SeaJourney (Arken Freeth and the Adventure of the Neanderthals Book 1)

by Alex Paul

  “Quarter sail,” the captain ordered. Sailors slackened the sail by raising the cross spar, and then tucked the sail in folds behind the spar until only a fourth of the sail lay exposed to the wind. The ship slowed to a man’s walking pace.

  “Sir?” Han took a step toward Lar and stumbled.

  “Yes, Han?” Lar put his arm around Han to hold him up.

  “Sir. I sincerely—” Han smiled weakly. “I didn’t mean to make a lewd joke, sir. My father is a sculptor. We have discussed the design problem at home. I admit I said it as a way to get a laugh, sir, but please don’t punish me so severely. I meant no offense, nor did I know a rule existed against it.”

  “I took no offense.” Lar squeezed him tight. “But I’m not the judge here.” Lar glared at Captain Dunn who stood only a few feet away at the helm. “It’s up to the captain.”

  “No matter your intent, boy, keep your artistic thoughts to yourself next time if they involve private parts,” the Captain said in a gruff tone. “Your remark wasn’t proper, and Mistress Calna demands satisfaction. Better this than taking lashes, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sir.” Han bowed his head. “I’d die from those. But you won’t let me drown, will you, sir?” Han pleaded to Lar. “I don’t swim well at all.”

  “I won’t let you drown,” Lar promised. “And I’ll take your words into consideration while setting the time you are in the water.”

  “No! Mistress Calna will determine the length of punishment,” the captain ordered.

  “Pardon?” Lar spun around.

  “I said, Calna will say when to stop.”

  There was a rumble of protest among the boys.

  “That’s outrageous.” Lar raised his voice. “I am solely responsible for these boys as their instructor! You should punish me if that woman takes such great offense.”

  “I surely can.” Captain Dunn shook his head in disbelief at Lar’s lack of discipline. “Though I’d punish you and him both. He won’t get out of his punishment due to your bravery—is that what you wish, teacher?”

  “Don’t sir, there’s no point,” Han blurted out. “I’ll take the punishment.”

  Lar’s face glowed like a red warning lantern during nightmist. His jaw muscles jumped as he ground his teeth together.

  “You boys watch this punishment.” Captain Dunn looked at the cadets. “I can punish anyone for breaking a rule aboard my ship, despite your instructor’s desires to the contrary.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lar broke out of his frozen anger and saluted.

  Arken managed to squeeze in next to the railing, explaining he was in Han’s study group whenever cadets tried to elbow him back. Asher faithfully clung to him, and they now stood side by side peering over the railing, which rose higher than the middle of their chests. White foam spread out from the stern and bubbled back to clear blue-green water. The foam’s disappearance marked where the ship’s passage was no longer remembered by the sea, and it made Arken feel sad since it was like a person’s short passage through life and disappearance at death. Han would soon be struggling to avoid death in that white, foamy water.

  “Bring your young women back here to give them clear witness.” Lar’s eyes narrowed as he addressed Mistress Calna. “Clear a spot, there, you boys, right by the rail. You Trackers take note, his punishment is for you.”

  The girls moved forward, eyes on their feet and not the sea. Arken knew they were as distressed by Han’s punishment as the boys.

  Lar tied a line to the leather straps binding Han’s wrists.

  “Up on the railing, Han. The sailors will hold you,” Lar ordered. “Now, when I tell you to, take a deep breath and step back.” Lar added, “We’ll pull you to the surface, and then let out rope as we drag you along. You’ll go underwater if you put your head down, but if you keep it up, you’ll stay on the surface. Once you’re at the full extension of the rope, you can get some air if you hold your arms out in front of you like this and skim along the top of the water.”

  Han crossed his arms above his head. “Like this, sir?”

  “Yes, excellent. I’m sure she won’t keep you out there too long.”

  “No, sir.” Han shook with fear. “I want you to know, though, that I really can’t swim.” Tears filled his eyes, making them look a darker green. He took several deep breaths. His knees shook uncontrollably.

  “Mistress Calna, please don’t punish him on our account,” the freckled Queen’s Tracker begged in a loud voice.

  Every eye on the stern turned to Mistress Calna.

