17: Michael

Michael

 

          The accommodations were much nicer than they had been. Unreally so. Michael felt the weighty pull of the furs that wrapped around his upper body. They had given him a shirt as well, one that was silky smooth and light, but he had preferred the looser fit of the fur throw jacket. It caused less pain in his shoulder. He walked slowly around their new cabin, which had initially belonged to the captain. They had tried to refuse such a gesture, but the stoic-faced captain would not relent. The room was an asymmetrical shape that resembled a dagger blade and extended far along the starboard side of the ship. Against the aft-most wall was a large bed with lavish red curtains. Stitched furs composed the blankets with pillows made of silk-wrapped sea sponge. Large ivory tusks lined the walls with small torch fires burning from their broader ends. Along the ceiling were wooden carvings of ships and sea monsters all intertwined in some great scene.

          Sabrina lay in the bed, fur blanket pulled up to her chin. She hadn't spoken much since they were released from the storage room. Slowly, Michael made his to her. "You okay?"

          She looked up and smiled weakly. "Yeah. Great."

          "No you're not." He tried not to wince as he sat on the bed beside where she lay. Her deep green eyes tracked him. "What's wrong?"

          Sabrina let out a harsh, false laugh. "You mean besides how messed up everything is?"

          "We could be dead," he offered softly.

          Her mouth twitched into a smile, but it wasn't one of good humor. "I'd almost rather be dead, Michael. At least death makes sense. Instead, I'm here. And I don't even know where here is. What is here? On some giant wooden ship? With people who wanted to kill us and now are suddenly bowing to us? Where are we going? What's at the end of all this?"

          "Death," Michael replied. "That's what's at the end of everything, don't you think? I don't have answers. I'm just along for the ride, same as you. But for whatever reason we've been given some kind of second chance. Maybe it's God, maybe it's coincidence, maybe this is the afterlife. Maybe I'm dreaming this all and when I wake up, I won't remember any of it. No matter what it is, do you think that's any reason to not make the best of what we've been given?"

          Her lower lip began to tremble slightly, but her fierce eyes didn't leave his even as tears shimmered. "This isn't a dream, Michael. You know that as much as I do. My family has no idea where I am, and I have no idea where they are. They could be dead. My family, Michael. I'm not a soldier like you, I didn't choose a life where people I care about just end up dead!"

          His expression hardened, and she gasped. "No, I'm sorry," she said, putting a hand out to touch him but he rose before she could. "Michael," she pleaded. "That's not what I meant."

          Michael appeared to not be listening. He shrugged off the furs to reveal his naked upper body. The dark ink of his tattoo stood out against his chilled skin. The helmet that hung from the cross almost seemed to sway as his deltoid muscles moved. "You think he asked for what happened? Right after he had just had a child? Do you think he voluntarily decided to become a statistic in a war few people even know anything about?"

          "Michael, no."

          Michael ignored her and walked slowly to one of the porthole's overlooking the vast ocean. In the fading light, his face was enveloped in a soft grey.

          "I think he intended to live until he was an old man. I think he just wanted to earn money for school so his wife and daughter could live in happiness. I think he wanted to offer a few years to the country that he grew up in. I don't think he signed up as a suicidal volunteer. Everyone is so quick to judge why we do it, yet they're all clamoring for us when s**t goes wrong."

          "Michael, you have to know that's not what I meant at all." Tears balanced precariously on her lower eyelid, threatening at any moment to spill over.

          "How many more names do you think I have to add to my arm? How many more unnecessary names?" Now he felt the sting of tears in his own eyes and felt a flush of shame. He concentrated on the caps of waves on the dark grey sea.

          Hands, small and warm, covered his tattoo. He turned his head to face her. She looked on the verge of having a breakdown. Her face was red, her hair was tousled, and her lip quivered. He felt all his anger and frustration drain. Michael turned his body and brought Sabrina into a tight embrace. Her arms flung around him and squeezed tightly as she began to openly sob into his neck.

          "I'm sorry," he said. "It's not you."

          "I know," she managed. Her tears were hot on his cool skin. "I know."

          For a long time they both stood wrapped in the comfort of the other's presence. If nothing else made sense, at least they endured it together. When they both felt more composed, they returned the to the bed. Sabrina had already crawled into the blankets and as Michael was about to, there came a knock at the ornate wooden door.

          Michael swung his legs over the side of the bed. "It's open," he called. A moment's pause before more knocking. Michael sighed and trudged to the door. He pulled it open and was surprised to see the captain. At his side were two small children. One was a blonde girl and the other was a mousy haired boy, slightly shorter than the girl. Cradled to the boy's chest was an elongated book. When he saw Michael, he turned his eyes down sheepishly.

          Michael lifted his gaze from the children to their tall, rigid father. "What is it, sir?" he asked. The captain frowned at the English. His translator was nowhere to be seen. Instead of speaking, he nodded to the two children who now retreated back behind their father's legs. With large, bony hands, the captain gently ushered his children back forward. He then looked to Michael with his artic blue eyes and tilted his head.

          "They want to see us?" Michael asked. "Why?"

          With a look that could only be described as terrified anxiety, the little boy held out the book to Michael and tried to smile. Michael looked down at the book, then to the child, then to the father who offered a mouth twitch that might have been a smile.

          "Do you want us to read that with you?" Sabrina asked, her voice airy and cheerful. The children didn't understand, but they smiled nonetheless. "Come here," Sabrina gestured, waving them forward. Nervously, the children both turned to their father who nodded. They made their way to the tall bed. Sabrina grabbed the book from the little boy and set it to the side before helping him up onto the furs. His sister was able to manage climbing herself. The captain clasped his hands in front of him in a dignified pose and watched as the two children flanked Sabrina who held the book.

