The Water Tiger

By Laura Nelson

Pirates, magic, witches, and romance in the Caribbean of 1720 come together to create a compelling tale of Miranda, a young woman coming of age.

The descendant of healers and shapeshifters, but with no powers of her own, Miranda just wants to fit in on her Caribbean island home. When a pirate ship sails into the bay, its captain, Louie Charretier, falls in love with her and asks her to sail away with him.

But when some of the crew come ashore and torture and kill villagers, Miranda must decide between remaiing on her home island or leaving with the pirates.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Postillion LLC
• Release date: Jan 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224193882

Laura Nelson

Ms Nelson lives in the Santa Fe, New Mexico area. Her interest in pirates began while attending the Real Pirates shipwreck exhibit in Denver, Colorado. In addition to writing about pirates, she likes walking, Tai Chi, and cats. 

Book preview

Foreword

There really were raids on Irish coastal towns by the Barbary pirates and the people really were taken away to be slaves. They were bought and sold in markets much like slaves were in the U.S. In general, most of the Irish who were slaves in the Caribbean were Indentured Servants. But this is fantasy, where the author creates a What if? scenario and develops a story from it. The game is to make your scenario plausible. Could a storm have blown a ship off course? Yes, it happened all of the time. The knowledge of how to determine longitude at sea did not really get conquered until the mid-1700s.

Could one of the residents of the Old-World village have gone to sea in the late 1600s? Yes. The British East India, Dutch East India, and other similar global shipping corporations began operations in the early 1600s.

Both songs quoted are original folk songs available as open-source material. The Parting Glass appears in writing as early as 1605. There are written records of John Barleycorn Must Die as far back as 1568. The folk-rock band Traffic used John Barleycorn Must Die as the name of their fourth album in 1970. The song went to number five on the Billboard 200 according to published reports.

The Water Tiger was originally published as a short story in Birdy magazine no. 37 in January of 2017. Some of the inspiration for the story came from Peter Benchley’s novel The Island. There was a movie made from it with Michael Caine and David Warner in 1980, but the book is much better.

Thanks are due to Adam Prince for editing, and Roxanne Remy and Hilary Smith for beta reading. Everyone had valuable insights that helped shape the story.

One

Ever since she could remember, Miranda had lived in her grandmother’s stories. The first was how the villagers had arrived on the island. She told her of the night raid on their village, the terrible journey at sea, the storm, and how the men mutinied and captured the ship and sailed to freedom.

While Miranda loved shivering in fear as Grandma Vonnie told her of the villager’s terror and triumph, her favorite stories were those her grandmother told her about their own family. About, how a distant ancestor had traveled to Goa and brought back the secret of how to shape-shift into the form of a tiger. How somehow only the women of the family could shape-shift, and how those women had used their powers to protect the village, sometimes sacrificing themselves to save the villagers.

Over the centuries, the women of their family had learned the various forms their tiger shape could take, including metal, earth, wood, and fire. So far, three of the forms had been achieved. There was only one remaining: the water tiger. It was the most elusive, and the mightiest. Water could wear down rocks and undermine the most solid fortresses. It is the lifeblood of every living thing on the planet. One tsunami can wipe out a mountainside. And while the other tigers–earth, metal, wood, and fire - had the golden coats of their feline counterparts, the water tiger was different. Its coat appeared clear, like water or glass, with black stripes. Rumors said it was nearly double the size of the others.

Unfortunately, no one in their family had been gifted with the shapeshifting power now for several generations. With the loss of her own grandmother, the village Shaman, Grandma Vonnie was left to teach Miranda the breathing exercises that were basic to shape-shifting as best she could. So far, Miranda didn’t appear to have an aptitude for it. The villager’s gossip was that the gift of shape-shifting had been lost.

Stop it, Mom, Miranda’s mother, Urlene, had snapped at Vonnie a few days after her twelfth birthday. Miranda is almost a young lady now. She needs to get her head out of the clouds and start thinking about practical things, like learning to mix a potion correctly and helping me with the healing or finding herself a man and getting out of my way.

