The Captain’s Tale

He ran to the front door. He was first to arrive and see the strangeness in the eyes. All life stopped in the pupils of the lost seafarer. He entered and smelled of salty aire and long days of musty dampness. He removed his cap and said, “Is Helana here?” As if he had expected the young man to escort him into the parlor and suggest he sit until Helana was ready to greet him.
“I’m sorry. There is no one by that name here,” replied the young man. Peter did not think of himself as a young man. He had spent twelve summers at his Grandmother’s farm since he had been born.
The old seafarer cleared his throat roughly and brushed past Peter into the early morning light that filtered through the parlor windows. “I will wait in the parlor for her. Please let her know that I am here.”
“But sir, I don’t know your name, and I have told you that there is no one by the name of Helana at this address.
The man pulled an old gold watch, which hung from a chain, from the pocket of his slightly clean, blue jacket. “I’m not late. You fetch her.”
“I am not a dog. I won’t “fetch her”, and since there is no “her” to fetch, you should just leave. You must have the wrong house.” Peter replied, becoming angry at the old man.
The old man took his Captain’s Cap off; then the curly and straggly gray ends of the man’s shoulder length hair shook as the he bellowed, “Helana! I’m here! Where did you ever get such an insolent boy! Helana! I won’t wait forever! Then he put his cap back on his head.
Peter’s Grandmother entered from the kitchen door into the parlor. “Who is that shouting so early in the morning?” She adjusted her wire framed glasses on her face and patted her hands dry on her pink hued flowery apron with the huge pockets that lay across her large belly. She squinted at the man through her glasses as she walked closer to his seated position on the settee.
“Who are you? Speak your name, man. Speak it loud, I can’t hear too well anymore. Well, who are you?”
The man stared at Peter’s Grandmother, and whispered, with tears in his eyes, “Helana.”
“What did you say, man? Speak up!”
“Helana?”
“Your name is Helana? What a strange name for a man.”
“No, no…that’s not my name. Are you Helana?”
“No, can’t say as I am.”
“Oh, then I’m sorry that I disturbed you.” The man stood up, removed his cap, looked down at the mauve carpeting of the parlor, and began to walk towards the door.
“Wait!” Peter’s Grandmother shouted. “You remind me of someone. Aren’t you Captain McGuiry?”

“Yes, Mam. My name is Captain Cilas McGuiry. Who are you?”

“My name is Margaret Olston, but you may remember me as Maggie McCracken.”

“Surely, young Maggie McCracken. So Horace Olston finally caught ya. How is young Race?”

“Oh, he died many, many, turnings of the tide ago, Cilas. This lad, here, is my Grandson, Peter.”

“Ah, time has slipped me by. I was sure I had only been gone a year. I have tried too long to return to my Helena. In my mind, I just kept picturing her dark brown hair and blue eyes with the flecks of gold, and that wide smile. I think that picture…this picture…” Cilas hesitated as his hands shook reaching into his pocket for an ancient, yellowed, black and white photo of a beautiful woman with wild eyes. The edges of the photo were bent over or torn off, and the paper was wrinkled by time. Cilas held the photo up to Peter and is Grandmother. Peter thought he hadn’t seen a more beautiful lady in all his life.

A tear trickled down the old Captain’s weather etched cheek, as he said, “Is Helana…is she?”

“Is she dead, Cilas? No. Helena is still alive, but she’s lived a whole life since you left. She waited ever the longest time for you Cilas, but she married and had children, and grandchildren. She hasn’t lived in this house for near fifty years now, Cilas. You broke her heart. What happened to you?” Peter’s grandmother sat down next to the old man and put her arm around his shoulder as he stared at his feet and sobbed.

The old Captain looked up from his feet and said, “It’s a long story, Maggie. I’ve missed my whole life several times. I’ve missed Helana. It’s too late, isn’t it? She has a life and no longer wants or needs me. I should never have sailed off that morning. Never!”

