The Redemption

By Howard Rubens

Strangled by fits of madness, Marjaneh fell from royalty to the depths of society. Becoming a slave to the king of Arubara, she lost all hope due to her uncontrolled outrages. No chance for happiness came her way until the one-eyed stranger, Sleuth Tau, arrived. Sleuth and his one-legged brother, Alexander Tau joined the navy to fight off the pirates that killed their father and brother, enslaving their sisters. Among their tactics, they began a massive slave uprising, hoping to defeat the slavers that raided the coasts. Their fame as warriors spread along the pirate coast as they sought to end piracy, but Alexander disagreed with the methods used by his brother in bringing about this end. Do the ends really justify the means, or can the method corrupt the ideal? Argument over this issue eventually destroyed what remained of their family. In exile, Sleuth is recruited by Marjanehs owner to defend his besieged and corrupted city against certain doom. Can Sleuth Tau find redemption in Arubara, or is he lost to the violence of the sea forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 3, 2009
• ISBN: 9781426980473

Howard Rubens

Howard Rubens resides in Pennsylvania with his wife. He enjoys writing short shories and poems. The Redemption is his first published story.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The thin man stood proudly in his library, scanning a sharp, blue eye over his books. He absent-mindedly swept a few wisps of black hair out of his face with a sunburned hand, pausing as some strange, exalted thought passed through his incredibly alert brain, but only for a moment. His jet black moustache fitted snugly on his upper lip, just wide enough to remain within the smile creases between his nose and the corners of his mouth. His smile appeared momentarily as he muttered, Eureka. He wore a bright red suit with a black tie, and it looked like it had been tailor made for his thin, wiry frame. His height extended only three and a half cubits from the ground, yet his small, thin frame held a muscular finesse, telling tales without words of long treks and distant adventures. A ring with a red stone graced his right hand, and a plain gold band graced his left. He appeared to be a physical masterpiece, yet as he turned his head, his missing left eye marred the picture. A black patch covered the empty socket making him appear roguish and daring. The other eye drew all the more attention for it shone forth with an incredible shade of blue.

The library smelled fresh and new, from much use and frequent visitors. The shelves stood three times the height of a man, and a ladder with wheels presented itself as a tool for reaching the books above. The ceiling gleamed with emerald and ruby settings, as if to announce that this room was maintained by luxury and fashion. Yet the books in this particular library contained odd text. Some were written in a tongue understandable to the ordinary reader. Others contained the words of dead civilizations, of philosophers long gone. What truly caught the attention of the average visitors were the titles. One proclaimed that it was a manual for banshee hunting. Another was titled, The Elves and How to Fight Them. Numerous other foreign works filled the shelves, such as Parodies for Pirates and The Gate to Alameon. A large, red volume had a shelf entirely to itself, titled, Professor Bloodcurdle’s Vampire Dictionary.

What the average visitor would have failed to notice was the chair. It seemed like a very unimportant object in a room so full of interest, but it had its place as perhaps the most important object in the room. Many sofas and divans stood scattered about the place, but the chair gave an air of the greatest importance. It was made of cold steel, yet its appearance overflowed with grace and beauty. Red velvet cushions adorned the black frame, and the chair was curved as if it were designed to fit some particular person. From this point onward, the chair was simply strange, because manacles and straps had been welded to the arms and legs of the chair to imprison whoever it was that sat there at various times. No tools of torture or destructive objects were nearby, so the chair must have been made only for imprisonment or the restraint of some poor, deranged wretch.

Many wild and extravagant tales weave their way around this man, this chair, and this room.

Some Say that a horrible screaming could be heard echoing from this room. The entire courtyard reverberates with the nerve-breaking sounds of torment. This is not nearly so strange as the whispered rumor that this man could be heard at the same time as this screeching horror. His voice is always calm and even, as if he were reading bedside tales to an invalid. What type of hideous person could calmly use such tones when another soul cried out for mercy beside him? What a heartless beast he must be to drive an innocent mind to the brink of self-annihilation as he calmly sat in the same room!

