“I’ve been sailing longer than you’ve been alive. The storm is coming. And it’s apt to be a bad one. I want you to get all the passengers ready.”
“Okay, what do we need to do?”
“I don’t know yet, but we’re all going to get wet and if we aren’t careful we could lose a man or two, or worse, wreck the ship. If the storm lasts long enough I may need you to relieve my men at the oars. You think you can get these volunteers of yours in some kind of order?”
“We’ll be ready,” Lorik promised.
“Good, there isn’t much time left. I’m guessing the storm will be on us within an hour.”
Yulver walked away, returning to his position at the helm. Lorik looked up at the blue sky. There were a few more clouds, but he saw no sign of foul weather.
“How does he know a storm is coming?” Lorik asked Jons.
“I’m not sure. I’ve heard tell that some folk can feel a storm coming in their bones, especially after an injury.” Jons pointed to his broken arm. “Perhaps I’ll be able to feel foul weather coming on now.”
“You can thank me later,” Lorik said.
They both laughed, and Jons went to see what he could do to help. Lorik looked back out over the ocean. All around them were jagged rocks, like the rotting bones of some huge beast. He couldn’t imagine them surviving in the middle of a storm. Yulver had them on a slow course, twisting and turning through the rocky seas. So far they had sailed safely through the Graveyard, but if the storm was as bad as Yulver predicted, he wasn’t sure how long they could keep their safe trek up.
He decided the most important thing to do was to make sure Stone and Vera were ready for whatever was coming.
Chapter 8
It only took half an hour for the weather over the Sailor’s Graveyard to change completely. The clouds, which had been white and fluffy, began to fly across the sky and were replaced with thick, dark clouds that seemed to boil up out of nowhere. The wind buffeted the ship and made the tips of waves foamy and white. Thunder began to roll across the open expanse of sea, and as the storm clouds grew closer, the wind blew harder and the waves grew bigger.
The sailors seemed unfazed. Yulver had to shout to be heard over the crashing waves and keening wind. Rain began to fall in thick sheets and the day turned almost as dark as night. Lorik kept the volunteers in a long row along the center of the main deck. They stayed low, most slumped over their knees, a few vomiting into buckets. The ship rocked hard and the sailors worked their oars expertly to keep the ship off the rocks. Lightning crackled across the sky, revealing towering waves and jagged rocks.
Stone and Vera huddled next to the ship’s mast. Lorik stayed near Yulver in case the captain needed him or his men to do something. An hour passed, and everyone was soaked and shivering, but the storm was only beginning.
“Is it always like this?” Lorik shouted to Yulver, a grim-faced man with a thick beard and sunken eyes.
“No,” he shouted. “Most storms blow over much more quickly. We’re in for a bad one tonight. And there’s no way to ride it out or find a safe harbor.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” Yulver shouted angrily, “that we’re fighting for our lives.”
Lorik wasn’t afraid of a difficult fight, but he hated feeling like he couldn’t contribute. The storm grew stronger. Yulver couldn’t sail in the storm; he could only work to keep the ship from being smashed into the rocks.
At one point they heard the ship’s keel scraping against a submerged rock, the wood splintering, and everyone on board froze as they waited to see what would happen. Then a wave lifted the ship up and Yulver commanded his men to row madly, even as the ship teetered on the top of a huge wave. The ship plunged down the far side of the wave and everyone held their breath to see if the ship would slam down into the rock below, but the wave had moved them past the submerged boulder.
Two sailors were thrown out of the boat as they tried to keep the bow of the ship from sliding into a huge rock that reared up suddenly to the port side of the ship. Bamboo poles shattered and sailors screamed in near panic as their comrades were tossed over the side of the ship.
Cries of “Man overboard!” echoed around the ship, but everyone knew there was nothing that could be done to save the lost sailors.
“Man your stations!” Yulver cried. “Man your stations or we’ll all be lost.”
