“Yes,” I saidconfidently. “She can.”
Stand longer. Stand taller.
For sleep is not far off.
~ The Jest of Life
The sky had turned black, consumed by thunderous clouds and a wind so strong it drowned out my voice. There was no more hollering orders to my men. We were beyond that. Even my volume couldn’t be heard in that tempest. The wind was strange, tossing us from one direction to the other. The sails had been reduced and yet the ocean still pulled us at speed, toying with us. I held firm to the wheel with Nikolai close at hand and ready to aid me. The Storm Weaver shuddered with every wave that beat her hull. Saltwater and rain combined drenched the deck. Droplets pelted my face like tiny peddles.
I would have guffawed at that kind of squall not long ago, but things had changed. The bad weather was just a wall between us and our destination, and the destination was far more important than the excitement of riding a violent storm. I watched one of the extra cannons snap loose from its binds and crash through the railing into the sea. We would have lost far more had my men not secured things below deck in record time, but we expected this. Weexpected to face impossible odds and we’d prepared. Or so we thought.
The ship began to lurch too far to one side, slanting the deck. Nikolai pinned himself on the railing as I braced against the wheel, holding her steady in the most hateful gale I’d ever encountered. When I noticed Nikolai slipping, I kicked a coil of rope his way, urging him to grab it, but when he reached, a flurry of cold water cascaded over us, blinding us both. Next thing I knew, he was hanging onto the rope, his legs flailing overboard.
I couldn’t let go of the wheel…
The Storm Weaver was drifting at a delicate angle with the wind and the waves. It was the only reason we hadn’t been capsized. When I thought I might have to explain to Nazario that one of his men had been lost to the storm, Dahlia, like a dark angel, appeared in the downpour, strings of wet, black hair whipping in the wind. She climbed toward Nikolai, grabbing hold of his arms and hauling him back over the railing as the vessel pitched once more to the other side. They rolled across the deck in front of me, bracing on the opposite side of the ship. I gathered up the rope with one hand, tangling it around the wheel to aid in securing our course as Nikolai and Dahlia struggled to their feet. Dahlia was immediately by my side, gripping the pegs on the wheel to help keep it steady.
“You should be below!” I shouted.
“I’m no use below!”
“Nikolai! Go!”
He nodded, making his way carefully down the steps. It was more of a climb than a walk as the water assaulted him.
“What do we do!” Dahlia bellowed.
“We keep her facing the waves!”
Below me, my men were tying themselves off with ropes as they scurried about on their hands and knees, staying low.
I whipped my head about to shake the water from my eyes. I had no doubt everyone understood their jobs on the Storm Weaver.That didn’t mean we’d come out of the bad weather unharmed, though. I expected injury at the very least. Death, if we were so unlucky.
For hours and hours, the wind and rain battered my ship, testing her like it was testing all of us. Eventually, Nazario and Aleksi climbed up from below, soaked to the bone, and ascended to the helm. I was a sturdy man, but in that tempest, even my arms were feeling weakened by my efforts to keep course. Nazario took the wheel, allowing me a brief respite to aid with other tasks. Below deck, things weren’t faring much better than they were above. The ship rocked and swayed like a drunk man hiking a mountain. Dahlia followed me, bracing on the walls of the companionway. Water sloshed in my boots as I walked, checking every cabin as I passed. Men were shouting, securing loosened supplies, plugging leaks, and pumping water from the base of the ship with as much energy as they were afforded.
“Mullins!” I barked.
“Cap’n!” I heard him call back. He scurried around a corner, his britches rolled to his knees and his boots removed. He was out of breath like everyone else.
“Tell me we’re holding,” I said.
“We’re holding,” he nodded. “By whatever graces have blessed us, we’re holding.”
“Gunpowder?”
“Dry. Holed up tight.”
“Good. When you can, offer your shift to another and take a rest.”
“Aye.”
We parted ways and I continued through the ship, shouting orders left and right. “Put out that lantern! Box that gun!” Eventually, Dahlia disappeared, distracted by something else that needed attention. It was chaos incarnate as the violence of Daughter’s Pass, or The Myre, as Dahlia called it, bound us in hersticky snare. We were past waters I was familiar with and crossing into the unknown.
It had been a long time since the sea had offered up such a worthy challenge. It was the truest sign that we were venturing into a realm we didn’t understand. A place we were likely to find a god. Or something that fancied itself one.
It might have been hours. It might have been days. It didn’t matter. My men had changed shifts more than once as the storm ravaged us. I’d managed to get a little shuteye as well, though it was not the peaceful kind by any means. When the ship finally began to level out and the wind ebbed, I could hardly believe it. The downpour was still heavy and merciless, but without the breeze to fuel it, it was manageable.
I took my place at the wheel again, watching the sea only to find no landmarks. No sun. No stars or moon to indicate we’d made any progress. It felt like we were in a void, drifting aimlessly toward nothing.
