"Another problem?" Dagmar quipped, from where he peered over the lookout's shoulder.
"Yeah. We're a lot further west than I imagined. I mean a lot. I thought we would be near the Batten side, which is why I double-checked." Van Reiver adjusted the doctor's cloak he was using to keep the chart dry and raised it so Dagmar could see. He stabbed a finger near a splodge of land. "If we alter the course southwest, we hit land around here, on Insula."
"But that's elf lands; no-one sails there! It's the middle of fuckin' nowhere! West of any shippin' route and the trade winds!" blurted Grimm, earwigging the conversation. Alarmed, he looked to Van Reiver, then disbelieving at the chart. "Aren't we forbidden there? I've heard tales and fuckin' bad ones." Van Reiver presumed Grimm was in more pain than he was letting on by the profanities. He agreed but held his tongue. Bullsen never cussed, not even in private. The attack had changed everything. Bollocks.
"We all have." Van Reiver dropped the cloak and looked at each man. When he spoke, it was without hesitation. "I cannot see explainable. We are drifting into the peninsula on the east coast. Three men—including our doctor—have gone in the last day, with a quarter of our supplies. It is the nearest help for us. We need to decide now and not wait a week to lose more people, then tack back against the current. There is no point chugging on the crystals to return to the same place spent."
Dagmar raised his hands in submission, "If you think it's our best chance, Edouard, do it. The sea is getting worse. I trust you with my chances. I'll practice grovelling when dark. Oh, do we spit, or swallow with elves?"
Van Reiver looked at Grimm. The cox'n shrugged. Do whatever you want, his expression seemed to say. Dagmar may support him, yet he dodged responsibility in equal measure. Fucking awesome.
"Lay in a course, southwest for now. Tack us around, please." Van Reiver didn't hesitate. Pragmatism made his choice for him. Fuck the rest; it was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"Aye, sir. Best speed it is, mighty tyrannical captain, sir!" Dagmar grinned and wriggled through the huddled men to the dim light of his station as though called by the sunjammer crystal.
Merizus hunched forward to a still concerned Grimm, who waited for the sunjammer to begin their turn while playing with his beads. "What's your problem with the elves, mate?"
"Sea elves, Mez, to wax technicalities. Wet skinnies, not forest skinnies. They live somewhere near the island. They prefer privacy and don't welcome folk. Ships have a habit of vanishin'. No wreckage, no boats and no survivors. Just gone. The shipping routes to the Atlantean islands we all know are well defined, and even those thievin' bastards stay seaward. Our Navy doesn't bother with the western part as we've enough problems gettin' ships from Tregallon to Atlantis."
"Ships trying to land without permission," said Van Reiver. He looked from the chart he was crumpling as he tried to fold it one-handed. "We are not a ship, and be honest, Cox'n, we're not threatening if you are not rude about elven appearances."
"Well, I'm happy for my lads to reach land while they can stand." Merizus pushed his opinion across but after a slight pause for thought added, "We haven't any gear, no one's armed, and we gave our best kit to the lads we lost."
"We will be diplomatic and look pitiful. The other option is to run for a good six weeks to hit the principality. That is with perfect winds and weather, which never happens to my knowledge. I'd like to know if we have drifted further west, or whether Tryphon was off course before the attack. We're not where I thought we might be, and I am positive our navigation was spot on. How this occurred will bug me. I can't explain it as none of it makes sense." Van Reiver respected the marine's opinion, but his concerns were on the tree, not the forest. They needed land while men breathed.
"Worry later, sir." Merizus urged. "Six weeks at least?"
"At least, to Glassonby. Eight to eleven is the usual with good northern trade winds off the coast, and that is not counting time becalmed, tacking through changeable winds and currents, or relying on Dag's pet rock in its expensive dwarven stand. If we maintain this speed, we reach elven soil in three days."
"A simple decision, sir." Merizus nodded with a hint of respect. He looked to Grimm and slouched from the wind. The teasing gusts curled the acidic water and hurled it in sheets across them. At first, it was random, but all too soon they became soaked. Wrinkled skin chilled and became corpse like as water exploited their vulnerabilities and extremities. Van Reiver shivered.
