"Have we angered the Gods father?" asked Theo. His fathers' broad frame stiffened briefly then turned.
"Perhaps." With this Alexander swept past him towards the stern cabin, eyes grim. Theo continued to stare over the glassy water as his fathers footfalls were gradually suffocated by the boisterous crew. The main sail hung limply from the mast, the boom eerily still. Ropes lashing the sail hung loose where earlier they had protested under the strain of the driving wind.
The Phoenix was becalmed and no good would come of it.
A heavy hand landed gently on his shoulder. "Sometimes, Sir Theo, the wind just takes a well earned rest."
Theo glanced at the tall man beside him and then returned his gaze to the silent ocean, the sunlight coating its' oily surface.
"The wind is the breath of the Gods. They no longer look upon us Fedir." Theo instinctively rubbed his thumb over the symbols forged on his armour. Fedir was silent but Theo sensed his smile, and confirmed it with a quick peek.
"What is it old man? You know the Gods better than I?" he said with begrudging humour.
"That would be a preposterous notion!" Fedir feigned. "But let my humble experience guide you when I say that I have seen the sea sleep, and it always wakes."
Fedir winked and his massive brow collapsed awkwardly over his clear blue eye, a broad smile splitting his large blonde beard. He lifted his hand to return to his rope coiling, and began whistling a playful tune. His mind pricked with the understanding that he had welcomed Fedir's touch. He found it comforting, and while it was there he could imagine that happiness was something real, able to be found, grown and shared.
He looked past the main cabin to where his father had gone but caught no sight of his dark hair or features. His helmet was hanging on the door frame signalling he had gone below, perhaps to consult with the captain, or his bottle of whiskey. They would all know soon enough if he had spent time with the latter.
Around him sailors worked with urgency. A wiry fellow clambered impossibly up the front mast, rope coil across his chest. Another earnestly hammered a wedge into a section of woodwork and another replaced wearing ropes. Theo watched it all with unbearable naivete and felt a sudden urge for home, where he knew what to do and when to do it. Where he belonged.
This was only the second time Theo had been on the water. The first was on his sixth birthday when he had been invited to visit aunt Beet, and had taken a small craft on to the lake with his uncle. Travis was a skilled sailor and Theo had found it thrilling, watching him harness the wind and guide the boat from shoreline to shoreline. He watched the canvas bulge with the invisible breath that swept his chapped face. He trailed his hand in the dark water carving a delicate scar that would heal patiently behind him.
It was different to riding. Shay was another being and when Theo was upon her it was a journey of two. At times she was a reluctant companion, but the experience was always shared; she saw, smelt and heard what he did. But the boat, it was a powerful solo experience. He and Travis were together but joined separately to the boat. He recalled longing for a chance to helm the craft alone, but the opportunity never arose, and he quickly had abandoned asking for one once the festivities began.
That small craft was intimate in a manner the Phoenix could never replicate. The large vessel was stubborn like a mule and seemed a reluctant participant most times. Only when the spinnaker was floated did Theo feel like he did on that lake.
He shifted within the heavy body protection in an attempt to relieve the many aches it had inflicted, with limited success. He fought a dark restlessness as he walked to the bow and sat with armour induced clumsiness on the deck, looked at the horizon and secretly cried.