Maggie removed her arm, grabbed Cilas’ hand, and squeezed it tight. “Cilas, it was part of your destiny to sail off that morning. We all knew it, but we guessed you would never return. We hoped you would, but after so many years had gone by, we figured that the sea had taken you. Helena throws a wreath of gardenias and red carnations on the sea every year on the day you left; the day you were lost to her. She remembers you this way. She remembers you like the picture of the six of us standing on the pier the last summer we were all together and so full of life and youth. I still have the picture. Peter, go and get the picture in the silver frame on my dresser in my room.”

Peter had been standing in front of the too very old people with his mouth open and his eyes wide. Grandma, I don’t want to leave you alone with this crazy old man. I don’t care if you think you know him. He seems dangerous to me.”

Peter’s Grandma Maggie gave him her no-nonsense look, and said, “Peter Allan Guard, you do what I say. You know better than to talk back to your Grandmother, and you better just respect your elders here. I know your mother has taught you better than that. Go do what I said; now! No dawdling young man!”

Peter kicked the floor with his boots and looked down at his feet; then shuffled up the stairs to his Grandmother’s room. Halfway up the stairs, he heard his Grandmother say, “No, you sit here a moment while I go to the kitchen and make some tea and a tray of sandwiches. You look tired and hungry. I have plenty of time, and we are going to sit here and drink tea and eat sandwiches while you tell me where you’ve been and what happened to you.”

The old Captain replied, “Maggie, do you think she’ll want to see me? I know she’s married, but do you think I could at least see her?”

“You just hold your sails, Cilas. It’s been a long time. There are a lot of things you need to know, and a lot of things I need to tell you. We’ll talk first; then you will take a bath and get some rest tonight. You can stay here; then we will talk about going to see Helena.”

“What’s there to know? She’s alive, and she thinks of me. What else do I need to know?”

“That’s what we need to talk about, and Peter, I thought I told you to get that photo from my room! It’s not nice to eavesdrop, young man!”

Peter heard his Grandmother walk into the kitchen for the tea and sandwiches. He walked slowly up the rest of the stairs to the second floor of his Grandmother’s house as he thought, “How did she know he had been standing there? How did she always seem to know everything and the right thing to do?”

As Peter entered his Grandmother’s warm lacy room, he grabbed the photograph his Grandmother had described. He held it in his hands and sat on the edge of his Grandmother’s bed, starring at the six people in the picture. He was trying to guess which one was his Grandmother, which one might be his Grandfather, and which one was the Captain.

The photo was taken in front of the main pier in the harbor. A large white dog was lying in front of the six young people, and two of the people were leaning on a Harley travelling motor bike. One guy was smoking a cigarette.

Cilas, the Captain, was the one in the Captain’s hat and double-buttoned dress jacket. He looked almost the same as when he had walked in the door, except his hair was darker, he had less wrinkles, and Peter thought the Captain just looked altogether newer in the photo.

He guessed his Grandfather was the one smoking the cigarette. The young guy’s nose looked just like his Grandfather’s. No one could ever mistake that nose. But the young woman sitting on his Grandfather’s lap looked nothing like his Grandmother.

Peter had a great idea. He knew his Grandmother always wrote stuff on the back of her pictures: date, time, and what the event was, and who was in the photo. He would take the picture out of the frame, and see if she listed, in order, which person she was. That way, he could surprise her by guessing the right lady as her.

He twisted the tabs that held the back of the plate of the frame; then began to lift the plate, when a cold breeze chilled his hands as his Grandmother hollered up to him, “Quit playing with my photo and bring it down here, young man!” Come have some sandwiches and be polite. I might let you stay and listen to the Captain’s tale!”

Peter searched the windows in his Grandmother’s room, but none were open. The cold chill blew his hair, and he ran out of the room and down the stairs as quick as he could move.

As Peter rounded the corner into the parlor, he saw his Grandmother pouring tea, and the Captain reaching for one of the neatly cut, triangular white bread sandwiches from the large silver tray.

All three squeezed on the settee to look at the old photo that Peter had in his hand.

Silence filled the room, and a shutter went through the air. Peter could barely make it out, but old Garland’s bait shop was on the corner even way back in the old days. Then, Peter noticed something he hadn’t seen before: a large sailing ship, like a galleon, in the ghostly distance of the photo.

“What’s that?” Peter asked in amazement, breaking the silence.

