“Do we keep our course, Capt’n?” asked Boniface.
Elias nodded dourly. “We have to, mister. But put two men up on lookout and order all hands at quarters. We’ll probably be reaching the fog by midday and I want to be prepared.”
Stacy suddenly noticed a strange quiet on the sea. It took her a while to realize what was different. “Look at Salome,” she gasped. “She’s stopped splashing. She’s —”
“She’s seen the fog, too,” said Alryc darkly. “It’s frightened her.”
Just then the whale moaned, a low cry, the likes of which men had rarely heard. She turned her great head toward the ship and went under the water. A moment later she surfaced off the stern, splashing and crying.
“She’s trying to warn us,” stammered Stacy. “She’s telling us to turn around!”
Elias stared as the whale splashed frantically. There was another cry, this one longer and more sorrowful than before, and then she disappeared into the deep, leaving hardly a ripple behind.
Could it actually be possible that Salome was warning them, Elias wondered. Or were he and Stacy merely letting their imaginations run wild? After all, fog was fog. At length he said, “Full ahead, Mr. Boniface.”
*
What began as a brilliant sunlit day soon became dull and gray. The ship braced for what seemed to be more rough weather. But there was none. Instead, the choppy waters suddenly calmed. Sails slacked and after a time hung limply from the yards. By midday they were almost into the fog. A vast shroud of dull blue blocked out the sky. It beckoned them, dared them to test the waters beyond. The crew stood by anxiously as the Brora slowly slipped into the haze. The mist at first seemed thin and wispish, like smoke from a candle, but soon it became thick — and frightening. Blue shadows covered everything; they were in a void, a world of blue, a twilight of haze. And the ship was powerless. Her bow dipped gently, and as if with a caution of its own, the Brora drifted ahead. Elias stood at the bridge and gritted his teeth. Not religious by nature, he did the only thing he could: prayed for rain and a strong wind.
*
A cold hand touched her shoulder and Stacy jumped. As she spun around, her hand grasped at the hilt of her dagger.
“Oh, Trevor, it’s you,” she said, putting her hand to her thumping heart.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Stacy. I saw you standing here, gazing, and I wondered if you were all right.”
The girl smiled and pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. It had been cold these past days since the fog had overtaken them, too cold for midsummer. But in this blue world in which they found themselves nothing was normal, anyway.
Stacy stared back out to the hidden sea. Her dark hair shined a deep blue, her face, bathed in the eerie shadows, seemed more brooding and forlorn than ever.
“Why are you standing out here?” asked Trevor, worried about her.
Stacy turned to him and sighed. “You’ll probably think I’m being silly,” she confided, “but I’m listening for Salome. I have a feeling she’s still out there. Somewhere near, but too afraid to show herself.”
“She’s gone, Stacy. You yourself saw her dive the moment the mist appeared. By now she’s probably prancing a hundred leagues from here, happy as a summer lark.”
Stacy shook her head. “No, Trevor. You’re wrong. Salome’s here. I don’t know where, but she’s still here. Still watching over us, protecting us.”
The soldier smiled. She sounded almost as mystical as Alryc. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said. “But look, it’s too cold and damp to be standing out here with just a shawl. Take my cloak.”
Before the girl could refuse, he unclasped the cloak and handed it to her.
Gratefully she swung it over her shoulders. “Won’t you be cold without it?”
Trevor shook his head. “I’ll be going below soon,” he said. “After Elias takes the sounding.”
“Sounding? Is Elias coming on deck? He’s been locked away in his cabin with Alryc for days.”
“Alryc found something in one of the journals, I think. Seems that the Snapdragon encountered thick fog a few days before it caught sight of the Western Isles.”
“Then we might be close to land?” asked the surprised girl.
Trevor waved his hand. “Don’t get your hopes up. This is just routine. Of course, if our line reaches bottom, it’s a good bet we’re close to some coast or other. But what land that’ll be, we don’t know. The ship’s being pulled pretty well off its course.”
“But land is land,” cried Stacy, jubilant at the thought.
“You read Elias’s mind. That’s exactly what he hopes.”