The sailors, to their credit, continued to fight the waves and wind. Lorik and some of the other volunteers spelled a few of the sailors at the oars. Lorik’s hands were bleeding and raw from working the long oar for less than an hour.
They had been battling the raging the storm for almost three hours when disaster finally struck. The ship was tossed too close to a huge rock, and the oars on the starboard side snapped like twigs. The men manning that bank of oars were hit by their oars with such force that many were killed outright; others had major injuries such as broken bones. The ship swung awkwardly in the trough of a wave.
“Ship the oars!” Yulver shouted to the men on the port side of the ship.
Lorik and some of the other men were trying to help the injured sailors, but Yulver’s voice called them back.
“Leave those men!” he bellowed. “Man the push poles on all sides!”
The sailors snatched up more of the long bamboo poles and spaced themselves out around the ship.
“I want one quarter sail,” Yulver commanded. “And double the rigging lines.”
Several sailors shimmied up the single mast which was a thick, tree-trunk–like pole that tapered near the top. The mast had one crossbeam with a thick canvas sail tied to it. The men straddled the crossbeam, crawling out toward the edges to untie the sail. Other sailors took hold of the thick ropes that were connected to the bottom edges of the sail. When the sail was untied the sailors on deck pulled their lines until the sail hung about five feet from the crossbeam. Then they tied their ropes to metal cleats that were fixed to the ship’s rails. All the while the rain fell and the waves crashed over the ship.
“I need your men bailing water!” Yulver shouted to Lorik.
“Aye!” Lorik shouted back. “All right men, you heard him. Start bailing water! And stay out of the way of those men with the poles.”
“Are we going to make it?” Vera shouted at Lorik.
“I don’t know. Stay close to Stone. If the ship breaks up, look for something to keep you afloat.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about me,” he called back over his shoulder.
Vera hung her head and Stone wrapped his arms around her. They huddled, shivering. Both felt helpless and more terrified than they could ever remember. Lightning continued to flash in the thick clouds above them, and thunder shook the ship with each rolling clap.
Yulver was joined at the ship’s wheel by three other sailors. With the sail set and straining in the wind, the ship seemed to fly over the waves. It took the strength of all four men to control the ship’s wheel. The long, sleek ship groaned under the strain as the waves lifted and dropped the vessel. The mast seemed especially vulnerable as it bent and flexed under the strain of the howling wind. The ropes creaked, and water washed across the deck in thick waves.
Another man was knocked overboard, this time by a massive wave that crashed onto the stern. Lorik was bailing the water that got caught in the cargo hold. His volunteers had formed a bucket brigade, on one side passing heavy buckets of seawater from the hold to the ship’s rail, the other side passing the empty buckets back.
The water that sloshed across the deck could flow out through the scuppers—large holes in the ship’s railing right next to the deck—but some of it inevitably found its way into the hold, which contained only watertight barrels of food and fresh water on this particular voyage.
Then a wave lifted the ship high and plunged it down into a valley between the waves. The rear of the ship snagged on the edge of a submerged rock and ripped the steering cable
s free of the thick steering rudder. The carefully crafted steering mechanism became worthless, and the ship began to spin.
“What’s happening?” Vera shouted.
“I don’t know,” Stone replied.
“The steering’s gone, Captain!” shouted one of the soldiers.
“Break out the steering oar!” Yulver roared.
The three men who had been wrestling with the ship’s wheel jumped down into the cargo hold. The ship was pitching up and falling down waves, which only made wrestling the heavy wooden steering oar even more difficult. Lorik dropped his bucket and helped the three exhausted sailors. The steering oar was a long, flat wooden plank that tapered almost like a knife blade. A short handle protruded at an angle from the plank. It was a simple device, and once the men carried it to the rear of the ship and slipped it into the groove, it gave the Captain basic control of the ship.
Lorik returned to bailing water, but soon the sky cleared and the rain stopped. Lorik felt like shouting for joy even though the waves were still towering all around the ship.
