Blood and Salt
written by: Skylar Sturtevant
Day 1
“Fire!” Captain Declan O’Malley shouted.
The crew shoved gunpowder down the muzzles of the guns with long wooden rammers. Cloth was shoved in after, then the cannonballs. The six-pound balls launched out of the guns with ferocious speed. Nine cannons fired upon the merchant ship as the Black Banshee rained hellfire upon the hull of the vessel.
One shot hit the foremast, taking the Scottish flag with it. Another blast took out the bow. The other seven obliterated the crew and shredded the wooden ship like cheese. A man had jumped overboard and was floating on a stray piece of wood. Seamus Murphy, the black-haired rogue, took off his head with a flintlock.
The men of the Black Banshee boarded the vessel.
With a nod to the left by O’Malley, the pirates charged into the captain’s cabin. They dragged an old Scot out by his arms.
“Where’s the gold?” O’Malley asked.
He spit in his face.
“Feck you, Catholic dog,” said the Scot.
Wiping the spit from his nose, O’Malley smiled. His bloody and scurvy-ridden teeth often intimidated others. This man wasn’t shaken.
“Yer gonna tell us. Else the sea’ll have ye. Judgin’ by the ring on yer finger, ye don’t be wantin’ that, Scotsman.”
He fought against the men restraining him and Seamus punched him in the stomach. He went on his knees and Seamus punched him in the mouth. Blood and shattered teeth flew from it and O’Malley kneeled and got in his face.
“Last chance.”
He tried to spit at him again, but he didn’t have the breath in his lungs to do it. The bloody saliva dripped down his chin. O’Malley struck him over the head with the butt of his flintlock and his body went limp.
“Toss him.”
The men grabbed the captain’s unconscious body and threw him overboard. He sank slowly and unnaturally as they watched.
“Search the quarters, under the hulls, under the floorboards, everywhere. Ye know the drill.”
They did as he asked while he stepped over a body and looked over the deck of the boat. The sun was setting across the infinite horizon and the water became gradually darker as he watched the light slowly fade from sight. O’Malley lit a torch.
He ran his hand through his white beard. Much like him, it had grown old and unkempt. The winds of time passed by and chipped away piece by piece as he traveled the seas. Maybe all of this was for nothing. He took off his black captain’s hat and looked longingly at the ocean, thinking of home.
“Captain! Come quick! We found something!” someone shouted from inside the captain’s cabin.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t for nothing either.
He put his hat back on and walked into the cabin. The room smelled like rum and rat shit. There was also a howl as the wind blew through the large hole in the side of the cabin. Five of his crew were each standing in awe around a massive wooden chest.
This chest was made of wood and coated with pure gold. It was inlaid with rubies and diamonds. Its top was a lid also of pure gold with two winged women atop pedestals kneeling over an ark.
“Has anyone opened it?” O’Malley asked.
“We be leavin’ the honor to ye, captain,” Seamus said.
He broke the golden lock with the handle of his gun, and with some effort, he lifted the lid.
“Do you know what these are?” He said to everyone in the room. Tears filled his eyes as he looked down into the chest.
The truth was that even O’Malley didn’t know if he could believe it. True divinity sat in front of him. Two stone tablets rested inside the golden chest, each with Hebrew engraved into the stone. They were the Tablets of the Law: passed to Moses by God Himself.
“It’s the Ark of the Covenant,” Seamus said, kneeling in prayer.
“We have to bring it back to Ireland,” Cillian, the young drunk, said.
“Are ye mad? Just to have it taken by those British cunts? May as well hand it right to his royal arse himself. Ye want that?”
“Well, no captain.”
“So what do we do? We can’t just be bringin’ the Ark to Ireland or Britain.” Liam, the veteran said.
He rubbed his beard and contemplated.
“We take the North Sea. The Orkney Islands do be to the north, so we follow the compass to France. And from there, we take the Ark to Rome.”
The crew’s knees buckled at the suggestion from their captain. The North Sea was the most treacherous body of water ever known and they were dangerously low on supplies. Seamus cleared his throat and scratched his unwashed scalp, looking away from O’Malley.
“If we make it, we will make it as legends. The women will be singin songs of yer glory,” O’Malley said to his crew.
“Captain. If I may. It will take a week to reach France. We only had enough food and water for this raid. We can’t make it across the North Sea without that. Not when we be forced to slow to three knots an hour,” Seamus said.
Captain O’Malley stroked his beard and paced around the room. No man has ever lasted a week on the North Sea, let alone an entire crew. Outside, thunder clapped as loud as the beating of a hammer. A bolt of lightning shot across the sky. Finally, O’Malley took out his cigar, lit it, and took a long drag.
