us with betrayed eyes and coolly cleared a place for her cup, before slamming it down with enough force to invite the rest of Sunset Café to our nearing demise. Several spectators watched as she set into us like a hound to a bone. She flayed us with her words. “How could you go without me? What happened to sticking together? I thought we were a group; I thought we were friends!” She exuded her last words within a single exasperated breath. Her face was flustered like a rose with thorns, ready to bleed us. Jake and I remained silent; we were both confused and devastated at our friend’s sadness. 

After realising that there was a clear answer she was looking for, I hastily patched my words together, “Maya, of course, we are friends.” 

“Then why did you go after the artefact without me?” She hissed under her breath, and my neck twisted around the café; Jake sunk slightly in his seat. 

“You were busy with your parents,” I said. 

“And you don’t like boats,” Jake reminded her with a notable note of fear trailing in his voice. 

“But I’m hardly ever with my parents. You could have gone after that thing anytime, and you chose the one day that I wasn’t with you to do it.” 

“I’m sorry Maya. I am,” I said with my head hung low. 

“Our excitement got the best of us,” Jake added. 

“We just wanted to get it as soon as possible. We didn’t think about how it would make you feel…” 

We watched as she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with the heels of her palms. A long sigh left her, and she met us with an exhausted, yet somewhat amiable, look. “Okay. You could not help yourselves; I suppose. I guess that sounds like you two… At least tell me next time.” 

We finished our drinks and sat amongst the aftermath of our visitation. Sweetly spilt sugar formed a sticky layer of vile adhesion. Our cups were piled onto the small tray. A souring seal of milk lined their seams. The comfort of the Sunset Café was suddenly upturned, so swiftly and so unforeseen. We had outstayed our welcome.   

We walked from Dawntown, having left the suburban embrace of its paved streets and pleasant populace. The nature reserve sat in between the town and its larger neighbour of Meridian Town. It also made for a nice buffer zone between the average islander and those on Monarchist Street. It was bad luck to be seen there if you could not afford it. At least that was said at school – said by the monarchists and upheld by their horde of social circle careerists. But we did not care! We did not care for luck. We made our own, and besides it would be unwise to wander down that way; Carson and his friends ruled that patch like a pride of lions – lions, fat and removed from their natural habitat. Their survival was solely monetary, but they did not realise that there were still a million other ways to die than poverty. They marked themselves as immortals; but they were not even living. 

In the middle of the reserve sat the old cemetery, sacred ground for many on this island. It held the crypt of Murdock and the bones of his loyalists. It remained one of the many remnants of that age, long lost to time but not to the minds of men. We wandered past its borders; rusted iron bars kept us from its faded mausoleum, which, in keeping to true colonial fashion, seemed to take what it could from the warm summer air. Somehow a layer of mist had enveloped it, marking it clearly as a cold sore upon this island’s green. Nothing could be left alone. Everything was theirs to take. This thought was forever in their bones. 

Maya walked past with an ill expression upon her face. The Tawa had never forgotten. Now Maya’s father was a Tawa, but her mother was not; I heard that it had caused quite a stir back in the day, but her father was an intelligent man, and in all the time his rivals had spent gawking, he had overtaken them in matters of business. They had their home on Murdock Island. They had never left it in fact; they had just rebuilt – renovated. I did not believe that Maya’s parents liked Jake or myself very much. 

It was not long before she started to speak of the artefact again. 

“Well, what was it?” she asked with a voice of allure and mystery. 

Jake quickly responded, “Well – we didn’t exactly see it Maya, and besides it’s…” 

“It’s what?” she pried. 

“It’s behind us now, and also not in our possession, and since we don’t have it any more, there’s nothing to do!” 

“So, you’re just giving up. Is that it?” She stared at my friend without a trace of belief. 

Jake stopped walking and gave her a glare. “Yes!” he said, before he marched onwards. 

“And what about you, Cal? You are awfully quiet all of a sudden. Let me guess, you didn’t see the artefact too, even though you managed to carry it all the way back to the island?” She stared at me, drawing out a response with the sly raise of her brow. 