  “Please, Ma’am, I can’t swim,” Han added. He held his lean arms out toward her like a court solicitor pleading his case.

  “Proceed,” she said, her lips a tight line across her smashed-in face. Arken had felt sad for her deformity but not any more.

  “Deep breath and step back,” Lar ordered.

  “No!” the Tracker screamed. Han dropped to the sea like Yon’s measuring stone.

  “Draw him tight,” Lar shouted. The sailors wedged against the railing and pulled hard, their arms bulging. The Queen’s Trackers and cadets jammed against the railing and looked for Han in the blue-green water.

  “There he is,” a boy yelled. Han popped to the surface when the rope drew taut, his hands extended over his head, but his head was under water, his red hair flowing like kelp in a tidal current. The water was so clear, and the sandy bottom so white, that it looked as if Han was not in water at all, but flying above a white desert.

  “Lift your head,” Lar shouted and lifted his head, as if by sheer will he could bring Han’s head to the surface.

  As if he felt Lar’s energy, Han’s head popped up, and he looked up at them, and a roar of triumph went up from the cadets. Han’s stomach planed on the surface, and he grinned at his friends as if he was having fun skipping over the small waves.

  Then a taller wave came from beneath the ship. It clipped his head on the side and he went under, spinning as he sank down. They could see him struggling underwater, but now, instead of rising, his head tipped to one side, and he began to roll and dive even further.

  “Should we bring him in, sir?” A sailor holding the rope asked the captain.

  Captain Dunn turned to Calna.

  “Longer.” She sniffed. “Let the punishment fit the crime.”

  “They’re going to kill him!” Asher hissed.

  “Whuls!” The lookout screamed from the bird’s nest above.

  “Whuls? Where?” the captain bellowed as he followed the lookout’s arm. “Bring the boy in, the water’s too dangerous now!”

  Arken felt a wave of relief. Thank Kal, Han will be safe in a second.

  “In, bring him in,” Lar screamed at the sailors while scanning the water’s surface. The lookout had been watching the punishment and hadn’t noticed the pod of whuls before the ship was on top of them. Now a huge gray whul was beneath the stern, with Han headed straight for it.

  “The punishment is not long enough!” Calna protested. “Why are whuls a cause for alarm?”

  “The punishment is over,” Captain Dunn announced. “It’s not the whuls, it’s the fish that hunts them!”

  “I’ve never trained as a lookout at sea,” Calna exclaimed. “What hunts whuls?”

  “Smokers! A sharrk as long as our boat! They’ll eat the boy if he’s in the water.” Captain Dunn was shouting now at Mistress Calna, and Arken realized he was mad that she had spurred him into this situation.

  Mistress Calna stepped back, a confused look on her face.

  “What are smokers?” Asher tugged on Arken’s shoulder.

  “Tallfin sharrks,” Arken said, not taking his eyes from the sea.

  “Oh, I know what those are, but why do you call them smokers?”

  “The spray from their fin looks like smoke.” Arken stared at the water around Han.

  “What’s wrong? You’re shaking!” Asher asked.

  “I hate sharrks.” Arken forced himself to be still. “I fell off our ship when I w
as small. My father pulled me in just before a sharrk got me.”

  “Oh my...”

  Arken took a deep breath and looked down, glad he wasn’t Han.

  “He’s going to hit the whul,” a sailor yelled. They had pulled Han closer to the ship, but the whul had made its way between Han and the ship.

  “Slack off,” Lar yelled. “Give him rope.”

  The three sailors pulling on Han’s rope gave him line, and bits of hemp made a cloud of dust as the rope ground into the railing.

  “He’s free. Pull!”

  “Smoker, port side!” The lookout’s shrill scream pushed fear down Arken’s spine like the sword thrust of an executioner through the shoulder and into the heart of a kneeling, condemned man.

  Arken’s eyes found a three-foot-tall white fin approaching so fast toward the ship that water spun off the fin top in a mist. As Arken watched in horror, the fin kept rising out of the water until fully six feet of fin stood above the water’s surface.

  “A smoker,” Asher whispered. “The fin does smoke like it’s on fire. It is so huge.”

