Sirens Of Barbadous

CHAPTER 1

"Upon the salty waters,
Sirens from the depths lay.
There Mens strentghs did falter,
as toying with lives is there play."

Across the sunrise‑coated coast of Barbados, the calm sea lulled against the close shores. A brigantine ship crept across its waters, strong winds breathing its colossal hull forward toward its tropical destination. Ropes swung overhead as world‑weary sailors prepared the main mast. Sea spray washed wildly across the brown deck. A recently awoken Merrick Shaw stood above it all, discussing preparations with Captain Ethka.

“Ha! You speak as if you’ve been to those snowy waters.”

The ship’s captain was a large man, his brown eyes nearly swallowed by the enormity of his black beard and sailor’s hat. He carried himself as a captain should—rifle at his back, gunpowder strapped at his belt—ready for any would‑be pirate or, god forbid, mutineer.

“Ice, my friend. We call it ice. And yes, I’ve spent years there, exploring that frozen tundra known as the North Pole.”

Merrick was the opposite of the giant captain. His tall, eagle‑like posture, chiseled face, and worn steel eyes radiated a different kind of man entirely. With his black‑and‑brown gambeson and pristine flintlock pistol, he looked more scholarly warrior than sailor.

The dark‑skinned seaman closed his eyes, as though summoning the very sights Merrick described. Over the long month they had spent crossing the sea, Merrick had regaled him with stories of past exploits. Through countless scraps with pirates, long nights of drink, and shared tales beneath lantern‑light, the captain had grown fond of the man who should have been nothing more than a paying passenger. Now, he called him a friend.

“Truly remarkable. To think the world hid such strange lands from us,” he said in astonishment.

“Once I’ve concluded my business here—which may take some time, mind you—I intend to set sail for the land of the samurai. Travelers claim it is a world unto itself, a place where men of violence and strict dogmas make their home.”

Merrick closed his eyes as well, letting the image take shape in his mind. Five years had passed since he’d lost his fortune—five years since he’d sworn to seize his future and carve his mark upon the world. In that time he had rebuilt his wealth, aided revolutionaries, and trekked through the deepest

Amazonian jungles. And still, his heart refused to rest. Not until he had helped all he could and seen the world in full.

“Captain!”

“What is it, Droel?”

“Captain, we’re nearing the shore.”

Above the rugged vessel, seagulls wheeled and cried beneath the harsh glare of the sun. Far ahead, the shores of Barbados shimmered like an oasis rising from the sea. The ship creaked, the mast groaning as if weary from the long voyage.

“In mere moments we’ll be there. Best to rest and si—”

“Captain!”

Another shout tore through the salt‑laden air. High above the deck, a sailor clung to the mast, binoculars pressed to his face, one arm stretched toward a cluster of jagged rocks jutting from the water. The captain strode beneath him, Merrick close at his heels. Standing directly below the lookout, he craned his neck upward.

“What is it, Spaniard? What do you see?”

The sailor sank his eyes back into the binoculars, ignoring the captain—an offense that would have sent most men to the brig. But this was not rudeness; it was shock. Merrick raised his own binoculars and peered out. A fog as thick as curdled milk clung to the inner shores, and he swore he saw strange movement behind it—fish‑like tails and shadowy figures darting between rock and water.

“I fear your man is perplexed, and rightly so,” Merrick said, lowering his binoculars.

“We’ve sailed these waters hundreds of times. What could perplex a man with such worldly experience?”

Before the captain could utter another word, he froze. Merrick opened his mouth to speak, but a strange sound drifted through the air— a soft, soothing lull that seemed to echo inside his chest, weakening his legs and clouding his thoughts.

“What is this…”

Suddenly, across the deck, in great sprays of seawater, graceful figures rose from the surface. Women—elegant yet inhuman—climbed onto the ship, their movements accompanied by the soft, rhythmic sound of coiling tails. One by one they approached the crew, their voices growing louder, holding the men in a dazed stillness.

“Their voices…” Merrick whispered as he watched them sing to the sailors. With growing dread, he saw the entranced men follow the creatures across the deck, drawn toward the rails before being pulled over the side and into the sea.

“Captain!”

The word escaped Merrick in a breathless gasp. A melodic sound rose behind him, warm and inviting. He felt damp hands touch his back and the gentle pressure of scaled coils wrapping around his legs. Turning, he found himself face‑to‑face with a woman whose features were both beautiful and unsettling—eyes green as the deep sea, hair dark as night, and a crown of shimmering scales.

Merrick swallowed hard as she smiled. He knew what awaited him if she drew him to the rails. His heart pounded. Would he vanish like so many others, lost to the depths and remembered only as another shipwreck? A quiet end to a violent legend long dismissed as superstition.

