Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.

My crew knows not the reason, why we are leaving Tortuga with such haste. Some have openly declared their displeasure and I fear that a mutiny will be a real possibility, if I do not speak up soon.

Morgan Varo, Captain's Log - 1st of May, Anno Domini 1643

Captain Morgan Varo stood with her hands crossed behind her back on the quarterdeck. The ocean mirrored a blue sky, with only a few clouds. A steady wind blew out of the west and filled the main and fore sails.

The Black Rose, a sleek, three-masted schooner, made good time. They would reach the small isle, east of Tortuga, sooner than she'd thought. She turned her face into the wind and closed her eyes. The decision she had made only days ago weighed heavy upon her heart and she opened her eyes with a sigh.

"Mister Juner, a word," she called out to the quartermaster, who just gave orders to raise the main topsail.

"Aye, Cap'n." He walked over to Morgan.

"What of the crew?" she leaned forward and asked quietly, tugging a strand of stray hair behind her ear.

"We've been at sea for naught but a few days. I'll be able to keep 'em quiet for a while longer," he said with a wink.

"I've never left a port without talking to the crew about our next destination. I know I'll have to tell them eventually, but what shall I say?" Morgan asked with a sigh.

"It be ye who struck the bargain Cap'n, it be ye who need to find the words," he replied with raised brows, and then he leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. "But ye better do it soon, for none have come back to report," he said and looked around, for fear the crew might have overheard him.

Morgan couldn't help herself and laughed. "You believe that superstitious nonsense?"

"'Tis no laughing matter, Cap'n Varo," he replied quietly and shook his head.

"Well, we will see then, won't we?" Her blue eyes sparkled and she squared her shoulders. Morgan never shied away from a dangerous mission or an adventure.

She picked up the spyglass and looked towards the east. The isle was just a small speck on the horizon.

"Sail ho," the lookout in the crow's nest called out.

Morgan put down the spyglass and looked up, shading her eyes with her free hand. Then she turned her head, to see where he was pointing. She could make out a ship on the horizon, following in the wake of the Black Rose.

Her heart sunk. They had left Tortuga unobserved, of that she was sure. Had she missed something or someone? If they were being pursued, it would seriously jeopardize her mission. The only people who knew about their next destination were Juner and herself.

Morgan picked up the spyglass again and let out a sigh of relief. It was only a merchant vessel. Then she noticed the ship's deep draft. It was probably loaded full of valuable goods, by the looks of it.

The crew apparently had noticed that fact, too and calls of excitement went up all around her. Morgan turned to look at the distant island, then again at the approaching vessel. They had time. Maybe she should give her crew the satisfaction of a few well earned goods.

"Mr. Juner, what say you, shall we have some fun?" Morgan asked the quartermaster with a grin.

"Aye Cap'n, it may shut up the talk of mutiny," he said and winked at her.

"Give the order to put powder to the guns, but let's keep it quiet. We don't want to give ourselves away too soon," she told him.

Mr. Juner simply nodded and relayed her order to the crew.

The Black Rose, a quick and very maneuverable schooner, sported ten four-pounders and several swivel guns mounted on the railing. The gun-crews executed their orders with fast and sure movements. Soon the cannons were loaded and ready. The gun-captains huddled out of sight, waiting for the signal to pull the cord attached to the gunlock, which would create a spark and ignite the charge.

The remaining crew followed routine activities, so as not to rouse any suspicion on board of the merchant vessel, which was catching up fast. Morgan walked down the stairs and stepped onto the main deck. Then she took up her position next to the mainmast. From here, she could easily command her crew.

"Steady, steady," she hissed, while keeping the approaching ship in the corner of her eyes. "Let them come closer," Morgan added quietly and resisted the urge to reach for her cutlass.

The bow of the merchant vessel was now almost even with the stern of the Black Rose. Nobody on the other ship seemed to be alerted by their presence. Satisfied, Morgan waited a few more moments and when they where almost parallel, she finally gave the command her crew had been waiting for.

"Hoist our colors," she called out and watched as eager hands pulled on the line to raise the Jolly Roger. Soon, the black flag featuring a skull and two crossed Roses, fluttered in the breeze, high above their heads.

