Oleander

I entered in a short story contest a few months ago. It had to be fairy themed, under 2,000 words, and written within ten days. I also had to include the following prompts:

• A character notorious for breaking things

• a message in a bottle

• the story must start an end with the line: "nothing is quite as it seems."

It was a good challenge for me, as I'm notorious for writing too many words, and this put me on the spot to put something together quickly.

There were over 1,800 entries in this contest, and I really looked into doing it for the experience and the prospect of feedback. But, as someone who has spent their entire life in the competition dance world, I'm a snob when it comes to critiques and feedback. I was pretty bummed to have gotten slim feedback on this story, from a reviewer that seemed to miss the whole point of what I wrote.

So maybe posting this story on my blog could stir something up. I'm ALWAYS looking for feedback.

I also entered another contest with the same organization, so the poor feedback didn't discourage me all at the much. Ha.

Hope you enjoy another of my pirate tales.

---

September 26th, 1580

“Nothing is quite as it seems, is it, my pirate?” The Queen asked. 

“Quite so, Your Majesty,” The Dragon responded. 

The Queen was observing the bottle in The Dragon’s hands. It was a small glass bottle with an iron lid, and inside was a simple rolled parchment dyed a strange hue of red.

“Your travels were successful?” The Queen wondered, excitement twinkling in her eyes. “You caught one?”

The Dragon gave a wicked smile. “I did, Your Majesty.”

December 1st, 1717

Thomas gave Oleander a shove down the gangway plank. Oleander stumbled a bit and caught his battered tricorn hat before it could fall off his head. He adjusted it quickly to hide his ears as he made his way off the galleon, The Golden Hind.

She was a wooden ship of oak, pine, and elm that should’ve rotted away long ago. Yet, here she was, docked on some island that Oleander couldn’t remember the name of. Somewhere in the Caribbean? He was almost certain that was the human name for it.

He looked across the way at another pier, where another even bigger ship was docked. It was far newer than The Golden Hind, and was bound to be more dangerous. Oleander could see the colors hoisted on the mainmast of that ship: a black flag with a skeleton holding a spear toward a bright red heart.

Oleander could also smell the death from the ship, the decay, the disease. . . the poison. 

Thomas noticed Oleander staring at the imposing ship, then chuckled. “Ah. Recognize it? La Concorde, that ship is. Though I’m sure she’s already been renamed. Good job capturing that one.”

Oleander looked away from the ship in shame.

  Thomas then took Oleander by the shoulder and forcefully directed him down the dock and toward the shore. The island they had arrived at looked uninhabited, deserted. All Oleander could see in either direction of the shoreline was just trees and bright tropical plantlife—a jungle. The two piers for the two ships were the only signs of any human activity. 

About a dozen of the crew had gathered in the sand, while the rest stayed aboard. Once Oleander joined them, they gave him their usual looks of contempt when he got close.

The crew then parted as their captain made his way across the beach, toward Oleander.

The captain wasn’t particularly tall, but he and his brother Thomas were both far taller than the small and frail-looking Oleander. The captain was Oleander’s master, and Oleander cowered a bit on reflex when he got close.

 “I suppose your appearance passes,” Master said as his dark eyes thoroughly analyzed Oleander. “But let’s test your answers, shall we?” he asked. 

“Yes, Master,” Oleander responded. He brought his gaze up with some brave effort. He remembered what Lionsheart, Laurel, and Elm taught him back home all those years ago. He remembered what little they could teach him about human manners. Speak when spoken to, give eye contact. Lionsheart told him to be brave. Always be brave.

“What’s your name?” Master tested.

“Oleand—” Oleander cut himself short. He wasn’t supposed to use his real name. “I mean Ollie. Just Ollie.”

“How old are you?” Master then asked.

“Fourteen.” Oleander had practiced that answer. It was his proper human age, Evergreen told him. She told him it would always be his age in the human world.

“Where are you from?” Master went on.

“New Providence.” Oleander practiced that answer, too.

Thomas chuckled. “Old Teach will love that.”

“Will you be able to. . .” Master narrowed his eyes. “Stay hidden?”

Oleander’s back throbbed at the question. He was wearing a heavy leather coat, one that weighed down on his shoulders and hid what would give him away even faster than his ears would.

“Yes, Master,” Oleander whispered.

Thomas grunted. “Your hair is goddamn pink. But I suppose you could pass for a redhead.”

Oleander had tried to hide his shaggy hair under the hat, but some of it did show.

Master swatted the concern away, though.

“You’ll use your abilities as directed, you understand?” Master asked.

Oleander swallowed. “Yes, Master.”

Master then signalled to the surrounding crew. “Let’s make way, then.”

The crew obeyed and followed their captain through the thick jungle. Oleander hesitated, but all Thomas had to do was flash the iron cutlass hanging at his side to scare Oleander into moving.

Iron wasn’t exactly a useful metal for swords, Oleander had learned. It was brittle, could break easily in a sword fight, but that didn’t stop Thomas and Master from each having one just for Oleander.

The tall tree canopy cast dark shadows to the ground below as they trekked the jungle. Oleander already felt himself wilting in the shade. He was never able to stay out of sunlight for long. The accompanying crew bumped into him, shoved him along, cursed him for slowing down. He did his best to keep up, but his eyelids were heavy and his limbs felt fatigued. He felt his other limbs hidden on his back twitch painfully.

Eventually, Master stopped at a clearing in the trees. There was a pond here, and at the center of it was a shipwreck. It was a small sloop made of oak and pine, but it was on the verge of rot. The shipwreck hadn’t decayed too much yet, though, because it had been turned into a pirate hideout. Oleander could hear the raucous voices of pirates from inside.