The local townsfolk say that he once was a terrible warrior, completely without mercy toward his foes. He used to stir up the most common sort of peasants to turn upon the nobility, rending entire kingdoms to pieces. It is a well-known fact that he took responsibility for the bloodshed of Umplatz and Siftvattle. He even commandeered the slave ship Prodigal and slew the commanding officers, renaming the ship as he saw fit.

In other lands they claim that he was a peasant. He was nothing at all estimable, and became a bloodthirsty killer. In the lands of the Eastern Republic they further claim that he betrayed his country in a most foul and indecent manner. It is a matter of public record that he disappeared on the very day the guards came to arrest him. He had beaten the enemies of the Republic only to steal power for himself. The Republic even took pity on their enemies because of this man. The conquered mourns, the conqueror is undone.

In the Wart Isles, they say he is the phantom spirit of a vengeful corsair, betrayed by the capital city of Uertoga. In life, he rose to magnificent power, burning the palaces of the aristocracy destroying islands with a single command, bitter and without mercy, striking at the weakest of the islands. No one escaped his wrath, so he seeks to continue the trend from beyond the grave, haunting the seas, searching for victims to raid.

Here, in the desert lands, they tell their children stories of him at night. He rose up out of the desert sands like a storm. No one knows from whence he came or where he will go when he is finished here. He is like the wind on horseback, swift and furious. Mercenaries tremble at his approach, and kings fear his coming. He is an enigma, a puzzle of impossible solution. He turns princes into servants and slaves into the noblest of kings. He is changing everything all of the time, and the world will remember him; passing by the growing city of Tek, they will say, That is the great city rebuilt by the one-eyed ruler of the sands. He is more of a story than flesh and blood to them. For it seems impossible for one man to fulfill all of these tales about him.

I tell you that the truth is wilder than the tales. I know, because I observed the thin man myself. I am well acquainted with the circumstances surrounding the chair, and I am thoroughly knowledgeable with the strange collection of books. Most of them have so far been found to be false, but a few of them, including this one, are verified. In a way, this is not the story of the thin, one-eyed man in the library but rather my own story. I know why he lost the eye, why he owned the chair, why he collected the books, and why screams could be heard echoing out of this room in the dark hours of the night. I also know why he muttered, Eureka.

Chapter 2

The sharp, toothy rocks looked wet, if such an insignificant word as wet could be applied to such a pervasive meaning. Wave after wave of saline sea churned and beat upon the jagged cliffs, never changing the wicked grin of the land. This war raged eternally. The sea always attacked, but the land always remained. It was as if some ancient law fell by the wayside in the life of the land. Now the sea would punish the solid mass with unending floggings, yet the rocks broke only a little over the thousands of years they had been in torment.

Blazing with some strange breed of vicious tenacity, a lighthouse stood upon the land, sure of its foundation. The red tower illuminated the boiling cauldron of mermaids and whales. The rubble around this great tower spoke of wars and plagues without number, yet a bright flame at its pinnacle was a reminder that someone had remained victorious in defending it. A little behind it, a mansion waited for its master. It squatted in luxurious splendor, waiting in defiance of the sea for the final clash to come.

On the veranda, behind the colonnade, a boy sat reading amid silk cushions and satin hammocks. The wind from an approaching storm swept over his unkempt and cave-dark hair. A breeze blew sea-salt into his nostrils, but it stirred him little. The smell had always been there. In fact, the entire coast murmured in his ear like some familiar friend. It comforted him, and it advised him in his daily life. After all, it spoke to him before he was born, and it would sing a requiem for him when at last his cold body was cast into its depths at his funeral. Yes, it seemed to say, You belong to me. I will outlive your splintered dreams. I will outlast your ambitions. I will be your life, and perhaps even your death.

