by Amy Cross
"Answer one question for me," I say, staring up at the dark sky above us. "Is there any real chance that we're suddenly going to find this Clara woman floating about in the ocean?"
"None whatsoever," Duncan says.
"So we're trapped," I say. "Forever and ever." Above, there's a rumble of thunder and the rain starts to fall more heavily. "You once told me that there's always a way out of any situation," I say, turning to Duncan. "You said that no matter how bad things look, there's always a way out."
"I was exaggerating," he says. "Sometimes -"
"No way," I say. "I'm going to find a way. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life on this boat."
Duncan opens his mouth to argue with me, but then we both turn as the Mariner approaches us.
"You're taking us into a storm," Duncan says. "This boat can barely survive a stiff breeze, and you're taking us straight into a huge storm. It's suicide. You're never going to find Clara if you're dead."
"The Port Horizon is a strong boat," the Mariner says. "She has been in this condition for many years. You must not underestimate her."
"Every boat has limits," Duncan says, as we start to hit the storm-front. The boat rocks as the waves become stronger and stronger. The wooden hull creaks. Duncan takes a tighter grip on the wheel. "The boat won't make it," he says, "and we won't survive this storm."
Joseph
1889.
The boat rocks and I open my eyes. It's still dark, and the storm is still raging, but the boat is intact and the waves seem to have died down a little. I sit up, immediately feeling a terrible pain in my right arm. There are a few cuts and scratches on my naked body, but other than that I seem to have suffered no more than a broken arm and a slight head injury. With the storm having calmed, the rocking of the boat seems almost peaceful now. It is a miracle that the boat has remained intact. She must be strong indeed to have persevered through such a tempest.
"Clara!" I shout across the empty, haunted deck. "Clara!"
I get to my feet. I know there is no reason to believe that she is still alive, but the fact that I live is itself a demonstration of the possibility of miracles. Perhaps God, in his wisdom and mercy, has chosen to let us both survive this night so that we might reflect upon our sins and choose a better course in life. I know that I have never made such a terrible mistake before, and perhaps we have been spared.
"Clara!" I shout again. I reach the wheel and look out over the dark, stormy sea. The storm is by no means over, but we are clearly out of the worst of it. The sails are gone, torn away by the tempest's anger, and we are drifting. Black clouds continue to churn overhead, and I cannot see any stars that might tell me where we are. "Clara!" I shout as loud as I can, but there is no response.
Holding my broken arm, I stumble over to the side of the boat and look down into the water. There is no chance of her being alive now, not if she went overboard. I think back to that last moment when I saw her being swept away from me, and I remember her piercing scream. Can it be true? Was I delivered safely by some miracle, yet she was consumed by the storm? Did God choose to end her life so that I would be shown the error of my weakness?
"Joseph!" shouts a voice from the other side of the boat.
I turn, shocked. It was Clara's voice, weak and frail but definitely calling me. Running over, I look for her, but there is no sign. I cannot even tell for sure whether she was onboard, or in the water, but I cannot find her at all. I stare at the water, hoping against hope that I might see her out there, and then I search every inch of the boat, but she is not here. Yet I know that I heard her voice, which means she is alive somewhere. After searching the boat again, I conclude that she must be in the water.
"Clara!" I shout. "Where are you?"
I wait, listening out for any sign that she might be out in the water. There is nothing, yet I know I heard her voice a moment ago. I am quite sure that many men, gripped by madness and terror, would be capable of imagining the voice of someone for whom they are so desperately searching. Yet I am certain that such a voice would be like that of a phantom, and would echo in the mind; Clara's voice was most definitely not in my mind, and I am certain that I truly heard her. She is alive, somewhere, and I must find her, even if it takes me all night.
"Clara!" I shout again. The thought of her being out there, tossed upon the waves, is agonizing. It is already miraculous that she has survived; it would be a miracle of another order altogether if I were to be able to spot her in the darkness and then get her back onboard. Yet God seems to be offering me the chance of such a miracle, and I must do my best to find Clara and rescue her. I will show God that he was right to spare me. I will not rest until I have found Clara and brought her back onboard.
