The man played his hand, which was far better than any of the rest of theirs, resulting in Angus slamming down his cards and cursing, while Rory did the same before they, too, started toward the stairs.
“Come on then!” Callum called back over his shoulder, and James followed. It was only then that he saw the same fear he felt flash in the other men’s eyes.
The sky overhead was dark, like the sun had suddenly changed its mind about rising entirely. Sailors moved this way and that in a chaos so organized that it almost looked to be a dance. Callum pointed at the main mast. “Tie down the lines, ye can tie a knot?”
James nodded, pushing up his sleeves, the cold rain hitting his face like ice as he moved with footing far less certain than all of the men around him. Despite his size and muscle mass, he was far less skilled at maneuvering slippery rope on a ship that was starting to rock ever more violently. Barrels were being strapped down, the sails secured, and long lengths of lifelines coiled up and waiting to be tied around the waist of those above deck in case the storm decided to open up.
“It’s getting too dark, too fast!” One of the men yelled, and James spun, looking at the angry clouds and the sparks of yellow and white lightning illuminating them sporadically in the distance. It seemed like the section that they were sailing into was almost purple, a strange fog lingering over the surface of the choppy water. The ship swayed and rocked just enough for freezing water to slosh up over the sides.
The captain seemed to fly down the stairs onto the deck, weaving between his crew effortlessly before ending up beside James, the pair of them both looking at the unnatural gloom ahead of them. James didn’t care much for the way that the man’s eyes narrowed, his face grave. “This wasnae in the forecast,” he muttered, and such simple words they might be, they sent a shudder down James’ spine. His pulse quickened as he watched the clouds churn, the once-calm water growing restless beneath the ship. The captain turned to him, his eyes clear and focused, but his words instilled no confidence.
“If yer the prayin’ sort, lad, now would be the time.”
The sea surged, the angry wind lifting the water to spray bitterly in their faces while the ship rocked, the surge nearly lifting both James and the captain off of their feet. It was only quick reflexes and strong hands that kept them inside the boat. The captain swore and shouted more commands. Up overhead, a beam swung loose, a sailor dangling from it precariously. James couldn’t let go of the banister until he saw the sailor wrap the rope around his wrist, and swing his leg up and over the beam. He was certain he was going to fall. He couldn’t imagine having to encounter this sort of storm on the regular. It was so much stronger here over the water than anything he had witnessed on land. It had absolutely not been on the forecast.
However, he refused to believe it was an omen for his pilgrimage.
The deck was wet and nearly slippery under his boots. Every step he took felt like it was going to land him on his arse,whereas the smaller men seemed to be running about without any difficulty at all. There had to be some sort of trick to it that he wasn’t seeing. The waves were only getting worse—the few lanterns that they had swung rapidly to and fro, shifting the field of illuminated vision so quickly that it alone would have made him dizzy if the sea weren’t already doing such a good job of that on its own. Shouts filled the air as the crew scrambled to secure the rigging, their voices nearly lost in the roar of the storm. James gripped one of the ropes he had secured to the main mast, helping him to steady against the swelling waves. Rain lashed his face, and he struggled to keep his footing as the deck bucked beneath him.
At the wheel, the navigator let out a scream, low and guttural as he struggled to keep the wheel from spinning out of control. The ship’s carpenter, arms overladen with wooden planks, a pail of steaming pitch, and a hammer, nearly rolled down the deck and slid below deck, the door flapping and clapping open from not being secured properly. He and four other men all held the tether for the foresail to try and aid the navigator’s steering as best they could. James was shocked by just how much strength the five of them were putting in all together. Still, the rope was slipping. Inch by inch, they were losing ground. He had no idea what would happen if the sea were to win this battle.
All hands on deck, the lanterns were the next thing to go. The only visibility that was left was the flashes of lightning as it struck the water all around them, the angry claps of following thunder making him flinch each and every time. He could only tell where the others around him even were by the sounds of struggle they were making, and the sound of the captain’s voicestarting to grow raspy from combatting the rush of the water as he yelled.
James’ muscles ached, and he was by no means a weak man, his hands raw from gripping the thick wet ropes. The sea thrashed them about wildly, as if determined to consume every one of them whole. He would not give up. Not when he was so close, he was so ready to enter into the next steps, to finally be eligible to reprieve his father’s weary bones. Yet this task seemed insurmountable, stripping every ounce of strength he possessed.
Hours. Minutes. A day. There was no telling how long it had been, and the storm showed no mercy. At least two men had been thrashed overboard and it was too dark to even think about going back to find them, to see if any of them remained. James had heard their screams, high pitched and mobile as they soared over the edge and were cut off too abruptly. The ship groaned under the relentless assault, creaking and shuddering as if the very planks might split apart.