Miranda’s time with Grandma Vonnie grew scarcer. She did as much as she could with her breathing exercises and meditation. She had no one to talk to when she started to have strange visions.

Miranda, her mother, and Grandma Vonnie sat around a plain, round wooden table, chopping vegetables. Vonnie had been born with brown hair almost as golden toned as Miranda’s, but now it was a soft gray with hints of white in it. She still held herself upright when she stood, but her face and hands showed her age. Even her brown eyes had faded to a lighter shade as she aged. Behind them, two cauldrons, one with just water and the other containing water and herbs for a potion, were hanging from tripods in a fire pit. The women so closely resembled each other in appearance that anyone would have recognized them as related. Each wielded her knife expertly, as they worked in silence.

Miranda, put some more wood on the fire, her mother, Urlene, who was seated furthest from the fire pit ordered.

A few months shy of eighteen, golden brown-haired Miranda set down her knife and pushed away from the table. As she quietly stood and went to the woodpile, she heard her mother, Urlene, make a ‘humph’ sound. It caused a tingling sensation in the back of her neck and shoulders she’d had many times before. More than once, she’d turned around fast enough to catch her mother scowling at her. Today she let it go, but her face got hot with embarrassment at what she knew was going on behind her.

Be careful where you put it. You don’t want the water for the potion too hot, Urlene commented as Miranda set the logs on the hearth. Grandma Vonnie shot Urlene a dark look.

Urlene glanced over at her. She’s old enough to know how to manage two pots at one time, but I still have to give her instructions like a child.

Miranda winced as she carefully placed a log between the cauldrons, making sure it was securely in place before walking back to the table. She resumed chopping carrots, letting her knife thump on the table with each cut.

Once Margery’s potion is done, I want you to take it to her. She’ll be running out about now. You can take it to her after dinner.

Sure, Mom.

The cabin was quiet except for the thunk of the women’s knives on the table. Then Miranda felt something soft rub against her legs. She looked down at her long-haired gray cat Silver.

Catching her eye, he meowed back up at her.

I need to go get some meat out of the smoker for Silver.

Go ahead and grab that chicken I put in there yesterday while you’re at it. The water is ready for cooking. We can throw it in with the vegetables.

Miranda nodded and got up. When she returned, Urlene ordered her to get moving and start cutting the chicken. Let me get my cat fed. Miranda protested as she set the bird nearby so she could cut up meat for Silver.

While she worked her knife, she let her mind wander. Instead of sitting at a plain, round table with her mother and grandmother, she saw a man, black-haired, handsome, well-built. They were walking through a wooded area with their arms around each other. She had never felt so relaxed around another person. He listened to what she had to say, and she laughed at his jokes. He had a beautiful smile that made her tingle inside. She saw him taking her hand as they walked past the waterfall at the center of the island. It was mid-day, and they paused. He lifted a hand and caressed her hair.

I love the way the sun brings out the gold in your hair, he said, as his hand lingered on a loose strand. Miranda felt her body grow weak as he leaned forward and gently kissed her. She was enjoying the sensation of his lips on her when a great crash jerked her abruptly back into her surroundings. Urlene had slammed her hand down on the table almost directly in front of her. Miranda looked around, still in a daze. When she had first sat down, it had been late afternoon–the sun had been casting long shadows across the floor of the cabin. Now those were gone. It was almost completely dark outside.

Miranda!

Urlene’s voice made her jerk with fright, and she dropped her knife. She brought her hand down on the handle to stop it from falling on the floor. Then she sniffed. Turning in her chair, she saw that during her daydream, the water in the cauldron of herbs on the hearth had dried out. The cabin was filling with black smoke and the nauseating smell of burning herbs. Urlene and Vonnie had been outside folding laundry, thinking she was taking care of the potion. Instead, she’d been caught daydreaming. Urlene had looked up and seen the smoke.

