Captain Sullivan Dice leaned on the deck rail and stared at the wide carpet of pure blue water that separated the ship he stood on from the thin ribbon of greenery before him. He narrowed his eyes at the land. As a skilled and experienced seaman, one who fell under that roguish class of men known as the buccaneers, Captain Dice knew that a simple strip of beach followed by jungle should not affect him so. And yet, the land the great galleon approached but did not lay anchor near, was different from all others. Dice stroked his thick beard and looked into the jungle. What strangeness lurked under that copious shade, into which Dice had never ventured?

“Enjoying the view, my good captain?” a prim voice disturbed Captain Dice’s thoughts. The privateer turned and saw his current employer, an Englishman of the Honorable East India Company by the name of Lord Willoughby. He was a thin, foppish man with a suit of purple, a broad-brimmed hat adorned with a large feather plume, and a long curled wig that reached his waist. He stroked his thin mustachios with one hand and fingered the rapier at his waist with the other. “I’m sure to a sea dog such as you, one island looks much similar to the others.”
“Aye, Willoughby, that it does,” Captain Dice agreed. He was a broad-shouldered Irishman, stout of chest and keen of eye. Above his tangled black hair rested a battered tricorne, a scarlet redingote draped his shoulders, and a variety of weapons sat on his person. He carried a pair of volley pistols at his side, odd weapons with square fronts that housed several barrels; he had across his back a snaphaunce-revolver rifle of the Dutch design, and a sturdy cutlass was ready at his waist. Dice shaded his eyes and looked at the island. “But I’ll wager a pearl to a pineapple that this island ain’t natural. It doesn’t belong here. I’ve been all through the Bermuda islands and I’ve never seen its like.”
“You are astute in your observation, Captain Dice,” Lord Willoughby said. “This island does not belong here. It appears in no charts, graphs or records at all. Except for one, and that was three years ago.”
“What happened then?” Dice asked.
“The HMCS Sanctuary, a ship filled with colonists and bound for the new world was crippled by storm and was forced to land here. This island did not appear on any of their navigational charts, but they had no choice. The colonists intended to refurbish their ship and sail on to the Keys. They sent word up north to expect them.” Willoughby sniffed. “Months passed and they never arrived. The Royal Governor sent down some ships to contact them but the island, along with the colonists, had vanished. It remained so for three years.” Willoughby pointed with his sword. “Until now.”
“So, ye want me to go on and see if I can find these colonials?” Dice inquired.
“Indeed.” Lord Willoughby folded his hands. “No matter what you discover on the island, you will be paid handsomely.”
“I’d hope so,” Captain Dice muttered. He stroked his beard and looked down the deck. Royal Marines in their bright red coats stood at the ready, their Brown Bess muskets held close. “A fair number of Admiral’s Men for exploring a mystery,” Dice said.
“We do not know what dwells in those woods. Wild Savages, Spaniards, Frenchmen, Maroons, it could be anything.” Lord Willoughby pointed to a rowboat, already being lowered into the clear waters. “That is your job to find out, Captain Dice. We will await your return.”
Captain Dice nodded. “Risk an old salt’s neck instead of a lobster-back’s, I understand.” He stared at Willoughby. “Aye, I’ll try and return before seaweed starts growing on ye.” He headed to the rowboat.

It was but a small distance from the anchored vessel to the enigmatic isle, but Captain Sullivan Dice felt as if he was crossing some indefinable border. He skillfully dug his oars into the water, navigating the rowboat up to the sandy beach. Captain Dice hopped out of the rowboat, his boots splashing in the shallow water as he beached the boat on the shoreline. “Well,” Captain Dice whispered to himself as he stared into the dense greenery, no sign of the Sanctuary or any other evidence of civilization. “I suppose I’ll see what I can see, then.”

