You’re leaving again for one of your adventures. I recognize the longing for the sea in your eye. I always know when you’re about to set out.

  Captain Rodgers’ only good eye squinted immediately upon trying to open it. He was in that delicate transition from deep sleep to wide awake. He processed the warmth of the sun on his face and the soft sand that held his body. He recognized the stillness of the earth and realized that he wasn’t on his ship. Just then, the flustered voices of his crew jolted him into full sober wokeness. He forced his eye open and jolted his body forward so that he was sitting up. His eye was still adjusting to the light as he noticed the sound of crashing waves on the beach. The soft ache in his heart was almost faded into an apathetic beat. She had visited him again.

  “Ay, the captains awake. The captains awake,” yelled a crew mate in the background. Rodgers recognized it. It was Buddy Flynn, a kid they recently picked up several stops back.

  “Captain,” yelled Buddy running up. “How do ya feel?”

  “Ay, I’m okay Bud,” said Rodgers rubbing his bad eye. He felt the soft fabric of a foreign patch that didn’t belong to him. “What happened to me patch?”

  “It must’ve been lost to the sea, cap,” said Buddy. “We found you on the shore without it.”

  “Captain!” yelled more crew mates from behind. Rodgers heard them panting as they ran to his side. He already knew the voice and the rhythm of the galloping strut. Blacktooth Kenny, the ship’s doctor.

  “What’s all this mess about then?” asked Rodgers, getting to his feet.

  “Careful, captain,” said Kenny arriving at the scene. “Your bad leg is hurt. You need to rest it.” He leaned in to help the captain lay back down.

  “Oh, come off it,” yelled the captain, shoving Kenny off of him. “If it’s not me bad leg, then it’s me bad eye, or me bad back, or me bad drinking problem. Just leave it and let me live with whatever’s left right.” The captain stood straight, and he felt the immediate sting of pain ran from his left leg, all the way up to his hip. This made a shockwave of pain run through his whole body. He grunted and adjusted his stance to favor his right leg. “Ay, every man dies in the end. What matters only is if we live with dignity to the last breath.” Rodgers finally glanced around the beach. He saw his ship in pieces across the sand. Men were salvaging what they could. They had already set up a makeshift camp and were organizing what they could from the wreckage.

  The words of the young witch they encountered weeks ago haunted him. “Ye dare not sale to Burning Heart Isle, lest ye pay the toll ye can’t afford,” she had said. Rodgers had laughed it off as the ramblings of a crazy person. They had obtained the map to Burning Heart Isle from an old merchant at the port. All he wanted was a meal. He had sworn the journey off as a fool’s errand. A curse upon the greedy. Rodgers thought that maybe there was something to all the ramblings. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. And then another voice ran through his mind. Her voice.

  We’ve enough gold for seven lifetimes. You’ve cheated death more times than the years most men have to live. When will it finally be enough?

  Rodgers often wondered what he’d give to hear that voice with his ears again.

  “Did we lose any men?” he asked, preparing for the worst.

  “Not yet, captain,” said Kenny.

  Rodgers began walking toward the wreckage. He adjusted his strut to compensate for his leg, causing a strong yet dignified limp. “What’s that mean, ‘not yet?’” he asked. Kenny and Buddy followed behind him.

  “We’re still looking for everyone,” started Buddy. “We haven’t accounted for them all yet, but no confirmed dead at least.”

  “And those who are accounted for,” said Rodgers. “What of them? Is anyone hurt?”

  “No, captain,” said Kenny. “Nothing but a few scrapes and bruises. Your condition is actually the worst of the lot.”

  “Well, aren’t I the lucky one?” asked Rodgers. He stopped walking to let the pain settle for a moment. He glanced around again to get a better look at who was accounted for. His eye scanned each man in sight. Bashful Jimmy. Lady Killer Jones. Laughin’ Tommy. Chef. All these men and more scurried around the makeshift campsite hauling one thing or setting something else up.

  “Ay, captain,” yelled Laughin’ Tommy. “Glad you’re up.” He gave a quick wave. Rodgers returned the greeting with a nod.

  “Captain,” yelled the Chef. “We thought you were dead.”

  “Yes, wouldn’t that be a joy?” yelled back Rodgers. More of his crew greeted him as they saw him. Kenny brought him up to speed about the status of the salvage project. At this point, only three crew mates were missing. Verde Sanches, Rodgers’ second in command. Lady Sadie, the navigator, and Shawn. Rodgers was at ease with this news. If any of the crew could do well on their own, it was those three.