What’s the matter with you, girl? Now, look at what you’ve done! You let the potion burn down too far! She screeched as she tried to stir the gelatinous ooze the potion had become. It’s useless now! You’ve been brewing potions since you were a girl. Why do I have to keep telling you these things? Urlene tried to stir the potion one more time, then let it plop back into the cauldron.

Miranda shook her head a bit, trying to bring herself back to reality. Her face grew hot as she got up from her chair and rushed to the cauldron with the potion in it. Grabbing some rags, she lifted the cauldron off its tripod, then took it out back to rinse it out with water from the pump. Behind her, she heard her mother sigh with exasperation.

Ridiculous child! Can’t do anything right! Miranda didn’t stand around to listen to the rest of what was said. She’d heard it all before. When she returned to the cabin, she set the empty cauldron down by the fire pit and went to the table to get the chicken and vegetables for the boiling water.

Two

In the dark, with nothing but moonlight to guide them, the men on the Renomee were happy to see what appeared to be a break in the rocks along the shoreline of the solitary island they’d come upon.

They were in the midst of plundering a captured vessel. They found forty barrels of Madeira in her hold. One by one, they eagerly carried them from the hold. They were heavy, but that was nothing for the young seamen. They were too preoccupied with thoughts of partaking of the contents to worry about something as trivial as weight. A jolly boat from their consort sip arrived, and they loaded a few of the barrels onto it. Both ships would enjoy the day’s bounty.

When the last five barrels were removed, they discovered a locked sea chest. Eager to find out what was inside, their Quartermaster DeLorme sent one of them scrambling to find an ax to break it open. It was his responsibility to inventory whatever they took from their prizes to prevent theft. The blows of the ax on the metal lock reverberated through the hold. When the lock broke, DeLorme took charge of removing it and opening the chest.

Inside were several hemp bags, which he opened one at a time. He found two packed full of coins, each bag containing more than enough gold and silver reales to allow every man in the crew to retire in luxury.

He opened another one to reveal gems of multiple colors and cuts.

DeLorme had some working knowledge of gemology, and immediately picked out rubies and emeralds, but they would need to find an expert in the field to give them a true evaluation of the stones.

Some men grumbled about wanting to divide them up on the spot, but DeLorme quickly spoke up and reminded them that he would divide the treasure into equal shares when they reached a friendly port. The fourth bag revealed gold and silver chains and jewelry, along with more coins. While the chest was being carried down yet another ladder into the hold of the Renomee, the lookout in the crow’s nest shouted out a warning that he’d spotted the sail of an approaching ship.

Only a few minutes later, the lookout announced that it was a ship of the line. Shouting and cursing, the men hastened to remove the grappling hooks attaching their vessel to their captive. Men raced into the shrouds to loosen Renomee’s sails so she could catch the breeze and attempt to escape.

The ensuing chase had lasted several hours, the man of war sailing in their wake, trying to come up to them. She fired several shots from her swivel guns, but the shots missed the ship, landing just close enough to splash water onto the Renomee’s deck. Her captain, Louie Charretier, was not known as one of the finest pirate captains in the Caribbean for nothing: with skilled adjustments, carried out by his well-trained crew, the Renomee out sailed her pursuer. With his long black hair pulled back in a sailor’s queue, his lean, muscular body, weather-tanned skin, and a height nearly a head taller than many men, Louie stood out among his unwashed, slovenly crew mates. As the evening wore on, Louie took advantage of the darkness and the knowledge of several of his men who were intimately acquainted with the location of islands and coves to make their escape.

After ordering all lights be extinguished, Louie then had the helmsman quietly steer them away from their pursuer, hoping to lose her in the dark. He made the men quietly make their way down into the hold to avoid someone making an untimely noise or lighting a match, giving them away in the darkness. Louie ordered silence until daybreak. One man tried to protest, until DeLorme grabbed him, bent one of his arms behind his back, and marched him down the ladder.