He strode through the underbrush, using his cutlass to hack his way. The plants grew thick around his legs, vines sunk about his waist and chest, and the canopy towered above his head. The forest radiated with life. Insects buzzed, birds chirped, and monkeys, or something monkey-like, leapt from tree to tree. Dice had seen no sign of settlement. A vine grew tangled in his beard, and Dice tore it out and tossed it away with a muttered curse. It landed in a small clearing, near a skeleton obscured in the dirt.
“What have we here?” Captain Dice stepped forward and examined the skeleton. It was of no creature he had ever seen, but he judged the beast to have been huge in life. A grown man could fit inside the rib cage, and its teeth were as long as daggers. “An elephant?” Dice asked. “No. I have seen those in Africa, and this is no elephant. Perhaps a dragon of some sort?” Rottiing meat still clung to the bones. Whatever the beast had been, Dice was glad it was naught but a corpse.
Something rustled in the bushes. Captain Dice stood up and brandished his cutlass. “Show yourself!” he commanded. “Be ye friend or foe, I’ll see your face!”
The brush parted and a strange lizard-like creature stepped into the clearing. It was lithe and muscled, with outstretched claws and eyes like a wolf it stood upwards on two legs, each foot armed with a sickle-like talon. Its scales were a rusty red, streaked with orange. It swung its tail behind it, and opened its mouth to reveal sharp teeth. It lowered its head and snapped hungrily at Dice.
“Beastie,” Dice whispered. “Hungry, I’ll wager. Well, come on and I’ll feed you something ye won’t soon forget!”
The lizard leapt forward, its claws poised. Dice fell to his knees and stabbed his cutlass upward, into the underbelly of the beast. The scaly creature hissed in pain as Dice freed his blade and warded off the beast’s slashing claws. He swung his cutlass round and swept it across the lizard’s neck. The creature stepped shakily forward before collapsing onto the leaf-strewn floor of the jungle.
“Not too difficult!” Dice wiped his blade off in the dust and sheathed it. “Not to difficult at — ” He stopped as he looked into the underbrush. More of the lizard-beasts stood there, hissing and waving their claws. Captain Dice gulped. He gripped the handle of his cutlass and reached for a volley pistol. “Come on, then!” he shouted. “I’ve powder and steel for the lot of ye!”

The beasts charged, the entire pack moving as one. Dice spun around, lopping the head off of a raptor and then drawing out a volley gun and firing into the horde. Blood spurted from their scaly skin, and Dice clambered on top of the skeleton, forcing the lizards back with his cutlass. He jumped off the skeleton, firing the remaining shots from his pistol. The scaly creatures followed, their long legs carrying them speedily through the jungle.

Dice spotted a low hanging branch and leapt for it. One of the lizards clawed his leg, but Dice managed to pull himself up. He ignored his bleeding leg, drew out his second volley pistol and fired at the scaly beasts trying to claw their way up. He gunned two down and the third reached the upper canopy. It came on, its jaws snapping.
“By thunder!” Dice cried. “I won’t be the dinner of no man, nor beast!” He stabbed his cutlass into the lizard’s open mouth and planted his booted foot in its face. The lizard slipped off the lower branches and fell to the ground. More two-legged lizards joined in. They stood in a circle around the tree, staring hungrily at Sullivan Dice, now trapped in his perch.
The lizards soon gave up climbing the tree. They paced warily under branches, growling and occasionally lunging at Captain Sullivan Dice. He beat them back with his cutlass and stared murderously at the beasts. “Go ahead and wait!” he shouted, reaching for his canteen. He was grateful that he had filled it with cool ale. “We’ll see who tires first!” Above him, the sun continued its crossing of the sky and the shadows began to grow long.

Dice had reloaded his volley pistols and he still had his rifle, but he did not wish to waste more powder and shot on these hungry creatures. Dice checked the watch on his waistcoat. If he didn’t wish to be abandoned on this savage land for good, he’d have to drop down and make a run for it.
Just before he jumped, he felt a tremor. The lizards perked up and raised their noses in the air. One of them yowled and scampered away and the others followed. Dice smiled at his good luck. He swung down from the tree and planted his booted feet in the dirt. With a smile, Dice sheathed his cutlass and looked back to the beach. “Now,” he said, “I’ll see what I can find of the colonists.”