Facing this voluptuous, Valkyrie‑like figure, which harkened to the monstrosities and beauties of old, Merrick felt a deep‑seated dread. He had already stepped forward, pulled by the creature’s beckoning finger and angelic voice. On the deck of the ship around him, filled with the sight of men dragged overboard, the moans and cries of a dozen sailors toppling into the sea were all Merrick could hear. That, and the cackling sound of sirens as they pulled yet another man to his agonizing death.

“By the gods,” he muttered.

In that instant, when he stood no more than a step away from the fatal rails, a sound like thunder cracked across the sky. His senses snapped back to him, and the angelic creature before him coiled away over the rails and into the sea like a writhing snake. Across the deck, all the sailors were gone. Above, in the spotter’s nest, the Spaniard waved, a rifle in his hands. Below, leaning against the ship’s mast in the distance, he saw Captain Ethka.

“My angel,” muttered the captain, staring into space.

“Captain!” Merrick shouted.

Though only recently freed from their spell, Merrick could see the captain had not escaped its lingering delirium.

“Gods, man, what is it? Why do you disturb us?”

Merrick smacked the captain’s cheek. Startled by the blow, the captain woke fully.

“Captain, your ship, your men, your crew are in danger unless we do something.”

“Aye, aye, you’re right.”

“Come, let’s go to your quarters.”

Passing through the wooden doors, they entered the captain’s chamber—a large, ornate room with a bed in the corner and several bottles of drink atop a table before a gaslit lantern.

“These beasts are the devil’s work,” the captain said, sitting at the table and grabbing one of the bottles. “Truly, what manner of god would create such a thing? I’d heard tales of such creatures, as any sailor has, but tales shouldn’t slip into reality. Fifteen years I’ve sailed these seas and not once have I encountered such a thing.”

“To answer your first question, it’d have to be a god well versed in the interests of men.” Merrick sat opposite the captain who, after taking a swig from the bottle, handed it to him. “It would seem it is our lucky day.”

“Lucky, you say?” The captain laughed. “So what are we to do, friend? They outnumber us, most of my men are gone, and I’d not trust a small sailboat in waters infested with hell‑spawn.”

Behind them, the door opened. The Spaniard, panting and wide‑eyed, stood in the doorway.

“Captain!”

The captain waved him inside.

“I owe you my life, Spaniard,” he said, handing him the bottle—but to the captain’s surprise, he did not accept it.

With his thoughts swirling from the events that had transpired, Merrick worked on thinking of a solution. Unlike the many oddities he had faced before—like the headless corpses of the Amazon jungle or the giant alligator of New Orleans—he did not have the advantage of supplies and resources. Where on land or shore the advantage had been his, here these sea creatures were at home. Firing at them would be pointless, save to feed the sea their bullets. Taking the small boat and fighting them off with swords seemed equally fruitless. Then something else came to mind.

“Tell me, Captain,” he said, his eyes brightening with an idea. “How is your stock of oil?”

Both the Spaniard and the captain looked at him in confusion.

“Oil? Why, we have a full—”

The captain’s eyes lit up as he understood Merrick’s plan completely.

“You understand,” Merrick said, smiling.

“Aye—and by the gods, I should have thought of it myself. Merrick, you mad dog, both of you follow me and we’ll set those witches alight and send them straight to hell.”

With Merrick and the Spaniard behind him, the captain led them down a set of spiral stairs lit dimly with lanterns. At the bottom of the steps, they entered a large, dark room filled with all assortments of bottles and crates, separated into aisles.

“Come here,” the captain said, grabbing a lantern and heading down an aisle.

Beyond the hull’s wooden walls, a chorus of feminine laughter slithered into earshot. Along the surface of the ship, which creaked and groaned, the sound of clattering claws grew louder.

“Mierda… are they listening to us?” the Spaniard whispered. “Do you think they know what we’re planning?”

“How many barrels do you have, Captain?” asked Merrick.

“Five. Each with enough oil to burn down a church.”

The captain stopped and lifted his lantern. Under the fire’s glow, five weathered crates sat with the word OIL painted across them.

“God had us bring them here for a reason—”

“Except,” said the Spaniard.

“Except what?” asked the captain.

“They may be part fish, but they’re also part woman—and as such, they’re equal, if not superior, in intelligence and cunning to any man. We need to lure them to their deaths.”

The captain lowered his lantern, and the group drew their weapons. Behind the heaps of crates and bottles, they heard the creak of floorboards and the sound of human steps.

“Captain?” said a frightened voice.