“That (Cilas grinned a yellow toothed grin) is the Lysander, my vessel.”

“But…but that ship must be hundreds of…”

“Peter, don’t be rude,” his Grandmother interrupted him.

“But…”

“No ‘buts’, young man. Cilas has a story to tell, and we’re going to let him tell it. Then, I have a story to tell him,” his Grandmother looked at him strangely.

“We sailed out that morning. I remember the night before we sailed out. We had all gone to the big city. We had driven straight all day and got there late. We all went to a bar and got drunk. Helana got that tattoo. Horace, Serena, George, you, Helana, and I. You and George rode the bike. You dressed all in leather wearing that little leather cap. Your golden blonde curls flying in the wind…”

As the Captain spoke, Peter looked closely at the photo. He saw the very skinny young woman leaning against the motorcycle with her head thrown back and a huge laugh on her face. She looked like a movie star. Almost like Marilyn, who had died just last year, but the girl in the picture was skinnier, prettier, and had longer hair than Marilyn.

“Wow!” Peter hadn’t realized he had said it out loud.

“Wow, what, young man?” Peter’s Grandmother said.

“That’s you?” Peter pointed at the photo.

“Yes. Didn’t I tell you not to interrupt? We’ll give you one more chance. But you just listen from now on. You got that?”

“Yes, mam.”

“Move off the settee and sit in that chair, there.”

“Yes, mam.”

“Cilas, what happened?”

“We sailed off as planned that morning. We headed north, just as planned. The timing was perfect. I should have returned in the year as scheduled, but when we were approaching the poles, we hit the ice storms, and then that is when things began to get crazy.”

“Did you get the piano? Alright, you know what I really want to know. Did you find the medallion? Did you find the hidden spring?”

“Yes, and no.”

“Well, Cilas, what happened?” There was a glow in Maggie’s cheeks and an excitement in her voice that Peter had never noticed before.

“Do you want me to reveal all in front of the boy?” Cilas asked, mysteriously.

Peter wondered what the big secret was and was growing tired of the old people. He wanted to go to the lake and meet up with his pals and jump off the tire swing into the lake. Joey was going to bring a beer today, and they were all going to be cool and have their first drink. Yesterday, they had all become blood brothers: Joey, Matt, Randy, Jack, and Peter.

He was ready to excuse himself, but his Grandmother said, “I know that meeting with your friends is important to you, Peter, but you must stay and hear the story. It is your legacy to follow, and perhaps, your friends can help. Cilas, remember the tale, starting with us, and then every other generation. That would be Peter.

“Yes. Well, I had the book in my hand, the locket on the chain, and the compass. I sailed to Ireland, and found the singing woman with the piano. She had deep red shinning hair and the earthly hips and curves a woman should have. The warmth that came from her hearth was inspiring. I had to trade five men in order to obtain the piano, but I did get it. Most of the men were completely enchanted by her, but all I could think of was Helana. I had no difficulty finding five men to stay with the lady of the piano, but her magic had no power over me. Although she tried to dissuade me and my crew from our mission, she lost. She challenged me to stay true to my Helana until I saw her again. If I did not; then I and the five men would be her slaves until our dying days, and the piano would return to her. Her challenge was the only way she would let my ship leave her shore with the piano and our lives.”

“Did you stay true? It was such a long time…how could you have stayed true?” Maggie asked with blonde curls resting on her shoulders. Peter turned towards his Grandmother, and wondered what trick of the light had colored his Grandmother’s hair blonde and made it longer. He looked again, and she had short, white, pincurled hair again.

I must tell you the rest of the story, but can I get a cleaned up first? I’m beginning to feel unnaturally unclean sitting in your fine parlor in clothes I’ve been saving in a trunk for fifty years to wear.” Cilas spoke and suddenly looked like the young man in the photo. Peter looked again, and thought maybe he should take a nap or something because Cilas was the old man who had walked through the door that morning, but the sun was already setting. Something was happening, but Peter couldn’t figure out what. The light, the time, the two old people; something was playing tricks on him.

Peter thought, “Cilas was just telling a story, wasn’t he? There was no woman in Ireland that would trade a piano for five men, was there?”