But the boy only looked out upon the waves for any sign of a sail. Despite the insistence of the sea, his father was still more important. His father, in the boy’s mind, had conquered the sea. He lived as a corsair, a legend, and a hero. After all, had not his father accumulated vast wealth? Had he not stormed the palaces of kings? He traveled on journeys to distant lands. His sword gleamed red from the lives of many soldiers and sailors. His life must truly be legendary. Of course, the boy could only imagine this in his mind. He had never been far from the light of the tower. The books his father had brought home were his friends, and only a few servants or slaves were brought home. The boy unquestionably accepted his father’s word that all had been rightfully taken in a battle with a tyrannical king of this island or that island. They were usually sold or mercifully removed to the other side of the bay by his father only a day or so after arriving, so he had no real opportunity to know how these battles went except what his father told him. What father would lie to his son?

A deep voice muttered out of the darkness, "Have you been waiting long, lad? I anchored the Scab on the other side of the bay, so you would not have seen my sail." The boy looked up with excitement and a little fear.

Rick’s opulent attire revealed his inner soul, or so Sleuth thought. Sleuth’s father had a lavender jacket which hung from his fatty shoulders to his flabby knees. He never could button it around his middle. The jacket had real gold woven into the hems and around the buttonholes in a flowery yet twisted manner. Rick’s beard of jet fell like a hairy nightmare to his navel. In order for some family resemblance to exist, it seemed that some of it had been cut and transplanted onto his son’s head. His sunburned face twitched with an animal ferocity, emphasizing the slices and scars across his sea-worn face, and beneath his battered lips, six golden teeth gleamed like canaries on a single branch.

His hands clasped one another around his fat belly. Well, lad I suppose you have cabin fever while I’m away at sea?"

Sleuth nodded.

Then we shall go a-sailing. I’ll teach you the tricks of the old trade; after all, a pirate’s life is the life for you. No son of mine will grow up to be a banker or a preacher or such scum. I’ll make your hand redder than mine has ever been or to the bottom of a shark’s gullet ye go! Sleuth’s eyes flickered in bright blue delight as he thought of following his behemoth father to the distant seas. As for Rick, he fidgeted with his seven diamond rings while he wondered where to raid. I hit the town of Innisfare eight moons back, so I think they’ll have little to show in the way of gold. Perhaps they may have…ha…living valuables! The mayor is dead, but it was his own fault. He refused to hand over his two daughters for sale. He wanted a fight, so I obliged him

The boy’s eyes widened in alarm, Was he a wicked man father?

Young boys have a curiosity that cannot be quenched. If you intend to corrupt a boy and make him into your puppet, it is best to fill him with evil before he learns to read. If he learns to read, it is best to give him only evil books. Rick spent too little time at home to properly instruct his son after his own deceitful heart.

Sleuth asked again, Was he evil father? What did he do?

He was as wicked as your mother, and I sent his corpse to the same fish I sent hers.

Were his daughters wanted for some crime?

Aye son, they were…yes…wanted. The scent of hell was on Rick’s soul, and no one seemed to notice. If heaven noticed, it did nothing…yet.

Sleuth stared down at his father’s satin boots, trying to remember his mother. The sea was to him like a friendly enemy, always waiting for his destruction. Surely his own father would never lie to him. He looked upon his father like a titan out of the chaotic seas, someone to rule with order and justice in his chaotic little life. He ignored the little tug at his heart that often told him, This is truth; that is falsehood. Do this; avoid that. In short, he was like most boys who struggle with their conscience deep inside. He could barely remember his mother, but what good was she anyway? She was dead. Rick guessed at the object of Sleuth’s meditation and cast his eyes around for a distraction.

"Here son, look at this sword. I slew the captain of the Spouter for this, and a wealthy fellow he was too."

Where does all the money go to that you steal father? Do you give it to the poor? This was yet another snag in his conscience. His assumption had always been that the wrath his father poured out on the landsmen and merchants was justified by giving alms to the poor, but little wealth ever left his father’s house without returning in plenty.

