Limitless Seas, Chapter 8.

This chapter is the last of the ones I've already written, from here on out it may be a few days between chapters as I post them as their completed. In between, I throw out a few chapters of my side project, the Cat Core book. 

Chapter 8. 

Storm clouds began to gather to the north as the Gull Dropping continued its heading toward the nearest island. Larson would have ordered to have the sails trimmed if they had any. His ship sported only a single large mast in the center of the deck, the mast that had been shattered by the ballista and was now lashed to the starboard handrails to keep it from rolling around the deck. A suitable replacement mast and sail wasn’t going to be cheap, but financial concerns would have to wait until their concerns for survival were dealt with. 

“Weather might give us some trouble, we’re too short handed to maneuver if the seas get rough,” Tarley said while making small adjustments to the tiller, confirming Larson’s own fears. He stood on the quarterdeck and looked over his ship. It was a tired and battered vessel, but it was his. A trio of crew moved about the deck, tying down anything that they didn’t want washed overboard when the storm overtook them. Below decks, nine of his crew, Shada, and the five prisoners, were pulling at the oars. Their headway was dropping as the ocean swells increased with the coming storm. The remaining pair of sailors were down below, trying to shore up and keep an eye on their makeshift patch as well as they could. Nogreb was overseeing the work and would call out if they ran into any problems. 

“I’m going to head below to help at the oars. Send someone down if you need me, but otherwise, keep the three crew you have up here to help you,” Larson ordered. The last thing he wanted to do was pull at that oar again, but sometimes, leadership requires setting an example by taking up the least desirable task. None of the crew wanted to be back at their old job, too many memories of fear, pain, and death dwelt among the rower’s benches. 

“Well ladies, gentlemen, and scum of the seas, I thought I’d join you for a bit. I need a good pull at the oars each day or I’ll get out of shape,” Larson said, gesturing toward the prisoners when mentioning the scum. “Let’s see how fast we can get to this island. Fresh grub and a bit of a rest await, so let’s get to pulling lads,” Larson ordered. He selected his old bench, looking down at the chains pooled on the deck. They had held him prisoner once, nothing better than a slave, but now he was master of the vessel. He was the keeper of the chains, not the one being kept by them. 

A glance to starboard showed the five prisoners working lazily at the oars. Four were humans dressed in blood splattered and shredded remains of the clothing they had worn during the fight. All of them had minor wounds and looked pretty used up. The last prisoner was one of the elf officers, a look of defiance pasted on his pointy eared face. 

“Put your backs into it, prisoners. I’ve laid off the lash for now, but don’t think I’m some soft-hearted fool who’s afraid to bring some pain if I need to. I’ll give you the same offer you gave me, pull or die,” Larson hissed out at the now frightened passengers. The prisoners picked up their pace, and along with the crew who were at the oars, the ship began to make headway. After setting the pace, Larson remembered that his newfound magic might be more helpful than another body at an oar. Larson left the rowers and moved to the upper deck. Tarley and his men were still at work, but the dark storm clouds were coming ever closer. 

“Tarley, I’m going to do what I can to speed our passage,” he told the old sailor. Larson stood on the elevated quarterdeck, next to the tiller while seeking the elusive magic that now coursed through him. The three magic abilities he commanded popped into view on his interface. Selecting Command the Currents, Larson began to focus his magic into the sea around his ship. At first, the task was overwhelming, his mana draining without any effect. 

After a bit of trial and error, he began to understand his ability better. He had been trying to force his will upon the sea, but instead, he needed to work with it. Around the hull of his ship, he calmed the sea, moving the currents to the heading he wanted. It wasn’t much, perhaps a single knot of extra speed and a bit less roll of the ship, but it was far more than he could have accomplished on a single oar. 

As Larson worked, he became more efficient at the task. Mana was constantly drained, but the rate diminished as he got more practice. When the last of his mana finally was pulled from his body, Larson slumped to the deck, completely exhausted. One of his sailors handed him a mug of water that he drank greedily down, not realizing how thirsty he had become. The sailor then handed him a small loaf of hard bread with a soft, pungent cheese slathered over it. He inhaled the food, his body crying for sustenance after the day he had gone through. 

