by A F Stewart
Rafe handed the empty glass to his first mate, walked wearily across the deck, and disembarked, heading to the harbourmaster’s office. Berthed ships crowded the harbour, but the docks stood strangely empty and quiet. No mooring crew in sight, no rowdy sailors, or even ruffians. Just the coarse wind scouring in from the sea. Rafe flipped up his collar and repressed a shiver. He quickened his step to the harbourmaster. Soon after affirming his ship’s docking, he sat with a cup of hot tea in a tattered but comfortable chair across from an old friend, Ada Millar.
“Bit of a surprise visit from you, Captain. It’s been an age since you wandered into Crickwell’s port. Here for shore leave?”
“No. There’s a wicked gale brewing out to sea. We barely made it to harbour ahead of it.”
“What? There have been no reports. Is it headed this way?”
“Possibly. It shifted south as we came in, but it looks like it could be unpredictable. And it’s a big one, so the edge of the storm should skirt the island in any case. You might want to batten things down as a precaution.” Rafe finished his tea, knowing the woman would have duties to attend. “Sorry to bring unwelcome news.”
“Better to have it before the storm hits than after. Most of our ships are docked already. Only the Black Bastion and the Ocean Lily are still headed in.” A frown creased her face. “It’s a moon cycle, too. Damn. I hope they’re not caught out. Good men all aboard those ships.”
For a moment, Rafe matched her worried look. “Aye. They’re all good men.” Then he replied softly, “Could be they turned back or headed to another port, first sight of the storm.”
She nodded in agreement, not quite believing the words, but clinging to the hope. “Could be. No use fretting over trouble not come yet.” She gave a slight nod and drained the last of her tea. “But, by the shoals, I hate the full moon and every last monster that comes with it.” She let out a wistful sigh and gave Rafe a polite nod. “Thanks for the warning, I’ll spread the word and prepare for bad weather.” She rose to her feet. “I’m sorry our visit has to be so short.”
Rafe smiled and stood. “Perhaps on our next trip, we’ll have longer.” They shook hands, and Rafe took his leave.
In the still air, his footsteps echoed as he walked, a discordant sound in the hushed night. He quickened his pace and felt relief as he returned aboard his ship. Rafe ran his fingers over the rigging and inhaled, savouring a hint of ozone and salt that drifted in the wind. Then he lowered his hand and walked towards the quarterdeck. Blackthorne met him at the bottom of the steps.
“Business squared away with the harbourmaster, Captain? How is she these days?”
“Yes. It’s all taken care of, and she’s quite well, by all appearances.”
“Good. Then you’ve discharged your duty.”
“Aye. Nothing more can be done there. How did the ship fair? Are we laid up, or is she seaworthy?”
“I have things in hand here, Captain, with the ship and repairs. No magic required, sir. But it will be a bad night tonight. I think our storm is coming inland. I can feel it in the air.”
As if summoned, the wind swept across the deck. The sudden patter of rain echoed off the wood.
The Captain stared past the rail into the blustery darkness. “I think you’re right. Looks like the weather’s edge has hit the island. It’ll be a wet night. The crew will be getting drenched this evening making repairs.”
“Aye, but not too much. The damaged sail can be repaired as it just tore on the seam, and we’ve already replaced it from stores. I have men working on the rigging as we’ll need to splice a line or two. The mast suffered no damage. The gun hatch and things below are being attended to.” Blackthorne paused in his speech with noticeable hesitation in his voice. Then he continued. “We’ll be going back out then, after the storm?”
“Don’t we always?” A bitter stain held in the words.
The first mate nodded, the faint moonlight exposing a sad tinge in his face. “I hope we don’t find anything. I hope all the ships were in harbour tonight.”
“So do I.” The Captain sighed, a slight cheerless sound. “But two ships didn’t make it into port here. They may have found shelter...” He broke off the rest and asked, “How long will those repairs take?”
A muscle in Blackthorne’s jaw tightened. “An hour, maybe two or so. Not much overall. Mostly mopping of some puddles below deck. Lucky for us, the hull wasn’t breached, just damaged port hinges and a latch. We mainly got tossed about. The galley looks a right jumble, though.”