Well…aye, to poor folk lad…aye, to poor folk. Rick smiled his golden smile and flopped down into a silken couch dyed scarlet. He reached under his beard and straightened the cravat that no one knew was there. A gold piece fell out of his overflowing pocket onto the couch. The boy’s heart gave a wrenching jerk, but this dance of lies was all familiar now. It had happened before.

Will I need to pack for my journey, father?

Nay lad, for we corsairs live off the land. The shining smile glinted into view again. I say the land, but I also mean the sea. Thoughts of wealthy merchant ships sailed through Rick’s skull. His blue eyes stared up at the ceiling as if they were buried in loot already, or perhaps the waves had prematurely washed over his dead corpse with his soul so long absent. "I say we ask the crew where we shall loot. After all, I do love democracy. Come lad we’ll eat aboard the Scab."

The boy walked with his father down the sandy trail as the sea wooed the lad like some forlorn lover. It cried out to him and blew him salty kisses every time the waves crashed against the rocks. The beating of the waves did not resound as much as the pulse of blood in his heart. He knew some revelation awaited tonight. Perhaps he long feared, but could not admit, that some darkness dwelt in his human hero. He looked at his father and shrugged the thought away.

The bay was really more of a cove; it was a pool of deep seawater connected to the ocean itself by a narrow neck of water. This neck would disappear at low tide, so the pirates jokingly referred to the place as Guillotine Bay. No one remembered what the real name of the cove had been, so the new name was the one they always used. As they followed the shoreline around the bay, they passed some white rocks on the farther side. Sleuth had hardly ever seen this side of the bay, so he looked at every detail as they passed. Rick strolled toward the ship unaware of the peculiar rocks. One of the rocks had teeth and eyeholes. A pile of ribs was strewn amidst the rocks. Sleuth remembered the slaves. The ones who went over here were always the old ones, especially the women who were too weak for anything but death. The fear of many awful, bony faces and hands crept into him, but soon they passed the dying grounds for old slaves. He continued to walk beside a man he not only ceased to admire but also whom he began to loathe.

A pier of wave-worn planks led out to a rowboat, and Rick rowed Sleuth out to the Scab in this teacup of a craft. Ropes were lowered, and before Sleuth could dream himself into the world of adventure he was there.

The ship was like a flea-covered mutt. The corsairs were all drinking and gambling here or there on the deck. Women of the most lewd description lounged among pillows or cots as Sleuth followed his father down below decks until the savory smell of chowder hit his nose. A gravelly voice chuckled, Ha! Ha! Well, if it isn’t the picture of the captain himself? The boy looks just like your honor! If a fat man could have a hard, flinty face, this man had one. He was bald and red-nosed sitting in a squat chair cooking in an iron pot over a red-hot iron stove. His stony countenance barely twitched as he spoke, and even his smile seemed as if it took the forge to make. Lad, I’m Smokey, the ship’s slop-chuck. Ha! Slop-chuck says I! Ha!

Sleuth didn’t think that the smell could possibly resemble slop, but he held his tongue. The lad is here to learn the trade. Rick nudged Smokey, Ask the men where we ought to raid tonight, I want a good haul before dawn, and we have no time to waste.

Aye! Smokey hefted himself out of his thimble of a chair and waddled his overgrown buttocks through a door half his size.

Smokey has had a bit too much from the larder, but it cannot be helped if the rascal does his job. Well, lad let’s introduce you to the crew. Sleuth followed his father backup on deck, observing the authority Rick held over his crew.

A few tattooed, one-eyed, mangled devils were gathered around Smokey, and they all nodded and jabbered together in a ceaseless croak. Seagulls whirled overhead, and they had an equally virtuous conversation. Smokey, the independent bird, waddled out of the group toward the captain. He was a duck mediating between the carrion eaters and the bird of prey.

Well, it seems they have inklings to hit Innisfare. It isn’t far, and the men think there may be a bit of silks and pearls left there. The pearls of Innisfare fetch a fine price these days.

So be it. I had hoped for a finer fetch, but if such is the crew’s desire, I shall burn the town down to find those pearls.