  “What of the ship?” asked Rodgers, already knowing the answer. He looked at the giant chunks of wood that used to be the Running Ember. Her body lay in unrecognizable pieces all across the beach. A tinge of anger came across Rodgers as he watched his men walk upon her mangled corpse, salvaging her innards and piling her severed body parts. He understood the dire situation they were in. But what about sheer respect for the vessel that had carried them all around the Caribbean? What of the reverence for the fierce beast that had sheltered them through storms powerful enough to swallow ships whole? Or the savior that helped them evade the navy on countless occasions? Rodgers’ question remained unanswered, as he, Kenny, and Buddy stood in silence, watching the final resting place of their most loved crew mate.

  “It’s just a damn pity,” Rodgers finally said. “The voyage of Burning Heart’s gold won’t end in misery.”

  “Aye,” said Kenny and Buddy at the same time.

  “We’ve come this far now,” said Rodgers. “The blood of the precious Ember won’t dry in vain.”

  “Aye captain,” shouted Kenny and Buddy together.

  “Mister Kenny,” said Rodgers.

  “Captain,” said Kenny.

  “Tell the men to gather themselves,” started Rodgers, reaching for the pocket inside his jacket. He felt the crisp fabric of Burning Heart Isle’s map folded in the exact way he had left it the night before, though a bit damp. “I’m leading a trek into the jungle to fetch what we sailed here for. I’m bringing Jones, Chef, and anyone else well enough to walk with me. Gather rations for the journey, and post guards around the camp. We don’t know who else is here.”

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  “Captain, your condition,” said Kenny. “Let the younger men run off into the jungle. You need to heal.”

  “Nothing can heal me,” said Rodgers. “Now stop mouthing off to your captain and get it going.”

  “Aye, captain,” said Kenny with a sigh. He ran off to relay the message and began assembling the teams. Rodgers limped towards the jungle as he unfolded the map. Buddy followed behind him.

  “Buddy,” said Rodgers.

  “Yes Captain,” said Buddy.

  “What do you know about this here island?” asked Rodgers, analyzing the map. He ran his thumb through the faded paper and felt the texture of the folds.

  “Not much, sir,” said Buddy. “Back home, people used to say that it’s one of the seven cursed islands of the Diablo Archipelago.”

  “Aye,” said Rodgers, looking into the trees ahead. They stood at the base of the jungle’s entrance. Rodgers felt the misty air of the island’s core hit his face with the breeze that came from the trees. He took the fresh scent of the island through his nostrils. He caught a trace of something foul and rotten hiding under the inviting scent, though it was just a tiny hint. A dark feeling pumped out of his heart and ran through his bones. Something else was on this island. Rodgers knew that he was an intruder here.

  “They say that only fools go after the gold here. Anyone who ever set sail to get it was never seen or heard from again.”

  “I’ve heard that too,” said Buddy.

  Rodgers turned and looked back at his crew. They were scrambling to get things ready for the trek. He saw the wreckage again, and voices that had rebuked this voyage ran through his mind.

  “Do you think I’m a fool for bringing us here?”

  “No, captain. Surely the prize is worth the struggle. We’ll get it, and we’ll find a way out of here,” said Buddy. Rodgers remembered that he was talking to a green sailor who’s only motive was to stay on the captain’s good side. One glance, and he could see the fear all over the kid’s face. He wasn’t going to say what was really on his mind. But maybe a little blind optimism was what Rodgers wanted to hear after all.

  “Aye,” said Rodgers. “Then let’s find it quickly. This place gives me a dark feeling. Go assist Mister Kenny in the preparations.”

  “Aye Captain,” said Buddy, immediately running off, like the jungle was chasing him. Rodgers let out a soft chuckle. He was fond of Buddy. As annoying as the kid usually was, Rodgers couldn’t help but see a piece of himself in him.

  Buddy’s town had been ravaged by whatever war that continent’s government was occupied with. He stowed away on the ship when they had made a supply stop. He had an elaborate system of stealing food by sneaking around, learning the crew’s functions and habits, and working around them. The only reason he got caught was because he never accounted for Savage Benny’s small bladder and irregular piss breaks.

  “Why sneak around and steal the crumbs?” Rodgers had asked when Buddy was caught. “Join our crew and feast like a king!” Buddy accepted the offer and the crew didn’t remember much of what had happened afterward the next morning, though a severe decrease in the rum rations and a hungover crew told them all they needed to know. Despite Verde’s discouragement, Rodgers always celebrated more than the crew could afford whenever they gained a new member. It was like gaining a new member of the family, and besides the euphoric sight of shimmering gold, nothing else made him as happy these days.