Peter rested his head on the chair and began to sleep.

“Cilas, I’ll show you the modern bathroom and how to work everything. You’ll love it. We’ve tired the poor boy out. You must have been partially successful. We are skipping some time just talking about it, but it isn’t lasting. What happened?”

“I’ll leave you the book,” Cilas pulled an old tattered brown leather covered book from his inside vest pocket. Imbedded in the cover was a butterfly resting on top of a swirling symbol in two pieces. The two pieces interconnected in such a way; one could not exist without the other.

“Read the last twenty pages or so. You might have to go back further than that, but the last twenty pages should explain a lot. I’ll finish the story after I clean,” Cilas said, sounding very tired.

“I’ll get some of Horace’s…Race’s clothes so you have something clean. I’ll wash out your clothes. You’ll need them for tomorrow. I better make some dinner…and some coffee. It’s going to be a long night,” Maggie said, feeling younger every minute.

Peter was wide awake as he heard the stomping down the stairs. He had a crick in his neck from falling asleep in the chair. He could smell the roast, potatoes, corn, ad apple pie his Grandmother had made. The sky was dark outside. He was confused, but hungry and anxious to hear the rest of the story. He had no dreams at all, which was strange for him. He wasn’t surprised to see a young Cilas bouncing down the stairs, wearing one of his Grandfather’s old sweaters.

Maggie came out of the kitchen with a steaming hot plate that carried the roast while she hummed a bubbly tune. “You boys can help me bring the food to the dining table. I’ve lit some candles. We’ll eat in there.” Her blonde curls bounced, her flowered apron almost went down to her ankles. Her stomach was flat, and she threw back her head and laughed.

“Did you read the pages in the book?”

“I didn’t have time. I was preparing a feast!” She laughed again, and sprung back into the kitchen for more plates.

The “boys” followed to assist her. When all the food was placed on the table, and the table was set, the three sat in the candlelight and waited. The table was set for six people. The window in the dining room blew open, and a breeze came off the water smelling sweet with lilacs.

There was a knock at the front door. Maggie jumped up and ran to the door, saying, “Our guests are arriving! How fun! You must have completed part of the journey!”

Peter’s Grandmother walked back into the room with old George, who flickered back and forth between the image of him in the picture and the old man Peter knew as the owner of the Harbor Yacht Club.

A misty image flew through the opened dining room window and began to solidify into the other woman in the picture, Serena. Another ghostly image walked down the stairs and into the dining room. The young version of Peter’s Grandfather sauntered into the dining room and said, “Well, looks like we are having a party!”

“I must be sitting in Helana’s chair,” Peter said, dreamily.

“Yes, Peter.” Cilas said, sadly.

Peter rubbed his eyes and decided he was just hungry, and everything was in his starved stomach’s imagination.

As the steam rose from the food, and Peter ate, the others joked and laughed, and Cilas continued his story.

“Then, we followed the compass south to a large island that I didn’t find charted on any of my maps. Large mountains built from stone blocks and one natural large mountain, and the sky so blue. The water was rough and untamed. We travelled within the lush green interior of the island until we found the mountain that had the symbol of the locket, and then placed the locket on the symbol. The entire island began to glow. The ground shook, a door opened in the side of the mountain, and I and five of my men were allowed to enter. The rest of the men were locked outside or killed by the door closing on them. At first, it was dark inside the large mountain’s cave, but I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. We followed the light. Two men disappeared without a sound before we reached the light. Me and three of my men left the dirty walled caves of the darkness and entered the light of white marbled walls. Colorful murals were painted on the ceiling depicting unspeakable but glorious acts of fornication, hunts, adventures, inventions, and explanations of creation; things I could not understand or even relay or impart. Tapestries woven from warm hued silk hung in spaces throughout the large hall. Music played from all around me as naked children ran by me, laughing. The children surrounded me and my men and pushed us through the hall.

A voice echoed in my head, saying: “Follow and you will know;” then, “Speak the truth, and all will be revealed. The water goes that way.”