The three men turned and aimed. Before them, with rifle and flintlock barrels pointed at his throat, a young man crouched behind a barrel, staring in horror.

“By the gods, what are you doing here, lad?”

The boy—slim, blue‑eyed, with short black hair—sighed in relief as the men quickly holstered their weapons. With some fumbling and clumsy effort, he got out from behind the crate. He was tall, his lanky build bedecked in grey sailor’s clothes.

“I heard gunfire above and thought hell had been set loose. I was already tasked with gathering barrels for the—”

The boy stopped. The captain, the Spaniard, and Merrick were all looking at him with the same mischievous smile.

“You are right, Spaniard,” Merrick said. “We do need a lure.”

“Why are you all smiling like that?” the boy asked, his voice cracking.

“How old are you, lad?” The captain reached for one of the bottles on the shelves, opened it, and handed it to the boy.

“Eighteen, Captain.”

“And when did you sign on to my ship? Drink first, lad.”

“I signed on in the ports of Bridgetown, Captain. Hadn’t any coin to my name before joining, but I’m hoping to make something of myself for—”

“Fantastic. Now tell me—have you been with a woman?”

“No, sir. Wait—is there a problem?”

“No, lad. But we’ve got a job for you.”

The deck of the ship lay still, undisturbed by the chaos that had occurred hours before. The sun had sunk behind the horizon, replaced by a black ocean of stars and a silver moon. Short waves tugged on the hull of the ship, lapping across its strong wooden frame. Back upon the deck, tied down at the base of the towering mast, a tall and very drunk lad sat.

“Captain!” he yelled, slurring. “Why do you need me down here?”

High above, standing on the frame of the main mast and clinging to ropes, Captain Ethka, Merrick, and the Spaniard waited to spring their plan. Though certainty behind the plan was lacking, Merrick couldn’t help but feel a sense of eager reassurance in its potential. In his mind, the notion that these lust‑driven monsters wouldn’t find the cries of a young, drunken man alluring was hard to believe.

“I’ve lost enough sailors today,” muttered the captain, looking down at the boy. “Let’s not lose this one.”

Merrick understood the captain’s doubt. Despite his earlier excitement for the plan, the reality of losing most of his crew—and the possibility of losing them all—had dawned on him.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Merrick replied. “I don’t intend to.”

Below them, the young man struggled beneath the countless ropes that both prevented his escape and protected him from the claws of the monsters drawn to him.

“Captain! Captain!”

“I’m starting to think we’ve put the lad in great danger,” the captain said. “Given he’s barely touched a woman, let alone courted one, he’ll likely be a mad dog as soon as one of those succubi comes aboard—chewing his way through the ropes.”

“Those are the ropes used on the main mast, aren’t they?”

The captain gave him a grim nod.

“Then don’t fear. Your lad will be safe—so long as we stop them as they arrive.”

“Help—!”

A sharp cry cut their conversation short. Below, surrounded by coiling tails and bare shoulders, the lad cried for help as the sea creatures approached. Merrick, despite being far away, could tell the creatures were confused.

“Captain!” the boy cried.

Merrick turned to the captain, his eyes bright and eager with anticipation.

He squeezed the rope tied to the suspended crates of oil above the monsters. Below, they crawled toward the boy with flailing tails and sinuous laughter. Above, Merrick now felt the weight of the doubt that had gripped the captain, and it did little to steady his resolve. Should the boy be caught in their trap, he too would be burned to a crisp, and Merrick and the captain both would be filled with regret. For Merrick, the fear was sharper. Five years since he’d lost those closest to him; five years of countless struggles, aiding those he could to keep them from similar fates. Now, as before, he would not allow cruel fate to take what man had toiled for—including this boy’s life.

“Now!” he yelled.

Together, the captain and Merrick pulled the ropes, unleashing the oil they had so carefully suspended above their targets. Below, as the crates crashed onto the deck and crushed sirens beneath them, the Spaniard hurled a lantern, setting the oil‑soaked wood ablaze. A symphony of screams filled the air, one by one each siren’s death‑cry sinking into nothing. As the last shriek died out, Merrick turned to the captain and the Spaniard, a smile on his weathered face. Below, dazed and infatuated, the boy was still alive. The circle of fire created by the trap had barely reached his boots.

“Great gods, we did it. But these creatures… what other devils does the world hide from us, I wonder? Women of the sea—what next, creatures of man and horse?”

Merrick looked down, watching the smouldering corpses burn below.

“Who knows? I, for one, would love to find out.”

He looked to the shore which, under the silvery moon and countless stars, shimmered like unexplored gold.

NEW ADVENTURE - COMING SOON