The pirates sat the poet next to the bowsprit, pulled his arms behind him, wrapping them around the mast, and tied his wrists.

"We've got him, captain," said the pirate who had aimed at the back of his neck.

The crew made way, and a tall man with fair skin and blonde hair, dressed in a navy blue tailcoat with golden embellishments, loose trousers, low leather shoes, and a tricorn hat, stepped forward. He unsheathed his sword with fury and approached the poet.

"No one steals from Charles Morrison and lives to tell the tale," he threatened in English, pointing the blade at Christopher's heart.

"I haven't stolen from you," the poet replied, also in English.

The captain ran the edge of the sword along the shirt. He examined the poet's hands, face, and attire.

"You're not a pirate. What are you?"

"I'm a poet."

The crew mocked him, and some shouted that he was lying.

"What's a poet doing on my ship?" the captain asked, simultaneously moving the sword closer to the poet's throat.

"I'm heading to Las Islas Encantadas."

"To what?"

"To explore."

The captain gave him an incredulous look and placed the flat side of the blade against the poet's neck.

"Where did you get it?"

"In El Golfo de Guayaquil," he stretched his neck, "I found it."

"Ah, really?" the captain doubted with ironic pity. After considering the poet's words for a moment, he turned to the crew. "We're heading to El Golfo de Guayaquil," he ordered. The pirates resumed their positions, but one of them approached hastily and fearfully.

"C-captain," he stammered nervously, "there's something you must see at the stern."

"What is it?" the captain asked impatiently.

"We think..." He swallowed hard. "We think it's a mermaid," he managed to say, trembling.

The poet looked up, eager to know more.

"Are you drunk?" the captain ridiculed him.

"See for yourself, she has her arms resting on the rail," insisted the trembling pirate.

The captain considered the idea and, while sheathing his sword, turned toward Christopher with a smile.

"We'll see if you're telling the truth, poet," he said before punching him with a blow that plunged him into darkness.

 

The tide roared with force. Christopher felt slender hands caressing his face. When he opened his eyes, he met the gaze of the Mermaid. She had transformed into a human, but she was completely wet. Night was falling, and the state of the crew alarmed him immediately.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

"What happened?" the poet asked, alarmed by the bloody corpses of the pirates.

"I followed your advice," she said while beginning to untie the rope around his wrists. Christopher was freed and stood up on the crimson floor. "I seduced them, and they killed each other."

The poet remained silent for a moment, processing what had happened. The Mermaid took his hand and led him across the deck. Everything was filled with corpses; the bodies had wounds all over, as if they had attacked each other with bites.

They reached a small cargo area and gathered supplies for two days and a spare sail. They loaded everything onto the same boat they had sailed, as handling a larger vessel would require more crew members for navigation.

They drifted away from the pirate ship until it vanished on the horizon.

 

Night had arrived. The wind blew with a faint, cold breeze, too weak for the boat to gain speed. The Mermaid and the poet had to put on the contraband coats they had found in the boat. They lay down together and admired the now clear sky. The stars and the moon shone with astonishing clarity and were reflected in the sea, guiding them among cosmic beacons.

"I thought you wouldn't come back," the poet said before biting into a green apple.

"I saw the ship as I was returning," the Mermaid replied, taking the apple from him and biting into it as well.

"Did you get the roots?"

"Yes, but I dropped them when I saw the pirates had you captive."

"What a shame, I wanted to try them," the poet sighed, taking her hand. Her fingers trembled and then abruptly released his.

"Me too. Tomorrow, I'll get some more."

"Do mermaids sleep?" the poet asked, turning towards her.

"No. We stay awake," she replied, squinting her eyes.

"I don't sleep either," he confessed. Their eyes met in a silence of serene waters. The Mermaid looked at the poet's lips, and he ventured to kiss her.

"Well, good night," she said, turning her back and settling down to sleep.

Christopher let her be. He turned his gaze back to the sky and crossed his arms to keep warm. With the stars reflected in his pupils, he kept imagining that place where mermaids sing and remained like that until he fell asleep.

 

The next day, they had breakfast with the roots the Mermaid had promised, along with a rare type of seaweed. The Mermaid found the brushes and paints that Christopher had stored in one of the barrels, and an idea struck her suddenly.

"Do you want me to paint you?" she asked, though it was more of a statement because she didn't wait for a response.

"There are no canvases here," the poet pointed out.