“Seamus, where’s your faith? Would God let his most treasured artifact fall to the sea? We be responsible for bringin’ it to his Holiness. I have love for ye all and as God is my witness: you will not be harmed. You will survive. This…this is a trial. And we are meant to win. We always win.”
The men cheered, and then they took the massive chest onto the Black Banshee. Seamus was last to board as he watched the crew enter.
Day 3
The ocean violently rocked back and forth, causing the captain to wake with a fright. He grabbed his pistol and walked out to the deck. The storms had not abated as he looked out into the pitch-black sea. He imagined that the void of space must be like this- not a single life to be found except for the alien and unseen creatures under the surface. A lightning bolt suddenly struck the water, causing him to jump back.
“Captain,” a feminine voice called behind him.
He turned around and saw no one. He walked to the other end of the ship when he heard it call him again.
He looked into the sea and saw a beautiful pale woman with long blond hair floating in the water. She was topless and waving a single hand to follow her.
“If I follow you, I’ll drown. There be no land.” He said to the woman in the water.
“There’s an island to the west. You can swim to it with me. Fruit grows on trees. Birds and turtles walk on grass, just waiting to be hunted and eaten by you, Declan. Won’t you follow me? Just jump in.”
He lifted one foot onto the edge. The woman smiled at him as he slowly inched closer and closer. The smell of saltwater mixed with her perfume. It was so intoxicating that he lost sight of everything else. She dove underwater and her tail fin flipped above the water.
He got his second foot onto the edge. He put his arms above his head, preparing to dive.
“Captain!” Seamus yelled.
It was muffled to O’Malley’s ears as he was suddenly thrown back onto the ship.
His parka was torn when he hit the wooden floor. He shot up and glared at Seamus. His face was red and he was exhausted. The man in front of O’Malley looked like he was on death’s door.
“How dare ye? I was about to go to an island with that goddess. Look at her, Seamus!”
He raised an eyebrow at him and said, “Sir, there be no woman there. Ye imagined it or it be a siren. Don’t listen to her song, Captain, else ye be drowned with her.”
He shot his head back to the sea, desperate to prove Seamus wrong and see the mermaid again. In her place however was a seal, turning its head at him.
Day 5
On the fifth day without food, the hunger and withdrawals started to set in. The rum was all gone and they had no luck catching birds or fish. The ones who were hit the hardest were the drunks. They began sweating and shaking since the rum ran out. Some of the men’s groans had turned into screams.
O’Malley wasn’t sure if these people had the will to go on but they didn’t have a choice. Hell, he didn’t have a choice either. It was either bring the Ark to Rome or have their fame and riches ripped from them by the British. They’d have to pry it from his cold hands to get the Ark from him.
The moon sat high in the pitch-black sky. The deep groan of starvation was almost as loud as the violent waves of the North Sea. The thirst became so powerful that the men began drinking their urine to survive. The icy wind combined with hunger and withdrawal threatened to eat away at their sanity.
“How much longer, Arith?” O’Malley asked the Dane.
“Four days sir,” He said. His stomach growled in agony and he hunched over.
The captain patted him on the back.
“Ye be doing well. Think of the glory ye’ll bring yer family. First to find the Ark: Arith Sturluson.”
“Glory isn’t the first thing on my mind sir.”
“I know mate. But if ye be strong now, ye’ll have more to eat than ye can handle.”
He nodded slowly.
O’Malley walked across the wooden deck when suddenly, he spotted his men drinking the seawater. They drank it so quickly that some vomited the salty water over the edge of the boat.
“No! Ye’ll just make it worse!” Seamus shouted. He slapped the buckets out of their hands, much to their anger. O’Malley only looked on. He knew the danger, but he understood why they did it. The sea and the thirst do horrible things to the mind. They threatened Seamus for what he’d done, but he drew his firearm and they backed off.
O’Malley turned around and went back into the captain’s cabin. He stared at the golden chest and the Templar gold inside of it. This is what would keep him going. He looked at it until morning.
Day 10
By the tenth day, the hunger started to set in. They had not prepared for this voyage and their patience with each other was wearing thin. The Scottish ship they raided only had provisions for a day and they were out of rations.
The deep blue sea rocked the ship back and forth. The winter wind cut as sharp as a blade on the faces of the crew. Fur parkas could only do so much on the open water as the crew made their desperate attempt to cross. They could no longer see any land, even in the far distance. It was only the wide abyss of the ocean and violent waves that threatened to turn the crew into shark food.
