Ode to the Pirate Queen

Some say she never existed at all, that she was just a tale made too big to go away and disappear into the grand blue. She had no name—or, if she did, it was lost to the waves which claimed her—but she was known. Women like that didn't just charm men with their rouged lips and their pretty words; it wouldn't have surprised any of us if she charmed the sea with a shanty she had heard on the winds, born from the mouths of sirens who sung our sailors down to Poseidon's gate.

Some say she was just a girl with her daddy's pirate hat perched on her red curls, an eyepatch for play on her left eye. But anyone who saw her walk would know she moved with purpose, a short sword bouncing from its place on her hip, every step drawing closer to her heart's desire that lay on a torn treasure map. Treasure may have been every pirate's deepest desire, but the chase was just as fun. She never let us forget it when we were just boys aboard her ship. We would watch her with our baleful eyes and hope that we would be treated like pets instead of scurvy dogs left to starve.

Some say she was enchanted by the sea, the way she leaned into the salty wind and breathed in like it was the finest perfume the world could offer. The breeze would tease at her tumble of curls, and some of us young men fancied she'd look our way just once. It would have been an honor to share the captain's cabin, even if only for a night, but no one ever dared approach her. She was untouchable in the way that a goddess might be in front of mortal men. But we never let her out of our sight, like we could protect her when really we should have known better. She could have bested any of us and thrown us overboard for good measure.

Some say the locket she wore was charmed by the sea witch who lurked beneath the Tempest Circle. When a storm would threaten on the horizon, our dear captain would clutch that locket for all it was worth, and somehow—miraculously, every time—we would avoid the brunt of the tumult that overturned greater ships than ours. When I asked her if it was enchanted, she laughed at me as if I were absurd. "The gods don't give a damn about us," she said, "and the same goes for sea witches."

Some say we dreamed up such a lady, one who held our respect so much that we gladly would have walked off the plank if she ordered us to do it. But even with my clouded eyes I can still remember every little thing about her. She wasn't some maid waiting to be wed to a man; she was married to the sea, a vow for life, and she always told us she would live and die by its whims. "This ship is my home," she would say, "and I'll go down with it when the time comes."

Some say she disappeared on an island rumored to spirit away young women, but that wasn't true. Our latest treasure hunt led us to the uninhabited Isle, only for another ship to trail through the fog after we had made landing. What followed was a race against the hourglass as we spread out across the new surroundings, but we weren't quick enough. The other group of scallywags took our chest and captured our captain. By the time we had gotten ourselves free, she took a bullet to the back. And then we were left there, mourning and disgraced, as we made a burial pyre that we would send off to sea.

Some say that the small pyre floating off on the spare boat we had continued to burn even as it crossed into the Otherworld that was said to exist beyond the fog. But behind my blurred eyes, red with tears, I remembered the young woman who had saved my life and so many others. Our Queen was gone, off on an adventure without us. Soon, each of us would follow after her, waiting to be a part of the crew again, the crew that had become family against all odds.

Some say you can see her ghost ship on the horizon even now every day at sunset. And, you know, that's one sea legend I can get behind.