The birds whirled off to their perches and the hawk took the helm. To Innisfare they would fly over the waves and churning seas. A roll of thunder groaned overhead, as if the air was not always safe for even these foul weather birds.

Swiftly the Scab passed out of Guillotine Bay, and the lightning lit the way. Smokey hustled over to Rick and muttered, Sir, we ought not to be a-sailing out when such a gale is brewing. I said nothing of it in front of the crew, for I would not gainsay your honor. Still, we just patched up the ship-

Not another word, Smokey. I know my ship. Besides, I want to have a haul before morning. The land merchants will want to buy from me tomorrow. I must have goods to sell.

Aye, sir. There is another matter to mention, and that is the boy yonder. The gutter folk may arm someday, and what if he is harmed in the fray?

Sons are gotten easily. Pay him no mind. Many a maid on these coasts has born me children, but I know little of them.

Aye, sir. A spark of heated fire twisted down in a jagged strand of light to mark this bit of debate as settled. The captain wanted his way, but perhaps the sea wanted hers too.

Swiftly the coast passed by as the powerful winds of storm thrust the ship onward. As Sleuth looked over the side-rail, a town came into view. It was not very big, but it was big enough to hide the wicked villains his father would rob. Surely they deserved the punishment about to be rained down upon them didn’t they? Before Sleuth could process this thought, a bolt of splintered light crashed down close to the ship. Winds kicked up around it, and the waves began to churn.

Father, his tiny voice shouted above the wind, Should we not warn some of the innocent people of our attack?

The hawk cried out, There are no innocent people, lad. Some naked demon had taken his father’s soul, and he felt his blood churn backward at the thought.

With a shock of noise, six flaming cannons blazed death down upon the sleeping village. The thunder responded with its own voice, as if the heavens themselves declared war. Yes, for tonight would be the beginning of the Corsair’s sorrow, though they themselves knew it not. A shooting star lit the sky as another volley fell upon the burning houses. Beware all ye who war upon the innocent, for heaven watches you. Heaven sees your evil, even at night. All the stars and clouds will be witnesses, and those who perish at your hands will cry out for vengeance. Heaven will hear. Another blast of cannons snuffed out the lives of innocent men.

Small, quick boats were lowered from the starboard side completely loaded with raiders. They rowed with drawn swords and wicked eyes. Sleuth could see people running along the shoreline like ants fleeing from a wrecked nest. Hither and thither they went, often meeting death on the way.

Lad, snarled Rick, It is time for you to prove your mettle. He shoved a sword into Sleuth’s small hand, I remember my first fight, and it was far less bloody than this one. We shall slay every hag and pig of Innisfare.

A cold and chilling fear ripped at the soul hidden in the boy, for he was not at heart like his father. He could still feel his conscience. It was no longer simply tugging at his heart. It raged. Nausea whipped through his being; not just his body, but his spirit revolted at the thought of acting in such villainy. His brow wrinkled up. Rick detected a resistance like the boy’s mother had once shown him. The wind roared so boisterously that they drowned out the rumble of the guns, so Sleuth shouted with all his might, I shall not do it; this is not good! He threw the sword at his father’s feet upon the heaving deck.

WHAT?!!! Defiance? I have many mistresses, boy! And many young they birth into the world on my behalf. You are but one. Say what you will about my ways, you will learn them and serve me when you become a man. This is only your first chance to prove yourself! If you do not, you are no son of mine!

Emotion surged like the sea inside the boy, and he became resolute. He shook his head as the wind screamed around him, I WILL NOT! I THOUGHT YOU DID THIS TO WICKED MEN! WHAT HAVE THESE MEN DONE? I WILL NOT RAISE A BLADE AGAINST THEM! A fierce and terrible light glowed in the boy’s eye, and Rick’s heart froze for an instant with a nameless fear.

