The Princess of the Palm Trees

Feedback please, the story's about half finished now.

The Princess of the Palm Trees grew up sun kissed on an island shaded by the hues of sunsets & rises over the Pacific Ocean. The island provides a small home, you can walk its perimeter in the course of a day & a half. It’s filled with flowering plants & fruit bearing trees, all with broad, thick, waxy leaves. The palms crown the island & the royal family. Her father rules fairly while respecting the power of the ocean & the dangers within the forests. He leads hunting expeditions into the forests & men have been known to disappear on these trips. Her mother shares her knowledge about the islands plants; she knows what teas can soothe a sore throat, what fruits can repel sickness, what herbs can ward off monsters. The Princess learns about the plants, too. However, she spends lots of time doting on what lies within the forests. She finds herself bored of life on the fringes of the island & dies to know what new plants she can find within.

The story is classic (you may say cliche), how a slip of a tomboy dreams of life on the sea. Her brother has left on stormy voyages to help their mother who is unemployed, cruel with her beatings & very ill. & so with a new haircut, wardrobe & masculine vocal tone, she seeks to man a trading vessel. Fewer ships have been leaving the Port of Koper since the neighboring towns became free ports. She does find one voyage, overseen by the Venetian Republic, but she’s turned away for being too scrawny. So on the foggy eve before the ship’s departure, she silently creeps past the dock men & climbs the ropes aboard. She lays herself down in the cold hold of the ship among the dried goods. Crunching up in a fetal position, she pulls a burlap sack over her body for some warmth.

Her eyes had only been shut a few hours before she hears disturbances on the deck. The timberous voices & scuffling feet of more than 20 men shake the ceiling of the hold. The burly girl opens her eyes as wide as she can & listens intently. (From above) “When’s cast off?” “Open the mast!” “Raise the anchor ya landlubbers!” “This be slave’s work! I should be Cap’n!” “Pirate, please.”

“Pirates?” thinks the young girl, “This is not the adventure I had in mind!”

BLAP! BLAP! “The militia!” “Aw bollocks! I’ve been hit!” BLAP! “Faster you idiots!” “Cast off immediately” “Somebody search the hold” BLAP!

The girl sits up & surveys her container for an adequate hiding spot. She runs towards the staircase under which lay several burlap sacks filled with salt. She dives inside the one she’d been sleeping under just as a pirate opens the door at the top of the staircase. His crusty boots creak each floorboard as he descends to the girl’s level. She watches his fat figure in silhouette through the burlap sack as he pokes through the shelves & crannies. He turns abruptly towards the staircase & approaches cautiously. The girl can sense that the pirate is on to her & before she hold her breath the pirate opens the bag. He peers down into her eyes, his are bloodshot & dark. Frown lines are etched around his grimace. His beard is stinks of fish & beer. The door above swings open as a voice with the authority to be the captain yells, “Anything of use down there?” The pirate glances back down at the girl before eyeing around the room a last time. “Just food & extra space,” he calls back. He tightens the top of the bag over the girl’s face. She breathes a confused sigh of relief, nodding back into her dreamland.

The white witch has not showered for days.

Her fingertips are covered in black dirt.

Red fingers fade into her pale gray skin.

Her castle is tucked deep within a forest.

Her castle has a cell for her.

Here, people have lost their spirits.

The white witch’s stony mug is weathered with wrinkles.

Her sagging body dons a crystal gown.

She paces in her room shouting curses,

“Are you an evil witch or a good witch?”

The ship has cast off. The sounds of labor fade to revelry & the clanking of beer mugs.

Light breaks on her face as the same pirate’s ugly mug looks down on the girl. He shoves a plate of porridge at her. “Who are you?” she dumbfounds. His eyes steal away as he opens his mouth, pausing before explaining, “I have 6 daughters littered along the shores of the continents. None of them know my name. Take the food, you will need it.” She grabs the plate & begins to inhale it. He ties the bag over her head, whispering, “Call me Papa.”