But as time passes, I find that the search is delivering no results. Night turns to day, and although I should return to shore and report the damage, I stay out on the ocean. Days and nights pass like this, and I barely sleep at all. I have no food, and no water, and soon I'm in a desperate state. Weak and almost delirious, I start pulling up buckets of seawater to drink. Soon I'm feeling sick, barely able to keep up my constant vigil. All I can hope now is that I'll live long enough to save Clara. But as the boat drifts, I find that all hope of survival leaves me. Eventually I collapse onto the deck and stare up at the blue sky above. This is it. My final moments. I can only hope that in death I will be reunited with Clara, and that God will forgive us both.
Death, though, does not come. I fall into a deep sleep, and when I awaken the sky above me is dark and stormy. Sitting up, I find that I feel better. It's as if I have feasted upon great food and wine, and rested, and am now filled with the energy I need in order to continue my search. Rather than questioning how this has happened, I turn the boat around and resolve to explore the area in which Clara disappeared. When night comes, I continue my search, but there's still no sign of Clara. It's as if she has just vanished from the world. Even the sound of her voice would be enough to give me hope, but she remains silent.
Days, weeks, months and finally years pass by. Though many would have abandoned the search by now, I remain at my post. There is still a possibility that Clara is out there somewhere, and whenever I come close to giving up, I remember the way Clara called out my name after she fell overboard. I don't care how long it has been: I am certain that she is still out there, waiting for me to rescue her. I am so determined to find Clara, I don't sleep. I don't eat, or drink, or even look away from the ocean. These things are beyond me.
Eventually, I look down at my hands and see that they are old. I must have been keeping watch for an entire lifetime, and my hands are withered and wrinkled. Since I don't have a mirror in which to check myself, I touch my face and feel deep lines in my flesh. I have stored here in rain, sunlight, stormy weather and even hail. I must be close to a hundred years old, and I can feel my body beginning to fail. Finally, a few days later, I collapse to the deck and realize that death is closing in on me. I have failed, and Clara is lost.
But still I do not die. After falling unconscious, I wake up under a dark and stormy sky. Sitting up, I feel myself rejuvenated; once again, it's as if I have been brought back to life. I look at my hands, and I see that they are young again. God must have chosen to bestow upon me a wonderful miracle, giving me back my youth so that I can continue my search for Clara; and God would never do such a thing unless Clara is out there to be found, a thought that fills me with hope. My search will never have to end. All I have to do is keep looking and looking and looking. The fates are conspiring to keep our love alive. I must show God that I am determined to find Clara, and he will deliver her to me. Even if I grow old again, my youth will be restored to me as many times as it takes, until darkness itself falls upon the universe. Pure love will win the day and Clara will come back to me, and God will forgive me.
Jess
Today.
"I don't want to die," I say, staring at the storm as it continues to envelop us. The waves are getting taller and taller, and there's
lightning regularly splitting the sky above us. Ahead of us there's an even darker patch of sky, with the sea so rough it's hard to believe any boat could survive. I swallow hard. "And I definitely don't want to drown."
"Then leave," says the Mariner, standing next to me as the boat is buffeted by howling winds. "I will send you back to your world." The way he says it seems so simple and easy. He's right: I could take him up on his offer and simply leave. But then Duncan would be abandoned.
"No," I say, with rain pouring down and soaking us all. "Not without Duncan."
"You're a fool," the Mariner replies. "I've seen Duncan before. I know how his mind works. He doesn't love you. He never will. His love was reserved for -."
"I get it!" I shout though the rain. "Anna! Yes, I get it! Anna, whoever she was! But..." I pause, looking over at Duncan as he remains chained to the wheel over on the other side of the boat. "It doesn't matter," I say. "It doesn't change anything. You can still love someone who doesn't love you." I turn to the Mariner. "You of all people should know that."
