The wind drove torrents of cold rain against his face as he struggled across the deck of the ship. The skies had been grey for quite some time, and they had been expecting a storm, so none of the crew had been surprised when it hit. Some more experienced sailors had been enthusiastically awaiting it, even—the skies would be blue and clear after a storm, they knew. But each storm they encountered seemed wilder and rougher than the one before it, and it only left the ship and the men battered.
This storm was the worst by far. It had hit them before they could lower all their sails, and the one they hadn't been able to lower tore away from the mast, flapping uselessly in the air like a large, white bird. The men had all scrabbled under deck the moment the storm hit, none of them bothering or caring if they were blown off course. They knew that they wouldn't find the boys; attempting to steer the ship while freezing rains poured on them and the ship lurched under their feet was more than they were willing to do. Damis had stayed above deck, trying to set the ship straight again, but without the sun or the stars to guide him, it was more likely that he was steering them further away, and the storm was too much to handle on his own. He quickly gave up, regretting that he didn't seek shelter earlier along with the other men every time the ship tossed and rolled in the waves.
He was drenched through by the time he managed to clamber down the steps and into the galley. His crew was seated along one table, all crammed alongside each other, as if they were scared they'd be swept off into the sea if they sat separately. Damis bit back a sigh as he raked his gaze over them. The last time he sailed off to search for his nephews, he was with seasoned sailors, all men he would trust with his life. The men that were huddled in the belly of his ship now were all barely men, and relatively green to sailing. He wouldn't have been surprised if none of them had even been in a proper storm before.
He couldn't help but feel a stab of pity for them as they whispered nervously amongst themselves as the ship was tossed violently about the waves, most of them looking like they would be sick on the next time the ship rocked. He himself had been born on a ship, and had been sailing since he was five alongside his uncle and his father's men. He had encountered his first storm when he was six, but it had been a summer storm, with slower winds and warmer waters than the one now. He would not have wanted the storm they were in to be his first storm.
Damis seated himself on the furthest end of the table, and spoke, shouting to be heard over the roar of the waves, "No man is to go above deck without another. We lack hands on ship already without a man being swept overboard, do you understand?" he ordered, and none of the men looked desperate to disobey him.
"Ah, piss on this storm." A man laughed from the rear, slamming a cup onto the table, "This is just an autumn storm—fierce as a bitch but quick to come and go as a maiden. You boys shouldn't shit your pants because of some high waves."
Damis pressed his lips into a thin line to keep from laughing. He hadn't taken his regular crew in fear that a war would erupt before he returned to Earin, but he had allowed himself one seasoned man to serve as his first mate, and now he was glad he did. He would have driven himself mad if he had to spend the entire trip reassuring his entire crew that the ship was just as safe as land. He couldn't count on him to calm to men down, but he could count on him to distract them from the storm. Besides, Damis was sure that he would have followed him on board, no matter what he said, just to get away from Earin.
"An autumn storm is hardly anything to laugh about, Bryndis." He said, "Especially if you're stranger to storms."
"I'm just saying. An autumn storm will never compare to a real storm." Bryndis said, shrugging, "You know yourself. We've both sailed through storms worse than this with hardly a scratch."
Damis did know. Bryndis had been alongside him through nearly every storm in his youth, even the winter howlers that every sailor feared of getting caught in. Every sailor with an ounce sense, that was. Bryndis had set sail when they were both sixteen, seeking a winter howler, and dragging Damis along with him. It had torn their ship to shreds before they even reached the heart of the storm, and spat them out on a sandy shore hours later. Damis had sobered, and had been careful at sea after that, but Bryndis had only taken it as a challenge.
"There are worse storms than this?" One of the men asked, his voice hardly stronger than a slight whimper. He was a round-faced man, boy, more like, with patchy hints of a beard dotting his face and his hands clenched tightly around his cup.
"Aye. There are many storms that are worse than an autumn storm." Bryndis said, taking a large gulp from his cup, "Drowned storms, for one."
"What are drowned storms?" the man squeaked.
"They start off like autumn storms." Bryndis said, squinting as he fought to remember, "But with stronger winds. Winds strong enough to pick up a war galley, with all the men inside them."
Damis doubted that the winds were that strong, and he opened his mouth to say so, but the men were enraptured, hanging off every word that Bryndis spoke. They truly have never been in a storm before. Damis just closed his mouth and smiled when Bryndis caught his eye, and shook his head. It wouldn't do to scare their crew into running off once they reached land.
"Maybe not so." Bryndis admitted, "But much stronger than winds we have now. And the winds get stronger." Bryndis lowered his voice until they had to strain to hear him, "Then it stops raining, and it gets so quiet, that you think the worst is over. But when you go up on deck to see, the sky'll be as green as summer grass and there wouldn't be a cloud in the sky."
"A green sky?"
"A green sky." Bryndis said, hushed, "And then, you'll hear the worst noise in the world—a noise like ten thousand war horns and shrieking women, so loud that it'll be the only thing that fills your mind. Then you'll see a dark, spinning tunnel, reaching down from the heavens. It'll spin so quickly close to your ship that you'll think that it knows where you are. Then it'll pluck you out of the ship, and send you spinning in its gut."
"What is it?"
"It'll look like smoke, but it's really water. Deep enough to drown you and hard enough to break your bones."
"Is this true?" All the men were staring at Damis now, eyes wide.
Damis hesitated, before saying, "Yes, but it rarely occurs."
"Will this storm turn into one?" the man that first raised the question asked, "What do we do then?"
"No." Damis assured him, as well as the rest of the crew, "The winds are not strong enough, and we are on the other side of the ocean than where they normally occur. It is nothing to be worried about."
"Will it be like this the whole way?" Another man chimed, "It makes me sick."
"No." Damis said, "The weather and waves will be much milder once we are beyond the Carrion Sea."
"The waves are smooth enough to rock a newborn babe to sleep, and the rains warm enough to feel like a lord's bath." Bryndis added, "Nothing like the shit weather we have now."
All the men looked much happier on that thought, though their happiness was short lived, as the ship lurched again. Damis stood from the table, leaving Bryndis to terrify the men further with stories of the other storms they had survived. The thought of reaching the calm waters of the Great Sea sickened him. He would have rather remained trapped on the Carrion Sea and all of its autumn storms, because when he reached the Great Sea, it would only mean that he would fail his sister yet again.
Despite his own warning, Damis headed back up onto the deck, hardly flinching as the wind lashed at his face. He walked slowly over to the railing, leaning as far over the edge as he dared. He let the dangerous thought of letting go of his grip on the railing for a second, thinking of what it would feel like if he let the seawater fill his lungs, before he pushed it away. He eased away from the railing, and back to the mast. As long as he was determined to stay away from the men in the galley and the maps in his cabin, he might as well try to keep from losing another sail.