Elias and Alryc, ghost-like in the mist, suddenly came out from the aft companionway and looked about. If they saw Stacy and Trevor standing close by, they made no sign of it. Grim-faced, Elias turned to Ashcroft, who was busy fixing a deadweight at the end of a curled ball of heavy twine. The officer nodded at Elias and told him that all was in order. The captain frowned. Hands on hips, he said, “Over the side, mister. And take it slowly. Give me the count in tens.”
Three sailors held the rope between loose grips as Ashcroft hurled the deadweight into the water. There was a dull splash as it sank. Slowly the rope disappeared. Ashcroft kept his eyes on the red-dyed marking that stained it.
“Ten fathoms,” he whispered as it sank into the water.
Elias stood impassively.
“Twenty.”
A pause of a few seconds.
“Thirty, Capt’n.” Moments later: “Forty.”
Elias nodded. “Keep going, Ashcroft. There’s still a lot of line left to drop.”
“Fifty, sir. No bottom yet.” Then: “Sixty...seventy...eighty...”
Alryc frowned at Elias. The captain made no response.
Ninety and a hundred came all too swiftly. The deadweight had dropped as far as it could. Stacy could plainly see the end of the line being held taut by the sailors.
“All right,” growled Elias. “That’s enough. We’ll take another sounding in the morning. Haul it back up.” A dejected look in his eyes, he mumbled, “Thank you, gentlemen,” and, with Alryc, made haste back to his cabin.
Stacy lowered her eyes and whispered sullenly. “So much for land being close. It was a good theory, though.”
“Don’t feel bad, Stacy,” said Trevor. “Tomorrow we might touch bottom. And even if we don’t, there’s bound to be a good wind soon. This fog can’t last forever.”
The girl frowned and sighed. “It’s been what? Almost six days now? We’re in the fourth week of the voyage, Trevor, and we’ve no idea how far there is to go. Can you imagine what will happen if we’re still on the sea by winter?”
The thought of freezing to death was most unsettling, but Trevor knew that was one tiling he’d not have to worry about. “Don’t concern yourself with that, my lady,” he said quietly. “The late-summer storms likely will smash us to bits before we have time to think about it.”
With that, she wearily took his arm and they both went below.
*
On the twenty-sixth day of the voyage, the eighth since the fog had been sighted, a slight glimmer of sun poked its way through the mists. Cheering, the crew and passengers were sure they had at last found their way through. But soon the sun was covered again, and the fog became as thick as ever. The sails were unfurled in a vain attempt to catch the mildest of breezes. But no sooner had the ship gained a few hard-earned leagues than the breeze died completely and once again left them stranded upon a glassy sea. A superstitious lot, the crew began to wonder if the Fates themselves had not turned against them for daring the wrath of her daughter, the sea. Elias felt helpless. He watched his ship drift listlessly; his crew became tense and frightened. If something did not break soon, he knew that disaster was imminent.
Then, on the eve of the twenty-ninth day, matters began to change.
Ashcroft, face somber, eyes stinging from long hours on duty, almost missed seeing the single drop of fres
h water that splashed at his feet. He knelt down and touched it, heart pounding. As he did, another drop splashed his face. He peered up at the eerie blue sky and then shouted at the top of his lungs: “Rain! It’s beginning to rain!”
Startled, the crew stared. Then they, too, picked up the cry. Rain it was — and never more welcome. Elias bounded on deck, grinning from ear to ear. “Unfurl the sails!” he called, the first hints of a west wind blowing. Canvas swelled and the ship lurched ahead.
Stacy clambered up from below and stood hesitantly at the companionway door, gazing at the splashes at her feet.
Elias caught a glimpse of her and laughed. “Come up, Stacy!” he called. “This is a sight I don’t want you to miss.”
The girl laughed as she raised her face toward the sky and let the rain drench her. The threatening fog had met its match! Like smoke from a fire it rose and dissipated, almost disappearing before her eyes.
Thunder crashed violently all about. A strong gust of wind nearly swept her off her feet. She caught at the halyards and laughed. Breath swept away, she peered out across the bow. There was the horizon! A bleak one, to be sure, with dark nimbus clouds, but a horizon it was, nevertheless. The blue fog was gone and the ship at last was in the clear.