Before him, branches rustled and vines parted. Captain Dice shaded his eyes and stared into the underbrush. Something was moving in there, something big. Dice grabbed his rifle and cocked it. The Snaphaunce-revolver mechanism could fire six rounds in that many seconds. He looked down the sight and waited.
The trees parted and an enormous scaly monster erupted into the clearing. It had two great legs, spindly arms, and a head full of teeth the size of daggers. Dice knew this was the kind of creature which had left its skeleton in the clearing. The great lizard lowered its head and roared. It was a deafening sound, and reminded the corsair of cannon fire.

Dice brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired. The slug grazed the beast’s mouth, spilling blood. The great reptile roared again, lowered it head and chased after Sullivan Dice. Dice ran, reloading his rifle as he pounded through the jungle. Vines and creepers stuck on him, but Dice ducked low and passed through them. He turned back to the beast and fired one-handed. This time the shot struck the dragon in its eye. It roared in fury and lunged for Dice.

Captain Dice tripped on a protruding root and fell. The great lizard reached down to grab him in its great jaws, but Dice swung up his rifle and fired one more shot. The bullet ripped through the monster’s mouth and blew a whole out the other side. It did not kill the beast, merely wounded it. Captain Dice stood up and ran as fast as he could. He jumped over a fallen log and landed on the ground. Then his foot caught in something.

The snare trap snapped backwards and forced Dice into the air. His rifle fell from his hands. The corsair hung upside down, trapped. Dice looked at the oncoming monster and reached for his rifle. He cursed God and all the saints as his hand clasped around the gun’s barrel.
Suddenly, a flurry of arrows sank into the great reptile’s sides. The monstrous lizard screeched in pain as the feathered shafts bit into its flank. Dice watched as two score men with tanned skin, shouted in triumph, erupted from the surrounding jungle. They wore scaly skins and had painted faces, but it was their headdresses that caught Dice’s eye. The headdress seemed to be fashioned of white feathers, stuck downwards so they covered the ears of the natives.

As Dice dangled, the natives hurled a flurry spears and feathered arrows at the great reptile, and finally brought it down with a long wooden pike to the throat. The great lizard sank to its knees and died with a final blasting roar.
“Hello, there!” Dice shouted. He tried Spanish, Portuguese, Tainio, Carib, and several other local languages, dialects and patios. They didn’t seem to understand any of it. One of them hacked down the rope with a stone axe and Dice fell to the ground. He retrieved his rifle and reloaded it. The natives stared at him in awe.
“Have ye never seen a white man before?” Dice asked. “We’re not pretty sights, I’ll admit.”
“Capin?” one whispered.
“Captain?” Dice repeated. “Yes, I am. Captain Sullivan Dice is my name.”
The natives gasped. One of them grabbed hold of Sullivan’s hand and motioned for him to follow. Captain Dice obliged them, walking into the jungle. Some of the natives went about skinning the giant reptile that had chased Dice. Sullivan idly wondered how such a beast would taste.
They took him deep into the jungle, down a clear blue river that ran to the ocean, and into a large valley. The underbrush had been cleared away, and the natives lived in a vast number of huts clustered around fire pits. The entire village surrounded a great wooden structure. It was very old and decaying, but Dice recognized the shape at once.
“A ship…The HMCS Sanctuary,” he whispered. “These blasted savages must have done anyway with the colonists. I wonder if they ate them…”
The Natives took Captain Dice to the landed ship. Dice looked at the wooden structure. “What do you lot call yourself?” he asked.
“Sank Tree!” they cried. One of them, a tall savage with an odd club-like staff bedecked with bones and feathers stepped forward and bowed low. “Capin, ther Capin.” He pointed to the ship. “Ledus hoome.” As he bowed, so did the other natives.
Sullivan looked at the savages as they supplicated themselves before him.“I can’t understand a blasted word ye say,” Dice muttered. He looked up at the ship and pointed. “Tell me, have ye a name for yourself?”
“Jinebelow!” the savage replied.
“Well, would ye mind if I have a look around that wreck there and see what I can dig up?” Captain Dice asked. He started walking towards the boat. As he approached the great hulk of the abandoned ship, a barbed spear whistled through the air and landed at his feet. Captain Dice withdrew his pistol and pointed it at the crowd. The natives gasped and ran from him. “All right!” Dice cried. “Which one of ye bloody savages needs to get a lesson from the thunder tube?”
“Skred gron!” Shouted an old fellow, with a white beard running down his ragged chest. He stepped out of the crowd, waving another spear at Dice.”Noone goo in skred gron!” he cried.
Jinebelow tried to console the old man. “E’s Capin,” he said softly. “Capin blong en skred gron.”
Dice holstered his volley gun and held out his hand to the old man. “I mean ye people no harm,” he said. “You are good men, saving me from the great beastie, and I owe you me life. I promise ye old fellow. I suppose ye don’t like me poking around, but I promise I mean no harm.”
The old fellow slowly nodded. “Capin blong en skred gron,” he agreed.
“I knew you’d see it my way.” He crawled up the side of the old wreck, finding plenty of handholds in the rotting wood, and clambered onto the deck. Captain Dice looked around the ship for any sign of violence, but could find nothing. It seemed to be impossibly old, with no hint of sails, no masts, and no furnishing of any kind. It was if it had been stripped bare in three years time. “Did the Sank Tree Tribe kill the colonists?” Captain Dice wondered. “No, they seem like a nice bunch. Mayhaps another, cruel tribe resides the area? Or maybe it was those hungry lizards?”