  Arken had been feeling hot, but now his sweat turned cold. The smoker’s white body looked as long as their ship. He might as well be in the ocean with Han, given the smoker’s size. It could destroy their ship with ease.

  “Full sail!” the captain shouted. “If it hits the ship we’re doomed. Warn the escort ships with smoke. Fly the Alarm! and Stand Away! signal flags,” he added.

  Sailors pulled on the ropes, and the sail snapped full. The ship leaped ahead as a sailor lit a smoky torch to draw the attention of the escorts far behind. Tildok’s head plunged downward, and Arken felt as if he were riding a sea dragon as it blew smoke and lunged away from the smoker.

  Arken looked down at the smoker to find it was moving slowly through the water with one eye pointed toward them, as if it were studying the Sea Nymph with renewed respect.

  “No! You can’t go faster!” Lar shouted. “The boy is drowning!”

  “He’ll last,” the captain argued. “That smoker thinks our ship is attacking the whuls. He’s trying to scare us away from his meal. If we don’t flee, he’ll ram us.”

  The sailors on Han’s rope struggled against the increased drag until more men jumped to help. Han spun even faster, and then, with a mighty tug, the sailors lifted him out of the water. The men pulled him quickly to the railing. A cheer went up, though it faded when they saw him draped over the stern rail, blue, limp, and unconscious.

  Yon was closest and reached for Han but, just then, one of Han’s arms slipped from the leather binding his wrists. Before Yon could grab him, his other hand came free, and he disappeared over the rail.

  “Man overboard!” Yon began to climb over the railing.

  “No one goes into the water with that smoker!” The captain looked to port where the smoker floated. Arken spotted Han’s limp form drifting below the surface as the ship quickly pulled away. “Besides, the lad’s dead,” the captain added. “No sense losing men trying to save him.”

  “No!” Lar ripped off his robe, grabbed the slack rope, and vaulted the rail into the sea.

  “Bleeding orocks!” the captain cursed. “Grab that line of Lar’s, but leave it slack so he can swim. Drop sail! Stop the ship.”

  Arken stuck his head over the railing, clinging to it fiercely, not letting others push him from his viewpoint. Lar twisted his body into a dive as he dropped and plunged into the clear water. He stroked underwater, and then broke the surface. Within seconds, he was over Han and, after taking two deep breaths, he plunged down.

  “He’s got him!” Asher pointed as they watched Lar run the rope under Han’s arms and cinch it tight. He would not come loose now.

  “Pull!” Captain Dunn roared.

  Ten sailors took the line over their shoulders and ran away from the railing. Han and Lar sped through the water toward the ship until they broke the surface, but, as they started to rise, the sailors reached the command deck rail and stopped. One man ran a turn of rope around the rail as the others ran to the stern to pull rope forward again.

  But the full weight of Lar and the boy stopped the men and, in that instant, Lar let go of the rope.

  “Take the boy first!” Lar shouted, plunging into the ocean.

  Released from his weight, the sailors fell backward, and then regained their feet. Han flew upward until he reached the ship’s rail. The knot in the rope stopped him from coming on board, so the sailors reached for his limp form, pulling it up and over the railing and dropping him on the deck. Without the push of the sail, the Sea Nymph bobbed on the gentle swell. Cadets grabbed Han and pulled the rope loose.

  The ship’s healer slid Han away from the railing with the help of two sailors.

  “Throw the rope back in!” Gart shouted. Gart had resumed his role as salcon by habit, and Narval jumped to obey, grabbing the rope and throwing it at Lar. But the rope fell short, making him swim for it.

  Arken saw motion in the water on the starboard side of the ship. Fear overtook him as he thought another smoker was joining the attack on the whuls. To his relief, he saw a harmless gray whul surface by the ship. It rolled on its side and stared up at them with one eye.

  “No, go away,” Captain Dunn shouted. The whul rolled and slapped a fluke on the water, making a sound louder than a catapult hitting its stop. Then the whul dove just beneath the surface and swam slowly away.

  “Help us! More men!” Yon screamed at the railing. “The smoker’s coming!” The whul’s slap on the water had stirred the smoker, and now it was less than a hundred legs away and coming fast.