"My love transcends time and space itself," he says. "It's a love that cannot be broken."
"Yeah yeah," I say. I take a deep breath. "I know," I say eventually. It's kind of startling to hear myself admit it, even if I've known for a while that it's probably true. "But it doesn't work like that, does it?" I pause. Am I really about to risk my life for a guy who simply can't love me? "This girl you're looking for," I say, turning to the Mariner. "What's her name again?"
"Clara," he replies, and I can hear the pain and anguish in his voice.
"Clara," I say. "You love her, I know that, but are you sure she loves you?"
"Of course she does," he replies, as if it's obvious. I don't think he's even considered the possibility that he might be wrong. He's basically not far off being some kind of inter-dimensional necro-stalker. He might think he's being romantic, but perhaps he's just being creepy.
"And how do you know that she loves you?" I ask him. "How can you be so sure? Is it just because you love her?"
The Mariner pauses. "Are you really willing to risk your life just to die with Duncan?"
"Yeah," I say, even though there's a part of me that wants to turn and run. "I guess I am." I turn and look over at Duncan. He's still chained to the wheel, and the boat is bucking over the taller and taller waves. There are loud creaking sounds all around, and it's pretty clear that Duncan is right: this boat can't possibly survive a storm like this. We're all going to drown. "Look at the ocean," I say, trying desperately to find a way to make him see sense. "Look how rough and cold it looks."
His ancient eyes look out over the water. "She's out there somewhere."
"Is that what you really want?" I ask. "You want her to be out there, scared and alone, freezing cold and being tossed about by waves? Wouldn't it be better if she'd just died at the beginning?"
"She didn't die," he says.
"This doesn't make sense," I whisper.
"What doesn't make sense?" the Mariner asks.
"You're going to kill us all," I say. "Even though it won't help you find Clara, you're going to let us all die. So what's this all about? Don't you want to keep searching?"
"Look at me," the Mariner replies, holding up his hands. "I have become so old. My body is failing, so I must die again, so that I am young when I find her. She won't want an old man, will she?"
"You think she's shallow?" I ask.
He smiles. "She's a woman," he says. "I can die and be reborn as a young man again. That's what this boat does. Every few decades, I send her into the storms of Karamoon so that we can die together, and be reborn together. We are locked together in this ritual until finally, one day, we will find Clara."
"You sure about that?" I say. "Do you really, really think she's out there somewhere, waiting to be rescued?"
"She must be," he says. "Where else could she be?"
"Maybe she's just dead," I say as the boat lurches beneath us. Have you considered that possibility? Maybe she just fell overboard, and drowned. Maybe her body sank, and now it's decomposed and gone, and there's nothing left to find. She was just human after all."
"I heard her voice," he says.
"She's dead," I insist, "and you're going to let us die just because you won't admit it. And maybe you can be reborn, but Duncan and I can't. We'll be dead. Very dead. Totally dead. There's no way back for us."
"Then leave!" the Mariner says, raising his voice. "Leave us!"
I shake my head. "I'm staying here," I say. "I'll leave when you let Duncan leave."
"I won't ever let him leave," he replies.
"Yes you will," I say. "You have to."
"Incoming!" shouts Duncan.
The Mariner and I both turn and see a huge wave sweeping towards the boat. It's taller than any of the masts, and as it gets closer it begins to break and come crashing down. I barely have time to turn before it hits us, but fortunately I manage to grab onto a railing as the water smashes against me. Just when I think I can't hold my breath any longer, the water falls away. I look across the boat and see Duncan hanging from the wheel, still attached by his chained hand, while the Mariner staggers across the deck.
I run over to Duncan and try again to get his arm free from the chain. "If I can get you loose," I say, "is there any way you can get us out of here?"
Duncan shakes his head. "Only he can do that," he says, looking over at the Mariner. It's clear that Duncan is in a bad way, soaked and injured. He can barely stand up, but no matter how hard I try, I can't get the chain off his arm.