“Did we lose any provisions?”
“No. Things got knocked around, but no losses.”
“Good. As soon as we’re seaworthy and the storm breaks, we’ll set sail again.”
The wind blew across the deck rattling loose odds and sods, and sending a chill down the Captain’s spine. Rafe stared into the night and the roar of the heaving waves. His whisper followed the path of the storm.
“Please have found shelter. Don’t be out there tonight.”
Rafe sighed, and closed his eyes against the night, while somewhere across the world the eternal moon shone, and a Goddess sang a lullaby to her far-flung children.
THE WISHES AND WORDS scattered, pitched against the squall, but the sea and storm didn’t heed. Far offshore in the wilding deep, a ship tossed on the rising, feral water, battling the screeching gales threatening to tear the vessel asunder.
The warrior figurehead glistened, dripping in the salt spray, the carved ship’s name slick with foam. The silver lettering, Black Bastion, glittered in the shifting moonlight, echoing the challenge of the crew to the Moon Goddess.
We will not surrender! We will fight until the sea claims our last breath!
The crew believed in their name and the warrior upon their prow. A grizzled lot, toughened and weathered, they would not willingly yield a breath or a drop of blood to the stormy sea. Both ship and lives would need to be taken, clawed from the living and plucked from the cold ocean.
The Black Bastion plowed through the tempest, clashing against the elements. It soldiered on, creeping ever closer to shore. Luck and prayers held it together, with no certainty that fortune would stay with them.
Far to the southwesterly, in the full howl of the storm, another ship lost the fight. A cracked hull split full force, sails shredded, and the beast of the storm swallowed her whole. The ship and all hands were lost. Screams chased the Ocean Lily beneath the waves.
Chapter Three
Come the Monsters
AS QUICK AS THE STORM blew in, it blew out again, and the patched-up Celestial Jewel left the harbour at the first still wind. Captain Morrow strode across the deck, his confident step exposing none of his earlier trepidation.
“Full sail now boys, and all speed! We have a task ahead and the quicker we get to it, the better!”
A chorus of ’aye sir’ echoed behind him as did the familiar tread of his first mate. “Did you see the Bastion, Mr. Blackthorne, as we left port?”
“Aye, sir. I did. In bad shape she was. Torn sail, busted masts, and a gash in her hull. Listing badly and most likely taking on water. She’ll be laid up a while, but at least she made it in.”
“With all hands, I hope?”
“I fear not. I heard she lost men. Not many, a few went overboard in the storm.”
An imperceptible sigh escaped Rafe’s lips. “What of the Ocean Lily? Any news?”
“No, sir. If there’s anything to be found tonight, in all probability, it will be from her.”
“And that’s the question, isn’t it? If anything’s to be found. They’ll be out tonight, and we’ll have to be quick if we want to win the race. Look at the moon, Blackthorne.”
The first mate glanced upward, staring at the rotund orb all glow and silver dazzling. It seemed to pulse in the sky, lighting the darkness like a beacon.
“It’s as bright as I’ve seen and as deadly.” Rafe’s voice broke the spell. “She’s in her element tonight. Her beasts will be roamin
g the seas. You can be certain of that.”
“We’re ready, sir. The weapons are primed and manned. We’ll hold them off.”
“If we get there in time, my friend. Only if we beat them to the wreckage.” Rafe stared into the night, watching the ship cut through the waves. He turned his head back towards the crew and gave a shout, “Full speed and chase the moon, boys! We’re in a race!”
His answer came with another chorus and the scurry of his men to obey.
AS THE Celestial Jewel sailed with all haste back into open waters, the seas spread calmer with a touch of undulating wildness, which reflected like black glass. The crisp air hit the crew with the force of a wench’s slap. The smell of briny seaweed, fish, and death clung to it.
Captain Morrow sighed and tossed a command to the men at the rail on watch duty. “Keep a sharp eye on the waves. By all accounts and indications, there’ll be salvage tonight.” Answering hails echoed off the timbers, a sad agreement from the crew of what may come.
