Blood of the Sea, Chapter Eleven

Chapter 11: Leviathan

Gale

The Meridional sails south, beyond the reef each of its crew knows by heart, and into the waters beyond. The ship – a prototype – bobs and sways with the swells as the water grows rougher, but she remains steadfast and upright.

And so the days pass. First one, then two, three full days of full sails and backs put to rowing when the winds died down. The ocean, even where the currents ran deep and silent, was ultimately the playground of the crew; each having grown up in Eulla’s watery embrace.

As the time passes, Gale, The Meridional’s navigator and unofficial captain, shivers from a cold breath along his spine like that of a cloud passing between him and the sun. The hair on his tanned arms stood on end, and he cast his gaze first to the sky, where clouds were just beginning to form, and then to the sea, where the deepest of blues obscured all that would be in the fathoms below the keel. His crew was boisterous, rowdy, and reading the wind propelling them along as a good omen. Gale would have joined them, save for the spine tingling warning.

“Perhaps,” he calls to the men, “we have gone far enough. The ship holds; our chief would be glad to know it.”

The men laugh, “You have merely grown tired and wish to return home. Embrace the horizon! It calls to us.”

Gale takes their lighthearted poking in stride, but his grip tightens all the same on the rudder. Staring into the sea, he frowns, seeing a shadow move, but when he moves to lean in closer, it is gone, swallowed by a ripple upon the surface. He shakes himself, and holds The Meridional’s course - steering deeper into the leagues of unknown water, which stretches for miles all about them.

Under a sky slowly turning unfamiliar, the usual stars come out to play. Speckling the horizon, new stars shyly duck their heads into and out of view, as though playing hide and seek. Gale notes their position as best he can, making sure to reference the stars ever retreating at his back, but more and more, those safe constellations tuck themselves beyond view.

The crew left awake after the day’s rowing bout pick up a sailing tune. Some are indeed turning homesick, while others seem to thrive on the idea of there being something more in the world. Gale finds himself smiling, but his eyes flash wide as The Meridional’s nose jerks port-side.

“Ho, boys. It isn’t just us here tonight,” Gale warns, his voice low but loud enough to carry down the deck.

A few of the crew chuckle, only one or two even bothering to glance toward port or starboard. One jeers, “What, afraid of a little bump in the night?”

Gale clenches one fist, his knuckles turning white under his skin, but he corrects the ship’s heading back toward starboard. The laughter dies down, as well as the singing, but some chattering keeps up above the otherwise quiet sea. The worst of the swells, they had established, were behind them. Far as they could see, the horizon would hold for another night.

As the night draws on ever deeper, The Meridional continues to be harassed by intermittent bumps. After the third, Gale gave up commenting on them, simply resigning himself to correcting her prow and their forward progress along the glossy surface of the ocean.

In sleep, most of the crew lounge along the railing, or lean up against the mast of the ship, supporting one another against the rocking of the ship. A particularly sharp bump from underneath jolts The Meridional starboard, the mast tipping out beyond the gunwale, and Gale finds himself helplessly watching as a few of the crew slip overboard with noises of bewilderment. He cries out, “Get the ropes; bring ‘em back!” He himself gathers a line of rope to throw. More of the crew are awake by now, though confusion is rife among them, being awoken as they were. Gale doesn’t wait, hurling the line, nodding as the rope unspools and smacks against the water.

One of those tossed overboard resurfaces, lunging for the rope, yelling, “Pull me in!” Behind him, a trough forms as a crest of water surges toward the swimmer, who is pulled underwater with a short yell.

A few of the crew still aboard The Meridional rush to the railing, searching for what became of their fellow. Gale swallows hard, the rope still in his hand, but slack for all the good it did the swimmer. He mutters under his breath wordlessly, mindful of the goddess whose mercy he and his crew are now reliant upon.

The clouds overhead gather with the beginnings of a storm, dark and wicked, casting shadows across the water. The crew collectively seems to hold their breath, having woken the others, but standing on edge as whatever is in the water circles about, unseen. The clouds rumble like rocks grating across one another, the sky splitting with an unnatural shriek. Wary of the ever darker water, Gale risks a glance above, where a streak of gray flies against the backdrop of the grumbling sky. Wings outstretched, the shape draws into itself and drops like a rock into a bucket, growing ever larger. Near enough now, Gale finds himself in awe of a foreign reptilian creature as its maw opens, revealing sharp teeth. Silent, almost as if to soften the blow, its throat glows like coals in a hearth before they bloom into flame - the very same flame which bathes his ship in rosy ribbons of fire, scorching across the deck as the creature claws at the sails as if they stand as a personal offense to the creature.

His crew caught in the flames scream; heat blasting across his face like standing before a furnace. The wind whipped up by the creature as it sails past his ship, circling over the ocean, fans the fire as it tries to take hold upon the rain spattered wood. Those in the center of the blaze disintegrate before Gale’s eyes, while others leap into the sea to extinguish themselves. Others, shocked as he is, free themselves of their stupor and call for buckets, tossing sea and salt upon the embers chewing into the beams. Gale follows suit, turning to throw water on the scorched deck, but stumbles as something large crashes into their port side, unbalancing him. He drops to his knees, the bucket sprawling across the deck, and a cold, dark dread takes hold of his heart.

The mouth that always eats. The sailor’s shadow. He always knew legends held some truth to them, but hadn’t anticipated being at the mercy of one. A kleostei.

He didn’t know if submitting to the sea or the sky would be a worse fate.

The Meridional lists port side as the now churning water laps at the gunwale, threatening to take on water. Those putting out the fire are now faced with the conundrum of bailing water from the deck, or dumping water onto it to put out the fire which remains just out of reach of the waves.

The creature born of fire and fury makes another pass, ripping one of the masts in half as it lashes out. A handful of crew leap out of the creature’s way, but one finds themself with claw marks scored across their shoulder and chest, and they fall to the deck, unmoving. Still another falls overboard, preferring that fate to being turned to ash. The creature shrieks, a cry which shakes the heavens, and Gale, to the core. Storm gray wings tilt, wheeling the sky-born towards his ship once more, and Gale leans heavily upon the rudder, closing his eyes to his fate as the toothy maw glows with that dreaded light once again.

Nearby, there comes a different shout and Gale’s eyes fly open and widen as the fish of legend, the kleostei itself, leaps from the water with a furious wriggle. The sky-born creature cries out in alarm, but has no time to adjust course as the kleostei’s jagged, stony teeth slice through scale and flesh and bone. The sky-born screams, a blood chilling sound despite the sweat beading Gale’s skin. It is the sound of one staring death in the face, and rejecting it. The scream, however, is cut off by the sea as, together, the pair of myths plummet - akin to a shooting star whose light eventually dies - into the frothy embrace of the sea.

The aftermath is silence. A silence so still and so deep, there is no coming back from it the same as one was upon entering it.

With a heavy heart, and the bowed heads of what little remains of his now struggling crew, Gale turns The Meridional back toward Yerevan.

Back toward home and the shelter of its harbor.

Behind them, the sea bleeds.