Early the next morning, Amias pushed the ship back out to sea. The sky, its colors going down the gradient of blue to bright orange was undistinguishable from the sea, as the fog had smudged the horizon. Despite the peaceful chill of the sea breeze, Amias still steamed of last night’s rage. He planned to quickly escort the stranger to wherever he needed to be and be out of his way. Should he make him swear on an oath? Do a trust ritual?

Amias recalled the first time he had boarded the long-sunk Dear Maria twenty years ago. There he was, hiding behind a suspicious smelling barrel, wondering whether the growling in his stomach would give him away. He remembered hearing the barrel’s containments slosh around as the ship rode the waves, and how his parched throat screamed for him to take a large mouthful. In that moment, whatever it was had sounded exactly like fresh water. Amias couldn’t point out exactly, but he had opened it one way or another and dunked his entire head in, miraculously out of sight of the rest of the crew. It had tasted bad. Awful and toxic enough to break down his entire face. It went down, burning every cell in his throat- he couldn’t stop. He had swallowed gulp after gulp until his stomach sloshed just like the barrel.

The next thing he knew, he was surrounded by pirates applauding and cheering him on as he danced with the Captain, swinging and twirling wildly. Amias smiled: rum could bring out the most shameful behavior in the most high-standard man on Earth. He had danced until everything he had drank came tumbling out splashing all over the upper deck and collapsed in his own mess. He had woken up with the Captain staring down at him with his icy blue eyes and a crooked smile. He was a handsome man, his feature sharp and aquiline, lightly tanned in the right areas, his blonde short-cropped mane bleached an off-white under the sun.

“What be yer name, lad?” he asked, not bothering to lend Amias a hand up

“Amias” he had groaned, still swaying from the aftermath. Everything in his line of sight doubled, his ears rung and his breath felt like mildew in his own lungs.

“Amias”, the Captain repeated, so that the name got used to being on his tongue, “Greek for ‘beloved’.” He hadn’t known what to do with that information but he smiled: his parents, whoever they had been had put their love in his very name. Suddenly, he didn’t feel as alone. The captain had crouched down and lifted his chin, examining his health and physique. As far as Amias had been concerned, he had failed the test.

“Ye don’t seem to be capable of doin’ much” he murmured. He looked over his shoulder at the large figurehead carved at the bow of the ship. Amias remembered the shape of a fine woman, her curly hair growing over the hull like the tendrils on a vine, adorned with a petite hat with a feather attached to it.

“Maria would have adored you” the Captain said, as if reading the figurehead’s unsaid thoughts, “but-“

The ‘but’ had felt sinister. Amias remembered how the atmosphere of the around him suddenly felt crowded, the eyes of the many men aboard the ship glistening in anticipation. With no explanation, he was hoisted up and slammed into the mast, his back facing the sailors.  He had been too weak to resist their burly arms. He had heard the Captain’s sword unsheathe, his boots clacking slowly against the wooden floor.

“To be part of this crew” he announced, “You must carry Maria’s heart on your back just like the rest of us”

Amias hadn’t responded. His head heart and he felt nauseas, he had only leaned forward onto the mast for support.

“Well, little, Amias?” the Captain cooed, “Better be an ally than an enemy is it not?” He had nodded. His ragged shirt was stripped off his back and the sword pressed into his skin. He screamed. As he embossed Amias’s skin, the Captain had muttered, “You lost a brother, I found you brothers. You prayed for a son, now the heavens have answered your prayers. He’s yours too, Maria”

The sun was now up mid-way into the sky. Amias, kept the ship going straight, too lost in his own thoughts to have a sense of navigation. Besides, he wasn’t informed on exactly where to go.

As Amias had wailed, the Captain had lit a match and held it to the wound so that the gushing blood and soft-harmed skin puckered up like a gruesome red wax seal on a letter. He had dropped hard onto the floor, paralyzed in agony, crying for anyone that could hold and heal him: mother, doctor, Apollo. None had come. He watched through tear-blurred eyes as the Captain had sauntered forward, taken of his own poet blouse and pointed at a heart shaped scrunched-up scar on his chest.

“For Maria”, he had said before walking off.

Now that Amias thought about it that had been a horrible way to take anyone in. Either surrender, or die refusing. His free hand unknowingly hovered toward his back, lightly touching the ever present milestone of his life. He was no longer mad...he had forgotten what made him so

“Good morning”, a voice broke him out of his trance-like state. He frowned: HE was what had enraged him last night...of course.

“Good morning” he replied arrogantly, watching as Polaris ascended the small stairway towards the helm. Deciding it was better to have strained conversation than try and awkwardly ignore the stranger’s presence, Amias cleared his throat.

“I hope you slept well” he said

“Yes, thank you.” Polaris mumbled, craning his neck as if trying to take a peek at the ocean that lay miles ahead of them. Amias took a glance at the man that stood next to him- he looked scared, weak even, like he had been out of touch with the world for far too long.

“Who are you searching for?” Amias asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. Polaris looked back at him with a trembling uncertain lip

“That…that’s actually the problem, sir ” he swallowed, “I don’t really know”