The ship veered west, and then to a more southern course, following the strains of moonlight, searching. The dark unfathomable waves slapped against the ship as the spotters leaned over the rail and peered across the depths. Radiance and chimera spun in their vision, nevertheless, their eyes faithfully scanned the ocean for life or death.
Suddenly, a smallish voice squeaked, “Something in the water!” Mouse raised a hand, pointing into the illuminated black. “Looks like debris!”
“The boy’s right, sir!” The familiar baritone of Striker Angus shouted. “Wood to be sure, and white cloth! Could be a sail!”
“It don’t mean a ship was lost!” One-Eyed Anders roared, voicing everyone’s thought out loud. “Don’t mean that. Could be they was caught, same as us. Just took some damage. Could even be from the Bastion.”
“No.” The Captain’s soft answer washed over the crew. “We shouldn’t speculate until we’re certain. It’s bad luck, that.”
Still, the crew grew silent, no laughter, no banter, only their duties to man the ship and all available eyes on the sea. Despite clinging hope, the further out they sailed, the more shouts came as they spotted debris: fragments of wood and sailcloth, bits and bobs of individual possessions. The unmistakable flotsam of a shipwreck.
Then Rafe asked the question on the tip of every tongue, “Any sign of crew?” The indistinct silence gave him an unwelcome answer. “Perhaps—”
A screech broke past his words as if sensing the unease, a dreadful cry somewhere in the distance.
The shout of, ’Monsters’ went up towards the sky. A brash gust of wind caught the sail, and the ship gained sudden momentum, cutting through the choppy waves. Spray bounced from its sides, and the crew bounded from their languor, spoiling for a fight. All hands made to man the ship’s weapons, be it cannon, harpoon, sword, knife, billy club, or belaying pin.
With all nerves and tension slicing through the ship, Short Davy cried, “In the water! Hard about left! A floater with monsters coming up fast!”
The captain whirled, spyglass at the ready. Sure enough, the sea churned with the wake of beasts. “It’s a pack of wolf eels, my lads! Get the harpoons primed, and ring that damnable bell! We’ve got a soul to rescue!”
The crew scrambled to ready the silver laced harpoons and their cannons, while Quiet Peter grabbed the bell pull and clanged with all his might. The magic fused into the metal surged across the ship and far out into the sea. Shivers cracked the air like an invisible whip, and every bone oscillated in the wake of the repeated peals of the bell. The poor wretch in the water convulsed and glowed, and the wolf eels screamed.
“Now lads! The harpoons!”
Sharp-tipped iron and silver sliced the air, and three harpoons landed true to their targets, smacking hard with the thud of metal in flesh and the swoosh of bloody spray. In one last screech to curse the dead, the beasts shattered, exploding into magic and meat. More eels swarmed, teeth gnashing, bubbling screams snaking through the water, as the desperate sailor thrashed and flailed in the sea.
Rafe yelled, “Another volley!” and more harpoons sang through the air slashing their targets. The ocean swirled in a bloody mess until the remainder of the pack retreated.
From the quarterdeck, standing proud and the wind blowing his coattails, Rafe shouted, “Come alongside, and cast the net before they try again!”
“Aye, Captain!” came the reply from Anders. The ship banked and manoeuvred parallel to the sailor. A net of star-woven rope was fired from the ship, another staunch aim. It scooped what lingered of the floating sailor and hauled him on board, the crank and tackle clanking noisily above the man’s screams. Cast from the netting, dripping sea water, the fellow flopped about on deck like a prize fish.
“Are there any more?” Even above the wind, the captain’s voice rang like a temple bell.
“No, Captain! That be it! Don’t see another one in the water nowhere!”
“Full ahead then! Keep searching!”
As the ship sailed on, scouring the waters, Rafe turned his attention to their catch, bounding down to the main deck.
Soaked and terrified, the sailor scrambled on all fours like a crab, twirling around in circles “Get away! Get away!” The man’s screams hit the deck like the dead weight of a drunken mariner. “I need to get away!”
