Islands Away

Prologue

"No report of land, sir!"

It was hopeless. We'd never find land at this rate. The crew was slow going, lazy. They probably didn't even care if we made it or not, being the kind of people that thought our food supply would never run out. But Orion was not the kind of boat that could last forever.

We all had given up hope to find new land, and were just hung on getting home to Rome. We would find a way, with or without a compass.

But the ship had started leaking these days, just barely any drops, and what's worse, the amount had increased. The cracks were getting bigger and bigger, intensifying. The repair crew couldn't find them, so they must have been on the other side of the floor, or otherwise known as "the submerged side" where no one could get to them. We had to make do with harvesting the water and pouring it overboard. Meanwhile, the sea still looked the same, dark topaz, the waters churning. The wind howled and screamed, but there was still no land in sight.
"Hoist the sails!"
The crew scrambled to the pole and frantically pulled the rope. A few minutes later, we were using the wind for sailing. The gale was strong, dependable. It was a free spirit, going wherever it wishes, and we let it take us Anywhere.

Like Augustus Waters, I believed in a Somewhere, a somewhere with a capital S. I believe in a kingdom made of gold, where no one cries or sheds a tear, because there will always be A Presence that wipes it away. That's what I believe in, but I've never told anyone about it, because that's what Christians believe, and we learned in school that Christianity was wrong, and our religion is right.

Rain started, pounding against the deck, but there was nothing to do about it. I would have to stand here, steering the ship, as the others took cover. The wind howled furiously, as if trying to overturn the boat.

A faint explosion sounded somewhere far away, then more, the constant boom like a drum pounding. The earth shook, and people that were under the deck were sounding like they were falling. Meanwhile, I was still on deck, being pounded with rain. My clothes were soaking wet, and I was chilled to the bone. I shivered, and the waves crashed against the sides of the boat. The boat lurched, and I felt a wave of nausea sweep through my stomach.

The sounds of vomiting and groaning filled the boat. The sour stench of bile filled the air. As the ship rode on the waves, it was tossed into the air, and as it hit the waves, my head jostled violently against the steering wheel. Fortunately, I had plenty of experience with these kinds of storms. I managed to hang on to the wheel without ripping it off the floor and steer it properly. The seasickness ebbed and I sighed. I was going to need another change of clothes soon.

A layer of salty seawater sprayed over the side of the boat and onto the deck. "Buckets!" I shouted. I was soaked yet again, as if I wasn't wet enough. The crew rushed up the stairs with the old-fashioned, wooden buckets, scooping and mopping up the water as much as they could. Within minutes they were dampened with both the rainwater and seawater. I steered the ship the best I could, but I knew that soon the direction that we were going to go would be wrenched out of my grasp.

Soon enough, it did. I was thrown back, and I stumbled down the stairs and collapsed in a chair, wet clothes and all. But not for long; two minutes later, a piping voice called, "Julian! Cap'n!"

I rushed up the stairs and caught my breath. The whole deck was covered with two feet of water, and the amount was quickly rising. I grabbed a nearby bucket and scooped and threw the water off the deck as fast as I could, my movements panicked and jerky. But it was no use. The water was up to my knees, then my waist. We were still working, sweating in our panic. But the buckets were like drops of water compared to the amount coming in. I could hear the roar of water underneath. The cracks had widened too much. The world seemed to be shaking, and my legs swayed beneath me, my knees buckling.

Then the deck gave in. As the crew and I tumbled into the dark, deep depths below, to our deaths, I took a deep breath. Not too soon and not too late. The water crashed over my head, swallowing me into it. I struggled to the surface, my lungs gasping for air.

Five seconds passed. Ten. I was on the verge of death, and I knew it. Neptune, I prayed weakly. To the gods. Help me. The water lapped over me and adopted me as its own. I bobbed up and down with the waves, my head barely touching the surface. The light was so close. I was too tired to reach for it, but I lifted my hand, using the last of my strength, and pushed myself toward the surface.

I didn't make it. My strength was drained, and I was about two or three inches away from air, from sunlight, and from light. But the water urged me to sleep, silver light washing over my bare arms and legs, making me new.

And as I closed my eyes and let the sea take me in, I sank closer and closer to the heart of the sea. This is the new me.