The captain was sitting in his cabin, staring at the golden chest. He had a cup of rum in his hand as he looked out of the window. The cup shook in his hand as large waves crashed against the window, spilling some of the rum on his chest and in his beard. Wobbling out of the door, O’Malley found the navigator at the wheel. He was a Dane with experience sailing in the North Sea. Viking blood.
The man, Arith, was hunched over the wheel. It was obvious that he hadn’t slept at all and was fighting to stay awake. O’Malley told him to go sleep; he obeyed and walked into the lower deck.
Several sea birds flew overhead. One landed on the deck, cocking its white head at the captain. For a brief moment, he balled his hand into a fist. He could grab it and break its little neck for food, the others didn’t have to know. He didn’t have to share everything with them, did he?
The ravenous thought was interrupted by a sudden gunshot and the bird flew away.
“Damn it!” He shouted at the man behind him.
“Sorry Captain, I be tryin to get some food.” He said.
“Do ye know what happens to the meat if ye shoot it with a blunderbuss, mate?” O’Malley asked.
The man shook his head as the captain said, “Well, ye can’t fuckin eat it. You like eatin’ metal?”
“Well, no sir.”
“Good. Keep it in yer thick head that you’ll be eatin lead if you do that again.”
O’Malley sighed as he looked at his meal flying away over the open sea.
Day 11
The men’s urine ran out. They all tried to relieve themselves but they were so dehydrated that it was impossible; all that came out was little drops of black liquid. Unfortunately, some men felt they were forced to drink seawater. O’Malley had drunk it himself and he had begun hallucinating. The man who was once so strong had lost all energy. His head was pounding with a piercing migraine. It felt like his brain was being stabbed from the inside and his stomach felt like it was being ripped apart from the inside. He heard the low groan of his hunger mix with the sound of a whale’s cry in the distance.
Several of his men died. He fell asleep last night with a full crew and woke up with a third gone. The drunks were the first of those that perished. Not all of them died from dehydration or withdrawal, however. The ship’s navigator had fallen in the middle of the fifth night with no sign of his body; now the captain and his crew were forced to make the last of the journey blind. O’Malley closed the cabin door for the night when he noticed a trail of blood leading from his door to the lower deck. O’Malley grabbed his pistol and waited behind his cabin door for a moment. When no one came, he locked the door and turned the lights off.
Day 12
He woke in the middle of the night to the sound of screams. He slowly crept out of the cabin and walked blindly in the dark towards Seamus’ room. Thunder roared overhead as lightning lit the black sky for a single moment. When he found it, he knocked on the door. Whispering his name, O’Malley opened the door.
“What’s wrong, captain?”
O’Malley put his finger to his lips and motioned toward Seamus’ gun on the table. With an eyebrow raised, he did as he was told and followed him out of the room.
Determined to find the traitor, he walked with his flintlock in hand. He walked towards the lower deck. Some of the floorboards leading to the deck had been ripped out. Bits of fingernails and blood were scattered across the wood. Two long scratches were carved into the floor. O’Malley slowly opened the door to the room and the sight made him dry heave.
Three men were eating Liam.
If he had enough water in his own body he would have sweated. He couldn’t even produce tears for his murdered crewman and friend. O’Malley shook violently as he felt phantom tears filling his eyes. He looked at the cannibals aboard his ship. They turned to look at him and their all-too-wide smiles in the moonlight made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. They were like vampires reveling in their latest kill.
One had Liam’s leg in his hand with blood dripping down his chin. The other was eating his hands. The last one was drinking the salty thick blood that dripped out of his severed arm. The most horrifying part of the whole event however was the nonchalant smile on their faces as Cillian asked “Would ye like some, Captain? It ain’t so bad once ye get over the idea of it.”
He unholstered his flintlock and looked into Cillian’s now blood-red eyes- then he put a bullet in between them.
Day 20
He thought they could make it, that they’d be able to push through the hunger, the thirst. The past week, or at least he thought it was a week, had only proved that he was a fool. They were lost in the North Sea- starving and broken. His crew had eaten all of their clothes to avoid starving. At this point, they all faced the elements naked in the winter air. It was better than the wet clothes that provided no warmth. The pain shot through his stomach as he thought about Liam’s suggestion. Maybe if he had just listened to him and returned the Ark to Ireland, his friends would be alive. But he couldn’t think of that now. Now he could only think of saving who he could- even if he would be remembered as a bastard. But everyone knew it was better to be a tyrant than a fool. He called for a meeting of his shipmates.
“Men.” He said to the crew, “I know I have asked a lot o’ ye. And I love everyone o’ ye.”