We walked up winding stairs of red brick and dirt; lit by the flames of torches stuck into the walls. We opened a trap door up into a dark room full of blazing candles and showing light coming from a hole in the ceiling. The room had rusty colored dirt walls. A man stood on top of a gray tiered platform under the hole in the ceiling of the cave.

The man was old with a long white beard. He was dressed in a satin indigo robe with silver constellations shining in the blueness. He wore a conical hat mad of the same material. His turquoise eyes were almost too bright. They pierced my thoughts. He waved the smoke towards him and breathed it in.

The naked children pushed me away from the rest of my men so I was standing on the other side of the caldron from the man. The wise man said nothing, but blew the smoke towards me. I inhaled it, and heard the voice again in my head, “Call me, Father. That should be fine for now, Cilas.”

“The medallion.” I thought.

“You must travel first,” his voice resounded in my chest. He blew more of the steam from the caldron towards me. The gray air smelled sweet and reminded me of my mum when I was a child growing up in Scotland hundreds of years ago. I had forgotten her when I got trapped on the waves of time the first trip I had taken on the Lysander.

There I was again. I drifted upon the sweet smelling steam through the hole in the ceiling. I floated into my mother’s arms.

I was three or so. She held me and sung wonderful songs…”

Cilas wandered off and sang a song with words Peter didn’t understand, but he thought the song was beautiful. Cilas was much older than Peter had first realized. He must have been hundreds of years old. “But how?” Peter thought. There was some magic in the air. Peter had never believed in magic before. He couldn’t explain his dead grandfather sitting next to him and passing the mashed potatoes as Cilas spoke. He couldn’t explain touching the warmth of his grandfather’s young hand in the transition of the bowl of gravy. Peter had pinched himself. He was very much awake.

“My mother had always sung to me about the locket and medallion. It was this warm strong woman who had started my dreaming and believing. She started me on this strange journey.

It was the1500s when I was a young man wearing kilts and colors, growing up in Scotland. Time has passed me by so often. I’m not sure how long I’ve been at sea. I do know I lived on the shore and cut trees with my father and herded the sheep in the high country during the spring. I cut the trees for The Lysander with my father and built the ship with my friends who I had my first ale with. Most are no longer with me. Some left the journey after we had lost time on the first venture out to sea. Only Harkin remains of my original friends, and my original crew. Men joined me over the centuries for one reason or another. Most didn’t truly believe in the journey until it was too late and time passed them by or they died on the journey.

I had sailed off one spring morning as my father went to the hills with the sheep, and the first fishing boats of the season gleamed in the rising sun.

My mother held me long and then waved me goodbye. I was a mere lad of one and twenty years.

But keep in mind, all this is repeating itself in the caverns of the island of strange mountains. I went through my first journey away from home, away from my mother, again, where we ship wrecked on the moving island. We repaired the ship, but could not leave the island. The moving island is where I found the golden locket on the green ribbon. Once I had found the locket, we were allowed to leave the island, but a hundred or more years had passed without us knowing. What we thought of as months or a year on a sundial turned into the turning of many pages on a calendar.

When we returned to civilization again, the world was a different place. All of our loved ones were gone and long buried under stone no longer legible with their names. Things moved faster. Everything was much faster. Scotland was not unto itself anymore. I found a relation, Katherine McGuiry, in the town where I had been born. I have no idea how we were related, but when the Lysander came into harbor, she greeted us and put us up in her hotel. She stayed up many late nights with her withered hands patting mine, saying, “You must read the McGuiry family books. One daughter is chosen to watch for your coming from one time to the next. Your mother, Miranda, instilled in our blood, the strength and reason to believe and understand the ancient song, and to know that you would always come back home. Your journey is not complete. You have just started. Where is the piano? Why haven’t you found the book yet? You may rest here for a time. Not long. Any that wish to stay, may stay. You can find new crew here. You must be on your way soon. I just can’t believe I’ve been so lucky to be one of the many that will be able to touch the legend and hear the adventures from your own mouth, Sir Cilas.”

Peter didn’t know what to think. The Captain seemed to be telling a story within a story.

“When I sailed again from Scottland, I came here, where I found the book and all of you. My timeless family.”

“Then what happened?” Peter’s young Grandmother asked.