"Let's get cracking. Dag, see if you can eek another couple of knots without straining anything," Van Reiver suggested. Dagmar's head bobbed once, his face glowing from the crystal. Van Reiver passed the chart to Jenkans and nodded at the dome. Jenkans threw a strange look at the gem which emitted a loud hum in response. The lookout and shook his head as he crammed the chart and navigation case into the cupboard in the mounting's base. "Lock it, sir?" he asked, frowning at disturbing the magus. Dagmar to his surprise could work and chat.
"Yes, give the cox'n the key. He's in charge." Jenkans suppressed a bark of laughter and shuffled to the space vacated by Robsin. Van Reiver offered the man his cloak, but the man shook his head. For an hour he'd rest from the spray, before the trek to the bows of Onvice's boat. He couldn't call it Hadly's, and more than once he quested his decision to keep him and Cephill's face said as much. As Jenkans leant back, Van Reiver could feel the extra thrust as they turned onto a southwesterly course. He glanced aft and saw Brak, replicating Cephill's tiller movement in the other boat. Both crystals radiated more welcome heat as they hummed into life.
"Are we using the sail again?" Grimm asked.
"Not now, when it eases, we will to prolong the use." Van Reiver said. "Minimise the stress."
Van Reiver around. Hadly sat hunched like a balding chicken, miserable with spray and his missing wig. Van Reiver hadn't asked, but with Cephill and Ephraim grinning like jesters, it was easy to guess why. Grimm wasn't looking. He stared with pensiveness at the lines and cleats holding the two boats together, then the lashings. It would be an interminable night, and Van Reiver was glad Jenkans was resting. They needed his eyes, and it would expose him more than anyone.
.*.*.
Dagmar set the fresh course, locked the sunjammer crystal, and wound the dwarven clockwork timer. He flopped back, allowing moribund thoughts to resurface. He felt spent, having done little actual work. His head still throbbed unmercifully from when the Tryphon's dome had exploded in his face. Using the sunjammer crystal gave him a splitting headache, which fogged his mind, and made sleep impossible. Dagmar checked the cable clamp to the other boat and snuggled down, huddling against the mounting for warmth.
Now Van Reiver was conscious, Dagmar could relax and concentrate on his own role. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and attempted to doze. The creak of timber and slap of ropes over the flat crack of the water on the hull made even that difficult. Both hulls twisted and grated along the long rolling waves, a discordant grinding like a slow torture. The rattling and banging worsened as lines stretched, the groaning of the wounded another sign towards despair. His semi-coherent thoughts registered concern and increasing unease as he awoke. He had to do something about it.
Dagmar released his thoughts, spiralling them through the slashing sheets of spray, heading upwind and upwards. Looking southwest, he could see the faintest darkening of land visible on the horizon with a ring of cloud overhead. Turning north, his ethereal form recoiled. The horizon bulged from end to end, with a vast roiling mass of black and slate-grey clouds with burgundy veins of energy. They stretched from the high heavens down to the surging sea as far as he could see, smothering and suffocating, then dancing and writhing with ferocious winds. The outer edges of his monochrome vision flickered, as gales swirled and twisted into ominous clouds, before being shredded into wispy tendrils under the colossal forces of nature in an obscene display.
Lightning flashed throughout the roiling mass, with a significant proportion at lower levels, lashing across the surface of the sea, and illuminated
the rents torn through the clouded mass. It was like an enraged elemental beast pounded the ocean. Angry, frustrated. He was glad he wasn't there in person as he watched nature unleash a barrage of visceral fury in vortex after swirling vortex. To his dismay, the roiling mass edged closer, seeking the two boats like puny mites. He'd never seen weather so dreadful, and the violence was unbelievable. With dread, with absolute certainty, he knew the rain pattering around them would turn to hail and lightning. The turbulent storm front would hunt them down with undeniable inevitability. Feeling sick, he merged back.
.*.*.
Several men jumped when Dagmar jerked, whooping and gasping, his eyes wide with alarm, the whites around his iris visible to all.
"Scrying, or did your brunette give you a slap?" Van Reiver snorted as the sunjammer flailed his way up by the mount.