“I – I may have looked at it – just once – quickly. It was nothing, really.” 

Jake stopped dead in his tracks; he held his head up to the sky and smelt the soft Caribbean air, almost as if this would be his last living breath. He then turned around and I saw a touch of anger in his eyes – a silent questioning, questioning now everything. He marched towards me. “I thought you didn’t see it. You lied to my father.” 

“You lied to my grandmother,” I rebounded. 

“Yes, but that’s different. We didn’t know how dangerous it was then. My dad was very clear that we were safe because we hadn’t seen it. Well, now what?” 

Maya took a few steps back; we would spill far more in this discourse without her involvement, and she knew that. 

“Well, Jake. I’m sure that the magical forces surrounding that thing will quite conveniently have alerted all those who seek it. By the day, this island will be swarming with pirates and the like, and we will all be kidnapped and sent to our collective doom.” 

He stared at me with narrowed eyes and his lips quivered, short of a response. 

“No, Jake… How could anyone know that I saw it? And since when have you been so scared. I always thought you had a liking for danger.” 

He held his hand up to protest and a broken sound escaped his mouth, before he simply seemed to disintegrate into admission; he knew that I was right. He walked on and called back to me, “You too. You too, Cal Landley.” And he was right also.  

We were stuck in between the carefree shallows of normality, conforming comfortably to the paradisaical paradox of the Murdock Islands, and the dark and dangerous ocean deep, where forbidden secrets flaunted themselves to those bold enough to open their eyes.  

I realised now that it was possible to believe in two opposing ideas at once, but it was not possible to have them both, and the time to make a choice was fast approaching. I repeated that in my head over and over until after we had passed over the old steel bridge and back into the wilds of Murdock Island.  

Maya had agreed to join us in retrieving my boat, despite her raw hatred of things that float upon the water, except when for when she was surfing, of course. Jake had told me that he could spare some fuel at the dock; his father would not mind. I cautiously accepted the offer. 

Nothing more was said of the artefact on our long trek, but it was on all of our minds. Jake moved his hands in involuntary twitches, and Maya made as if to speak several times but invariably fell short of anything to say. I felt it too. The burning desire. Yet I felt so strongly last night that I would never mention it again – that I would end this business. But the day was so bright and glistening in charm. It masked the morbid memories of the night. The apparent danger that once felt so near was now starting to fade away, and all of our tongues were beginning to come loose. 

Jake glanced to me from the side; his hair extended over his eyes – a layer of anonymity. He scuffed the dirt with his worn shoes, perhaps hoping it would cloud over us. “So, what was it – the artefact?” he asked. 

I held back my response, aware that it would go against the wishes of our elders. I swallowed loudly, washing away the dried-up dread. “It was a handle – from Murdock’s wheel.” A step further into darkness. I saw Jake bury his rising breath, whilst Maya stared on, quite unresponsive to my revelation.  

“The Jackal,” Jake said quietly. “The Jackal of the Seas. My dad used to tell me tales of Murdock and his ship, of all the battles it fought, and enemies it decimated. He used to go on about its whereabouts – its final resting place. He spent years trying to find it.” 

“Maybe he did,” Maya murmured. 

 Jake looked to her and then back down to the dirt road. He took in a deep breath and smelt air. “There’s a storm coming,” his voice trembled.  

“How can you tell?” I asked. 

“I just know!” 

There was thunder; it came from the Paradise Woods. Violent splutters from those that did not belong – not in those woods – not on this side of the isles. One by one they rolled out from the thicket, graunching young branches along with them. Here came Carson and his lot; there were more now. I saw five on the road. A sixth one came. Each had a dirt bike and each one met us with glee. They had not been expecting us, but I suppose we were now the main attraction. Carson did not lead them this time; his two friends did, whilst he stayed in the middle.  