Thomas shoved Oleander forward again, and he felt so wilted he stumbled to his knees in the mud. Thomas groaned in annoyance and was about to slice his iron cutlass across Oleander’s arm for his impudence, but Master shot his brother a warning look.

“Thomas,” Master said tensely. “Don’t make him weaker.”

Thomas just grunted in response, sheathing the sword. He yanked Oleander back to his feet.

Master then let himself in without knocking, walked in with his usual arrogant gait, and his crew pushed themselves in right after him. Thomas pulled Oleander along.

The pirate hideaway was much like an old tavern Oleander had seen in some of the human port cities, the very few times he had been allowed ashore. There were maybe fifty pirates here, all sitting at tables or at the bar with a drink in hand. Some of them felt familiar to Oleander in some strange way, but he supposed that was because he had spent so many years amongst pirates like them. The room went quiet when a tall man stood at the bar.

The man was almost unnaturally tall. He wore all black, and had a thick black beard.

The tall man slowly smiled at his guests, and Oleander was sure he saw smoke coming from his ears as he did.

“It is true, then. You really are still alive, El Draque,” the man greeted Master.

Master laughed at that. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

“A long time?” the tall man questioned. “Did not think time mattered to you.”

“Just as much as nicknames or titles matter to you,” Master shrugged.

The tall man just scoffed. “What title would you prefer, then? Sir, her Royal Knight?”

Master was amused. “A fellow Englishman like you understands, I see. I heard rumors of what you named your newly captured ship, by the way.”

The tall man suddenly looked smug. “Aye, Queen Anne’s Revenge, I’ll call her.”

Master smirked. “A name well fit for a true Englishman.”

The tall man slowly walked across the room toward Master, and towered over him. 

“Why are you really here?” he asked.

“I got you that ship, I just request payment,” Master responded.

The tall man looked disgusted. “You did nothing of the sort.”

“Prideful, are we, Edward?” Master smirked.

The tall man’s expression didn’t change. “Not in the slightest, Francis.”

The tall man then pulled out a glass bottle with an iron lid. Inside was a parchment dyed pink, from the petals of an oleander flower.

Master’s eyes widened. “How did you get that?!”

“You really have held him prisoner all these years, then? His capture is the reason you’ve stayed alive,” the tall man assessed. He motioned toward Oleander, but Oleander was too startled to move. He hadn’t seen that bottle in decades.

“You know of the creature?” Master was dumbfounded, but shook his head. “No matter. He is my property. You have stolen that bottle from me, though I suppose you are quite notorious for stealing and breaking the law.”

The tall man burst into roaring laughter, so much so that his crew joined in.

“And you aren’t?” he questioned.

“I have always sailed in the name of my Queen,” Master said proudly. “I’ve always had her blessing.”

The tall man scoffed bitterly. “Your Queen is long dead, just as mine is.”

“Just as you will be if you don’t pay me what is due,” Master growled. He looked to Oleander. “Kill them. Kill all of them.”

Oleander was used to feeling that uncontrollable force to do whatever his Master commanded, but this time. . .

He felt nothing.

Oleander curiously looked to the bottle in the tall man’s hands. The tall man smiled.

“You are not in his command anymore,” the tall man said.

Master fumed, and Thomas reached for his cutlass. Master was about to order his crew to attack everyone, kill everyone, but the tall man issued a command to Oleander.

“Hold them all, would you?”

Oleander had to obey.

A pale pink mist suddenly flowed out from Oleander, flooded the room. It held everyone in place, constricting their muscles so much that they froze where they stood. Nobody spoke, nobody breathed. If they tried. . . they choked on poison.

Oleander kept the mist away from the tall man, though, so just the two of them could talk.

“Are you a better pirate than my master?” Oleander asked in a small voice. 

The tall man smirked at him. “You tell me. You’ve sailed with sea vermin far longer than I have.”

“Do you know how I can get home?” Oleander then asked. His voice almost cracked with emotion, but he wasn’t supposed to do that. He was supposed to be brave.

The tall man, despite how imposing and terrifying he was, looked to Oleander with sympathy. “Not yet, but your kind have put their faith in me to find out.”

Oleander looked around at the tall man’s crew, regretting that he hadn’t looked closer earlier. He did recognize them.

The one in the back corner, that was Birch. Over at the bar was Lily, Aster, Mudwort. Orchid was leaning against the window.

He remembered the stories from back home. They had all been captured like him. They were all desperate like him to get home. He pulled his mist away from them before it killed them. 

“You got that new ship for me, didn’t you?” the tall man wondered. “You poisoned the whole ship, even from afar. They were sick before we even boarded.”

“Yes, sir,” Oleander answered quietly, ashamed.

The tall man then looked thoroughly impressed. “It’ll go to good use, don’t you worry, aye? Join my crew, and you’ll see. And join of your own accord.”

To Oleander’s surprise, the tall man smashed the bottle that held the parchment with Oleander’s name on it to the ground. The moment it shattered, Oleander felt like he could take a true free breath for the first time in one hundred and thirty-one years.

Oleander looked to his former Master, the captain of The Golden Hind.

“You’re too weak to follow a pirate like him,” he managed to cough out as his strained and poisoned muscles held him in place.

“What was it your queen said when you captured me?” Oleander wondered. As his former master choked on the oleander poison mist with his last breath, Oleander answered for him:

“Nothing is quite as it seems.”

---

May no seas fare smooth.

—Andi May