"Clara!" the Mariner shouts as he looks out across the ocean. "Clara!"
"He's mad, isn't he?" I say, turning to Duncan. "He's proper mad."
Duncan nods. "He's insane. He still thinks she might be out there someone, bobbing about on the surface of the ocean, waiting to be rescued. She isn't, of course. She's long gone. But he lets his love for her override all his rational thinking. If you've ever needed to be shown how love can be dangerous, he's a perfect example."
"Clara!" the Mariner shouts again, sounding desperate as a bolt of lightning strikes down through the rain and hits the mast. In the distance, another huge wave is rolling towards us.
"I remember when he wasn't like this," Duncan continues. "His name's Joe. Did you know that? Joe. Good old Joe. Slightly weird and mad, but likeable. I used to have a drink with him. He'd mope over Clara and I'd tell him to go and get her, and... Well, he really went a bit over the top, didn't he?"
The rain continues to beat down as the wave gets closer and closer.
"Clara!" the Mariner screams.
"He's a bit emo," I say, which feels like an understatement.
"We might die here," Duncan says. "Or as good as. If the boat sinks, we'll drown and our bodies will sink to the bottom of the ocean. There's still a chance for you to get out of here. I won't blame you. I want you to survive."
I open my mouth to argue with him, but then I spot the huge wave about to crash down around us. I smile. "Incoming," I say.
The wave hits. I try to hold onto the wheel, but I'm swept away and I only just managed to grab the side of the boat and avoid being washed overboard. I look over at Duncan and see that he's switched into his werewolf form, standing up on his hind legs and gripping the wheel. Soaking wet, he struggles to stay upright and he cuts a pathetic, forlorn figure.
"Clara!" the Mariner shouts.
"Shut up!" I shout at him. "She's not there!"
"Clara!" he shouts again, pointing out towards the ocean. "I saw something. Clara!"
I turn and look out at the huge black waves that surround the boat. "You didn't see anything!" I shout at him. "She's gone! She's long gone! You're gonna kill us all just because you're a bit emo and you can't accept it. She probably didn't even love you anyway!"
He turns to me, pure anger in his eyes. "You lie!"
"Did she ever say it?" I ask. "Did she ever say those magic words 'I love you'?" I wait for him to answer, but I can see by his fa
ce that I'm right. "She didn't, did she? So you have no right to act like it was the greatest love story ever told, because you don't know. You don't know how she felt about you. And she was human. Just human. So the odds are, she sank like a stone and now there are fish swimming around in her empty skull."
The Mariner stares at me, and for a moment I feel like he might be about to throw me overboard himself. But I can tell that I'm getting through, even if he's not quite ready to acknowledge the truth. "I love her," he says.
"That's great," I say, "but she's dead, so you should probably get over it."
He shakes his head. The anger has gone from his ancient, wrinkled eyes, but it seems like he's still refusing to acknowledge the truth. "I will find her," he says. "God has given me this chance. God keeps me alive and restores my youth. There must be a reason, and the reason must be that God wants me to find Clara!"
"You really believe that, don't you?" I say. "Fine. Carry on. But don't make us pay for your love. I don't want to die. I don't want to drown."
"Then I will send you home," the Mariner says, reaching out to me.
I step back and look over at Duncan. He's still in his werewolf form, but it looks like he's falling unconscious. He's standing on his back legs, chained to the wheel, his eyes closed. As the rain continues to pour down, his soaked fur hangs heavy from his body. He looks awful.
"Not without Duncan," I say.
"That cannot be done," the Mariner says. "You are a fool to throw away your life if -"
"I'm not doing anything you're not," I say, staring at him. "We're both wrecking our lives because of some stupid idea that someone else loves us, or could love us." I sigh, looking about the battered and storm-wrecked boat. "I guess we've got more in common than I realized."
"The wave," says the Mariner, looking out to see.
I turn and see the biggest wave yet, crashing towards us.
"We won't survive that," I say, swallowing hard, imagining what it must be like to drown.