“Why not?” the little girl’s voice asked as her eyes pleaded her case. Glancing at Abu, Zara caught his smile before he turned away
from them. In an attempt to maintain a stoic expression, the captain gazed down sternly at the child.
“Because, Nadrah,” Zara began to explain, then as an afterthought, she knelt down to eye level with the child, as she softened her
tone of voice, “I need you to stay here with Abu and the men. Who else will be able to help them but you! You know my habits,
my routines, you can help Abu return home safely should anything happen to me.” She tried to reason with the little one. At her
words, the small dark eyes began to mist. With a gentle smile, the tall leader patted the child’s head. “But we will return, do not
worry little one, we will all return! But still, you cannot go with us, Captain’s orders.” The woman’s voice changed to one of
authority as she rose to her full height. At the order, the child stood tall and she nodded acceptance.
“Allah be with you!” the little voice tried in vain to conceal her sorrow as she stood beside Abu. In unison, the crew echoed
the child’s words as Zara glanced at her crew solemnly. With a confident nod, the mariner turned from the crew and climbed
down the rope ladder to the waiting boat below, then took her place at the head of the boat.
In silence, the men rowed their way over the crashing waves. As if in a trance, they maintained their silence as the distant
shores grew close. Zara took a moment to look back at the ship and saw a tiny figure waving at them. With an inward smile,
the captain returned her gaze to the upcoming shores.
As the waves rolled over the boat, she felt the familiar thud of the sandy embankment. In unison, the men lifted their oars and
placed them in the boat before jumping into the icy cold water. As they heaved the boat to shore, Zara jumped into the
shallow water. She held back her shivering at the chilling ripples and moved swiftly to the dry shore. The sand crunched
below her feet as the scent of ashes wafted toward her. Without looking behind her, she felt her men protectively moving to
surround her. Alert to threats that might appear, they gazed at the nearby trees as they walked to the place where the dock
had once stood. From the corner of her eye she saw the white woman on the shore move toward them.
Zara glanced around the scene. She saw the people moving in the distance but could not hear any sounds except that of the
waves hitting the shores. The stench of death wafted in the air and hung over the once vibrant town. As the hairs on the back
of her neck rose, she looked away and glanced up at a distant mountain that had been charred on the eastern side.
“Hello,” the woman’s voice cut through her silent thoughts. The tall Moroccan felt her men circle her protectively as they
shielded her from this woman. Although the men did not understand the stranger’s dialect, Zara was able to understand that
the woman was speaking in Greek.
As Zara’s mind raced over a myriad of possibilities with regard to the town folks, she looked down at the smaller woman.
She noticed the travel worn boots, dirt stained pants and wrinkled tunic under a lightweight coat. With a satchel on her back
and carrying a tightly wrapped bundle, the woman stood with arms outstretched as she attempted to show the men that she
meant no harm. At the sight of the various weapons on the smaller woman’s body, the captain’s eyes returned to her face.
Hardly older than herself, the Greek woman appeared to have much experience for her years. Yet, Zara noticed the dark
circles enhancing the sadness that seemed harbored in the green pools of her eyes. Her hair, the color of the morning sun,
was disheveled and covered with a fine dust of dirt and ash. In a matter of moments, the ship’s captain had assessed the
woman’s condition before returning her attention back to the city dwellers.
“P-Please,” the soft voice pleaded, “You are the first ship to come to shore. No other ship will come close. Please, I’ve
traveled a great distance… I… need a ride… passage home,” the woman’s voice was soft and pleading. “I-I have money, I
can pay!” she added as she reached under her coat.
At her sudden move and not understanding her words, Zara’s men drew their weapons, as their ranks grew tighter. Seeing
the danger she was in, the golden haired woman moved slowly as she removed a small satchel. “I can pay,” was all she said
as she held out the bag, glancing at the men cautiously.
Zara gave an assenting nod to one of her crewman when he looked to her for instructions. He carefully reached out and took
the bag from the woman. With eyes on her, he shook the bag, and then warily opened it. Turning slightly, he poured the
coins into his palm to show his captain.
“I can pay for passage,” the woman’s voice was calm as she made eye contact with Zara. “I can pay… passage, to Potidaea
do you know where Potidaea is? Greece? Amphipolis?” She asked. Then, in an attempt to cross the language barrier, she
pointed to their ship, then to herself.
“Take me, please!” her request was a whispered plea.
Zara’s men did not understand this woman’s words, yet at her request, a few inhaled deeply. The tall woman could almost
sense their instant fears as they each contemplated what the rest of the crew had been muttering on deck. Even though she
looked real, to them they would always wonder if this stranger was a cursed ghost.
The captain knew that she should have turned away. She should have taken her ship and sailed as far away from this place as
possible, leaving this woman behind. Instead, she looked back up at the fallen village. She could feel the coolness of the
ocean breeze brushing through her long hair. That feeling of uneasiness never left her as she assessed the situation and thought
over her options. If she had any inclination of leaving this woman behind, it disappeared the moment that she looked down
and gazed into the woman’s sad, green eyes.
This woman, for whatever reason, was in the middle of trouble. Zara could tell from her expression that something very bad
had happened to her. It was because of this that the Moroccan captain gave an assenting nod to her men. Then, without
saying a word to them or the woman, she turned and walked back to the boat. Zara was not certain if ghosts existed, nor
was she all together certain that they did not. Her mind concluded that they did not exist, but the hairs that stood on the back
of her neck convinced her that there was a supernatural force at work in Higuchi. Understanding this, she decided that further
investigation of the destroyed village would not be wise.
In silence she went to the boat and waited as her men readied their oars. Without a single word, the smaller woman managed
to find a space for herself and her belongings near the bow. Uncomfortable by her presence, the crewmen with the oars
stayed as far away from the white woman as they could in the cramped space. Zara asked no questions, nor made any
mention that she understood the woman’s dialect. Instead, she planned on observing this woman in hopes of uncovering the
mystery of Japa.
When the boat was brought along side the ship, Zara climbed the rope ladder, and walked toward her cabin. Abu stood
waiting by the cabin entrance. At his silent question, the captain nodded as she looked back down at their new guest who
had clambered aboard after her.
As the silent crew began raising the boat up the side, the captain gave the expected order. “Set sails, Abu, we’re going
home.”
“I anticipated that, we will clear the cove soon,” he responded.
As she cast her glance over her crew, she noticed their reaction towards the stranger. When they saw the Greek woman,
they moved back, afraid that she was somehow evil. Some muttered under their breath, some gave the sign to protect them
from the evil eye, and others simply stated what was on everyone’s mind.
“She is a curse!” the whispered accusations flew over the deck.
Abu waited patiently as he glanced at their unexpected visitor. “This may cause problems,” he stated quietly as he looked
from the woman, to the crew, then turned to his captain.
“We will drop her off at the nearest working port. There will be no problems,” Zara’s firm voice bespoke her resolve as she
took the pouch from one of her men. “Have Mansur clear the secondary cabin for our… guest,” she ordered as she made
her way to her cabin.
Zara ignored her men as she moved up the cabin steps. From behind her, the woman called out, “Hey!” Surprised by such a
forceful cry, the Moroccan captain turned, tilted her head, and looked down at the smaller woman.
“Do you have a name?” the guest asked, “Name? My name is Gabrielle,” she said as she pointed to herself. “Gab-ri-elle.”
She slowly reiterated.