Seamus, Sean, Jack, and Richard were the only remaining crew of the Black Banshee. They had the strength to get this far, but within the day, they would reach the deepest part of the sea. And that meant the waters would be infested with sharks and whatever monster that caused that sound.
“In days long past, the Celts of Ireland would make an offering to their gods for safe passage,” he said as he paced around the deck, “Now I intend to do the same. We have lost our navigator and most of our crew. We have been tasked with the most difficult request of any human: we are to take actual divine treasure to the pope. Did ye think that we could do that without sacrifice? We can’t survive without doing what needs to be done.”
The crew looked uneasy at each other and their captain.
He took a deep breath.
“I want all ye to vote on the strongest two of ye. The others will be…”
O’Malley swallowed what he was going to say.
“Sacrificed,” O’Malley said, then turned away.
The crew was silent for several minutes. It was as if they were afraid that anything they said could be used against them in the vote. They looked at each other and rubbed the back of their necks. Finally, after several moments, they began to discuss their votes. The low groan in the water was evident again.
Sean and Richard were chosen.
They fought back against the crew, but with a quick blow to the head, Sean fell to the ground. Captain O’Malley grabbed him with a headlock. He turned back and looked at O’Malley with sullen eyes- he knew it was over for him.
“That’s what this has come to, has it? Fer yer greed? Yer bloody glory?” Sean asked. “You must be so proud of yerself, ‘Captain’. Enjoy yer throne. It be built on the corpses of yer brothers.”
He looked longingly towards the water and closed his eyes.
Day 21
Seamus stood in O’Malley’s cabin. His stomach had swollen to the size of a watermelon. They both survived because they were willing to do what had to be done. The rest were too soft to survive this quest. O’Malley looked over at the Ark and admired its glory. The golden chest glowed in the sunlight.
“Jack’s dead too, ye know.” Seamus interrupted.
“I didn’t,” O’Malley said.
“Last night…with Sean and Richard. He couldn’t handle it. He voted for himself, Declan. Jack wouldn’t choose any of us so he chose himself.”
“Well, that was foolish of him.”
Seamus bit his lip and balled his fist.
“Ye don’t get it. He gave up everything he had to be here. He loved his brothers more than anyone. Jack believed in us- believed in ye! I…I ate my fuckin brothers, Declan!”
O’Malley stood up.
“Watch yerself, mate.” He said.
“Watch meself? Ye sat and watched as all yer friends died fer ye! All while ye sat in yer cozy fuckin’ cabin with rum and yer bloody treasure! If ye spent more time worryin’ bout us as ye did yerself…”
O’Malley punched him in the mouth.
He fell to the ground with a hard thud. Standing up, he wiped the blood from his lips and stared at the back of his hand. Seamus was more offended than he was hurt, but he wouldn’t let that go. He drew his handgun on O’Malley.
“Ye ain’t got the balls or the brains to make it on yer own, Seamus.”
“What do ye think I be doin already? Ye abandoned us the second ye got that golden shite.”
O’Malley stared at the flintlock for what felt to him like hours. His life rested in Seamus’ hands. The man he once called a friend, a brother even, held his stare with bloodshot eyes. Seamus looked rabid enough that he could go through with shooting him.
“Think about it, Seamus. If ye kill me, ye won’t make it to Rome. Ye die at sea and the treasure will go with ye.”
Seamus laughed.
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll feed ye to that whale that’s been tailin us. Appease the gods and what not, eh, Declan? I always took ye fer the heathen type. Ye don’t even care about God or the Ark. We were never goin’ to Rome fer the glory of God. We all died fer yer fuckin pride. Don’t worry though, Declan. Ye’ll see yer friends again, but not on a ship- in Hell.” He cocked the flintlock.
O’Malley shut his eyes and cowered away. All of this would be for nothing- all the death, the loss- for nothing. No one would bat an eye at the death of a pirate, but maybe they would have had he been the one to bring back the Ark. He prepared for the end.
Seamus pulled the trigger on his captain.
It clicked- empty.
O’Malley jumped at him. He took him to the ground with a hard tackle. His head slammed against the wooden floor. It sounded like a hammer slamming against a stone. Dazed, Seamus tried to hit him with the gun, but it was easily knocked away.
O’Malley struck him in the face. Like a wild animal, he unleashed his fury on his old shipmate.
“For all I’ve done!”
Strike.
“To keep ye safe!”
Strike.
“And ye stab me in the back!”
He slammed both of his fists into his nose. Blood was pooled on the floor as the tangled mass of Seamus lay motionless in front of him. The man’s nose bone was sent into his brain and he was dead.
O’Malley was alone.