The Mermaid grabbed one of the spare sails and spread it out. She prepared the space and positioned the poet for the portrait.

She dipped the brush into a bit of paint she had mixed on a piece of wood and took a breath with her eyes closed before starting.

"The brush is the extension of my soul," she meditated with a concentrated demeanor and began to paint with precise strokes. "It's what connects my body to the beyond."

 

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the blue sky turned dark, they were finally approaching Las Islas Encantadas. A cool breeze filled the sail, carrying with it the portrait of Christopher painted by the Mermaid.

The sailboat touched the sand, and the poet leaped ashore. He ventured onto the shore with a rope to secure the boat to a tree trunk, then took a moment to admire the landscape, marveling at the natural beauty of the beach. The water was crystal clear, the vegetation lush, and multicolored birds fluttered among the branches. It was paradise.

"Is it here?" asked the poet.

"No, but we're close," the Mermaid revealed from the boat before diving into the water. When she resurfaced, she beckoned the poet to come closer.

The poet walked into the sea until the water reached his shoulders. The Mermaid stood before him, and they gazed at each other eagerly, in silence, listening to each other's breath.

"What did you paint on that canvas that you didn't want to show me in your studio?" the poet asked.

"The same thing: our pirate sail," she admitted without hesitation. She approached and gently took his hands. "Are you ready?"

"For what?" the poet asked.

"To flow like a wave."

"Yes," he replied.

"Take a breath."

The poet took a deep breath, and suddenly, an impulse plunged him beneath the surface. He opened his eyes and saw the Mermaid leading him by the hand into the depths.

In no time, they reached an impressive speed. Their hair swirled frenetically, creating bubbles. The poet looked back towards the surface, where the last rays of sunlight were fading into the water's density.

They descended along a cliff of marine rocks, where a school of fish scattered in fear from the water currents they generated. They continued alongside long strands of seaweed swaying with their passage.

As the darkness grew intense, the Mermaid slowed down, and the poet's feet touched the seabed. They were about three hundred meters deep, but strangely, both felt quite comfortable. Halfway through the journey, the poet had felt the increase in pressure, but instead of rising, it had decreased.

Hand in hand with the Mermaid, the poet walked on the seashore sand, leaving footprints on the gentle undulations that gave it a striated and stretched texture, like that of the desert. The Mermaid led him until they stopped in front of something incredible. It seemed that the pressure anomalies were due to the gigantic circular abyss that marked the end of the seabed. The hole emitted an electric vibration that caused a tingling sensation on the skin.

The Mermaid began to sing. Her voice was celestial. It was a song not composed of words, but of sounds from an unknown alphabet. The first thing the poet heard was something resembling the letter "M." At that moment, the electric sensation surrounding them quivered, and the water began to spiral, as if something had been activated.

The poet felt the tingling on his face accelerate, and the sound penetrated his skin, making him vibrate to the bone. The Mermaid changed the sound, and it now resembled the letter "Æ." With this chant, the waters formed a subtle whirlpool that moved harmoniously.

The Mermaid squeezed the poet's hand, and he knew that the moment of irreversibility had come. She dove with him, taking him towards the abyss, as he had asked.

As they fell into complete darkness, the Mermaid's song enveloped them with beautiful cosmic frequencies that made him feel a serene blueness.

Suddenly, amidst the darkness, a white light appeared on the horizon, a sun that was disproportionately distant. Its rays disintegrated from the core without warning and began to form three-dimensional geometric shapes. These gave way to numerous colors, which began to blend together, like watercolors paints in water.

The poet felt that the colors opened a portal to another dimension, as if they were passing through a tunnel of stars in the middle of outer space.

The multicolored water concentrated into shades of blue, cerulean, cyan, and sky blue. Finally, it dissolved into what seemed like ordinary water, like that of a spring.

A growing light rekindled in the distance. As they approached it, the poet noticed that they were no longer falling; they were rising to the surface, and that light was no longer a sun; it was the lights of a bustling city full of life and sound. He turned and realized that they were moving away from the abyss.

The Mermaid's song gradually faded as the noise of the metropolis grew. There was no time for the poet to identify any sound objects.

They emerged to the surface. The poet caught his breath and observed the unknown before his eyes. The sky was dark cyan, with delicate clouds and stars. There were four moons, one larger and three smaller ones. It was an eternal twilight with harmless drizzle.

That's when he remembered that he had been there before, perhaps in a dream, in a vision, or maybe in the timeless memory of the universe.