“Didn’t know how long you could keep that up, impressive. You’ve been at it for five hours, sir,” Tarley said. Looking around he noticed the sun was beginning to set where it had been mid-afternoon when he started. The storm had closed as well, the first drops of rain were starting to pelt the ship and the wind was now howling around them. With his spell ended, the swells increased, the small vessel plowing roughly though each one and causing him concern over their makeshift hull patch. Almost as if his concern had caused it to happen, Nogreb ran on deck, a look of panic on his face. 

“Sir, our hull patch is giving way, the men below are bracing it, but we could use more hands to help,” Nogreb warned. Sadly, their depleted crew numbers didn’t leave them many options. The men rowing were needed where they were, if their speed dropped any further, they would lose their forward progress and be at the mercy of the sea. The three sailors above deck were finished with their task, so Larson sent two below to help Nogreb, leaving one with Tarley in case he needed help at the helm. 

The storm became stronger as night fell, lightning flashes briefly lighting the sky. Whenever his mana recovered enough, Larson used his magic to help them stay on course, but it wasn’t enough to overcome the power of the sea they were facing. He began to fear his new life was going to be a very short one when the sailor on deck shouted over the howling wind. 

“Sir, two points off the starboard bow, I think I see land!” Larson waited in the dark for the next bolt of lightning. As the lightning flashed, he saw it, the outline of a tree-covered island. It was fairly close, the dark and storm preventing them from noticing it until now. 

“Tarley, I think I see a small bay, try and head toward it, we need to beach the ship, there’s no way we’ll survive out here in the open sea,” Larson ordered. Tarley nodded and struggled with the tiller as he pointed the bow toward land. Larson moved down the hatch to the middle deck, the exhausted prisoners and sailors still laboring at their duty. 

“Pull hard, lads, we’ve got land in sight, just a bit farther,” He called out. He couldn’t tell if the order had any effect, the ship’s ponderous bulk was still driven by the storm. 

“We’re not the only ones to try this,” Tarley said as the next flash revealed the main mast of a sunken ship poking up through the sea. Rocks to the port side threatened them while whatever had sunk the other ship threatened to starboard. Using the mana that he had regenerated, Larson helped them on their course. 

The seas seemed to calm a bit as they pulled into the somewhat sheltered bay. To the starboard, the broken masts of a second ship appeared as a grinding noise was heard and the ship bucked. They scraped their way over whatever was beneath them and began to approach the sandy shore. 

“Sir, the patch is sprung and whatever we hit has pushed in three other planks. We’re going down,” Nogreb said as he ran onto the deck. 

“We’ll make it sir, almost to the sand now,” Tarley advised. Indeed, the beach was closer now, Larson not responding as he kept his concentration and pushed the last of his mana into the final stretch. The hull made more grinding sounds, but these were the more welcome sounds of the ship beaching itself on the sand and not the sound of rocks shattering their hull. There was still a good twenty feet of water between them and the shore, but at least they wouldn’t sink while the ship was grounded. If the tide pulled them off the sand, all bets were off. 

“Nogreb, get a work party over the side with some lines, tie us off to the nearest trees,” Larson ordered. They had plenty of cordage with the main mast rigging being unused. Larson grabbed a length of rope and dropped into the sea below. The darkness was only broken by a half dozen ship’s lanterns spread about the vessel. One of the men clambered down a rope ladder, holding a lantern aloft and a length of rope tied around his waist. 

Larson and three other sailors swam and waded their way to the shore. The water around the Gull Dropping was around six feet deep at the bow and just over ten feet deep aft. The vessel was in danger of washing back out to sea when the tide changed. From what he knew of his new world, the tide was highest during the night, but it could vary wildly based on many unknown factors. He believed in his previous life that the tides were timed to the minute, but in this world, they were a bit more chaotic. 