The next instance, the gunners opened the port holes and Morgan gave the signal to fire upon the merchant ship.

"Run a shot across her bow," she called out.

The ear shattering noise of a four-pounder ripped through the air. For now, it was only a warning shot. Other cannons were loaded and ready should the other vessel put up a fight. Her crew was standing by with grappling hooks, prepared to board the merchant vessel. It would be only a matter of time until they made off with the cargo.

She noticed too late that the other vessel had been bearing down on them all along, taking the wind out of their sails. They lay dead in the water. Morgan placed both hands onto the railing and looked at the crew of the other vessel. To her surprise, she saw that they did not appear to be frightened in any way.

Time seemed to stand still and Morgan felt her control over the situation slipping. Her crew released the grappling hooks to hold the merchant ship in place, while they began to board it. Suddenly, the trap door of the cargo hold opened and hit the deck with a resounding boom.

Morgan still stood rooted to the spot, unable to move or to look away, as the horror unfolded before her eyes.

One red-coat after another exited the hold, until the deck was filled with British soldiers. Pistol fire echoed across the sea and Morgan had to watch as several of her crew simply dropped dead, without putting up a fight.

"Cap'n, we'll have to cut her loose," Mr. Juner's words cut through her muddled brain.

Morgan shook off the feeling of helplessness and took hold of a boarding axe.

"Retreat, retreat," she cried out, as she began to sever the lines that tied the 'Black Rose' to the merchant ship. The railing splintered in places, where the axe bit too deep into the wood, but Morgan didn't care. They had to break free and make a run for it.

Morgan knew that the Black Rose was able to point higher to windward and held her speed better than the deeper keeled 'merchant' vessel. Now it was up to her helmsman to maneuver the ship into the wind and away from the deadly trap of the British Navy.

Mr. Juner was already barking commands, as they began to take short tacks up towards the wind. Once they where finally beam-on to their windward destination, they began to tack through the wind at ninety degrees to point directly at the still distant island.

Sharp cannon blasts resounded from the larger vessel in the wake of their hasty departure.

After the botched plunder, the hostility of the crew rose and some openly dared to speak out against Morgan's abilities as a captain.

Morgan withdrew to her cabin, unable to face the men.

I should have stayed on deck and silenced those who called me unfit to captain this vessel, she thought as she sat down behind her desk. Then she opened her journal, picked up her quill and dipped it slowly into the inkwell. After she tapped it against the rim of the little pot, she put the quill to paper.

Five of my crew lay dead after another failed attempt to plunder a passing merchant ship. Once again, I let them down and I fear that my days as Captain of the Black Rose are numbered. I do not blame my men. Maybe I am unfit to command this fine ship. Ill luck seems to be following me. I just hope that my crew will give me one last chance, for the biggest treasure anyone has ever laid eyes upon is within our grasp.

Morgan put down the quill and turned her gaze toward the window, contemplating what lay ahead.

Lost in her thoughts she did not hear the door open.

"Cap'n, excuse me intrusion, but ye didn't answer when I knocked," Mr. Juner said.

Morgan didn't look at the man, but simply nodded and waved him closer. Then she slowly turned toward him and their eyes met.

"Do you think that I am unfit as well?" she asked softly. They had sailed together for many years and she would trust his judgment above all.

The look in his eyes answered her question and she raised her hand, saving him from uttering a lie.

"Now, why did you come to see me?" Morgan asked instead and watched as her quartermaster let out a sigh of relief. Unable to help herself, she burst out laughing. "You were never able to hide your feelings well, Ben," Morgan said and then pointed at a chair. "Please, sit. I need to go over our jaunt with you before we reach the isle," she added and then leaned back, looking at the man across from her expectantly.

Ben Juner twisted his hat between his hands, still standing. "The crew has voted," he finally burst out and his eyes were filled with sadness. "Yer out, Morgan," he added quietly.

"What? When did they vote?" she called out and stood up so fast, her chair toppled over and hit the deck with a loud thud. Then she paced back and forth, agitated, like a trapped wild cat. Even though she had known that this might occur, she was not prepared for it to happen so soon. Her eyes darted to the door, expecting to see a representative of the crew burst in and relief her of her station.

