Landlocked
The ship’s sail thrashed in the storm’s harsh wind, slapping itself with such force until the mast cracked. He flung himself to the deck, covering his head with his hands in a ludicrous attempt to prevent the shards of wooden debris from injuring him. All around he could hear the gruff voices of his crewmates, some barking commands, some shouting incoherently, others seeming as ghosts in a silent stupor. But always the torrid wind overtook their voices, the crash of waves deafening, a great cacophony of the ocean’s power absorbing all the potential for sound. He struggled to stand as the mast groaned to a halt, ripping a hole in the vessel’s side and taking a few lives before it rolled into one place. His feet stumbled as the deck rolled unnaturally, but he pressed himself to keep moving. He had to get below deck, to the girl shackled in the brig. A stowaway the captain had left to a cruel punishment after the night’s dinner.
He had kept his lips tight when the first mate hastily brought her to stand in front of the shared table. The crew had assessed her situation between mouthfuls of food. He couldn’t believe their nonchalance—they had to have known of what she was capable. As her begging gaze laced with disapproval caught his eye he had felt his appetite abruptly wane, but he kept chewing the food even though it began to sour in his mouth. He had known he couldn’t betray their kinship, it was considered a horrible crime to their people. But to have revealed it would also have put him at the mercy of the crew. Their race was dreaded for their attachment to the ocean, the way the waters would boil to their words, the waves would seethed with their anger. A bond that had kept their people landlocked on their tiny island for centuries, where ships from places far away would bring goods in exchange for money, but leave with no addition to their crew.
His father had been a sailor outside of their race, and so his skin had not taken on the light color, nor his eyes the deep hue of his mother’s people. He had managed to convince this crew that another ship had left him behind after a night of drunken bliss had caused him to sleep past the dawn’s break and the crew’s planned departure. The captain had looked him up and down several times, eyes skeptical of the dark skinned boy before him. But after a shrug he had been welcomed aboard, if only to be kept at arm’s length from the rest of the crew. His lie had held until shaken when his younger sister appeared amongst the empty cargo containers. As he kept his attention elsewhere at the table, the captain had become wary of his disinterest in the captive. The older man had asked if he knew the girl, which was quickly denied. But denied too quickly. The captain had drawn closer, lifting his face and watching the boy closely.
Licking his coarse dry lips, the man spoke. “She must be the slut witch that kept you from your previous ship then, eh?” Once his dry hands had let go of the other’s chin, the boy’s eyes dropped immediately to the floor.
Even without returning her gaze he had felt her rage. At first her look had been one of condemnation, for abandoning their people in the hopes of a life outside of the waters. But as his silence continued, her fury increased. There was a sudden intensity in which both he and the crew felt a severe terror, and shared it with furtive glances. The other men had gagged her, hoping it would somehow stop her from spitting words that would make the waves rise. He knew better.
It had been a mere few hours before the water and weather began to respond. Longer than usual, perhaps because these waters were unaccustomed to the people’s power. None of their kind had managed to travel so far without mishap. He had felt the strength of his own ties dwindling as well the further the ship’s course had taken him. But somehow his sister had made the connection, and his intuition knew it was related to his silence. His only hope was that he could quell her anger, calm the seas and save the crew if only for the moment.
She was writhing in the crude rope that shackled her hands and feet together. A bandana was clamped between her teeth and an unholy growl crept from her throat. Theirs was not a placid race. He felt the dread pour over him as he struggled over the broken containers and crates, ever closer to his sister. Pulling a knife from his boot, he tugged at the bonds around her hands. She lunged away from him as soon as the blade passed through the last fiber and wrenched the fabric out of her mouth.
“You deserve this!” she spat. “The waters were uncertain, but they know it now too.”
“Myra, please!” he started, scrambling towards her as the floor pitched about. “Myra, you need to stop this. The ship will not last much longer!”
“What does that matter?” Her eyes were wide. “How they treat us doesn’t make them worthy of life. Much less yourself for siding with them!”
“I couldn’t…” There wasn’t time to explain himself. “But what about you? Don’t you want to live?” he pleaded, trying to help her as she attempted to untie the rope at her feet. “Myra you don’t need to do this.”
“Why should I live when my own family will not come to my aid?” Fresh tears began to spill from her eyes.
He managed to grasp her hands and pulled her nearer, close enough to see her dark eyes. “I will stop you if it comes to it.” He hoped it was not an empty threat.
The ship lurched to one side and for a few moments they were lost to each other amongst the shifting debris. He flailed as he regained his stance and felt his heart tighten when he saw her form climbing the stairs to the deck with a frantic and crazed effort. She was preparing to sacrifice herself to the water. After that there would be no hope.
He stumbled over the broken bits of cargo, charging after her. Outside and once again naked to the wailing wind, he saw her by the fallen mast. Her tattered clothes billowed about her as she edged closer to the ledge of the ship where the damage had left nothing in her path. He screamed her name in a futile attempt to draw her attention, or change her intention.
She turned to him as she stood on the brink, her mouth forming words he couldn’t hear but could feel as if fire were lashing his skin. In an instant she was gone, and for a brief moment the ship seemed to stop rocking. The last of the crew nervously looked about for others as if to confirm their hopes that the horror had ended with her leap into the water.
