Siren

Mark of the Devil

---Cain's POV---

The seas were eerily calm. After all the commotion for the past few days, it would've made sense if a storm was out. But the skies were calm, the waves none existent, sea lapping softly at the hull of the ship.

It only managed to give me an ominous feeling, as if something was just waiting to go wrong. Archer was manning the wheel for the moment, barking commands at the crew overhead as Orion and I were in my quarters.

My eyes flicked to the side, watching Orion's dull expression as he sighed wistfully while gazing at the sea. The looming merfolk threat made him wary to dive into the water, even if he desperately wanted to.

And it wasn't like I could offer him any protection either! It was maddening to sit on my hands, unable to do anything to help and provide for him. My eyes flitted to his hands and wrists, both visibly irritated and flaky.

Orion needed the ocean to survive. And those bastards were counting on that fact.

We still gave Orion buckets of salt water that we hoisted up but it wasn't enough. You couldn't replace a dip in the ocean with a mere swallow of water, hoping he'd be okay.

And he was. You could tell that Orion was troubled and longing to stretch his legs, so to speak. He was surviving but I wanted him to live, to enjoy his life. And it was frustrating that I couldn't give him what he wanted.

Especially because in a way, I understood how he felt. If we were stuck on sea for quite a while, a man just longed to be back on dry land... though the opposite could be said as well... Once a seafarer, always a seafarer.

A knock on the door made us both look up, where one of the crew stood warily at the cracked door. "Uhm, Captn, there's no sign of them so far. We're still keeping a look out for them but..." I scowled when he didn't continue and pushed up, making him flinch slightly.

"But..."

Archer appeared behind the man and scowled as well, much to my surprise. Archer was one of the very few men on my crew who was always in a happy mood. Now however, he seemed frustrated and troubled while he motioned with his jaw towards the window behind us.

There was nothing special to see out there but I frowned, wondering why Archer was down in my quarters... and who the fuck was manning the wheel?

"The rudders have been disabled. I noticed a few moments ago that it takes a great deal of effort to turn the wheel and the ship's response is delayed."

My heart clenched together as I shoved up, glaring at the harmless sea. "I... Is that... bad?" Orion asked hesitantly, waiting for an explanation before Archer sighed and brushed through his short hair.

"On short terms, not really. We're not under attack or anything besides those blasted fish, but if heavy weather sets in, we'll need all the maneuverability we can get. Even if there's no storm in sight, the possibility of encountering a rogue wave is troublesome enough without losing the use of a rudder."

I shivered at the mention of a rogue wave; many men called it the tales of fishwives, meant to scare young men from succumbing to the ocean's call and become a sailor in any shape or form. But some knew that rogue waves were a very real, uncommon perhaps, but dangerous threat.

Very few who encountered a rogue wave lived to tell the tale and it made sense. If the stories were right, those whom encountered and lived through a rogue wave estimated the sea to lash out with a monstrous wave of over a hundred feet tall.

The massive force and destruction that such a wave could bring could easily topple over the largest of ships but the idea of encountering one without a rudder to steer the boat out of harms way, to steer into the wave instead of having it crash into the side...