“We did it!” he said exuberantly.
“Did what?” Yulver growled.
“We rode out the storm.”
“We’re in the eye of the storm,” Yulver said. “It isn’t over, not by a long stretch.”
“But the rain stopped.”
“Aye, and the wind has died down, but that’s because it is a major storm. They almost always have a calm space inside the storm.”
“You’re saying that the storm isn’t over?” Lorik asked, trying his best not to let despair crush his spirit.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Yulver said. “If it were daylight you’d see the storm all around us.”
“Is it possible for us to stay here, in the center until it plays out?”
“No, even in open water that’s unheard of.”
“Yulver, I would never presume to tell you your business, but we won’t survive another storm. We’re all exhausted, and the ship is taking on water.”
“Life at sea is not for the fainthearted,” Yulver said with a wicked grin.
“We’re all for life,” Lorik argued. “So how do we ensure that we survive this mess?”
“He’s right, Yulver,” Vera spoke up. “Your crew needs more help than I can give them.”
“I know,” said the old sailor. “Our best bet is to run for land, but even under full sail, I doubt we could navigate the coastline fast enough to keep from being smashed against the rocks by these waves.”
“What about turning farther out to sea?” Jons suggested. The wounded sailor had been helping wherever he could on the ship.
“We could be blown farther out than we want to go,” Yulver said. “And we’re taking on water.”
“There’s no doubt we’ll have to keep bailing for days,” Jons said, “but at least we might get a little space from these rocks and see if we can ride out the storm.”
“What about the wounded men?” Vera asked.
“We’ll just have to do all we can for them on board,” Jons said. “If we go into the water, none of them will survive.”
“All right, Lorik, you keep your men bailing. We’ll head out to sea. If we die, at least it won’t be while we were running to shore like cowards.”
The sailors all gave a cheer, but the volunteers looked at Lorik with dread in their eyes. Stone looked grave and Vera was white with cold and fear. Still, there was nothing any of them could do but keep pitching water over the side of the ship and hope that Yulver was making the right decision.
Chapter 9
Yulver barked orders to his men. They lowered the sail and moved half of the oars from the port side of the ship to starboard. The Dancer was a fast ship, whether under sail or with men manning the oars, but in the eye of the storm the wind shifted constantly, and the sailors manning the oars were exhausted. It was a difficult hour, and then the storm hit again. Luckily, there were fewer of the ship-wrecking rocks to be avoided the further they went from land.
Yulver knew that sailing into the open waters of the ocean carried its own risks. He had no easy way to navigate. Normally, navigation was simple—just keep the shore in sight—but he knew they would be too far out to have any hope of seeing land, even from the top of the mast. Normally, he could use the sun and stars to navigate by, but the cloud cover was thick, and it might be days before he could know for certain what direction they were traveling. They would also have to ration their supplies and be wary of temperature changes. Normally temperatures were not an issue on the ship; there were times when it got cold on board, but during the winter Yulver could beach his ship at night and his crew could build fires to keep warm. But in the open seas, with no real cover to be had from the elements, the nights could become bitterly cold. Still, he had no other options.
The second half of the storm was worse than the first. The waves were huge, easily twice as tall as the Dancer was long. Lorik was busy bailing water from the hold when disaster struck again. The hold was pitch-black, and the water sloshing at his feet was cold. The only positive thing Lorik could focus on was that the water level wasn’t rising. Then he heard a groan and felt the ship shudder.
“Something’s wrong!” he called up to Yulver.
“Strike the sail!” Yulver shouted to his men.
Before his men could carry out the order, a crack sounded, almost as loud as thunder, but sharper and higher pitched. Then the mast, under strain from the high winds, broke in half, just above the deck of the ship. The rigging held the massive wooden pole and crossbeam for only a few seconds, but it was long enough for the crew and passengers to scurry out of the way. Then the ropes snapped, at first just a few, causing the mast and sail to jerk violently, and finally the remaining ropes broke under the strain. The wind blew away the sail like a kite, but the thick, tree-like stump of the mast gouged a hole in the deck before being dragged away, smashing the ship’s railing and sending the vessel spinning.