"It seemed a good idea," Dagmar said, voice shrill, sucking in air through his teeth like a prized racehorse falling a head behind on the final straight. "We have a massive fucker of a problem." He announced with dread urgency hanging on every syllable. Wide white eyes followed the exchange, absorbing each word.
"Such as?" Van Reiver only half alert forced his eyes open. The throbbing of his shoulder was a continual drain, making concentration difficult.
"A storm. We have a massive weather front heading our way. Edouard, it's the biggest I've ever seen. Reminiscent of The Transitioning and all that entailed. It's beyond a monster. It's nature running amok!"
Dagmar's ashen face was enough for Van Reiver. He lifted himself up with a grunt to scan the horizon and received a lashing off the waves. He grimaced, soaked through with cold spray. Beside them, wind-tossed waves looked more brown than orange in the fading evening light.
"From what direction?"
"North. It's moving south and going to have us!"
"That rules out running. Can you pump out more power if we reef the sail?" Van Reiver asked with forced calm. Dagmar's trepidation—if not outright fear—wouldn't help, but not having seen the problem, he couldn't presumptuously chastise him.
"A bit, but it depends on the sea. We'll go up and down to little benefit. Do you want me to try, or are you chancing the sail?" Dagmar mouthed two words, "We're fucked!"
"Both. We'll look for the line, or cut the spare sail into strips. We'll cut, or tie the sail before it stresses the lashings, or hulls." Van Reiver kept his acknowledgement of his friend's words—and terror—from his face and showing control for the others he knew he lacked for himself.
Grimm pointed to several men snapping his fingers. The cox'n looked to Van Reiver. "Are you turning into it, sir?"
"Probably. We'll leave it as late as possible, unless the seas decide otherwise." Grimm nodded, still seeming unconvinced with the plan. Van Reiver waited for the older man to suggest a practical alternative… and waited. Have at it, or shut the fuck up.
Grimm puffed out his cheeks, thinking and deflated, choosing Van Reiver's second thought. "Shall I post men with the axes from the aft locker?"
"It's the smart precaution, and Ephraim has his cutlass." Van Reiver approved, distracted by the icy water trickling down his neck and seeping into his dressings. With a grimace of distaste, he picked at the cloth and fiddled with the knots as they grew weighty with spume and pressed on his wounds.
"Be still. Leave it alone, Edouard!" Carla snapped and leant across him, her breath hot on the opposite side of his neck as she firmly removed his hand.
"Do you bully him as much?" he griped, looking past her at her father.
"More." She said. Then a slight smirk parted her lips before the boat jounced down the side of an extended wave, slamming her buttocks hard onto the thwart. Reacting in a flash, she lifted her feet out of the way of a small barrel of fruit, which careened between the aft thwarts.
Grimm kicked it aside with his good foot and glanced back to Van Reiver. "If the sunjammer isn't exaggerating, we need men with slipknots by the mast. It'll be easier with people tying themselves off now, when the motion is lousy rather than dire, sir." He gave a glimmer of a smile and inclined his head at Carilon. Van Reiver had to peer to see what garnered the cox's attention. Then it dawned, and he had to to stifle a laugh.
The inexperienced man was a landsman aboard Tryphon and not yet rated as a seaman. It would take years longer than usual as Carilon was not speedy on the uptake, gullible and earned the ire of Hatch and Grimm several times daily by asking question after question and never listening. He'd also looped a rope around his boot as a sensible precaution of being hurled overboard. Unfortunately, the youngster removed said boot, and never returned it before sleeping.
Grimm rolled his eyes as though speech was wasted breath. He did, however, lean closer to add in confidence. "Brak was indiscreet when needing a necessary a few hours ago. Best keep yourself back when the lad puts his boot on."
Van Reiver winced, grimacing at the prank and remembering his grim exchanges with Dagmar at Naval College. "Very well, Cox'n. Do what you deem necessary and tighten all the lashings. Maybe have the boy lend a hand as he does good knots?" Van Reiver knew it was futile to second guess the man with years more experience over himself. Grimm grinned. Soon the ablest crewmen were bustling about, their tasks made difficult by the increasing turbulent sea.
.*.*.
An hour later, it was almost night. Deep foreboding blackness like velvet when visible through the interminable drizzle. Grimm saw Jenkans slide from his perch in Onvice's boat with a splash to tie himself to the base of the juddering pair of spliced oars they were using as a crude mast. "The sunjammer ain't jesting. It's one giant mother-bitch of a blow."