Their group soon flitted in between us. One of them stopped up front and began to rev his engine. It was loud. Too loud! I began to feel myself fall to fury. That they dared to come here and flaunt their parents’ wealth, causing ruin to the wilds and bringing disruption to our home. But then when I saw him, Carson, as he grew in boldness and came closer, my anger began to fade. That was because I saw his face. He was a mess. A mess of broken blue and bloodshot red. He looked more like a monster than a man. Then I began to grow scared. This was my artistry. This was my craft. He had done me a misdeed and I had taken his face for a canvas. I felt – almost – sorry for him!  

Yet he did not hold my sympathy for long; he began to speak, “We gave that old – witch of yours – a little surprise,” he said in a concussed slur. His friends cackled after him. However, to my surprise, I felt nothing. Of course, I was angry at this, but its bitter crown was not upon me; it did not rule me. I knew that there was only so much that he could do to any of us. There was no weight in his words. Only in his violence, and we all know how that worked out for him. He spoke again, this time to Jake. He pointed down to his chest. “I see – that you found – your pretty little – necklace. Does your father – know – his son – likes to wear – women’s jewelry? Is that – where those – bruises come – from?” 

Jake looked down to his new necklace, far older than his last. He unleashed a menacing grin. “Oh, you wouldn’t know the half of it – Carson!” Jake too had sensed that this once predator had turned into something else, something weaker. His once pack was now just a shoal, and he was the smallest fish of them all.  

Carson stared at him, and then slowly nodded. “Yeah – okay. Whatever you say – big man!” 

I took the time to roll my eyes to one of the new guys in his gang; they only rode with him so that they could say that they did, but here they could see what kind of wretch he really was. I received a knowing sign – a spiraling finger to the temple – a sign of madness. Before long the three extras turned around and left Carson behind with his real friends – and even they were doubtful. Yet the boy still turned from us and looked to the deserters with a big grin. It almost seemed like he mistook their sudden escape as an act of power play on his part, and so he also took to his bike and raced after their trail of dust. The others followed along. 

The dock was in sight; it was a strange collection of buildings and jetties and waterways. There was something almost serene about it. I had explored the premises when I was younger, before the troubles came for us; that was even before we found Maya. I remember a scattering of greenhouses, but not the normal kind. They looked ancient in a way, brick-laden and half-sunken into the ground, their rooves tipped in algae. An orangery was in full fruit, and the scent of citrus lit up the warm air. Our mothers talked and our fathers played with us amongst the trees, where strange ruins lay broken and aplenty. By evening the sun would say its farewells, and we would each retreat into the warm abode of the main house; it was once a home! We would continue to play, and our fathers would retreat into their own seclusion; I saw them once, standing around a large map – old and yellow and faded – frayed and tattered at the edges. My father saw me and smiled. 

“What are you doing?” my younger voice asked. 

“A treasure hunt!” he mustered with a great excitement; there was a thrill laid bare in that voice. Even back then, even when I was but a young child, I thought that he was joking. Forever playing games. Ever telling those decadent tales of the pirates and the crew of Admiral Murdock, of those who once sailed these waters and made home its wilds. I knew now how serious he was.  

The Wild Harlock floated daintily. Her single grey stripe, for which she was named, struck her as a fine creature of the water. We filled her up and untied her from her place of mooring. I helped Maya up as she stared grimly. Sick already! Jake put the tank back and locked up; I could hear the jingle of the keys as he disappeared behind the house. Maya once again found her corner in the pilothouse and anchored herself in between the seat’s cushion and the table. I took the helm, and I watched Jake race back; a broad smile was upon his face. The waters were ours again. 

As we coursed away, Maya became much more vocal than the last time, although her distress was notable. “Hey – Jake. Didn’t – you say – a storm was – coming?” She paused to catch her breath, which was constantly being stolen away by the tumultuous shuddering of the waves. “What – about the – boat?” she finished. 

“Don’t worry… Maya…” he teased her name, as he bounced about the boat’s interior, finally crashing beside her. “The boat will be fine – for tonight. But the day after… that’s when it will hit land.” 

I called back to him. “Honestly Jake, how do know that?” There was a fascination in my voice. 

“Air’s all humid.” 

“It wasn’t this morning.” 

“But it is now. And I can feel it in my head. Electric currents or something.” 