By dawn, though, it became clear that the ship stood at the edge of a severe storm. Furious gusts tore at the sails, and Elias ordered them furled before the canvas ripped. Swells and surges crashed over the side. Time after time the Brora keeled over and was nearly swallowed down. Lightning flashed like Hel’s fire across the darkened sky. The noise of the thunder was so great, so shattering, that it caused men to quiver and wolves to howl. Elias gritted his teeth. Indeed, from the fog to the fire, he thought. From the unknown to the known — and which was worse he was unable to decide.
Desperately the ship turned about, topsail furled, mainsail half drawn. The winds shifted quickly and in a rage. There was no way Elias could maneuver the ship to run with her. Experience told him that it was better to cease futile resistance and throw both ship and crew at the mercy of the waves. If the Brora could hold fast, secured and well managed, they might yet come out of this storm unscathed. But until the mast could be bared the risks were high. And already the mainsail had begun to whip dangerously, trying in vain to counteract the violent thrusts.
“Bare the mast!” cried Elias, hands numb, face anguished.
Rain pounded like mailed fists as Ashcroft and his men held tightly at the lash lines and made their way across the deck. They grappled the halyards amid terrible frenzy. All around was chaos. “It’s stuck!” cried the officer. “The lift is stuck! Jammed against a spar!”
The captain fought his way down from the bridge. In front of his eyes planks began to tear loose. The edge of the sail began to rip. Elias grabbed hold of the brace and stared. The mast itself was beginning to sway; the shrouds broke loose from their moorings, twisting in the air. Fins flew, mashed against rail and bulwark before hurling over the side into the crazed, angry sea.
“It’s no use,” cried Ashcroft, hands raw from the strain of tugging the line. “We’ll never save her!”
“It’s that or drown!” shouted Elias. “We need more hands!”
The sea roaring, unable to hear, Oddfellow nodded. The rip in the sail was worsening. His lads behind, he bravely inched forward against gusts that would have swept less stout men off their feet. But he never saw what came from behind. Elias’s screams were buried. Water crashed against the bulwark, tore down across the aftcastle and crashed above their heads. Oddfellow held on, even as one of his lads screamed with the flowing wave and was heaved over the side. The Brora pitched, then suddenly was thrown back on her end beams. More screams filled the air. Oddfellow stared dumbly. Right before his eyes another sailor came crashing down upon him. Hands grasped frantically in search of the lash line. It gave. Six sailors were sent lurching, tossing and tumbling, smacking against torn railings. In rapid succession three more waves, each larger and more powerful than the last, crossed above their heads. Elias tried to reach the helpless men but was himself pushed back by a sudden gust that knocked him down. Only the sure hands of Ashcroft saved him from being tossed like a rag. With terror in their eyes, the two men watched young Oddfellow and the last of his lads as they were swept away.
Again the waves slammed. The companionway door at the forecastle was blown off its hinges and sent smashing against the mast. From below came a series of screams as water rushed down into the hold, flooding the passageways in seconds.
Panic-stricken, a handful of Valley soldiers fought one another to get to the deck.
“Get back below!” yelled Elias.
Perhaps they had not heard, perhaps they were merely too frightened to listen. As the ship wallowed, the wind sent them sprawling about like pins. One sailor jumped from the forecastle to help, his heart larger than his head. Along with the soldiers, he was smothered by giant white froth that heaved across the rail. Lungs filled with salt water; the limp bodies slipped over the side as the ship heaved.
Elias quickly leaped to his feet and went back to work at trying to free the halyards. If the sail were not furled — and fast — it would whip the ship even more furiously, adding fuel to the wind, and cause them all to drown. Prayers for the dead must wait.
Just then the winds began to slacken, and the rain began to ease. He gazed up to a grim foreboding sky. It grew dimly bright, a strange eerie light that almost revealed a few rays of the sun. He looked to the stunned Ashcroft and whispered, “The eye of the storm.”
It was a brief respite, but one that allowed them to get to work. The torn sail was furled. Elias rushed to the helm to see what damage had been done.
Boniface, coughing and sputtering, smiled weakly. “So far, so good, Capt’n,” he wheezed.