The corsair captain walked to the wheelhouse and opened it. He peered inside and saw the ancient remains of an old bed, and a dusty gray skeleton sitting in the sheets. Captain Dice looked at the skeleton and saw it was holding an old log book in its bony arms, the pages curled and yellow with time. Carefully, Dice took the book from the skeleton and looked at the cover.
“Captain’s Log of the Sanctuary?” Dice read, not quite believing the faded words. “Perhaps this will shed some light on the colonist’s fate.” The Captain lit his pipe and flipped to the opening pages of the book, puffing smoke as he read aloud. “It tells of how they met the strange creatures and battled them. How they found them good eating. Funny, no mention of these naturals.”

He flipped through the book. “It says some odd storm hit the waters off of the island and when it ended, the waters had changed. Says they sailed out far into the water, to where Jamaica and the Keys were supposed to be, but they weren’t there. Other islands were there instead.” Before Dice could turn to the next page, the natives outside began to hoot and shout.
“What’s gotten into them?” Dice asked, closing the captain’s log and sliding it into his coat. He walked outside and stepped onto the deck, then looked into the village. The Sank Tree Tribe was in the throes of excitement, dancing about and waving their weapons.
“Capins!” they cried. “Capins beeeched!”
“What?” Captain Dice climbed down the hull of the ship and found Jinebelow waving his staff and staring into the jungle. “Here, now,” Dice said. “Do ye say ye spotted more like me? On the beach?”
Jinebelow nodded. “More Capins. They tagus hoome.”
Dice finished his pipe and pocketed it. “It’s Willoughby and his Royal Marines, I’ll wager. They’ll shoot the lot of you savages on sight.” Captain Dice pointed to the woods. “Right, I’ll go and talk to them. You stay back and stay away. You understand?”
Jinebelow nodded. He held out his staff. “Mushcatch,” he said, “Capins loove mushcatch.”
Sullivan Dice stared at the odd staff covered in fetishes and noted the familiar shape. “This ain’t just a piece of wood,” he whispered. “It’s a damn musket, it is.” He looked back at Jinebelow. “Where’d you get this?”
The Sank Tree chieftan shrugged. “Muschcatch of the Sank Tree,” he explained.
“Hmmm.” Dice shrugged. “We’ll I’ll find out more later. I’d best tell Lord Willoughby not to blow you all down.” He pointed to the village. “Stay here, all right? Stay here!”
“Capins tagus hoome!” the savages chanted in unison. Captain Dice left them and walked back into the jungle. He stayed away from the underbrush and followed the winding river back to the beach.

