by Vered Ehsani
She smiled gently. “I was just going to tell you to be careful. And keep moving.”
Good advice. I nodded my head and swallowed past the fear that was pretty much shredding any confidence I had into little pieces. I took a deep breath, as if I was about to plunge into the ocean that battered the ship. I thumped my hand down and felt the familiar sucking sensation as I was pulled into the veil. I wished I had taken a minute to look at the scene, think a bit, make a plan. Too late now.
Without pausing, I plunged through the other side and landed on the deck of a ship that was battling to remain afloat as it pitched up and down like a possessed see-saw. Anything not tied down slid back and forth across the slippery wood. Wind screamed through the sails, tearing at the fabric while sailors frantically tried to lower them. Large waves thundered against the hull from all sides. The air was heavy with a salty mist (which I couldn’t feel) and the cries of men (which I could definitely hear). Ahead, on the horizon, was a low-lying form, darker and more opaque than the storm clouds that filled the air. It was land, and we were hurtling straight toward it.
I began to panic. I had no plan, and all around me were signs that no one else had a plan either. I started to visualize myself into opaqueness, and then realized I didn’t have time to walk throughout the ship looking for Sara while pretending to be solid. Not bothering to finish the process, I rushed (in a floating, zero-gravity kind of way) over the deck and swooped down the companionway. I forgot that there was a heavy wooden door in my way. No one seemed to notice a translucent, fifteen-year-old boy fly through a solid door. For my part, I ignored the bizarre sensation of flashing through the matrix of dancing wood cells.
I reminded myself to stay focused and positive: I was a ghost and ghosts can’t drown—that’s positive. Of course, everyone else around me could drown. Not so positive. I zoomed downward, floating parallel to the rickety stairs—arms by my side, legs straight out behind me—and down the corridor toward Sara’s room. If the situation hadn’t been so desperate, I think I would have enjoyed the sensation of flying. I again pushed myself through a door (yuck), while crying out, “Sara, we have to get off the ship. It’s going to …”
Sara was not there.
So far, not good. Time to panic. Frantically, I spun around at dizzying speed, hoping to see some clue as to the whereabouts of Sara and Samuel. There was none. All I could see were their small bags lying dejected on the sleeping mat. There was a frightening crack, followed by a resounding thud that echoed down from the deck. I figured that one of the masts must have snapped. There was little time to waste. I knew the Excalibur was going to crash upon the almost invisible rocks located near the mainland. It would then spill its contents and passengers into the raging sea. Even though the rocks were only a few hundred meters from shore, only a handful of people were going to survive.
The ship leaned heavily to one side, and everything slid through me, toward the porthole. I was so glad I was a ghost at that point. But I had to focus. I could not afford to hesitate. I focused on Sara, seeing her sparkly, gray eyes, and then to my surprise and without any further effort, I felt myself being pulled out of the room and then down the corridor in a great rush. I felt like I was a feather caught up in a strong wind that was rapidly carrying me deeper into the ship. I flashed by scenes of frantic passengers grabbing their meager belongings and pushing past each other toward the companionway leading up to the surface and to death. I only slowed down as I reached the cargo level, where a group of passengers were huddling. Here, the severe rolling of the ship was not as noticeable. I floated past the group and rounded a large crate, to find Sara and Samuel hugging each other.
“Sara!” I called out in relief and stopped in front of them.
Sara’s eyes opened wide as she stared in horrified fascination. “Ash!” she cried out in alarm.
“I knew there was something different about him,” Samuel whispered fearfully.
It was only then I remembered that I hadn’t finished making myself fully visible. Oops. Sara and Samuel were looking at what they thought was my ghost, which was kind of what I was over there.
“I … there’s no time to explain,” I stated with sudden confidence as my thoughts remained fixed on helping them. “We have to get off the ship now. Right now.”
Sara shook her head, dazed by the sight of her friend (that’s me) floating like a pale apparition. “That’s crazy,” she blurted out, still staring at me in amazement and fear. It was not very comfortable being stared at like that. “We’ll drown. The ship’s close to shore. We’ll be landing soon.”
