Chapter 39
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.
We expected 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 her sticky 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.
Until we weren’t even doing that.
The wind itself fled that place, cowering into stillness and leaving us adrift in waters so calm, I could barely tell we were on the ocean at all.
I stood at the helm, my eyes scanning the waters for something that might act as a destination, but even if I’d found something, the sails hung empty and limp.
In the crow’s nest, David had been standing silent for many hours with nothing to announce.
No rocks. No waves. Night fell on a quiet tide and an even quieter crew as the men began filling their time with pointless work just to keep busy until finally, the few men appointed to keep a lookout were the only ones awake on the entire vessel.
Dahlia came to visit late into the night, dressed in one of my shirts and nothing else. She reached out for me, practically prying my hands off the pegs of the wheel.
“Come,” she said. “Nickolai will take over. You need rest.”
I sighed, barely realizing how long it had been since I’d closed my eyes or rested my legs.
I relinquished control of the ship and forced myself to accompany Dahlia down into our cabin, my fingers chilled and my joints stiff.
My clothes had been heavy with rainwater for some time, but I hardly noticed until Dahlia began to strip me of my garments.
First my heavy coat. Then my boots and belts and baldric.
My weapons. She removed pounds of weight until I was in nothing but my britches and then all but forced me to bed.
“I wish I could warm you,” she said, sitting down beside me. “But I’m afraid my body is unfit for such things.”
“Your presence warms me well enough,” I said.
Dahlia leaned in, her lips grazing my shoulder. “I do not know which is worse. A raging storm or this ongoing stillness.”
“Neither do I. But a breeze is sure to come.”
“I know.” She fell silent for a beat, her fingers playing along my forearm. “Do you think you might come to regret taking this journey?”
“What sort of question is that so late in our venture? Do you doubt my resolve already?”
“I do not think we’ve seen the worst of it. When we have, regret may follow, no matter what.”
“I have never shied from a dance with death. I will not start now. I knew not what kinds of challenges we would face on this journey, but I knew they’d be here. I regret nothing.”
Her eyes softened as if my words had stirred something in her.
My siren was prone to feeling guilt, whether she had a part to play in a situation or not.
I hated that I could not always soothe that part of her, but in the days to come, it would not matter.
Guilt-prone or not, she never failed to stand when the time came to do so.
I had more faith in her than I had in myself at times.
“We should sleep,” I said. “Perhaps tomorrow will bring the wind back.”
The two of us, exhausted by the demanding days behind us, rolled onto the bed and lazily fit our bodies together. I pulled her close to me, folding myself around her back like a puzzle piece. The instant I closed my eyes, I was asleep, hoping for a more promising morning to follow.
I jolted awake to an insistent rapping on the door of my quarters. Dahlia leapt out of bed first, reaching for her bone knife. She had yet to get used to reaching for her cutlass first.
“Cap’n,” someone said. “Better come look at this.”
I scrubbed the fatigue from my face and swung my legs over the edge of the mattress.
“Suppose that’s all the rest we’re getting,” I groaned, throwing on my still-damp clothes.
When I stepped out onto the deck to find the sails flat and the water placid, I let out a sharp breath of disappointment.
My men were gathered at the starboard side of the ship, peering out into the sea.
I pulled on my coat, realizing that there was a palpable bite in the air, and walked across the deck to join them.
Mullins was the first to see me and immediately pointed toward the horizon.