Two ranks of Redcoats stood on the shore, their muskets shouldered. Lord Willoughby stood next to them, wiping the sweat from his powdered face as his men planted the striped flag of the East India Company in the sand.
“I claim this land in the name of the East India Company!” Willoughby cried. He looked up and spotted Dice. “Oh. If it isn’t that rum-swilling pirate I dispatched. It seems he has survived.” Willoughby waved his sword. “Well, man, come here and tell me what you found.” A pair of rowboats rested in the water behind them.
“I haven’t seen hide nor tale of the colonists, Willoughby, but I did find some natives. I don’t think they killed the men of the Sanctuary, and they seem quite friendly.”
“Do they?” replied Lord Willoughby, looking into the jungle. “Look at all this unspoiled land! We’ll get a fortune from the lumber alone, and I’m sure this ground is very fertile. Who knows? We may even find precious stones under the ground. What sort of animals are here?”
“Big, nasty ones,” Dice said quickly. “Did ye hear me about the natives? They’re good people and —”
“They’ll have to go,” Willoughby said simply. He smirked. “You know how these things work, Captain Dice! I can’t jeopardize the future of the Company for the sake of a few half-naked savages. We’ll send in a few missionaries after the troops are finished to convert the survivors and we’ll soon have them working in the plantations.”
Dice squared his shoulders and stared hard at Lord Willoughby. “They saved me life, boy. I ain’t gonna give them over to ye without a fight.”
“Is that so?” snarled Lord Willoughby as he drew his rapier. “You’re a miserable sea rover. What can you do to stop the East India Company?”
Captain Dice was not a man of much restraint. He drew his cutlass. “I’ll decorate this beach with your guts!” he shouted and the battle was on. Dice struck wildly with his cutlass, and it was all Lord Willoughby could do to parry his ferocious blows. The two swords crashed against each other as Dice and Willoughby sought to deal each other a death-wound to the other. Dice had the upper hand, forcing Lord Willoughby down the beach and to the water. As Willoughby warded off Dice’s cutlass, the buccaneer slugged him hard in the chest. Lord Willoughby doubled over and Captain Dice held his cutlass at the noble’s pale neck.
“Now will ye listen to me?” he asked.
Lord Willoughby stepped backwards. “Dice, you fool,” he whispered. “Make another move and you shall die.”
Dice looked back at the beach. The Redcoats stood in a single rank, their muskets leveled at Captain Dice. Slowly, Dice pulled his blade away from Willoughby’s neck. The foppish noble stood up and walked away from the pirate, back to the safety of the Redcoated ranks.
“It’s a shame, Captain Dice,” he mused. “I thought I liked you.” He turned back to his troops. “Fire at will!”
But before the Redcoats could reach for their triggers, a shower of spears of arrows flew at them from the jungle’s border. Several Royal Marines went down, while others turned and fired their muskets into the direction of the Sank Tree Tribe, which charged screaming out of the woods. Jinebelow was at the head of the warriors, waving his old musket and urging his men on.
“Capin!” they shouted. “Defen Capin!” The Sank Tree warriors ran towards the Redcoats, waving their clubs and spears as they pounded down the beach.

Captain Dice dived for cover as the muskets thundered, kicking up sand around him. He sheathed his cutlass and drew both volley pistols, then emptied them into the Redcoats. Dice looked through the smoke of his volley guns and saw Lord Willoughby organizing the Redcoats into a firing line pointed at the charging Sank Tree tribesmen.
“No!” Dice cried. “I told ye to stay put, ye blasted savages!”
“Defen capin!” the natives cried and their battle cries were only drowned out by the rattling fire of the Redcoats. The Sank Tree warriors went down, destroyed by the deadly fusillade.
Jinebelow stopped his charge as his warriors died around and his eyes widened as he looked at the Redoats and then the hole in his own chest. “Capin?” he gasped as he sank to the sand and lay still.