          The little mousy hair boy looked to Michael and waved him over enthusiastically. Michael couldn't help but smile. He joined them on the bed as the little girl pointed to the first page of the book, which was a beautifully illustrated picture book. The page depicted a wooden ship at port with sunrays streaming through the tangle of nets and ropes that hung from the masts. In the sky, the gas giant was present. This was indigenous art, and it was incredible.

          The little girl pointed at the ship and said something in her tongue. Sabrina smiled weakly. "I don't understand you, sweetheart," she said. The girl pointed at the ship in the picture, then pointed all around the cabin. Michael and Sabrina both looked around as she did so. "This is," she pointed, "this ship?"
          Beaming, the girl nodded. Sabrina turned the page and it showed a picture of a familiar gaunt face at the ship's helm, staring off ahead. "I know who that is," Sabrina said in a matter-of-fact tone then looked up at the captain, who said nothing.

          The little boy turned the page. The ship was shown in earnest against a darkening sky. It did not look like the traditional wooden vessel Michael had assumed it to be. Instead of a fifteenth-century Spanish galleon, it looked like an immense catamaran joined by connection beams just above the waterline. Walkways ran the length of the beams and four huge masts towered above the multi-tiered decks. Each pair of masts was connected by a billowing beige sail that had stitching woven across in long snakes. On the twin prows were carved faces of beasts. The crew members depicted were little more than dots amongst the mammoth woodworks.

          Michael and Sabrina both turned to each other with looks of surprise. "Not what you expected, either?" he asked. She shook her head.

          Almost bouncing with excitement, the little boy toyed at the corner of the page.

          "Alright, alright, we're going," Sabrina said smiling. Her smile wavered as she saw the illustration. Michael narrowed his eyes in curiosity. Around the ship was a massive slick of blood that originated from a massive bloated carcass. The pale flesh of some great creature was in tatters that snaked out into the almost black waters. The little boy seemed like to burst with anticipation. "What is that? It's almost as big as the ship."

          The children said nothing.

          Sabrina flipped the page and her eyes widened. Michael could understand why. The very ship they were on had been depicted as a gargantuan vessel, yet in this painting it was quite small. It wasn't the ship that Michael's eyes were drawn to. Rising high above the ship which looked more like a toy boat was the snarling head of a giant serpentine monster. It's neck, bristling with scales, curved in an S-shape from the massive wake it's body caused. The scales were a dark teal that faded into an ashen grey closer to the underbelly. The teeth were stubby and angular with the exception of six fangs at the front of the jaw. The eyes were shrouded by a white film. It reminded Michael of a shark's eyes when attacking. Long spears of bone or chitin protruded just under the jaw line with a thin membrane spanning between each pointed rod. The fan-like structure was webbed with blue veins.

          Michael leaned forward and pointed to the creature. "What is that?" he asked, looking at the little boy who just grinned happily at him. "Did your father kill it?"

          "Not likely," another voice answered from the door. Taken aback, Michael looked up to the translator who had replaced the captain at in the doorway. "I see the captain's children have brought you their favorite story. Yes, it is a good one. A wise choice."

          Michael looked back at the illustration. "Is this a fairy tale?"

          "A what?"

          "Fairy tale. It's a made up story told to children. You know, like Cinderella or Hansel and Gretel. Well, I guess you wouldn't."

          The stout man shook his head, his beady eyes wary and almost defensive. "This story is not a fable. It is more a visual recounting than anything, specifically made for the captain's children to show them the story of how their father defied fate."

          Sabrina gave the man an inquisitive look. "What do you mean defied fate?"

          The translator cupped his hands behind his back. "You see that monster there? They were thought to be no more than myth. Yes, many historians do agree that they existed at some point, we certainly have the bones to prove it, but none had been seen alive as far as any records could show. Yet, nearly a decade ago when the captain had first taken command of this vessel, he decided to sail close to Cimmeria to earn a trophy worth to name his ship."

          "And this, monster, was the prize?" Michael asked.

          "Oh no. He claimed his prize. It is why this vessel is named the Dreadfish. But a dreadfish is but a minnow to the Great Serpents." He gestured to the book. "A species so mysterious, there are no conclusive facts about them. We have incomplete fossils, some with legs, some with wings, some with horns. Magicians, beast keepers, no one can truly make heads or tails of any of it or know if any of our assumptions are correct. Except for those who crewed the Dreadfish on its namesake voyage."

          Sabrina shifted, and the little girl hugged her arm. "Were you one of them?"

          The man's eyes faded as though he were seeing something else. As if he were somewhere else entirely. "I was."

          "Can you tell us about it?" Michael was very intrigued by the idea of this beast. He wasn't sure he bought, but he had no reason to disbelieve it either. He was somewhere else entirely, unbound from earthly understanding.

          "It rose from the depths in a tidal wave. Its head must have been hundreds of feet above us. When it roared, I thought I would never hear again. The very planks of the ship rattled. The air stank of rotted fish and flesh. I have no shame admitting I sunk to my knees at the very presence of it. It could have half the ship in a single move. Yet, it didn't. We may have looked upon it for no more than twenty seconds before it curled its giant neck back into the sea and vanished. I don't know why it left us. Perhaps it wasn't hungry, or maybe it didn't think we were a threat. I don't know. The only thing I really know is that day changed everything for us."

          The little boy's eyes had fixed on the bandaging over Michael's left shoulder. He looked with concern, but Michael offered a smile of reassurance. The child looked up to Michael with unease. For some reason, that look caused breaths of discomfort to spread in him.

          The translator observed the boy and stepped forward, his face somber. Almost accusing. "It's a large shock to a young boy to see such things."

                   "What things?" Michael asked, his hand touching his bandages.

                   "A wounded god."