“Take hold of yourself, sailor!” The voice of crew gunner, Striker Angus, snapped the night air, followed by the back of his hand against the man’s cheek. “Ya ain’t in the water no more!”
The shock of the blow and the words quieted his movement as he curled into a seated position, but did not silence his raving. “Not in the water? Are they gone? Please tell me they’re gone. They were all around...all around...all fins and teeth. Swimming, swimming through the sea. I could hear them. Oh, by the gods, I could hear them! They were eating...” He shuddered and became quiet.
Rafe softly smiled belying the sadness in his eyes and spoke in a gentle, reassuring voice. “It’s over, sailor. On this ship, you’re safe from the monsters.”
The rescued seafarer looked up, his body shaking. “I’m alive, then? I survived?”
“No, lad. I’m sorry. You’re dead. You drowned. Went down with your ship. All that’s left is your remnant, your spirit. That’s what we pulled from the ocean.”
The man twitched at the captain’s blunt words, his head rocking back and forth. “No, no. You lie. I’m here. On a ship.” He knocked his fist against the deck. “See, solid. Alive. I survived. I can’t be...dead.”
Rafe sighed. “Best you face it quick, sailor. Dead or alive, on this ship, it’s all the same. You’re dead, and your body will soon feed the sea creatures.”
“No. No, no! I can’t—I have to...” His words trailed off into a whisper as he stared into the quiet daunting face of Captain Morrow. “How can I be dead? I don’t want to be dead.”
“No one does. But at least we retrieved your soul from being eaten by the wolf eels. A fate far worse than death.” Rafe extended his hand to the man who sat dribbling water on the deck, trembling, his mouth agape. “Welcome aboard the Celestial Jewel, a ship of sanctuary for the lost. I’m Captain Rafe Morrow, God of Souls.”
Chapter Four
Coming Back
“WHAT’S YOUR NAME, SAILOR?” Blackthorne’s voice drifted calm and gentle in the salt touched air. He addressed the remnant who, newly fished from the sea, now huddled against the bulwark as the Jewel continued its grisly search. The task of comforting the rescued soul fell on his shoulders. He smiled at the pitiful scrap crouched in a shadowed crook on deck.
“I don’t understand it. It doesn’t make sense.” The vestige of a man mumbled to himself, ignoring Blackthorne.
The first mate sighed and tried again. “I know it seems unfathomable with what’s happened, but I can help. Let me help. Tell me your name, sailor.”
For a moment the question went unanswered, but then the sailor looked at the first mate, his face awash in disbelief and misery.
“Hugh. A strong name that. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance Hugh Corwin even under these unfortunate circumstances.” Blackthorne held out his hand.
Hugh shook the offered appendage gingerly. “How is this possible? If I’m dead, why didn’t I cross to the After World? If I’m a spirit, how can I shake your hand?” Confusion tipped off his tongue and reflected in his eyes. “Wait. Are you dead as well?”
“No. I’m still alive. But some of the other crew are like you. Souls we fished from the sea’s embrace. As to the how, this ship has a touch of the After World in her. She lets the ghostly dead stay as they were within her confines.”
“Is that my fate then? To join the crew? To sail on some ship of doomed sailors? Never to cross, never to see my family again?”
Blackthorne heard the unshed tears and anguish in his words and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Where you go from here is your choice. As was the fate that left you bound to this mortal world.”
“I don’t understand. I—”
Sudden shouts interrupted.
“More debris to starboard, Captain! And looks like a sea wyrm coming in at full tilt!”
“Where there’s one, there could be more. Man the weapons!”
At the interjected shouts, Blackthorne turned away from his charge with parting words. “This conversation will have to continue at a later date, Mr. Corwin. We’ve more trouble headed our way.” The first mate sprinted off, leaving their newest ghostly resident open-mouthed and gaping across the unfolding scene.
An immense serpent rose from the ocean with the cry from the crew. “That’s not a sea wyrm! It’s a deep water basilisk!” Hugh stared, his body shaking. The snake-like beast stretched nearly as tall as the Jewel, with scaly, stubby wings and fins flapping in the wind. It spread its great maw and roared, spiky teeth glistening in the moonlight.