“Back to your oars!” Yulver shouted.
“What about the sail?” Vera yelled to Lorik. “How will we get home without it?”
“I don’t know!” Lorik shouted back.
The sailors were rushing back to their benches and Yulver was wrestling with the steering oar. Lorik ran to his aid and threw his considerable strength into steering the ship back into the massive waves.
“We have to keep her pointed into the waves or she could be rolled,” Yulver explained.
The Dancer wasn’t fully under control as they crested the wave, which tilted the ship sideways and sent debris, along a few of the volunteers, tumbling into the sea.
“Without momentum the steering oar is practically useless,” Yulver said.
“Row for your lives!” Lorik shouted.
The sailors, drenched and exhausted, fell to their work without thinking. Their bodies moved almost in unison. Keeping the ship moving in the storm was incredibly difficult, especially with the short-staffed crew, but every man knew that their survival depended on keeping the ship moving.
“Keep us heading into the waves,” Yulver told Lorik. “I have to inspect the damage.”
The captain hurried away and Lorik was left to steer the ship. The night was almost pitch-black, but he could feel the motion of the ship and see huge, looming shadows like demonic mountains rolling toward the ship. The steering oar wanted to move on its own, almost as if it were alive. It took all of Lorik’s strength to control it. He planted his feet and held the swaying post as firmly as he could.
Lightning continued to crackle and pop overhead, giving him glimpses of activity aboard the ship. Several of the volunteers were now simply huddling in fear. Lorik had known fear in battle, had faced death in the dark of night when his parents died. He knew that fear had a way of getting inside a person and robbing them of strength and will. Being on board the Dancer in what felt like the worst storm in history was terrifying. But part of him wanted to scream at the frightened men. He knew being stuck on a ship in
the dark storm was frightening simply because a person could not escape. But they weren’t helpless. Every man could do something to improve their chances of survival.
“Men!” he bellowed in the dark. “Do not lose hope. Fight! Do whatever you can to help the ship. This storm won’t last forever. Bail water, row, help the wounded. Do whatever you can, but don’t give up hope.”
There were cheers and screams of defiance. Lorik leaned into his work, focusing his concentration on keeping the ship moving into the waves. The ship bucked and pitched. Just keeping his feet was difficult, and he knew that every person on board was struggling. Still, there was nothing more to be done other than wait and work and pray that the storm passed.
Lorik had no idea how much time passed as he stood by the steering oar. His muscles burned with fatigue, his hands and feet felt numb with cold. His eyes stung from the salt water that was constantly spraying up from the sides of the ship. He was soaked and yet thirst gnawed at his strength like a rat chewing its way into a granary. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the sound of the thunder grew more distant. The powerful thunder claps changed into long, rolling grumbles. The waves and winds continued to batter the ship, and rain continued to fall, although now it seemed more like a gentle rain rather than the driving gouts that seemed bent on drowning them.
When dawn came it was dull and gray. Thick clouds hung low over the sea, and the light was dim. The ship looked as if a giant had picked it up and rolled it down a steep hill. There were injured men lying on the deck, most of them near or under the cabin pavilion. Lorik had no idea how the men had managed to stay on board the ship as it pitched and dove over the waves. There were bits of wood and rope scattered all over the deck. Their personal belongings had been stowed in heavy chests, but those chests were nowhere to be seen.
Vera moved from man to man, offering what little assistance she could. Stone stayed with her, helping support her as the ship heaved on the heavy seas. The sailors at the oars continued to row, but their pace was slow and their bodies sagged. The rowing benches had rails that the sailors could hook their feet into, allowing them to stay in their places as the ship rose and fell, but it took every muscle in their bodies to keep working.
Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy) Page 6
