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Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
THE ASHERAH OCEAN
SANTA ROSARIA
A month or more at sea.
More than a week with no sight of land.
The last day in unseasonable calms and cloying mist.
Ferran stood in the bow near the leadsman. The sailor swung the sounding line again and cast it out into the water with a splash. The leadsman leaned over the gunwale to watch it, checking the intervals with a practiced eye. "By the mark eight" he called out and Ferran cursed, moving aside. Eight fathoms, probably another damnable reef. He strode back up the maindeck, ignoring the hostile stares from sailors and soldiers alike. He swung himself up onto the shrouds, climbing with practiced skill. The gentle roll of the ship was soothing. Ferran paused halfway up, the mist even obscuring the deck below. He hawked and spat before resuming his climb.
Nearly a thousand miles to round the southernmost point of the Allir Reach. A lengthy tack northeast, only putting in to rewater and victual. And finally the westward reach towards Nagai. Ferran had gambled, he'd sailed well south, more than a hundred miles offshore. Escaping the rip currents and changing gusts to take advantage of the stronger ocean winds. A coasthugger would never have made it this far. Only a madman would have risked staying in close to the Iuk-'U Delta, running aground, and getting murdered by its inhabitants.
The lookout seemed half grateful, half apprehensive to have the pilot join. "Anything Alonzo?" he asked, more out of habit than anything else. The sailor shook his head quickly, "Nothing but mist, it comes and goes". Ferran's shoulders slumped and he began downclimbing. The officers were always first to go when a ship's company took matters into their own hands.
Alonzo resumed his lonely vigil, resting his head on his hands. Too long staring in the same place and you began to see things. The mists, the clouds, the waves, they could all take on shapes. Like that one, it looked just like a...
He shot to his feet, gawking at a stone structure in the distance, a serpent carved prominently on its peak. A roar escaped him. Shouts came from the deck below. "Lookout! Report!" was the thundering roar from someone with authority in their voice. Alonzo opened his mouth and stopped. The mist had closed in again. His heart sank. He'd been sure, it had seemed so real. He braced himself for an inevitable punishment but then it slowly began to clear. This time it was unmistakable. Greenery, the stone structure sticking out of it, half hidden amongst the jungle.
Ferran was halfway down when the leadsman called again, a trace of excitement in his voice, "By the mark six!". Then came the cry from above "Land ho! Five points starboard!". Ferran didn't wait, he jumped the last ten feet to the deck. He cupped his hands and roared at the sterncastle "Five points starboard!". The helmsman was already obeying, having anticipated the order.
Sailors and soldiers from below were scrambling up on deck, a nervous silence engulfing them. Ferran gripped a shroud, squinting forward into the whiteness. It began to fade, like smoke before a breeze. A sandy beach and beyond that, a wall of greenery. "Land ho!" came the elated cry from Alonzo. Cheers rose from the ships, the companies screaming themselves hoarse in triumph. Ferran dropped his head and said a silent prayer of thanks.
"Drop anchor!"
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
THE ASHERAH OCEAN
SANTA ROSARIA
A month or more at sea.
More than a week with no sight of land.
The last day in unseasonable calms and cloying mist.
Ferran stood in the bow near the leadsman. The sailor swung the sounding line again and cast it out into the water with a splash. The leadsman leaned over the gunwale to watch it, checking the intervals with a practiced eye. "By the mark eight" he called out and Ferran cursed, moving aside. Eight fathoms, probably another damnable reef. He strode back up the maindeck, ignoring the hostile stares from sailors and soldiers alike. He swung himself up onto the shrouds, climbing with practiced skill. The gentle roll of the ship was soothing. Ferran paused halfway up, the mist even obscuring the deck below. He hawked and spat before resuming his climb.
Nearly a thousand miles to round the southernmost point of the Allir Reach. A lengthy tack northeast, only putting in to rewater and victual. And finally the westward reach towards Nagai. Ferran had gambled, he'd sailed well south, more than a hundred miles offshore. Escaping the rip currents and changing gusts to take advantage of the stronger ocean winds. A coasthugger would never have made it this far. Only a madman would have risked staying in close to the Iuk-'U Delta, running aground, and getting murdered by its inhabitants.
The lookout seemed half grateful, half apprehensive to have the pilot join. "Anything Alonzo?" he asked, more out of habit than anything else. The sailor shook his head quickly, "Nothing but mist, it comes and goes". Ferran's shoulders slumped and he began downclimbing. The officers were always first to go when a ship's company took matters into their own hands.
Alonzo resumed his lonely vigil, resting his head on his hands. Too long staring in the same place and you began to see things. The mists, the clouds, the waves, they could all take on shapes. Like that one, it looked just like a...
He shot to his feet, gawking at a stone structure in the distance, a serpent carved prominently on its peak. A roar escaped him. Shouts came from the deck below. "Lookout! Report!" was the thundering roar from someone with authority in their voice. Alonzo opened his mouth and stopped. The mist had closed in again. His heart sank. He'd been sure, it had seemed so real. He braced himself for an inevitable punishment but then it slowly began to clear. This time it was unmistakable. Greenery, the stone structure sticking out of it, half hidden amongst the jungle.
Ferran was halfway down when the leadsman called again, a trace of excitement in his voice, "By the mark six!". Then came the cry from above "Land ho! Five points starboard!". Ferran didn't wait, he jumped the last ten feet to the deck. He cupped his hands and roared at the sterncastle "Five points starboard!". The helmsman was already obeying, having anticipated the order.
Sailors and soldiers from below were scrambling up on deck, a nervous silence engulfing them. Ferran gripped a shroud, squinting forward into the whiteness. It began to fade, like smoke before a breeze. A sandy beach and beyond that, a wall of greenery. "Land ho!" came the elated cry from Alonzo. Cheers rose from the ships, the companies screaming themselves hoarse in triumph. Ferran dropped his head and said a silent prayer of thanks.
"Drop anchor!"