“The man in the robes asked me, without moving his mouth, “Have you stayed true to Helena?” I answered, yes. He reached into the smoke of caldron and pulled out the medallion and handed it to me. Then he said, “Give this to Peter. He will help you find the spring.”

“You don’t mean me?” Peter asked the Captain.

“I had a shipmate named, Peter. I thought he meant him. When I returned to the ship, I handed the medallion to Peter. Nothing happened, and he looked at me with and empty expression. Nothing. But he must have meant you, Peter.”

“But I probably hadn’t even been born. How could some man on some lost mountain island know about me? I’m dreaming. I am sitting next to my young Grandfather, who has been dead many years now. My Grandmother looks like a movie star, and I think I better go to bed.”

“Peter, please stay.” A young and sultry Serena whispered.

“We have waited a long time for this.” George said.

“At least, hold the medallion. See what happens.” Peter’s Grandmother suggested.

“Wait, we cannot do this without Helana.” The Captain said.

“Cilas, her mind is mostly gone. Her heart is weak. What will seeing you again do to her.” Peter’s Grandmother asked, looking old for one moment again.

“We must go get her now.” Peter’s Grandfather said. “Before the magic disappears and time continues on its path.”

“Let George, Cilas, Peter, and I go get her. We will be back, my Race. Stay with Serena. We won’t be long.” Peter’s Grandmother said.

George, Cilas, Maggie, and Peter went to the front door and walked outside. The darkness flickered back into light and Peter had to blink. The others seemed to think too much about the night turning into day so quickly. Peter’s Grandmother still had her car, but hadn’t driven for a year since she could not renew her license any longer. Peter looked at his Grandmother, and George, and Cilas; they were old again. They all got in his Grandmother’s car, and George drove them to Helana’s. She lived with her daughter and her family across from the old church.

“Mrs. Hitchcock is Helana’s daughter?” Peter asked.

No one said a word. George and Maggie walked up to the front door and knocked. Sarah Hitchcock answered the door. “Maggie; George; so good to see you. Mom is not feeling well today. She had been moaning and groaning. She even yelled at me some nonsense about a Captain and it being time. It isn’t a good time to visit.” Standing behind her daughter, without her walker, was Helana.

“It’s time for me to go now, my dear dear Sarah. It is okay. I won’t be back. I have told you the stories, but you never truly believed. But it is time now.” Helana pushed passed her daughter.

“Mom! What are you doing?” Sarah’s plea went unanswered as Cilas ran up to his Helana, picked her up in his arms, swung her around, laughing, and carried her back to the waiting car. Peter had stood behind George and Maggie, but as Cilas twirled Helana, they all flickered between the young people in the photo and the old people he had come with to Mrs. Hitchcock’s house.

“Mom?” Sarah Hitchcock stood in the doorway of her family home, and saw what Peter had seen. She stared after the car as it drove away. The stories her mom had told were true. She had only thought they had been tales for her youth or an addled mind of an aging woman. They had been true.

Race and Serena were waiting for them by the front door of Peter’s Grandmother’s house. As soon as they walked inside with Helana, Peter noticed it was once again night outside. The house seemed to be holding a different time than the rest of the world.

Young Helana smiled at Cilas as he held her hand and said, “I knew you would come. Now my real life can begin. Don’t get me wrong. I loved my husband, Cory, and I adore my children and grandchildren, but the life I was meant to live was skipping time with Cilas on the Lysander.”

They all gathered around the table: Cilas, Helana, Horace, Maggie, Serena, George, Peter, and a large white dog.

“Well, Rascal, you old dog. You made it back,” George said, leaning down to pet the dog.

“Peter, place this medallion in your hand.” Cilas said handing peter the large gold medallion hanging from a long gold chain. There were symbols and shapes on the medallion that covered the palm of Peter’s hand.

The ceiling lit up with a glowing message in a language that Peter could not read, but he understood. They were to follow the light of the medallion to the spring. They would drink from the spring, which would allow them to never age as they travelled through time. On the Lysander, the water from the spring would be poured on the compass and the book that would reveal the timelines, like the lines on a map, and they could navigate time by playing particular notes on the piano that would be revealed by the compass and the book.