Silence emerged. Mine was of wonder. Maya’s was of suppression; it broke through. A loud bolt of laughter, even despite her water-illness. “I’ll believe you – when I see it – Jake!” 

It was not long before we reached the cove, and all was silent. No birds sang and no insects sounded from the forest slopes. We set down anchor and swam ashore, and for the rest of the afternoon, we just lay upon the sand, letting the sun dry us off, watching the world go by. Yet not once did we think to see if Nana was okay after Carson’s remark; I suppose we simply took him for a fool – a dog with no bite – a dog with but gums to gnaw.  

Maya was the one who picked up the day’s long and overdrawn conversation. “Was that all it was, a relic from an old ship?” she asked. 

Again, I felt hesitant to reply; I washed my hand through the white sand. I parted a line. Then I swept over it, razing it gently. “It was ivory and gold.” Jake leant in closer now and so did Maya. “And it had a message scratched into it. ‘The fruits of our labour rest below, in the locker’s heart aflame. To deprive them of their wealth, those that know true wealth not. The key to…’ That was it. I could not make out the rest.” 

My friends stared at me oddly, as if I had lost my mind. “Are you sure that you remembered that all correctly,” Jake scowled. 

“To the word!” I said. 

“Well.” Maya shrugged. “It must mean something.” 

“Fruits of our labour?” I asked. 

“That’s obviously the gold, Cal.” Jake pointed out sarcastically. 

I sighed and looked instead to Maya. “The locker!” she said. “The letter! Your father mentioned a locker.” 

“Yes, when he signed it off, he wrote that. But the locker of Davy Jones – that’s just a sailor’s myth, isn’t it? Hey, Jake?” 

“Depends on which sailor you ask?” His voice was a sly and coy thing, but I could tell that he was secretly delighted that the topic had drifted over to his specialty. “A sea devil – many say once a sailor himself. Those who die at sea are said to go to him, forever to stay in his fated locker.” 

“And what do you believe?” I asked, and he looked past me, stuck in thought. 

He replied, “I believe that all stories must hold some weight, something of value, even if it is just a fragment of the truth.” 

Maya pondered, and then her eyes started to burn. “The Tawa. They have their own sea devil. The Itmengawa.” Jake and I looked to each other; Maya rarely spoke of her culture like this. It was like a barred door opening up to untapped knowledge.  

“The Itchengwama,” Jake repeated. I could not help but splutter into a stifled laugh.  

Maya rolled her eyes and sighed. “The Itmengawa…” she said at a snail’s pace. “The legends say that he was a trickster. When the Tawa fled the continent, they were at sea for weeks, drifting. Many died. Then a being appeared to them. The Itmengawa. It offered to show them the way to their new world. But when the three islands surrounded the fleet, the waters turned to fire and opened up to show the true nature of what they had bartered with. The Tawa here today are of those that survived – the ones who fled the hunger of the Itmengawa.” 

My heart was pounding for she told the tale with such life and vitality; it was a story passed on from father to son, mother to daughter, generation to generation. It was the purest of history. “Do you believe that?” I whispered. 

“I believe what Jake believes. They are the same tale, just told with different words. If two unmet cultures cultivated such beliefs, then there must be something, a common origin. ‘The locker’s heart aflame.’ That line tells both tales.”  

We were left in silence.  

The evening approached and with it came a wind.  

It howled through the cove, inciting violence to the waves which now crashed and broke with no remorse.  

It carried whispers from the sea – from sailors past and the Tawa tale. I could hear the voices come to me, as if they were the hollow song of a seashell.  

The wind narrowed our senses – our awareness – our perception. It whipped up the sand and threw into our eyes, and now even this cove was changed. No more was its sanctuary. No more was its beauty. It was just another extension of the land and sea. The proving ground for the waves.  

We retreated to the only place left where we knew that we would feel safe – my house upon the hill.  

Paradise was broken, and suddenly all the allure of these islands was lost. Their beauty was gone, and now only their raw and unfettered and truly dark and terrible nature remained, but so too did my love for these shores. 

Jake’s storm was not here yet. It was just beginning.