She finally quit her pacing and stopped in front of Juner. "Tell me, who will take my place?" she asked with a quiet calm, as if she had reached the center of a storm.

"It is I," Juner said with a firm voice and Morgan's world fell apart.

"You?" she whispered. "I ... I thought you my friend," she said underneath her breath.

Suddenly, Juner's eyes lit up and a big grin spread across his face. "Morgan, I thought ye'd know me well enough by now. Of course I'm yer friend. Who d'ye think will be me quartermaster?" he asked and slapped his thigh. "By the Gods, it be ye!" he called out.

Morgan stared at the man, who seemed to have truly gone mad. Then his words sank in and she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her chest.

"Me? You made me the quartermaster?" she asked and joined into Ben's laughter.

Hell, I can live with that; better than being marooned, she thought and picked up her chair. She was about to sit down, when she remembered that Juner was now the captain.

"Cap'n," she said grinning and presented the chair to him with a sweeping gesture. Juner returned Morgan's grin, as he sat down.

Morgan then took the seat she had offered Juner earlier, in front of the desk.

"Now, let's talk treasure," she suggested and leaned forward.

Mr. Juner furrowed his brows. "Ye know Morgan, I be with ye on this, but I dunna have ta like it," he told her.

Morgan only rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Cap'n, you have nothing to fear, for you will stay with the ship. Just give me four of our best men and I will make sure to return with the loot," she countered.

***

The moon rose over the bay when they finally reached their destination, the Isla de los Muertos or Isle of the Dead. Even the most hardened pirates couldn't help making the sign against evil, once they recognized the place.

It had taken all of Juner's skills to convince the crew to lay anchor near this accursed isle. But when it came time to select the men who would accompany Morgan, not even Juner's sweet talk worked. The only thing that could motivate the crew to set foot on that island was the promise of cold, hard coin – a doubloon for each man, who volunteered to set over with the quartermaster. Finally, four men stepped forward and agreed to the task.

Morgan now stood at the railing and watched several men lower the row boat that would carry her and the four others to the island.

An eerie silence covered the area and the only sound that could be heard was that of waves lapping gently against the hull. It was time. Morgan climbed down the Jacob's ladder, followed by her four companions. All were heavily armed with cutlass and two pistols each. Nobody knew what to expect, because the stories concerning this area differed, depending on who was telling the tale. One thing was for certain; no one had ever heard a first hand account.

Juner handed down a lantern. "Good luck to ye. If yer no back after dawn, we'll haul anchor and sail back to Tortuga as agreed," he said quietly, but his words sounded hollow in Morgan's ears.

Would he truly be able to abandon me? Their eyes met and Morgan noticed the imperceptible nod, confirming that he would wait and if necessary come looking for her.

Two men grabbed the oars and the small boat soon sped through the darkness, toward unfortold riches, at least that's what Morgan hoped. The lonely call of a seagull, bobbing on the waves, broke the silence. Morgan inhaled the salty taste of the sea. The island loomed above them, a silent sentinel cloaked in shadows.

Morgan sat facing the Black Rose. The night slowly claimed the ship and soon all she could make out, were two, small lanterns – beacons of light in the ever growing darkness.

Just as she turned around, to see how much further until they reached land, the boat came to a grinding halt on a sandy beach. The sudden stop jolted Morgan from her seat and she jumped up, then out. She helped the men to pull the boat out of the water and secure it. Once that was done, the four men and Morgan took a good look around.

A dense line of trees and brush began a few paces above the beach. Large cliffs rose above them to either side, creating a secure cove. They each picked up an empty canvas bag, to secure any treasure they might find. Morgan grabbed the lantern and led the way. They entered the bush single file. Suddenly, Morgan stopped and turned to her men.

"Do you hear that?" she asked softly and held up the lantern.

"What? I hear nothing," one of the men replied.

"Exactly; it's too quiet. This jungle should be filled with all sorts of animal noises," she pointed out.