Each day starts the same. The pirate tells her where the ship has travelled (Sicily, slave trading ports on Africa’s northwestern coast, Portuguese Mozambique, the southern tip of the British Indian Empire, Spanish Philippines) & about the drama unfolding between the crew. She tells him about her frustrated mother & how she misses her brother. He’d been gone on Venetian trading voyages for 3 years before she left home. He was due to arrive back in Koper shortly after she left & she wondered what he would think of her absence. From the Philippines they now sail across the open Pacific waters towards the Spanish Colonies called California.

“Here!” he barks, shoving a plate of seafood into her hands. “Please, can I stop hiding now? I will mop the decks & help you in the kitchen. I’ve been listening to you & the other pirates when you’re down here. I know I can pass as a pirate!” This is not the first time she’s made this argument, but this time as he studies the determination in her eyes he sees that she’ll try even without his blessing. His hand wraps around her shoulder as he pulls her to her feet, snarling, “Now, you are my son.” Fish mush splatters on the floor. The plate drops with a clang as he drags her up the stairs. “We have a stowaway! He boarded in Manila!” announces her friend to the perplexed, tired crew. “What to do with ‘em?” sneers a man with a striped bandana over his head. “Make ‘em our butt boy! I haven’t gotten off since Manila!” shouts one from the crowd. “Feed em to the fishes!” Terrified she looks to her Papa, he nods. “Don’t you p*****s need a break?!” she yells at the encroaching scowls & smirks, “I will scrub the deck & scrub your boots! Give me your toughest jobs & I’ll prove my worth as a pirate!” “Take my shift! The Cap’n’ll flog you if you don’t tidy his quarters how he likes it,” shouts a pirate with an eyepatch. “I could use a kitchen hand,” says her friend. “This sounds like consensus,” bellows the Captain, “Welcome aboard, now get to work you pathetic stowaway!”

She works under the name of Zuan & holds her own with the other pirates. They can see the adventurer in her steely eyes. Not even stopping to wipe the sweat from her brow, Zuan performs the most painstaking & gross chores the ship had to offer. She lifts the mast by herself & disposes the crews feces into the sea. She learns to pee standing up so as to keep her sex unquestioned.

The First Mate does not like her much. He always tries to play grab a*s with her. Her response comprises a silent slap & quick jog to find work with the cook. The harassment goes on for three weeks. One cloudy day on the deck, when he traces his fingers over her bottom as she pulls away he reaches around her hips to grab onto her crotch. Finding nothing to hold onto, the First Mate begins sirening to the whole crew, “He’s a wench! A b***h! The stowaway’s a wench!” A crowd gathers. Grimey hands grab her arms & pull down her trousers. “The stowaway has no sword!” “She’s a wench!” The cacophony abruptly disappears with Captain’s roar, “AVAST!” & sound of his door slamming open. His black curly wig & jagged nose twitch around his face as he studies her body. “It’s terrible luck to keep a woman on board. Thank you for your service, Zuan. Now take yer last steps off the plank!”

“The plank. The plank. The plank,” chant the crew, tearing at her remaining shirt & prodding her towards the narrow catwalk. She steps on, the day is windy; clouds secretly crept over sunlight around midday. 3 steps & the board shakes, she has to catch her step. She looks down & the sea churns navy & jade. 2 steps & drops of seawater land on her feet. She turns her neck, staring back at the ship. She searches identical pirate mugs for the kind ugly face of the cook. A tear rolls down his cheek, hers start to moisten. The First Mate jumps on the plank, throwing her in the ocean. She smacks the water with a belly flop, waves crash over her & she’s never learned to swim. She gasps briefly on the surface as the hold of the ship passes by swiftly.

She falls deeper underwater. The dark blue waters near the surface feel warm so far south. Sinking, the colors darken into black purples. Her body shivers with the dropping temperatures. She holds her breath quietly accepting her floating demise.

Reviews

[frivolous treasures]

Wow, this was marvelous and quite intriguing! The way you write and describe the whole scenario completely caught my attention. I admit, I actually read this twice before commenting. The poem about the witch really set the tone, and your last paragraph sent chills up and down my spine:

"She holds her breath quietly accepting her floating demise"

Marvelous ending, I must say, sir!! Maika'i no, good job!!