“No, you won’t,” I had to raise my voice to be heard as a roar reverberated through the wooden hull. “We’re going to crash on some rocks, and you won’t have time to get out.” I struggled to remember if there were life boats, and I couldn’t recall seeing any. I glanced around the cargo hold for inspiration. A wooden barrel caught my eye. It would float. Probably. Maybe. “We can use this! Help me empty it.” I moved toward the barrel, realized that I couldn’t do anything in my ghostly form, and then turned expectantly toward Sara, who was still staring at me.
“Ash, are you dead? Did you die? Is that why I haven’t seen you for a while?” Sara asked, struggling to grasp the reality of the situation. The ship lurched forward, and Samuel grabbed onto his sister’s arm.
“Sara, there’s no time to explain. Please.” I didn’t try to hide the desperation I felt. Actually, the truth is I couldn’t hide it. I was desperate, desperate to get off of that ship, preferably with my ancestors, who were not too sure about my plan. I started to fade, and I grimly refocused myself into a solid looking version.
Sara hesitated and then pushed herself up. The barrel was only partially full, so she was able to tip it over. As it crashed down on the floor, spilling some potatoes, the ocean roared as it grabbed hungrily at the ship. All around us, the Excalibur groaned with the effort of staying afloat as mighty waves beat mercilessly against the wooden hull.
With Samuel’s help, Sara emptied the barrel, which, when free of cargo, wasn’t too heavy. (Then again, I had no idea as I couldn’t lift it anyway.) Sara and Samuel picked it up awkwardly and followed me to the rough planks that served as stairs. We trudged (well, they trudged and I floated) up a few levels until we reached the stairs that led to their corridor. The pounding of waves and the roll of thunder was far more audible here, deafeningly so, and the ship careened precariously from side to side.
“We’re almost there,” I told them, trying to be encouraging but feeling ridiculous. All I could do was float about. It was frustrating. I might be safe from danger, but I was useless.
Keep moving.
Just as these words floated up from some memory, I heard someone run up behind me and I suddenly felt in danger. How could a ghost be in danger? I spun about as a tall man with a dark blue, hooded cloak grabbed at my ankle. Instinctively, I pulled myself away so he wouldn’t realize that I wasn’t a flesh-and-blood boy, but it was too late. The hand of the man passed through my ghostly leg, and it felt like an icicle had stabbed me. I gasped, more in surprise than pain. The man gazed up to reveal a face that some people might describe as classically handsome, but honestly he just freaked me out. As I stared at him, his eyes changed from light blue to a glowing yellow; they shone with a determined glint and all the warmth of an iceberg in them. His long, narrow nose and sharp, high cheek bones seemed to be chiseled from white, polished stone. The tight smile that briefly twitched his thin lips didn’t touch his cold eyes. He didn’t look surprised or afraid at finding a ghost in his path. Instead, his eyes grew even brighter with an insane and triumphant light.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Ashish,” the man spoke fiercely in a voice that was almost a shriek.
Sara and Samuel had reached the top of the set of stairs and were staring down. “Ash?” Sara called out from the top of the companionway. “Are you coming?”
“Keep moving!” I screamed in reply, and rushed up the stairs. Obediently, th
e two terrified siblings began to dash down the deserted hall toward the final set of stairs, the barrel rolling ahead of them.
“Take me back,” the man ordered, “or I will hunt you down!”
That did not sound friendly. I hurtled down the narrow hallway just as Samuel spun around and ran back. “Our bags!” he shouted.
“Samuel, no! There’s no time!” I warned as the hooded man appeared at the opening of the stairway, surrounded by angrily swirling, shapeless shadows that began to move along the walls and ceiling toward us.
Sara abandoned the barrel and ran after her brother, screaming, “Get back now!”