Elias grimaced. “We’ve a long way to go yet,” he replied.
Alryc came running from the companionway. His clothing was soaked. “There’s flooding below,” he panted. “Cracks in the hull. We’ve been bailing by hand, but it’s not much use. We’ll have to seal it off and move everyone out into the crew’s quarters. We can’t take everyone in those tight quarters. Some of the passengers will have to come on deck and take their chances.”
Elias groaned. The image of what had just happened to the Valley soldiers raced across his eyes. “All right,” he muttered at last. “Mr. Ashcroft!”
“Sir?”
“Get out some more rope. I want lash lines drawn across the entire deck from the mast to the bridge. And reinforce them on the forestay if you have to. We’ve got to bring some of the passengers topside.”
Ashcroft gulped. “Sir?” He looked at the captain incredulously.
“No time for questions, mister! Just do as I say.”
The rains started again; the sea began to surge. Elias ran back to the mast, checked the lines and nodded evenly at the sight of Ashcroft busily at work with six sailors tying the lash lines as firmly as possible. He created a web; the ropes criss-crossed. If the Brora herself did not smash into pieces, those on top should fare well, Elias knew. At least as well as the crew, who had work to do and could not allow themselves the luxury of gripping onto ropes.
Then back to the helm he went. His eyes searched the sky, his hands felt for the direction of the winds. The Brora, as far as he could make out, was just off center of the storm front. And it was bearing down fast.
“Bring us two points off the wind to the starboard quarter, Mr. Boniface,” he said. “Take note of the course and hold it — if you can. Then we’ll try and run left semicircle.”
“Aye, Capt’n,” answered the officer glumly. “But, sir, may I ask why you’re allowing the women to come on deck?”
Elias glared at him. “What? Are you mad?”
“No, sir. Look.”
From the flooded companionway came six girls, along with several Valley soldiers and Alryc. The captain shook his head and turned around. The ship was beginning to heave again. There was no time to argue. I
f these Rangers wanted to risk their lives, he was not going to fight them. But the thought that Stacy was among them weighed heavily.
The passengers huddled close to one another, hands firmly clutched at the lines. Next to Stacy were Heather and Melinda, next to them, Robin and Captain Sandra. Pitching and whining, the ship lurched amid the tumult. The rains came, slanting furiously — harder than they had before.
“Let her heave, Boniface,” yelled Elias, wiping salt water from his tearing eyes. “The wind’s shifting again. There’s no purpose in trying to steer until we know which way.”
Again the ship moved into the maw of the storm. The chaos that had reigned before was quick to resume. Drunkenly the Brora foundered between thunderous waves on either side. The bow pitched time and again; foam smashed left and right. One of the Valley soldiers, a lad at the end of the lash line, released a hand to wipe his eyes and that was all it took. When the wave hit, he was unable to grasp hold again. Another soul was washed helplessly over the side.
The ship whipped about aimlessly. A towering froth hit hard against the prow, splintering it. The forestay snapped like a spring; its rough edge caught an unaware sailor like a whip. The lad screamed as a thin line of blood spurted down his face. As the ship rocked, he lost his balance and fell against splintering rails. Arm waving frantically, he, too, went over the side, swallowed by the maelstrom.
Then there came a terrible grinding sound, then a groan. Boniface’s eyes bulged. “Capt’n! The helm’s begun to crack!”
Elias, fire in his eyes, slid across the quarterdeck and made it to the cockpit. The arm of the steering oar felt like weighted lead. He couldn’t make it move in either direction without using the full force of his weight — and that would crack it in two.
“We’ll have to manage without it,” he hissed. “Not that we’ve been able to steer, anyway. Just stay —”
Suddenly his eyes tightened, and his mouth gaped. Holding his breath, he swore to the Fates. Coming ahead, straight off the bow, was a wave — a wave the likes of which no man had ever seen. It rolled slowly, foaming at the head, looming almost as high as the sky, half a league in width. It rumbled as it swelled, causing all other waves to bow their puny heads in respect. It was more than a wave; it was a monster!
Lady of the Haven (Empire Princess Book 1) Page 20