Recovering, he barked, Then away with you, mutt, to share your mother’s grave. With one swift motion of his arm, Rick hurled the boy to the waves and laughed as Sleuth fell down into the murky depths. The boy screamed only for a moment before the shock of cold water silenced him. He felt water filling his lungs and struggled in the stormy current. A smashing blow to his head put everything into darkness for a moment.

Sleuth awoke as the sun rose behind the foaming crests of water while his limp body rested in the gritty sands of the beach. He felt alone, for he saw no ship out upon the morning waves. All seemed calm, but the carrion birds circling overhead reminded him that humanity was nearby in misery. An infant bawled like a dying dog. Women were gathering their children outside the burned and smoking ruins of Innisfare.

He stood shivering and cold from sea breezes and stumbled into the town. Villagers gathered together whatever remained, preparing to continue their weary existence on the rocky coast. A fisherman inspected what remained of his boat. A cannonball had left the small craft nothing of itself, for the keel had been splintered.

Sleuth looked upon the brave souls who remained alive and ready to labor once again. He turned to the sea and scowled, yet a fear flickered for a moment on his face. He tried to turn his back on the empty sea, but it still pounded the land.

Even as he walked inland, he could hear it saying, You are mine. You are mine. You are mine.

Chapter 3

It was sunny that day. The wind blew the pungent odor of old kelp onto the beach as the carpenters sat eating.

Well, Phillip, said the tallest of the carpenters in a weary voice, I don’t think they will be back for quite some time. They rarely hit the same town more than once per year, and I think that we can survive quite well if we keep hiding our pearls under the floorboards of the old smokehouse by your house.

Aye, that’s easy for you to say, Earl, but what about my family? Aren’t I at risk more than the rest of you? Why can we not keep the pearls somewhere else? I lost one of my young ones two years ago to a raid. His lip trembled a little with the memory.

Look if you are really uncomfortable, a fat, balding blonde interrupted, we could always keep the pearls at my place. I have the perfect place in my basement. He then proceeded to stuff a buttered roll into his mouth, but it would hardly fit. It kept sticking out of his mouth as he chewed.

Phillip grimaced and pulled his hat down over his eyes, No, Sam, we will not leave the pearls with you. The last time we did that, almost a quarter of them disappeared before we counted them again.

Earl chewed thoughtfully on a piece of fruit, How about Simon?

Phillip and Sam looked at Earl with surprise.

What?

Phillip cleared his throat, wiping soot from his face as he did so, The man is trustworthy. He is trustier than some I could name. He gave a sidelong glance at Sam.

Very well, Sam brushed crumbs off of his belly and threw a half-eaten sandwich on the ground, Let’s ask him.

Earl fidgeted with his foot in the sand, I think Phillip should ask Simon instead of the two of us. We may be his neighbors, but we are not on the best of terms with him.

You two are cowards. Phillip growled, Very well, you chicken-hearted fools, I shall talk to him about risking his family to hide our pearls, his voice broke and tears began to spring to his eyes as he looked over the smoking ruins of what had been his home, but I will offer him the best of all we have for the privilege. Agreed?

The other two nodded their heads curtly in tacit agreement.

You two need to get back to work. I am not putting a roof on a building without a frame. With that said, Earl and Sam began to trudge toward a broken stone structure that would one day have a thatched roof. Phillip began walking down the beach, not noticing a small boy coming up to the place where they were eating. He was eating the leavings of Earl and Sam. Propitiously, Simon the fisherman and his wife were spreading their nets on the beach and looking for holes as Phillip approached. Phillip greeted Simon, and the two of them talked of the weather and the waves for a time. Finally, Simon turned to his wife and said, Have you seen that boy before?

His wife said, Is it one of the Sloth boys? Perhaps he is Madame Thatcher’s nephew? Phillip, is he one of your boys?

Simon laughed, I do not think so, my love. Phillip Smith’s son would have no reason to eat the rubbish of other men. You there, boy! Come here! I will get you some food. Do you like fish?

The boy nodded.

Come with us, and we will feed you.

The boy followed them, but at a distance.

In Simon’s house,