The Mariner

“McConnell,” the Mariner said calmly, trying to placate the over-excited reverend. “I don’t even know who this Jesus Haych is. I remember that display in your church, but not very well. I’m not Jesus. I’m a mariner, nothing more.”

McConnell carried on regardless. “Our Saviour was followed by twelve disciples.”

“Well, I can assure you, I don’t have anything close to a disciple!”

“You do. And you have twelve.”

When he finally caught up with what McConnell was getting at, the Mariner laughed. The sound made the reverend recoil, and the Mariner could almost have felt sorry for the man, had it not been such a preposterous suggestion.

“They are not disciples! They are vicious overgrown rats who would devour both of us if they could get by without someone to shovel their shit into the sea! Beasts! Monsters!”

“Of which number twelve.”

“That means nothing!”

“By itself, I agree. But I’ve seen all the proof there is. You sewed some of the world together. You undid a part of the Shattering. God punished us by splitting our world apart. Only Jesus can piece it back together. Only he.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Who else was it? I was there. I saw.”

“If that’s the reason you got aboard, you’ve made a big mistake.”

“We’ll see,” McConnell stood, eyes still aflame. “And the sooner you abandon this cult the better. You won’t find any answers with then, the answers are within you. They have been all along.”

Once McConnell left, the Mariner lay awake for several hours. He felt bad for McConnell, the man was mistaken and the misconception had evolved into outright delusion. But was it any more crazy than what was being preached on this island? Jesus Haych Christ on one side, Déjà vu on the other. And somewhere between, still out of sight — the Wasp.

Concentration began to wane as he felt his addictions creeping back. His inner demons had been kept at bay by the distractions of the day, but in the dark confines of his own mind they slithered into prominence, tempting, taunting, tormenting.

Fortunately he’d kept the cat ‘o’ nine tails close, and he knew just what to do.

28. GETTING TO KNOW YOU

SOMETHING OF A ROUTINE FORMED during the subsequent days. By sunlight the three would perform mundane tasks in exchange for food, shelter and guidance supplied by the cult, though when it came to guidance there was little, if none. For the time being they were told to observe the other monks and learn from their example. Not even Grace, who’d been the most believing, could see anything to learn from watching others randomly burst into song, gibberish, or dropping to the ground doing squat-thrusts. Indeed, at times it felt like they were living within an insane asylum, if not for how rational and calm the inmates acted between spells of déjà vu.

Of Diane they saw almost nothing. Only once did the Mariner speak to her again, and only the briefest of exchanges. It was on a morning when he was asked to help prepare food, mostly chopping and de-seeding fruit and veg. Megan, a young lady who seemed to be in charge of the kitchen, carefully took him through the various dishes that could be easily prepared and in the quantities necessary. Cooking for such a large community required an astonishing amount of foresight, but fortunately Megan had all that in hand, and all the Mariner had to do was follow basic orders. Mostly the work was washing and chopping, though somehow he could never get the sizes quite right and was regularly admonished.

“No, no, no!” Megan said, pulling the knife from his grasp. “You’re squashing them!”

He looked down at the tomatoes. “I thought I was chopping them.”

“Well that’s certainly what I asked you to do,” she snapped again, pushing him aside. “Take the Priestess her plate. I’ve prepared it, all you need do is deliver it. You can’t get that wrong.”

The plate was a large silver disk, piled high with the choicest fruits. He carried it as carefully as he could, though clearly not careful enough from the concerned glances he received.

He found Diane sitting on a small beach on the north side of the island. She was sitting with her feet stretched out, the incoming tide gently lapping across her toes.

Diane looked up from a book she was reading. “Hello captain. How are you finding our little community?”

“Very pleasant.” he replied, handing the plate to her. She took it, eyes feasting upon the fruits carefully arranged for sampling. Like a spider on a thread, her fingers dangled above the delicacies, wiggling in anticipation. The actions had a curious elation to them, despite the serious look on her face.

“Your arrival heralds much, captain,” she began, drawing her eyes away from the plate and onto him. “Were you aware the stars vanished just before you came to our island? Literally dark times ahead, I fear.”

He was surprised. “You remember them?”

“The stars? Of course I do, why wouldn’t I? I thought they might come back, but they haven’t. Did you scare them off perhaps?”

“I’m as in the dark as you are.”