It was plain bad luck the next day when at mid-morning, they crossed paths with the man of war again. They turned at the first sign of sail, but the battleships’ lookouts were good. The Renomee had been seen.

Cursing their bad luck, Louie again sent men scrambling into the shrouds, adjusting sails and yardarms to coax maximum speed out of the Renomee. The day wore on. The man of war’s pursuit was relentless, even with a fog descending on the water, an ominous portent that a storm was approaching. Seeing the outlines of an unfamiliar island, Louie chanced approaching it, hoping there weren’t too many rocks or shoals jutting out from it and waiting to break their keel in the encroaching dark. They found their way into a cove. Louie again ordered silence and lights out. As full darkness fell, the storm came on, lashing the hull with furious winds and rain in spite of the relative protection of the cove.

The only reason the crew knew dawn had come was the watchman turning the sand clock and ringing the bell to give the time. Slowly, the men emerged into a misty world. No one seemed to know exactly where they were. There was nothing familiar about the cove or the island. The water turned light blue where the sand lifted out of it. The beach appeared deserted. Beyond it, a rich growth of bushes and flowers led to a thick forest of trees.

Louie had the men go ashore in the boats and cook a hot breakfast. Afterward, they could take some time and search for fresh water and any edibles that might be around. He felt sure that once they left the cove and

were back out on the open ocean, they would see familiar land formations, giving them an idea of their location. In the meantime, they’d take advantage of any bounty their hiding place might have to provide. When the sun reached noon, he’d get a reading and be able to calculate their position. Yesterday’s reading had been hasty, the necessity of outrunning the battleship a second time taking priority.

The island was peaceful. Except for a strange, small whistling sound. Which kept repeating. What is that? someone asked.

Don’t know, was the reply. The men listened to the whistling sounds, along with an occasional rustle of branches.

It’s coming from the trees.

The men looked but couldn’t see anything. There was also the occasional splash of fish from the cove, but that seemed to be it. Behind them, Louie stood near the helm, listening to the whistling noises, and looking into the trees the same as they were.

We must be on the opposite side of any settlements, the voice of his helmsman came from behind him.

Louie turned to see the stocky, medium-sized man with an indeterminate number of days of stubble on his face.

If there are any, Cillian, he replied and turned back to gaze into the cove again. With so much bad luck the last couple of days, it might be to our advantage if there aren’t.

Cillian humphed without turning back to look at him.

You’re upset by the loss of our consort ship.

Louie sighed as DeLorme walked up next to him. He had just come up from the hold. It was a great advantage for pirates to sail in company with multiple vessels–it aided in spotting potential victims and allowed them to take larger prizes. Merchants surrendered faster when they realized they were being attacked by more than one vessel. DeLorme had been below, securing the remains of the plunder they’d taken from their prize before they’d been interrupted.

Let’s hope they got away, too. Perhaps we’ll meet up with them. Many of our men had good friends on board her.

Louie nodded his head. To the East, the first rays of the sun were appearing on the horizon. A few of the men had made their way to shore, where they were collecting driftwood for a fire.

I hope you’re right. He paused and looked around the deck at the men making their way back up top after a night of being crowded below in the dark. Meanwhile, we must re-provision as much as we can. Right now, survival is paramount.

They joined the crew on the beach for breakfast: some salt pork from their own supplies, eggs commandeered from their last capture, and some greens gathered from the edges of the forest. The men ate hungrily–their food supply was running low when they’d found that last ship. They’d been on quarter rations for several days.

Strange, one of the men said as he chewed on a hunk of salt pork and gazed out over the cove. That mist, it’s still there. I thought the storm had passed.

A few men turned to look. When they saw that the mist was, indeed, still hanging in the air and blocking their view of anything past the cove, they turned their bodies around to look.

I don’t feel the wind anymore, either, another man commented.