By the light of their single lantern, the shore party tied the Gull Dropping off onto three of the larger palm trees that lined the beach. It was a makeshift job, and one they would have to work on in the morning when the sun was up and visibility improved. Once back onboard, they waited out the storm, a watch was kept on the four lines they had secured, if any came loose, they would have to send a part out to secure them. Larson lay down for a moment and found himself refreshed, the others crashed where they could, falling into an exhausted sleep despite the howling wind and the ship rocking precariously in the sand. 

A tour of the ship revealed the lower deck was almost completely flooded; they would have to wait for daylight to see the true extent of the damage. The rowing deck was quiet, all the prisoners were still changed to their oars and Nogreb had set a watch on them through the night. Shada had made the rounds while they had been fighting to save the ship, healing those that still needed it. She was passed out under the stairs leading to the quarterdeck, too exhausted to care that she was being soaked by the continuous rain. 

The storm weakened over the next few hours, and by the time the glow of the coming dawn was seen to the east, the clouds began to move on. As the light of day finally broke over the sea, Larson got his first good look at the island they were on. The sheltered bay had a rocky outcropping protecting it to the west while to the east the forested jungle extended out, creating the small bay they were aground inside. Palm trees and thick foliage dominated the place, only the small strip of sandy beach and the rocky outcropping weren’t covered. 

To the starboard, the mast of the sunken ship could be seen. The ship wasn’t alone, the shapes of other vessels could be made out in the clear water of the bay. Larson wondered what cargo they might hold, and if any of it had been undamaged by the saltwater. While they would not find any food aboard the sunken ships, he knew that they would need coin, at least enough for real repairs on his ship once they reached a friendly port. 

“Sir, what are you orders?” Tarley asked, the old sailor had woken up and was joining Larson as they looked over their island. 

“We need to patch the damage to our hull, find a tree that can provide a new mainmast, and search for water and food,” Larson commented. He sent a sailor to retrieve Nogreb and Shada, he wanted all his officers to give their input on the best way to proceed. 

“The hull repairs can wait; we need to see how far the tide recedes. As far as a mast, take your pick, any of the palms will give us a temporary replacement, but I wouldn’t put too much sail on it until we get a better quality one in port, Nogreb answered. 

“I can lead a team into the jungle to look for supplies,” Shada added. 

“If Nogreb will stay by the ship until the tide goes out, I can lead a work party to find a suitable mast. There weren’t many tools aboard, but we have an axe or two that will work,” Tarley said. 

“Good, make it happen, Tarley and Shada, pick the crew you want for your work parties, but leave at least three behind to stand watch with Nogreb and keep an eye on the prisoners,” Larson ordered. 

“What will you be doing, captain? Do you want to join one of the work parties?” Tarley asked. He could see the questioning gaze of his officers. He had proven decisive and willing to throw himself into any task during the dangers they had faced. Now that things were relatively safe, would he devolve into the type of “leader” that merely ordered others about and did as little as possible? That was most assuredly not the type of leader that Larson considered himself to be. 

“I’m going down there; we’ll need coin if we’re to pay for all that we need in port. Hopefully, something of value is still in one of the holds down there,” Larson said, pointing at the wrecks in the harbor. 

“More power to you, captain, I’d not mind a swim, but searching around old wrecks is not always the safest thing to do,” Nogreb warned. 

“I didn’t sign on as captain for safe, I signed on to make my mark on this world,” Larson added. The officers went about their tasks; Shada leading a half dozen crew to search for food and fresh water, while Tarley led four to find a tree to cut down. Larson didn’t think a palm tree was the type that was typically used for a mast, but they really didn’t have any other options. 

Once everyone was working, Larson slithered over the side of the ship into the warm embrace of the sea. He ordered the crew working onboard to throw over one of the rope ladders and have someone stand by on watch, just in case he needed to come aboard in a hurry. Sliding under the calm waters of the bay, Larson was struck by how natural it was for him to breathe in the sea as easy as he had the air. He felt free down here, in his element. While he would love nothing better than to swim about for the morning, Larson needed to focus on the task at hand. The wrecks and whatever treasures or dangers they might hold were waiting for him.