"What do ye expect, Morgan? We are standing on cursed land. Now, let's get a move on, the sooner we are done here, the better," the man said gruffly, not quite able to hide his fear.

Morgan simply nodded her agreement and they continued their journey in eerie silence.

After they walked for about thirty minutes, the trees thinned out and the bush gave way to reveal an ancient ruin. Vines covered the structure from top to bottom and Morgan had a hard time locating the entrance. It took her longer than she had thought, but she finally found it.

"Ye ... ye don't mean for us to go in there?" one of Morgan's companions asked with a shaky voice.

Morgan looked at the man and put her hands on her hips. "Jim McCarran, don't tell me ye are a coward!" she challenged him and watched satisfied as he slowly shook his head.

"Well then, let's get on with it," she said and pushed a few vines out of the way to peer into the dark passage they had uncovered. The light of the lantern did not penetrate the inky blackness and Morgan took a resolute step into the tunnel.

Stale, warm air filled her lungs and she grimaced. It looked as if no one had walked through these long forgotten halls in centuries. A carpet of untouched dust and crushed bones covered the ground. Morgan noticed with astonishment that the corners were free of cobwebs.

They soon found out the reason for it when a loud rumble echoed through the darkness, followed by a subdued screeching noise. Morgan exchanged worried glances with her men. Then the walls began to move toward each other, slow and deliberate, trying to crush the intruders.

"Run," Morgan yelled and took off. Bleached bones crunched beneath each step as she hastened down the corridor. She could hear her men behind her, keeping pace. The hallway had been reduced to half its size, so that they had to run in single file, and even the remaining space was rapidly decreasing. Morgan had no plans of dying here and now, so she gathered her last reserves and sprinted along, hoping to find a side passage. However, her hopes were crushed like the bones underfoot, as they reached a dead end. Morgan turned around wide-eyed and looked at her men, the horror she felt mirrored in her eyes. Then, in a desperate attempt to stop the moving walls, she placed her hands onto their rough surface and began to push back.

"Help me," she called out frantically, even though she knew that their efforts would be wasted. Beads of sweat covered her forehead and she let out a frustrated cry. Then she punched the wall that blocked their escape. In that same moment, parts of the floor disappeared and Morgan cried out again, as they were falling, falling, falling through the darkness. This time, the four men joined their voices with Morgan's, as they called out in surprise and fear.

They landed in a heap on a soft surface. The sickly, sweet smell of decay permeated the air. Morgan groaned as the weight of the men almost crushed her. However, she had the presence of mind to turn her head, before her face was pressed into the thing that had cushioned their fall. Too late she realized that this 'thing' was the rotting body of an indistinguishable wild animal, big enough that it could have torn her in half, had it been alive. Disgusted, she jumped to her feet and took several steps back, trying to calm her unsettled stomach.

They had lost the lantern during the mad dash, trying to outrun the crushing walls. However, the darkness was not complete; thin slivers of light entered the hallway from odd directions, creating a hazy, and twilit atmosphere.

After they checked themselves for injuries, Jim turned to Morgan, who was still staring at the dead animal.

"Now, which way?" he wanted to know.

She looked around, puzzled, her sense of direction completely distorted by the fall they had taken. Without a second thought, Morgan turned left and motioned for her men to follow. The path led them deeper and deeper into the ruin. Each step disturbed the age old soil beneath their feet.

After they had walked for a while, they came upon another passage, leading off from the main corridor. Morgan tried to remember what her source had told her concerning the layout of this ruined temple. He had urged her to memorize a map with all its details, which he then burned afterward. Morgan cursed the man, if one could call him that, for not trusting her with the drawing. Nevertheless, she had agreed to put her life on the line, in order to gain riches in exchange for a favor.

"Morgan," Jim's voice penetrated her thoughts and she looked up startled. "Are ye alright?" he asked concerned, waving his hand in front of her face.

Morgan grabbed his wrist. "Aye, I'm fine, but I'll have to think on where we should turn," she hissed and let go of his arm abruptly. "Now, don't interrupt me again," she added with a frown.

After another minute, her face lit up, for she finally remembered the way.