  Arken realized his relief had been wrong, that the danger was now much worse.

  “Lift this boy’s feet and hang him upside down,” Lancon Zeem, the ship’s healer said. The sailors lifted Han in the air. His blue skin and limp limbs made Arken think his friend had surely died. “Now, another of you come from behind and pump his belly by squeezing like this.” He demonstrated on Han.

  “Ready?” a sailor asked when he stepped forward and put his arm around Han’s stomach.

  “Yes, sir!”

  “All right, let’s begin,” Zeem ordered. He bent his angular body down awkwardly and winced as he put his weight on his knees, but he didn’t let the pain stop him from putting his mouth over Han’s to blow air into his lungs as the sailor pumped Han’s stomach.

  “Kal save those that sail the sea,” a sailor said, his prayer drawing Arken’s attention from Han back to the smoker. Fear surged through Arken when he saw the smoker was now only fifty legs from Lar and moving so fast the mist coming off the fin became a rainbow in the sunlight. Just then, Lar reached the rope, wrapped the loop under his armpits, and yelled. The line tightened, and Lar shot from the water.

  “Haul him up fast!” Captain Dunn shouted, but there was no need for his instruction. Fifteen sailors had the rope, and they ran forward so fast that the rope burned on the railing just feet from Arken’s head. The speed with which Lar moved must have attracted the smoker’s attention, because suddenly its head rose from the sea when Lar was three quarters of the way from the stern rail. The terrible mouth, wide enough to swallow a chariot, rose beneath Lar.

  Lar looked down and, as the rope hauled him higher, he pulled up his feet. The jaws shut, the horrible teeth clamping down exactly where Lar’s feet had just been. Arken pulled his shoulders up in sympathy as if he were giving Lar energy to save himself.

  The teeth crashed together and made a terrible grinding, clacking noise just as Lar’s hands grabbed the railing. The rope and his arms vaulted him to safety, and he fell head first to the deck.

  A sour, foul smell blew over Arken, and he realized it was the smell of the smoker’s stomach. He gagged and almost threw up, but could not draw his gaze from the smoker. It hung in the air for a moment, its huge tail suspending the smoker half out of the water. It seemed to hang weightless before Arken and stare at him with an eye larger than a dinner plate. Then the enormous head sank back i
nto the water, splashing a huge fountain of spray over the entire command deck.

  Everyone screamed and yelled in joy.

  “Silence!” the captain shouted as he looked down. “Smokers attack noisy ships. Twenty lashes to the next man who cries out!”

  Arken watched the smoker sink toward the white sandy bottom, its head to one side and an eye looking up. He’s looking for prey, Arken thought.

  Han coughed. Arken felt happy as water gushed from Han’s mouth.

  “There we are, stop heaving on his belly, the water’s out,” Lancon Zeem said. “Help him sit up.”

  The color came back into Han’s face as he continued to cough and more water splashed from his mouth.

  “Take him to the infirmary.” Lancon Zeem rose slowly from the deck, again wincing in pain as he straightened up. They carried Han, still coughing, below. “His salcon should go with him.”

  “Yes, sir.” Donov stepped forward and walked behind the men carrying Han. “I’m here with you, Han,” he said.

  “Fine work, Lancon Zeem.” The captain nodded at Zeem as he passed.

  “Look!” Asher whispered from Arken’s side at the railing.

  The white sandy bottom outlined the pale gray shape of the smoker as it slowly glided away from the Sea Nymph.

  “Twenty legs in length, at least, and three legs wide,” the captain whispered. “By Kal, that’s the largest I’ve ever seen. And right outside the harbor! There’s bad luck ahead for this trip.”

  “It’s just hunting a whul.” Lancon Koman narrowed his gray eyes as he whispered back to the captain.

  “No, more than that.” The captain shook his head. “It’s black work by some dark force, I reckon.”

  Arken felt dismayed by the captain’s display of superstitious fear. Surely there were no dark forces in the world that could control a sharrk? Then he noticed Lar leaning against the railing by him and gasping for breath as he looked for his robe.

  Arken found the robe behind a boy’s legs and handed it to Lar. “You’re so brave!”