As they left Peter’s Grandmother’s house to follow the light, it was still night outside. The ghostly images of Serena and Horace had become more solid and the youth had returned to all six people in the photograph. Even Rascal had become a more stable image. Peter had never thought that the old people he knew were ever young or had ever done anything exciting or fun. He had never looked at his Grandmother’s photos as real or important experiences. They were just photos of people and places long ago that did not matter anymore. The time had gone, and the picture was just a moment in time, captured, but no longer meaningful. He felt like he was living in one of those photos, now, and the time was real, important, meaningful, and exciting.

“Could the spring have been here all the time, Cilas?” Helana whispered in a youthful awed voice.

“Perhaps that is why I got lost here in the first place.” Cilas replied.

Joey, Matt, Randy, and Jack approached them on the road the group was walking down. Peter thought that they might not see them, since it seemed as if they were all travelling in a magic bubble, but his friend stopped him and asked him what he was doing.

“Why didn’t you meet us today for our special blood brother ceremony?” Jack asked.

“He has new friends, obviously.” Matt commented.

Joey looked at Peter strangely. Joey was Helana’s Grandson. “This is about the Captain’s Tale. Isn’t it.”

“The story my Grandfather George is always telling me?” Matt said, disparagingly.

“The one my Grandmother, Serena, used to tell me?” Jack said, curiously.

Randy was Joey’s older brother, he looked straight at Helana, and then smiled. “You are all following that light coming out of Peter’s hand to the spring. The spring is here. Isn’t it? Grandma, can we come?”

Helana replied, “I guess you are meant to come. Why would we be seeing you, now, if you weren’t meant to join us.”

“Grandma?” Joey looked at Helana. She winked back at him and giggled.

At that moment, Jack and Matt realized that their Grandparents were there too.

Peter felt as if they had been walking forever, but he had not become tired or hungry. Everyone had remained silent, and had just kept following the light. They had come to the place where Joey, Jack Randy, Matt, and Peter were going to meet for their blood brother ceremony and first beers, and then journey past the pond and followed the water up some hills, through a forest, and finally to a cave in the side of mountain. They all followed the light into the cave. The passages of the cave twisted and turned. At times, they found themselves sliding down muddy paths, and at others, they were climbing up sheer cliffs to the top of a precipice. In Peter’s mind, he knew that this mountain had not been this large on the outside as it appeared to be on the inside.

Finally, the light seemed to end at a solid granite wall. “Now, what?” Peter said, breaking the silence.

He looked at the young old people who were smiling. He looked at his friends, who seemed just as confused as he was.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m tired, and getting hungry.” Jack said, leaning against the wall that he fell through.

“He can walk through walls! It’s a miracle!” Jack shouted as he walked through the wall as well.

They walked through the solid wall. It was a solid wall of granite. Matt had thrown his shoe at the wall, and the shoe had bounced off, but they could walk right through it.

The light shown to the opposite side of the enclosed space they had entered. A trickling stream flowed down rocks through a hole in the ceiling and in the cave floor. Where the stream went or came from was a mystery, but it was there.

Everyone drank from the stream and Cilas filled a bottle with the water. There was polite conversation, but everything was quiet. Peter equated the feeling and sound to being in church.

They walked out through the wall and back down the path they had come to Peter’s Grandmother’s house. They did not need the light from the medallion to find their way back, and no one said a word. Cilas had taken the medallion from Peter’s palm, and said a quiet, “Thank you for believing and helping me finish my journey.”

“Will you go back to the Lysander now?”

“Yes. We all will. You and friends will get to come on the Lysander to say goodbye, but then you must go back to your own timeline, but don’t worry. We will visit you many times, and some day, we will come back for you to sail on the Lysander.”

“What about Grandma and George and Helana?”

“You know the answer to that. They will be coming with us. It is their time.”

“But who will take care of me. My parents won’t be coming for a week.”

“You know the answer to that too. You can take care of yourself.”

“What do I tell my parents about what happened.”

“Tell them the truth. Tell them, the Captain finally returned, and that your Grandmother is now part of the Captain’s Tale.”