"Hurry, we must keep moving," she said and they rushed through the corridor, which eventually opened up into a large chamber. Green, smooth marble tiles covered the floor and an opening in the far wall let in brilliant, white moonlight. Morgan inhaled deeply and let the fresh air wash over her.

They approached the center of what must be the inner shrine. A large statue of a long forgotten deity stood on a raised pedestal, reaching out with two massive arms, as if trying to embrace her people. Morgan tilted her head back and looked at the finely chiseled features in awe. The face of the goddess, caressed by moonbeams and not touched by time, shimmered silver.

"The Mask of Muertosa," she whispered and suddenly realized that superstitious people had inadvertently changed the name of the isle by dropping the "a" from the deity's name.

"We risk our lives for that?" one of the men spat, pointing at the mask.

"No, we came here to complete a ritual," Morgan finally admitted, afraid that her men would fall upon her as soon as the words left her mouth.

They all looked at her in disbelief. "Ye're a rotten cheat and a liar to boot. We should've marooned ye here, when we had the chance," the earlier speaker yelled, and balled his fist, taking a menacing step towards her.

Jim grabbed the man's arm, turned him around and landed a right hook, knocking the man to the floor. "You watch how ye speak to the quartermaster," he hissed and kicked him in the gut for good measure.

"What is it we have ta do?" he then asked Morgan, but still keeping an eye on the man, who sat up and wiped the blood from his lips.

"Help me, quickly now, for the time is near," Morgan just said and pulled out two candles, a small dish, a bottle of rum and various herbs, which she placed near the feet of the statue. Once the candles were lit, she crumbled the dried herbs into the dish and added a swig of rum. She combined the essence of the two and then ignited the mixture. Pungent smoke rose up and Morgan suppressed a cough, as she inhaled it.

She sat down on her haunches and indicated for the men to do the same. Then she closed her eyes and cleared her mind. Soon, the emptiness was filled with images of times long past. A voice echoed through her head, reminding her of her duty.

Blind eyes looking on without a sound

Long lost in the shadows, and now found

Muertosa, our mother, is standing tall

The one I sought, followed my call

Past, present and future me

Meets the pirate of the deep blue sea

The words faded and then a small compartment at the base of the statue opened up, revealing a lever. Morgan reached down and pulled the handle, which in turn activated a hidden door to her left.

Now plunge your blade into the chest

To free my soul and let me rest

Take the reward you will find

And leave this isle far behind

Morgan stood and stretched her stiff legs. Her men did not move, as she walked toward the opening as if in a trance. Fear gripped her heart as she stepped into the small room, and came face to face with an ancient ghost. Suddenly, it unleashed a blast of frigid air that hit Morgan's chest.

She gasped, moving her mouth like a fish on land, trying to bring air into her frozen lungs. Just when she thought she would pass out, she was able to take a breath. Greedily, she sucked in the air, while keeping an eye on her opponent. Now, she knew what to expect and dodged the second blast of frost by throwing herself on the ground.

It was time to end it and seal the bargain. Morgan jumped back up and plunged her cutlass deep into the chest of the supernatural being. The sword turned first blue than glowing white, as frost crystals covered the blade like a sheath. Morgan yelled out in pain and pulled back her hand as the cold steel bit deep into her palm. Some of her skin, still clung to the hilt.

The ghost screeched once, before it dissolved into fine mist, then disappeared.

"You are free," Morgan whispered and cradled her injured hand with her good one. Suddenly, a wall in the back of the chamber opened, revealing a knee high mound of gold and precious jewels.

"Jim, Marc, Ken, Luke, come here, hurry!" Morgan yelled excited, her voice echoing through the chamber.

The men filed in behind Morgan and stared in disbelief at the treasure before them.

***

The crew celebrated me like a hero, when I returned with such wealth. My opponents, who fought to have me removed, even offered to reinstate me as Captain, but I declined. Let Juner have a go at it, is what I said.

My hand is healing slowly, and it still pains me to write these lines.

Now, I have only one more task left to do. Once we reach Tortuga, I must seek out the tomb of the one who charged me with this mission to fulfill the prophecy and quiet his voice forever. May my ancestors rest in peace.