Captain Dice stared in horror as the natives fell, the survivors running back to the jungle in terror. Dice howled in rage and ran towards the Redcoats, his cutlass drawn. “They would have worshipped ye!” he shouted, hacking the head off a Redcoat. He dodged a bayonet thrust and ran through another Royal Marine. “They would have treated ye as gods and ye cut them down!”
“That’s enough out of you, Captain Dice!” Lord Willoughby’s rapier lashed out, cutting a line of red across Dice’s cheek. “This is my island and nothing will take it from me!” Willoughby’s sword slashed downward but stopped as a loud crackle of lightning split the air. Willoughby turned around and looked at the ocean. Lightning struck down from the sky, forming a curtain of charged bolts that surrounded the island.
“The storm came once before,” Captain Dice whispered. “And then this island vanished.” He and Lord Willoughby exchanged a glance and then they both ran for the rowboats. Dice landed in his small rowboat first and dug his paddles into the water. The small watercraft shot out from the beach and into the frothing sea.
“After him!” Lord Willoughby shouted, pushing a Redcoat out of the way to make room for him. “Row, you dogs! Get us out of here!” The Redcoats paddled as Willoughby kicked them and cursed. The two boats, packed with terrified Royal Marines, followed Captain Dice towards the edge of the odd storm.

Suddenly, a dark shape split the water. The second Royal Marine rowboat rocked as a great aquatic beast erupted from the water, with paddles and a smooth body like a seal, but a long neck with a small head full of sharp teeth. The Redcoats screamed as their vessel fell under the water, the swimming monster holding a body in its toothsome mouth as it descended into the deep.
Captain Dice tore his gaze away from the boat and bent his back into the rowing. He neared the flashing border of endless lightning, and struggled to push his way through. The water around him surged as Lord Willoughby’s boat approached, the East India Company man standing tall in the prow. Willoughby gasped as he saw that Dice would be first to get to freedom.
“Out of the way, damn you!” Lord Willoughby shouted as he ran across his rowboat, stepping on the backs of his Royal Marines. He leapt into the air and landed on Dice’s rowboat. Willoughby laughed as he leveled his rapier and Dice’s throat. “Paddle us out of here, you fool!” Willoughby cried. Dice did not move, and the oars were limp in his grasp. “Paddle!” Willoughby shouted. “Damnation! What stalls you?”

A low roar made Willoughby turn. He saw the great head of the aquatic beast towering above him, water and blood rolling off the sea monster. Willoughby had time to let out a final scream before the beast’s maw shot down and devoured him, dragging him down into the water. Captain Dice raised his cutlass, but then let it fall.

“Crush his bones, ye big swimming beastie,” he whispered. “I’ll not begrudge ye a good meal.” Then he worked the paddles and sent his rowboat through the lightning curtain and into the calm outer sea. As soon as he had breached the lightning, any sign of land was gone. It was as if the island had never been there and the water was calm as the lightning slowed and vanished. Dice looked back at the ship that had dropped them off. He’d tell them the lizards had devoured Lord Willoughby, and he had barely escaped.
“Guess I’ll have to get rid of this, then,” Captain Dice said, as he flipped through the captain’s log and prepared to drop it in the sea. “Shame I’ll never see what happened to the…” He stopped.

There was a final passage in the book. Dice read it aloud. “Decades and decades pass and there is no sign of rescue. I will stop recording my thoughts and instead only record each passing year with a simple slash. After I die, I entrust this duty to my eldest son, and he to his, until we are rescued or time itself ends. Signed, Captain John Barlow.” The rest of the book, pages upon pages, was full of check marks.

Dice gasped. While three years had passed in the rest of the world, it had thousands of years on the island. “John Barlow,” Dice whispered. “Jinebelow!” He suddenly realized why the Sank Tree Tribe’s chieftain carried an old musket, and why they tried to fashion crude wigs of white feathers, and even the source of their name. “Sank Tree…Sanctuary!” Captain Dice looked back at the place where the island had been. “By God,” he whispered. “The colonists were not killed by the natives. They sired the natives!”

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