Samuel stopped at the doorway of their room and turned around with an expression that was both scared and determined. Just then, the ship’s movement changed dramatically. At the same time as it lurched forcibly to one side, it also rose up sharply and seemed to hover for a brief moment. I had a bad feeling. Then, in a gut-wrenching motion, the Excalibur was slammed downward. As the ship made violent contact with the waiting rocks, it didn’t just splinter or crack; it snapped into two.
The entire ship and everything in it shook with such force that Samuel and Sara went flying several meters, to land painfully against a wall, while the hooded man toppled back down the stairs in a howl of rage, the shadows falling with him. The ship shuddered like a wounded animal and then rose upward again and pitched to one side so that a wall became a sloping floor.
The barrel hurtled past us and smashed through one of the glass lamps. At the same time, a horrible scream deafened us as wood was torn off in great chunks by the rocky teeth that had finally ensnared the ship. The agonizing sound seemed to continue long after the ship had crashed upon the rocks. Then, for one blissful moment, there was stillness and silence.
It didn’t last long.
As I moved toward my stunned ancestors, I noticed with temporary relief that the hooded stranger was no longer visible. No loss there. Then, as the ship shifted backward slightly with a faintly gurgling noise, another scream echoed up from the depths of the ship. This time, it was very human.
“Water must be filling the hull,” I whispered in horror, remembering the passengers who had taken refuge in the depths. “Come on; we have to get that barrel!” I zoomed forward with that thought, into oppressive darkness. Most of the glass lamps had been broken or their candles had fallen out. Only a couple of pinpoints of light softened the gloom.
Sara ran up behind, breathless with fear. “Do you see it?” she asked, raising her voice above the noise of the storm.
“No!” I felt desperation and frustration tear into me, and as that happened, the world began to soften and fade around the edges. The wooden walls grew translucent and then transparent, and I could see waves pummeling the ship and trying to suck it back off the rocks and down into the depths. I glanced behind me. The veil was there, reaching for me. “No,” I whispered. If I left now, Sara would never make it. I was sure of that. I focused as never before, focused on being there, on being real. I visualized staying with them, helping them find the barrel, getting off the boat, swimming to shore. The veil retreated, and I was back in the ship, the wood as opaque as ever.
“It’s there!” Sara shouted in triumph just as the ship tipped farther backward. She slipped and instinctively tried to grab onto me, but her fingers clawed at nothing. Instead, she grabbed at the bracket of a broken lamp and managed to stop her slide toward the gaping companionway. The barrel was perched right at its edge, one end balanced on the handrail and the other end on the frame of the opening to the stairs. One more shifting motion and the barrel would fall down to the next level, if not to the bottom of the hull.
Sara started crawling toward it. Although not yet vertical, the angle of the ship was steep enough to make a slippery slope of the floor (which used to be a wall before), and the entrance to the stairs looked foreboding and bottomless. I could only see never-ending darkness. I could only hear … well, I’d rather not think about that. I floated beside Sara, who finally reached the barrel and grabbed its edge.
“Got it!” she exclaimed triumphantly, and then the ship rolled back toward its proper position with a resounding crash and a smashing of wood below them. The wall, which had been a floor, returned to being a steeply angled wall, and Sara was flung off the now almost vertical surface and slipped into the gaping stairwell. Still holding onto the barrel with one hand, she grabbed at the hand rail, her legs kicking into the air. She gazed up at me, and I stared helplessly at her.
“Sara, I can’t help you!” I told her. She nodded and glanced about. An ominous creaking sound shook the hull. “Hurry!” I pleaded.
“I think I see part of the stairs,” Sara grunted as she kicked forward. I have to say, I was pretty impressed by my ancestor. She was tougher than she looked. Her feet hooked onto a plank, and with a sharp pull, she was no longer suspended in midair. She pulled up the barrel, rolled it toward me (it rolled through me) and then climbed up shakily.
Another groan echoed through the ship, and I could almost feel the wood beneath us splintering against the rocks. “Let’s go.”
“Where’s Samuel?” Sara asked anxiously as she began to roll the barrel toward the last set of stairs. We gazed around the darkened corridor. Sara pushed the barrel forward, toward their vacated room, and pushed open the door into chaos. Everything had been tossed about. “Samuel!” The room was empty.