“Brace yerselves men!” The Captain’s frantic warning was almost too late for James, and the four men behind him to abandon the rope they held and dive for the main mast, grabbing for the lifelines blindly in the darkness. A thunderous crash against the water hit like a solid wall, throwing him forward and smacking him into the mast. Warm blood trickled down over his brow, but he ignored the pain. His ears rang and even the darkness seemed to sway and swirl as he fumbled for a rope.
The flash of lightning as he grabbed his rope illuminated the wall of black water looming directly in front of them. The nose of theship started to lift, like the moment stretched impossibly slower as they climbed, at the mercy of the sea. His grip on the rope tightened as his feet were lifted clear off the ship as the deck moved nearly vertical for the wave that then dipped, sending them crashing forward. The man beside him slipped, and James shot out a hand, tightening around the man’s shirt and gritting his teeth through the pain of holding them both with one hand. He wouldn’t abandon a single soul if he had anything to do with it.
Slowly, he managed to lift the man against gravity just enough to share his rope, the sailor clinging desperately. For the span of a heartbeat, James could hear the man’s heavy, panting breaths—and then the water shifted again. Instead of the wave passing underneath the ship, this one toppled straight over them. The frigid water slapped over the lot of them, and he gasped, too much salty water trying to enter his lungs. The moment it backed off, he sputtered, and then the wave crashed again.
He lost his grip.
One moment he was steady, the next he was airborne, too cold to even think about calling for help, or praying for mercy. He couldn’t think yet was painfully aware of every passing second as the ship moved on—and he stayed behind, crashing into the choppy water hard enough to knock any remaining breath from his body.
Pulled under, disoriented and struggling against the powerful currents, his panic flared as he fought to break the surface, his lungs burning as he thrashed through the darkness.
Oxygen, sweet and fleeting as he sucked in a mixture of sea foam, air, and water before he was tossed about by the waves once more. Somewhere ahead the ship groaned; the wooden planks sounded like they were snapping, the main mast falling into the ocean as the water tipped the ship. Each frame highlighted for him only as lightning struck, debris and beams in the water floating around him as he tried to fight the current. Driftwood and who knows what else scattered in the churning sea.
Just as despair began to creep in, he caught sight of a large wooden beam floating nearby, the wood jagged, bobbing up and down in the water. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t hear a single other crew member in the water, and he couldn’t seem to stop coughing up sea water long enough to call out himself. Kicking with all his strength, he pushed through the waves, finally reaching the bit of the mast that floated nearby. As he had seen the sailor do before, he summoned the last of his strength to hook one leg up over the wood, clinging to it as if his life depended on it—which it did. All he could do was try to keep his head above water, no matter how the icy sea attempted to pull him under.
The night stretched endlessly, each passing moment another battle to hold on. James’s thoughts drifted as he shivered, tired down to his bones. His mind wandered through images of his family, the promise of his future, and the saint’s relic he had set out to seek. In his heart, he clung to the only thing he could as he fought to stay strong, to stay awake and breathing; the hope that he might survive this ordeal and return home to his family a stronger man.
He had to hope there would be mercy for him, no matter what the sea intended.
CHAPTER TWO
1578, ISLAND OF RÙM
There was nothing quite like the peace of a calm morning. Whatever poison the sea had needed to turn over in order to bring about this beautiful morning, it was almost worth it. A week of storms had left most of the residents in the small seaside village unable to leave their homes. Half of the modest population had sniffles and fevers. Never mind the grumpiness that tended to come along with sleep deprivation, patching up homes for all the long hours of the night, stoking fires and scraping together meals. Never mind those who had to run out to tend to flocks or save livestock.
Their village would have their work cut out for them for the next few weeks, for the repairs alone. Freya would be busy, too, with all the healing she would need to do to keep the villagers healthy and sound after such a terrible storm. But, for this morning, she was able to walk down the clear beach just after dawn. Herbasket was already full of herbs she would turn into salves and oils for her townsfolk, but she was presently on the hunt for something a little more charming for those children who were stuck in bed while the others were out playing after the long week indoors. Perhaps a fancy bottle, or a sand dollar, a pretty shell… anything to keep their hearts light. It would make their recoveries easier.
Well, that and her seaweed.
It was vexing to her that she had only ever managed to find this special ingredient along the rocks by this section of shore. Hopefully, the storm hadn’t ripped them all from the roots. The remedy she had in mind should be of particular relief to her aging neighbor, but, then again, she would take as much as she could to make as much of her special remedy for anyone who came asking for it.
