It’s the first year of the Plague, and survivors are quick to band together to loot abandoned ships -- either for the family’s peace of mind, or to trade whatever they find for food. One such scavenger is Imila - the sole survivor of the 14th family - who is working for his uncle Anebeng, a notorious pirate.

Those Left Behind

The sea reflects the sparkle of a million spirits. Stars, the moons, the clouds; all drift beneath me, the silky stillness disturbed only by the dipping of paddle in water. What a pretty scene - out here on the sea - with only the stars, the moons and the clouds for company. I can forget, I keep telling myself, but I can’t -- I can’t forget what I’ve seen, replace the horror with apathy. I can’t. I just can’t.

Ahead, I see a dark form on the water; sixty feet, a sizeable ship, but no candles or light aboard. It’s just drifting, drifting alone in the black. I don’t take long to reach it.

I rest the dripping paddle across my boat and moor to the ship, calling, calling to see if there’s anyone about, but there’s no answer spare the stench of seabirds and death. With hands steadied by long-gone fear, I strike my flint and light my lantern. I think it takes a while to catch, but truthfully it’s not long before the darkness gives way to the light, and with a calm heart - and calmer steps still - I climb aboard.

Seagulls, startled by my presence, fly away in a flurry of squaks. My turban is already over my nose. Ahead of me, I see the first victim -- a woman- partially merged with the deck - her flesh wriggling with maggots and her eyeless face watching me work. She stays quiet as I haul my kayak aboard.

A few months, I judge, a few months drifting alone in the black. Her family is here too - most dead in their beds - all sallow skin and sunken eyes. A few beds are empty; I like to think that they escaped elsewhere, but if elsewhere is anywhere like anywhere, then they likely met their deaths there too.

There are valuables here; trinkets, charms, bronze tools, imported olive oil and sour wine. Anebeng will be pleased. I rest a little, letting the sun climb over the sea, conserving what little fuel I have left. Maybe replacing the horror with apathy isn’t too hard. Maybe that’s what this is. I look at the woman again, and truthfully I feel nothing but nothing now; no joy, no sorrow, no fear. The dead are the dead. They can’t hurt me.

I need to get this ship moving.

The sail is a fine piece of canvas, with blue flowers drooping from green vines, and thick bamboo spars that make it easy to lift. I hook it to the halyard and begin to set it, but something moves under it -- something big.

Oh fuck.

Any fearlessness I had vanishes. I fetch one of the family’s spears and lift the sail, carefully, calmly as I can.

There - sitting in the family’s rations - is a toddler. A baby. A live, babbling baby. He mirrors the terror in my eyes.

“Do you speak?”

The baby doesn’t speak.

“Are you blind?”

I move my spear -- he follows it. Not blind, not cursed. He’s the first I’ve found like me. He has my brother’s eyes. I can see myself in them.

The sea reflected the sparkle of a million spirits, perhaps a little less. It's too late to count them. Nbahlari was the gem atop the crystal sea, the prettiest city in the world, but back then it wasn't just the twinkle of torches that set the water aglow -- there were fires jumping from thatch to thatch, burning all who dwelt below.

Earlier that day, Sea-King Mamida of the 3rd family had formally declared that Nbahlari was to be dissolved - every ship that could sail would sail, every pontoon that could be rowed would be rowed, and anyone who was left behind would be left to die. And so it was. And then the city burned.

It wasn't just the fire that lit my eyes; I could see the flashes that the sick talked of -- I knew I was going to die, there was no doubt about it, no one survived. I didn't tell anyone -- what use was telling? I'd die anyway. So I kept it to myself.

On the boat, it was me, my little brother and my father. The 14th family was never big, but now it was smaller, and growing smaller still -- both my father and I were sick, his life was slipping away, while I was clawing back mine. He prayed to everything he could think of; the spirits, the Hegēni Gods, Asor, the all-mother, and yet nothing could stop the sickness. He died the day we reached Anebeng’s bay. My brother and I held a funeral for him, but we didn't have any fire so we had to eat him raw, as the ancients had.

