“Pedro! Pedro!” Capricho got his attention. “Get the mizzen—”
Pedro pointed up the main, and Capricho turned to look. Men scattered across ratlines faster than a fleeing school of fish.
A serpent of brume twined around the mainmast. Battered wings quivered against its body. The sea serpent reared its horned head over a yardarm, scanned the decks. A shaft of rippling air swept with its gaze, parting the sheets of rain.
The swath struck Capricho, trapped him in its lidless fury. His muscles froze. The creature hissed; breath fled Capricho’s lungs. He strained against unseen bindings, could not breathe.
The bow swung, punched by a wave. The mainsail spilled its wind, luffing violently.
The serpent jerked away, tracking the sound. Fangs that looked of cloudy ivory slashed the sailcloth to ribbons.
Freed, Capricho gasped, able to breathe again. What kind of devilry was this?
Wind Howlers.
He swung onto the ladder, descended to amidships where he could climb the mainmast. Somehow, the apparition must be stopped. He’d be damned if he’d let any spawn of heaven or hell tear his ship apart.
The galleon groaned against a broadside. Water lunged over the gunwale. Capricho hooked an arm around the ladder as the wave surged, flooding the deck. Not a wave. A liquid jade jaguar rumbled over longboats, bounded forward, swiped a paw against Capricho’s legs.
Capricho flew from the ladder, thumped on the deck, tumbled in the beast’s swirling grasp. They slammed against the gunwale. Capricho rolled into the curve of the planks, caught a grip on the rail and held fast, while the jaguar’s momentum and semifluid form sloshed it over the rail. A snarl lashed out as it hurtled into the sea.
Thunder clapped. Capricho jumped up, spun toward the sound. In the center of the ship hopped a one legged apparition, a liquid giant bearing a feathered Mayan headdress. It hoisted a crackling staff, sighted on Capricho.
“Dios mío! Not again!” Capricho jerked the chain that hung around his neck. As the giant’s staff rippled white-hot, Capricho thrust his crucifix forward.
The apparition roared, averting its eyes. The strike veered, struck the bulwark, exploded. Splinters blasted the air. Capricho hurtled up, up, up as the world spun end over end.
He sailed overboard into the churning maelstrom.
“Salvador!”
Chill water engulfed him, booming like cannon volley. A wave slammed his chest, swallowed him whole.
Capricho descended through the cold and glistening blue, his body shuddering, thrashing, kicking . . . then surrendering to the silent peace of the depths. This realm, just a fading tunnel of murky light, closing, closing, closing . . .
A silver flash.
The face of a goddess.
Así que este es el paraíso. So this is heaven.
Capricho moaned. Had his head been used for cannon shot? His eardrums ached. He cracked open his eyes. He was on his back on a tiny island staring at a cavern dome. A cenote, for the limestone peak had cracked, admitting shafts of light that dappled slick stalactites, igniting water droplets that collected at the tips. The air was cool, refreshing, scented with notes of brine and algae.
He slid his palms on the stone he was sprawled upon. It was slick, covered in succulent seaweed. Something slid him up a bit; he felt the warmth of flesh press against his bare back. He blinked, squinted, stared up into a Mayan maiden’s face. She cradled his head to her chest.
It was her, the goddess. Her hair fanned the air, strands of black and indigo. Her eyes were more enchanting than a moonlit sea.
“Rest now, captain. You are safe.” The woman’s voice winged in husky harmonics through the cavern.
“Where am I?”
Her lips touched his forehead. “Home. I rescued you from the Wind Howlers.”
“Howlers?” Capricho tried to sit up. His head whirled. He fell back. “Who are you?”
She flourished her hand, stretched delicate fingers. Soft webbing curved between each.
“Surely you know me, sailor. I have many names. You would call me a sirena.”
“I must be dreaming,” he said. “The visions of death.”
She lifted a nacreous shell to his lips. "These grow here, in my cave. They are very old, and are sacred. They condense the aura I radiate. Drink."
The shell was as smooth and flawless as Castilian steel. Capricho lifted his head, let her spill the cool, briny dewdrops over his tongue. He swallowed.
Quicksilver flashed through him.
She gently tilted his head back against her. “You see? Not death. Life. Daughters of the sea take pride in saving sailors.”
“Why sailors?” His vision crackled with clarity.
“Your mortal hearts sing with love for the sea, and when you touch water, it’s like a stone tossed into a pond. Ripples fan out, brush our realm, and if the song entices, we are drawn.” She smiled, teeth as lustrous as pearls. “Your song, captain, is especially strong.”
“Thought it was the other way around. Sirena sing to us. You twist my dream.”
Quizzical light swirled in her eyes. “If you think we’d sing without first being aroused, you are much mistaken.”
She tilted back her head.
A heartbeat throbbed in the veins of her throat.
And she sang.
Her voice sprang as from the heart of the sea. It rolled like frothing surf against the cavern walls, a brilliant liquid tremolo wrought from the emerald flash of the sun as it sinks into the sea. Capricho’s breath caught in his throat. One note, held quivering upon the air. One molten note was desire, was the burning, was the pleasure, was the epiphany, was th—
She clamped her mouth shut, severed the melodic umbilical. The death of the note made him gasp. His blood thundered.
“Madre de Dios,” he sighed when he could speak again. “If a man must die, that . . .” He shook his head. There were no words.
She looked down. “I told you. Not death. Life.”
Capricho did not know what to believe.
The sirena arched a brow. “Questions?”
“What of my ship? My men? Are they safe?”
She eased his head into her lap, looped a fingertip down his breastbone. “Your ship escaped the Howlers. Not without help.”
That blasted name again! Capricho shuddered. “Who are these Howlers?”
She dragged her fingertips through the curls of his chest hair. “The Ruarchan. Demigods of wind and water. As a sailor, surely you believe?”
“I did not believe. Now? Here with you? I confess I am not certain.”
“Tell me, which Howlers attacked your ship?”
Why couldn’t his dream just leave them be? And if she was a mermaid, how did she speak his tongue so fluently? Proof this was a dream! Unless ... he wasn’t her first?
Her tone compelled. “Speak. Howlers. It is important.”
“Alright. The first was a flying snake.”
“Koosh. That would be Kukulcan.”
“Never heard of him.”
“That’s what the Maya call him, the people of my waters. Your Cortez knew him by another name, assumed his identity to deceive Aztec worshippers.”
“Quetzalcoatl. The feathered serpent.”
“Correct.” She traced the chain that draped his chest. “Any reason Kukulcan might feel the need to destroy Spanish galleons?”
Capricho grimaced. Curse the conquistadors and their relentless bloodlust! “I see your point.”