Blood in the Water
Blood in the Water
"HOLD THIS LINE, CAPTAIN!" Helmsman Indrik shouted from the bow, his voice barely rising above the howling winds and the crashing waves. His hands gripped the wet wood of the helm, knuckles white as he fought to keep the Everroam steady amidst the chaos of the Sea of Storms. "We’re nearly on them!"
A flurry of activity erupted on the rain-soaked deck. The ship, squat and sturdy with its forty oars, seemed to fly atop the cresting waves, heaving and dipping like a wild beast unshackled. The air was cold, sharp as a blade, stinging the faces of the crew as they moved with hurried precision. Every man aboard knew that the sea held no mercy for hesitation.
"Steady now!" Captain Torkil barked from the stern, his voice gravelly from years spent braving the northern winds. His drenched furs clung heavily to his frame, but the cold didn’t bother him - it never had. "I said hold her steady, Indrik!"
The sea roared in response, the dark water churning in a fury beneath the hull. The relentless storm clouds loomed above, heavy and swollen, the horizon swallowed in mist and rain. The wind howled like some foul cry, and for a moment, the ship seemed like a small, fragile thing - caught between the wrath of the sky and the rage of the sea.
Five men clambered up from the hold, their feet slipping against the slick wood as they struggled against the storm. They carried with them long, maple-hewn rods - heavy, darkened poles tipped with ironwork, the edges gleaming despite the gloom. Polespars, every one of them, hardened by years of harsh seas and harsher winters, their hands calloused from wielding the tools of their trade over countless voyages.
"Polespars!" Torkil roared, his voice cutting through the tempest. "Stay lashed to the windward side and ready arms!" His eyes narrowed as he stared out into the distance, where the waves rose and fell in towering swells. "The whale-road is ours today."
The crew moved with purpose, strapping themselves to the windward side of the ship, securing their lines as they readied their weapons. Every breath came out as mist, mixing with the cold spray of the sea. Tension crackled in the air, every man watching the dark waters, waiting for the moment. The moment when the storm would break, when the waves would part, and their quarry would appear.
"Do you see them?" Indrik called from the bow, his voice tight with anticipation, eyes straining through the mist and rain.
Torkil’s gaze was locked ahead, unblinking, hand tightening on the hilt of his belt knife. "Not yet," he muttered, his breath misting in the air. "But they’re here. I can feel it in the wind."
The Sea of Storms had always been a cruel mistress - its waters frigid, its weather unpredictable, its depths hiding terrors unknown to most men. But for the Norrin, the sea was not something to be feared. It was a companion, an adversary, a partner in a dance for survival. They did not come to the sea lightly.
A gust of wind tore across the deck, the ship lurching as a wave crashed against the hull, sending cold seawater cascading over the side. But the men held firm, poles ready, eyes sharp.
And then it happened.
"THERE!" Indrik’s voice rang out, his arm thrust forward into the storm. The waves swelled and parted, revealing a massive, dark shadow beneath the surface. For an instant, time seemed to slow - the breath of the men caught in their throats, the wind howling in their ears. The shape moved, enormous and slow, gliding beneath the surface like some ancient leviathan.
"Aye, there they are," Torkil growled, his eyes gleaming with fierce determination. "Polespars - prepare!"
The dark shape grew larger, closer, the water around it churning as if the sea itself was being pulled into its wake. The Everroam heaved on the waves, drawing nearer, every man bracing for what was to come. And then, in one breathtaking moment, the sea exploded upward - a great wall of water surging as the enormous bulk of a whale broke the surface. Its black skin glistened in the storm, water pouring off its back as it let out a deep, reverberating groan, its massive tail slicing through the waves.
"TO ARMS!" Torkil bellowed, raising his knife high, the iron glinting in the stormlight. The men moved in unison, thrusting their spears forward, their arms trembling as the iron-tipped rods met flesh and bone.
The whale let out a deafening bellow, thrashing against the ship’s side as blood bloomed in the dark water. The whale moved listlessly beneath the storm-wracked waves like some ancient dying giant, its mournful cries lost to the wind.
Torkil, breath heavy, eyes wild, shouted through the storm. "By the blood of the deep, we’ve earned our share!"