"Don't sound enthusiastic, you mad twat. We're in front of the bastard!" a huddled Lukas groused. No-one found him funny. Sunken eyes from damp shapes in the dome illumination told him that better than any unspoken gesture.
Jenkans shivered, an unnatural movement as his chill eyes inspected. "The light's about gone, but it's a monster. Looking at the lightning, I'd guess it's five miles off."
"How long?" Grimm called across, cupping his hands over the moan of the wind, which now tore through their sodden clothing and blankets with ease.
"Twenty minutes, maybe—if we're lucky," Jenkans said in a sick voice, the malevolent menace and bullying sea an ominous suggestion of what was yet to come.
"Thanks, Jenkans. Make sure you're secure! That includes you, Carilon, get yer fuckin' boot on and use the damn rope!" Grimm snapped, scanning everyone in the dimness "You won't get a second chance! Ensure everything's stowed."
Van Reiver instructed, "Better slacken sail, and turn us." Grimm nodded, giving a last look, and gestured to swap places with Brak on the tiller.
Brak looked to Van Reiver, who shook his head and pointed to himself. Brak sighed, perversely enjoying himself, and untied the knot around his chest. Grimm glared, speechless through the rain, as he looked at the officers' bandaged shoulder. Grimm shook his head, considering whether to mutiny and tie him out of the way. For fuck's sake, it was tempting to clobber him and deal with things later if they survived.
Grimm exchanged an angry look with Brak as Van Reiver ignored them and pulled his way aft. Fuck it.
"Everyone shuffle around. Brak, sit on the other side of the tiller and help him. Don't gawp, everyone move!"
Brak sighed, waiting for the room to be made. He took a face-full of stinging spray and sighed again. Grimm almost laughed as fear replaced frustration. Almost.
.*.*.
Several minutes later, a brutal peal of thunder boomed across the heavens, breaking the howl of the wind and flapping of their sail. Nervous faces, crimson in the dim dome light, looked around in deepening trepidation at each other, seeking strength as it rumbled on for half a minute. Van Reiver rolled his jaws and made his ears pop. Unnatural silence greeted him.
"Rain in a moment," said Seatan in the larboard boat, peering out under shaded hands. Then the boats rose, lurching upwards as the seas built up. The hum of the sunjammer mount jumped to the
slamming of the boat hulls. Dagmar utilised the harvested sun power to buffer their small craft with the motion. Thunder pealed with an ear-paining clang, which made the situation more ominous, shaking them and their fear, as it illuminated thunder clouds not dark, but as black as a hole in the night.
"The sea's too rough," Dagmar grated through the opening, neck veins bulging. "I can't do anymore!"
As though a deranged divinity unleashed a millennium of demented pent-up wrath with rampant abandon, thunder crashed again and again. Each detonation shaking the boats and pummelling everyone's innards. Lightning split the sky asunder overhead, with a sound painful to the ears and flashes that hurt the eyes. Men and woman clutched at ears or shielded eyes, depending on which force of nature assailed their senses.
The waves rose higher as the thunder crashed. The sea lifted the boat like driftwood and spun it several yards without effort. In moments, everyone became drenched as the promised rain arrived. Anyone with exposed extremities cried out under the hammer blows of freezing sleet and thunder's gut-punch. Hands and fingers jerked towards refuge, stabbed by hundreds of tiny daggers. The intensity stunned Van Reiver. He ducked his head and tried to speak, but water poured into his mouth, making him cough.
"Bail, lads!" Grimm pointed at the filling bilges. The level rising to ankle deep in moments. Merizus used his helmet. Brak and others used their hands.
"You don't want damp knickers," Trevir mocked between booms, using his dented helm to pitch the seawater overboard.
"If we used yer cunny mouth, we'd shift twice the fuckin' amber," retorted Merizus, throwing helm after helm of water overboard, his injuries abandoned.
Carla pushed herself against Van Reiver, forcing him to raise his face, having swapped positions with her father in the re-seating. She pulled drenched tangles from her face so she could speak. "Edouard, how long will this last?"
THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1) Page 22