Staring at the blood on his hands, he got off of the corpse of his longest friend. Seamus served him faithfully and with honor over the many years they’ve spent on the Black Banshee. He deserved to be buried at sea like his friends. O’Malley lifted him and carried him to the deck. He tossed him over the edge and retched on the floor.
He reached down to put his hands into the water to wash them- scrubbing them as hard as he could. Nine minutes had passed but the blood wouldn’t wash off. His hands were rubbed raw, bleeding with exposed skin, yet still, the blood of his friend remained. The sun was in the middle of the sky and beaming down at the captain. It was as if it placed a spotlight on his greatest moment of shame. The ball of fire in the sky ridiculed him as he scraped the skin off of his hands.
He spotted a murder of crows hovering in a circle in the distance. O’Malley walked to the helm of the ship. The wood of the wheel burned his exposed hands when he placed them on it. He directed the ship towards the birds.
The wind howled at him as he sailed towards the crows. A high-pitched wail rang in his ears while the waves finally calmed down. He wondered if this was an end to his torment: the agony of this venture finally coming to a close. O’Malley lost so much to bring the Ark to its rightful place and receive the glory he was owed.
Some may call him evil. Greedy. Some may even call him a monster for what he had done to those men. He led them to slaughter while trying to achieve their greatest triumph. It wasn’t his fault that they couldn’t handle it like he could. But the glory was his own now- and it was all worth it- all fer yer fuckin pride.
O’Malley spotted land in the distance. Finally, after all this time, this hell would end. Several minutes later, he crossed the Strait of Dover into France. He moored his boat on the dock. A Frenchman met him at his arrival. Enjoy yer throne.
“Bonjour. Quelle est votre activité?”
O’Malley wasn’t fluent, but he knew enough to know that he wanted to know his business in France.
“J’ai besoin d’un wagon et d’une voiture. J’ai de l’argent.”
The man nodded and reached his hand out. O’Malley tossed him a small pouch of gold. He opened the pouch and smiled. He raised his pointer finger and walked away. A few minutes later he returned with the carriage and wagon that O’Malley asked for. He asked for help carrying something from his ship for an extra tip. The man nodded and followed him.
A blue cloth tarpaulin was tossed over the chest before he arrived, covering it from being seen and protecting it. The Frenchman and he lifted the Ark and brought it to the carriage. He thanked him and told the driver to take him to eat first and then, finally, to Rome.
Day 45
The journey by carriage took weeks to arrive. But when he finally made it, he had kissed the ground. He thanked the driver and the two of them placed the golden chest onto a cart. By this point, his beard had grown longer and more unkempt. He had not washed it in months and he hadn’t bathed before coming.
He approached the golden and opulent palace where the pope lived: the heart of Catholicism. O’Malley told the guards very excitedly that he had a gift for his holiness and that it was urgent; he had traveled many days and miles to bring it to him. They turned their heads at the man who likely appeared like a street urchin. They allowed him in though, since they believed him to be a pilgrim, so long as they followed him inside.
He entered the palace with its stained glass windows and walked through the halls. The golden walls and ceiling reminded him of the glory of God.
The pope sat on his golden throne in the middle of an otherwise unfurnished room. Arches and Christian murals surrounded his holiness as he waited patiently for O’Malley. When he carted the Ark to him, the pope looked amused and asked him what it was.
“Yer holiness, I have traveled many miles to bring ye this. I found it while traveling by sea. I am an old and simple merchant by the name of Declan O’Malley, you see, and knew that the Church is where this artifact belonged. My days are numbered now, so all I humbly ask in return is recognition for being the one to find it, yer holiness.”
He threw off the tarpaulin, unveiling the Ark of the Covenant, one of the most divine treasures known to mankind. The pope looked at it in wonder. Declan beamed with delight at the prospect that the pope would give him the recognition and glory he was owed. The pope called for several people to come to see the Golden Chest. They opened it and examined the tablets and Templar gold inside. The man with a looking glass inspected it for several minutes.
“Is everything okay, yer highness? Everything that I got from me travels is inside the Ark. This is the very same one from the stories and the tablets are the very same given to Moses by God.”
The pope convened with the men, looking concerned. They didn’t say anything to O’Malley in a long time while talking amongst themselves. They spoke in Italian and he was beginning to feel nervous. Finally, the pope spoke.
“Mr. O’Malley, is it?”
“Yes, yer holiness.”
“Mr. O’Malley. I regret to inform you that the chest you have brought to me is a fake.”
- Blood and Salt - January 26, 2025
- Twilight of The Gods - October 10, 2024
- Ignore It - July 2, 2024