We’re protected in here, one man spoke up, and the others turned to face him. Could be the storm is still blowing itself out beyond us. I say we give it another day, and the sky’ll be clear.

The men mumbled, then slowly returned to the last few bites of their meals. The low voices of two men seated at the far end of the group were barely discernible.

You think anyone knows where we are?

No, replied his companion, But Cap’n Louie’s gotten us out of worse trouble’n this. He’ll figure it out.

The other man nodded, and the two finished eating.

Gradually, men began getting up from their driftwood and rock perches and tossed the leavings of their meals into the campfire. Some men wandered to the water’s edge and rinsed off their plates and utensils. Others didn’t bother.

A detail was formed around some barrels and preparations were made to carry one or two along in a search for fresh water. Others simply gathered in small groups on the beach to wait out the last of what they hoped was just the effect of the storm. Although when they talked among themselves, they admitted, none of them had ever seen such a thick mist.

Three

Back in the village , Miranda woke as the sun stated poking through the cabin windows. She felt a sudden desire to take a walk through the lush green forest rich with the scent of pine that began only a few hundred feet beyond the cabin. Here and there, she brushed her hands over the bushes, knocking off the morning dew just for fun. At this time of morning, she was alone with the fresh scent and green trees. The night animals were retreating to their homes. Those that preferred daylight were just starting their day.

The roar of the waterfalls told her she was about a mile from the cabin. A couple of hundred more feet and she stood where three branches of the river merged into one through a series of drops that created a rapid, roaring current.

This was the only place on the island that held no negative memories for Miranda. This was where she came when she wanted to escape the haranguing of her mother and the laughter of the villagers. It was also cooler than the main part of the island, where the village was. She loosened her clothes a bit to enjoy some relief from the stale air of the cabin.

Sometime in the past, a small tree had collapsed across the river. Now its trunk made a narrow bridge for small animals such as mongoose, hares, and lizards, who were brave enough to walk along its length, kept continually wet and mossy by the spray from the rushing water.

A few more feet and she was across from the conjunction of the three tributaries. The roar of the rapids drowned out all other sounds. Just before the land dropped sharply towards the water, there were a couple of rocks that were large enough to serve as stumps. Here she elected to dawdle awhile, content to sit and watch the water as it tumbled over the falls. If she took a couple more steps towards the river, she would probably slide right in since the rest of the riverbank was perpetually muddy and slick. At least for humans, anyway.

There was some sun, but mostly it was shaded over by the trees. It made a cool spot to stop and rest and reflect. Settling herself on her rock stump, Miranda rested her hands across her lap and closed her eyes. She began taking deep, calming breaths. Or what was supposed to be calming breaths. As usual, she found that trying to relax only opened her up to every distracting noise or movement around her. Instead of achieving no mind, she found herself in a state of irritation, her mind reviewing every insult from her mother, every mistake and fumble. Over and over, she saw herself trying and failing to live up to the expectations of her family heritage.

Finally, she opened her eyes and gave up on the breathing exercise, opting instead to just sit and listen to the sound of the rapids. She felt her body almost relax, only to tense up again when her thoughts began jumping from one incident to another, her mother’s harsh words echoing in her head, reminding her in sequence of each of her failures.

The idea of the exercise was to achieve relaxation by reaching what was called one mind, a state of blissful harmony where the concerns and travails of the world were set aside for a time. Her inability to shut her mind down and relax today was going to be one more thing to add to her list of failures.

Yet, sometimes while here, Miranda swore she could feel the spirits of her ancestors moving about her. A couple of times, she had been sure she’d heard them whispering to her. Following a lead one of them had whispered to her, she’d found a grove of breadfruit trees. Now she had a source of fresh fruit every spring. She’d decided that if it wasn’t her ancestors she was hearing, it was definitely a benevolent voice of some sort. Miranda sat in the stillness a bit longer, savoring the solitude. She could still see the face of the black-haired man from her dream. She