“He didn’t go past us,” I reasoned, focusing on staying calm even as the ship began to tremble violently. “So he must’ve gone above deck. I’ll go check, and you bring up the barrel.”
Sara nodded glumly while I swooped down the corridor and up the stairs into the storm. Although not as fierce as a few minutes ago, the ocean still shook its watery fists in fury and pounded against the beaten ship. The deck was all but vacated, and it didn’t take me long to spot Samuel, who was standing tiptoed at the edge of the deck, leaning against the battered railing and gazing out to sea. I could see what he was staring at: another ship was rapidly approaching from farther down the coast. I couldn’t help but notice that its bow was narrow: it was a ship designed for speed. Something about it unnerved me, but I couldn’t pinpoint what.
“Samuel!” I shouted against the wind and floated towards him. The younger boy spun about, his eyes blurry and his face pinched with fear.
“Ash, where were you? I was looking for you.” He glanced over to see Sara emerging from below, pushing the barrel.
“It’s okay, Samuel,” I tried to sound reassuring, despite the danger that we (well, not me, really) were still in. “We’re all together, but we have to go …”
There was a thunderous crack, and the entire deck shifted under us as the ship tilted slightly to one side. Sara was able to steady herself, but Samuel slipped and fell heavily against the railing. One of the wooden bars cracked apart under his weight, and he fell through and toward the water. Screaming, he grabbed onto the edge of the deck.
“No!” I breathed out in shock and then threw myself forward onto my stomach. I stretched my arm toward Samuel’s hand, but my fingers brushed through hand and wood with only a tremor of air.
“Ash, I’m slipping!” Samuel screamed.
I could hear Sara shouting behind me, but all I could see was Samuel’s large eyes. His fingers were slipping and he was going to fall into the ocean. And I’m going to admit something nasty. At that moment, I actually thought, Who cares? What am I doing here? Just walk away. That was the part of me that just wanted to be normal and not get involved, the same voice that had told me to ignore the plight of a new kid being teased by a classmate.
Focus on the constructive forces.
Those words came from another part of me, an echo from the past. My back stiffened. I could almost hear Bibi’s voice beside me: You need to make a choice.
The roar of the storm pounded in my ears while a scream wrenched at my head. Gritting my teeth, I made my choice. I focused my entire being so that every other thought and feeling left me except fo
r the determination to grab hold of Samuel before he fell, the choice to risk myself and do what was right. And then I stretched forward again, hardly noticing the wood suddenly scratching against me or the wind tossing my hair around or the salt spray stinging my eyes and drying my lips. Samuel’s hand felt warm and solid in mine, and I pushed myself backward, pulling Samuel up to me and into my arms.
“Ashish! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Sara gushed as she ran up behind us.
Samuel gazed up at me, clearly thinking I was a hero, which clearly I was not. “I didn’t know ghosts could be solid!”
“Makes two of us,” I muttered, and grinned suddenly. I breathed deeply, enjoying the energizing sting of salt air in my lungs, enjoying my solidness and my choice. It was only then that I had time to gaze upon an incredible and terrifying scene. The ship was cracked in half, so that the back half of the ship’s deck was below water while the rest of it was caught on the rocks. Strewn around the wreck were crates, barrels, furniture, clothing, and passengers, all bobbing about. The other ship had anchored nearby, and I could see rowboats being lowered along the sides and released into the turbulent water.
“Look at the other ship!” Samuel pointed out. “They can help us!”
Keep moving.
I glanced around. I couldn’t see anything, but I thought about piercing, icy eyes.
“I don’t think so, Samuel. Those are pirates!” Sara whispered as she pointed, ashen-faced, toward the other ship. The rowboats were slowly but steadily moving toward us.
“How do you know they aren’t trying to rescue …” I started to say and then froze as I watched the boat reach one of the passengers thrashing about in the choppy waters. I pulled Samuel away from the side so he couldn’t see what was happening.