He fell to his knees, knowing that beneath the hull the water would be swirling. Knowing that this was the only way he could ever be punished for going against his people’s customs. For desiring something more than he could ever hope to know, the sight beyond their holy island. Their gift was a curse to keep them in place, and only naïve pride had made him believe he was better than his own race. But now the waters would hold him, cradle him, bring him back to the ether where his being began. Where he would once again learn his people’s purpose and dread being born again.
He had kept his lips tight when the first mate hastily brought her to stand in front of the shared table. The crew had assessed her situation between mouthfuls of food. He couldn’t believe their nonchalance—they had to have known of what she was capable. As her begging gaze laced with disapproval caught his eye he had felt his appetite abruptly wane, but he kept chewing the food even though it began to sour in his mouth. He had known he couldn’t betray their kinship, it was considered a horrible crime to their people. But to have revealed it would also have put him at the mercy of the crew. Their race was dreaded for their attachment to the ocean, the way the waters would boil to their words, the waves would seethed with their anger. A bond that had kept their people landlocked on their tiny island for centuries, where ships from places far away would bring goods in exchange for money, but leave with no addition to their crew.
His father had been a sailor outside of their race, and so his skin had not taken on the light color, nor his eyes the deep hue of his mother’s people. He had managed to convince this crew that another ship had left him behind after a night of drunken bliss had caused him to sleep past the dawn’s break and the crew’s planned departure. The captain had looked him up and down several times, eyes skeptical of the dark skinned boy before him. But after a shrug he had been welcomed aboard, if only to be kept at arm’s length from the rest of the crew. His lie had held until shaken when his younger sister appeared amongst the empty cargo containers. As he kept his attention elsewhere at the table, the captain had become wary of his disinterest in the captive. The older man had asked if he knew the girl, which was quickly denied. But denied too quickly. The captain had drawn closer, lifting his face and watching the boy closely.
Licking his coarse dry lips, the man spoke. “She must be the slut witch that kept you from your previous ship then, eh?” Once his dry hands had let go of the other’s chin, the boy’s eyes dropped immediately to the floor.
Even without returning her gaze he had felt her rage. At first her look had been one of condemnation, for abandoning their people in the hopes of a life outside of the waters. But as his silence continued, her fury increased. There was a sudden intensity in which both he and the crew felt a severe terror, and shared it with furtive glances. The other men had gagged her, hoping it would somehow stop her from spitting words that would make the waves rise. He knew better.
It had been a mere few hours before the water and weather began to respond. Longer than usual, perhaps because these waters were unaccustomed to the people’s power. None of their kind had managed to travel so far without mishap. He had felt the strength of his own ties dwindling as well the further the ship’s course had taken him. But somehow his sister had made the connection, and his intuition knew it was related to his silence. His only hope was that he could quell her anger, calm the seas and save the crew if only for the moment.
She was writhing in the crude rope that shackled her hands and feet together. A bandana was clamped between her teeth and an unholy growl crept from her throat. Theirs was not a placid race. He felt the dread pour over him as he struggled over the broken containers and crates, ever closer to his sister. Pulling a knife from his boot, he tugged at the bonds around her hands. She lunged away from him as soon as the blade passed through the last fiber and wrenched the fabric out of her mouth.
“You deserve this!” she spat. “The waters were uncertain, but they know it now too.”
“Myra, please!” he started, scrambling towards her as the floor pitched about. “Myra, you need to stop this. The ship will not last much longer!”
“What does that matter?” Her eyes were wide. “How they treat us doesn’t make them worthy of life. Much less yourself for siding with them!”
“I couldn’t…” There wasn’t time to explain himself. “But what about you? Don’t you want to live?” he pleaded, trying to help her as she attempted to untie the rope at her feet. “Myra you don’t need to do this.”
“Why should I live when my own family will not come to my aid?” Fresh tears began to spill from her eyes.
He managed to grasp her hands and pulled her nearer, close enough to see her dark eyes. “I will stop you if it comes to it.” He hoped it was not an empty threat.
The ship lurched to one side and for a few moments they were lost to each other amongst the shifting debris. He flailed as he regained his stance and felt his heart tighten when he saw her form climbing the stairs to the deck with a frantic and crazed effort. She was preparing to sacrifice herself to the water. After that there would be no hope.
He stumbled over the broken bits of cargo, charging after her. Outside and once again naked to the wailing wind, he saw her by the fallen mast. Her tattered clothes billowed about her as she edged closer to the ledge of the ship where the damage had left nothing in her path. He screamed her name in a futile attempt to draw her attention, or change her intention.
She turned to him as she stood on the brink, her mouth forming words he couldn’t hear but could feel as if fire were lashing his skin. In an instant she was gone, and for a brief moment the ship seemed to stop rocking. The last of the crew nervously looked about for others as if to confirm their hopes that the horror had ended with her leap into the water.
He fell to his knees, knowing that beneath the hull the water would be swirling. Knowing that this was the only way he could ever be punished for going against his people’s customs. For desiring something more than he could ever hope to know, the sight beyond their holy island. Their gift was a curse to keep them in place, and only naïve pride had made him believe he was better than his own race. But now the waters would hold him, cradle him, bring him back to the ether where his being began. Where he would once again learn his people’s purpose and dread being born again.