Anebeng was my uncle, and yet he wouldn't let us in. He said I was sick; he said I was sick, and yet I'd survived for almost a full moon. I was fine, but fuck did that make me angry, and what happened next did little to assuage my rage. They sold our boat and set us to wander through the forest. We were not to return unless we brought something of worth.

Before long, brother was sick too. When he complained about the flashes I knew he was gone, but I didn't want to know - I didn't want to believe - soon after, however, I had no choice. He was asleep in my arms, and then the breathing stopped and he passed. At first I didn't even know, then I felt his heart stop, and his body go cold against mine. Little brother, my little brother. I used to sing to him. I miss him.

I ate him and carried on, but I found nothing of worth. I was starving now, and had no choice but to go back and beg, beg like a dog, so I did just that. Uncle Anebeng put me out on my kayak, said I owed him five ships before I could come and live with him. Five ships? Five whole ships?

It was an impossible task.

I do my best to steer the ship without meeting his terrified eyes. I have to ignore him. A vessel this size would be difficult with two crew, but at the moment all I've got is one and a half, a half which can't even obey commands or grab a sheet without being whipped across the deck.

No no, a sailor isn't a sailor until he sails a ship meant for ten men alone - that's what father used to say - and it's certainly salient advice here. Sure, I need to come down from the poop every now and again to untangle a rope, but I've got all the energy in the world for it; this is my last ship, after all. My fifth boat. I've done it. I can live with my uncle, live happily in a family again.

Then I see the boy's eyes, and that dread falls over me again. What about him?

It takes me a day and a half to reach the shore. Along the coast I see the ruins of villages, hundreds upon hundreds of them. This place used to be teeming with life -- red painted houses, the sound of singing and dancing, beautiful women playing on the beach. Now it's all dead, no movement spare the flickering of fire or the shaking of leaves in the wind.

Anebeng's Bay is nearby, a karst cove surrounded by towering monoliths -- his little piece of paradise in a dying world. The guards paddle alongside my ship and board it. When I greet them, however, they drop their swords and help me pilot it into the cove.

Anebeng greets me with a hug. I’ll be honest, it's the first affection I've felt in months, and it nearly brings me to tears. I hold on so long that he has to peel me off.

“What a fine ship, Imila, a fine ship indeed.”

“It's my fifth, uncle. I found my fifth ship. Can I live with you now?”

Anebeng's face drops a little, “Your own uncle,please, as if I would forget!” His indignance evinced as much, and his subsequent sigh did little to convince me, “You still want to do that?”

“More than anything in the world.”

Anebeng looked over to his crewmates, before rubbing his hand down his face, “Yes, you can live with us for now. Fine, fine. Don't cause any trouble.”

One of the guards was throwing the bodies overboard, but when he found the baby he shouted over to Anebeng.

The child was sitting in its basket. Anebeng smiled, “He's a fat little thing, isn't he?”

“Uncle, you can't -- please don't, I beg you.”

“Sorry, I didn't realise you planned to feed him? I'm not raising a child that isn't mine, so why put him to waste? Let's eat.”

“I beg you, I beg you, please don't! Look at his eyes, don’t you see it? My brother's eyes!”

At that point a wicked thought came over Anebeng’s wicked mind. It seems he wouldn't have another mouth to feed after all, “Imila, I don't like disobedience, especially not in my children. You will eat. Disobey me once more, and you know the consequences. I can't have insolent brats in my home, I simply won't have it.”

I tried not to, I really did. I imagined living happily with him, drinking and singing with the other pirates, feeling joy for the first time in months. But I knew I couldn't do it, not when the taste of contentment was soured by murder. The baby wouldn't be the first, and he wouldn't be the last. Anebeng's children all had bruises. My hopes would die here, and so would I.

It was as if every dream I had about life crumbled away around me -- I couldn't trust adults, I couldn't trust them. The only person I could trust was myself. I wasn't going to let that baby - my brother - grow up in a world like that. If we had to, we'd make our own. So we did. We made our own world.