  Rodgers turned his attention back to the map. The first step was to figure out where on the island they were. According to legend, the treasure would be somewhere in the center. It wouldn’t be sitting there in the open up for grabs though. Several texts described a labyrinth of enchantments that travelers would need to endure. The crew had been divided about whether these texts were literal, or metaphorical. Rodgers had laughed it off as he saw the two sides argue their theories. He was only interested in tangible plans. Unless someone had been to the island and was willing to provide a detailed description of the place and how to get the treasure, then everyone’s theories were just theories.

  He studied the map and the shape of the island. He looked out to the beach, trying to find any landmarks that corresponded with the drawing. For all he knew, the map was a fake. But the patterns on the water in the drawing had helped them get this far. Sadie, their navigator was skilled in charts. She could look at a map and visualize the space as if she was there. Her knowledge of the stars’ patterns, the tide’s movements, and the smallest details on a chart had gotten them all through the Caribbean many times over. This voyage was no different. Her early detection of the brewing storm last night and the fast action of the crew is most likely what had saved them from sharing the Ember’s fate. Rodgers looked back into the jungle. If only Sadie were here now, they might have a straight shot to the treasure. And then he heard the voice again.

  Her voice.

  “My love,” she suddenly said. A chill ran through Rodger’s spine. He knew her voice anywhere. And he heard it with his ears this time. He was already looking into the jungle. That was where the voice came from. It sounded as if she was standing five feet away from him. But no one was there. “I’m here, my love.” The voice appeared again. This time, Rodgers was certain that he heard it. He was very still, and didn’t answer. He knew that it was impossible. She had died in his arms. He held her, screaming in grief for what seemed like days before he finally carried her to her final resting place. He remembered the blisters that grew on his hands when he dug her grave. He could still feel the rain on his face as he stood there, refusing to cover her body with the mud in the hopes that she would wake up. He still felt the ache in his heart, unhealed, and gushing blood with every beat he still mustered. She was gone, and there was no getting around that. But the voice. The voice he had heard in his head so many times since then. He had just heard it with his ears.

  Rodgers started limping back towards the wreckage base. He had the horrid feeling in his gut that always made him reach for his sword. Except his sword wasn’t in its holster. His pistol was useless because of the seawater that had engulfed it. There he was, like a naked injured man in a blizzard. He inhaled a deep breath to shout. He was going to warn his men. But just before he could say the first word-

  “My love. Let us dance in the moonlight again. Let us greet the sunrise in each other’s embrace.” Rodgers stopped dead in his tracks. He was transported back to his wedding night, where he and his bride held each other as man and wife for the first time. Where they moved together to the rhythm of the music. The sky had been clear and the cosmos glimmered bright, illuminating the balcony and projecting a perfect reflection of itself on the still ocean. Rodgers remembered it as the perfect night he didn’t deserve.

  He returned to the outskirts of the jungle and looked back into the tree line. A light breeze hit his face, and this time, his nostrils caught her scent. It was the only scent in the world that made him weak. How could her scent be here? How could that aroma reach past the grave, cross the ocean and find him on this beach? What if he could gaze upon her once more. What if he could hold her in his arms? What if he could taste her lips again? Was this the treasure of Burning Heart Isle?

  Rodger’s feet moved on their own. He forgot about his pain, and the limp faded as he started brushing through the trees. He didn’t remember the last time he had moved with such purpose. Thoughts of his lost love swelled in his mind. He thought about their long summer walks on the beach. He remembered the voyage they had met on, and how the forbidden love had grown and flourished. He longed to see her green eyes gaze back into his. He wanted nothing but to see her smile, and to feel the unique joy that only she could provide. He took each step with a desperation to return to a life he buried so long ago. And then he snapped out of it.

  Rodgers felt the pain in his leg return to him. The trek had irritated it even more and he grunted as he grabbed it. He looked around and saw nothing but thick jungle. The trees were dense enough to cover the sunlight, making the area dark and murky with the thick mist.

  “Aye, Kenny! Jones,” he called out. “Get over here, will ya?” He listened for a reply, but no one spoke back. His words bounced right off the trees and faded into the air. How far had he come? He looked around the area again, this time analyzing his surroundings. On the ground, about seven feet away and nearly camouflaged into the foliage was Sanchez’s sword.

  “At last, my love,” she said from behind. Rodgers turned around to gaze upon her. The flurry of anticipation and desire within him dried and withered. His lost love was still in the grave where he buried her. The drooling abomination before him showed its sharp needle teeth in a twisted grin that made his stomach turn.

  It was a Syri?a of the sea. A land based one from the looks of it, and this one was somehow twice the size of any one Rodgers had seen in the past. How could it have mimicked her voice though? How did it know her scent?

  Before Rodgers could think another thought, the monster lunged straight at his neck.