Wanderer

35 - Height of Fury

Elwing

Let it stop, let it stop, let it stop!

The thunder has started, and the lightning too. They've pushed me to the edge. Every boom of thunder and crack of lightining sends me flying into the safety of my covers. I am terrified beyond description.

One particularly violent crack of lightning is accompanied by an ominous creacking sound, and a ferocious snap of breaking timbers. The ripping sound of shredding cloth soon follows.

The mast.

Several things happen as I hear the crash of it meeting the deck. I hear a harsh scream, one of someone in desperate pain. Then Alaytar's voice, yelling something at the top of his lungs. At the same time, the Vingilote jerks to the side. Somehow I know the Vingilote's wheel has been abandonded, which means Earendil can't....

Oh Valar, no.

I am up and out of bed in an instant, all fear forgotten. I lurch out of the cabin onto the deck, where the driving rain instantly blinds me. I can't keep my feet.  I roll as the ship does, and slam into the railing. Hard.

I'm up again in an instant, searching for Earendil. There. Beneath the fallen mast, the torn fabric of the sail is pinned a struggling figure. And then a flash of blue. Alaytar's helping him.

I almost lose my head.  "Earendil!" I begin the treacherous journey across the slick deck without hesitation.  

The ship makes a lunge to the side. The mast begins to slide across the width of the deck, dragging Earendil, who is tangled in the rigging, with it.

I reach him before Alaytar does, and yank at the ropes. I can see that Earendil is deathly pale and smeared all over with blood.  The sight of his blood gives me strength. I scrabble blindly at the ropes and finally manage to loop Earendil out of the rigging, and begin to drag him to safety. As soon as his right leg touches the deck, he screams again, a harsh sound, and passes out, a dead weight in my arms. By this time, Alaytar's at my side.

"Come on! " he yells, splashing water from the deck onto his face. Earendil groans from the depths of his pain and violently comes to. He sputters under the deluge, and sees the imminent threat. He flings an arm around Alaytar's shoulders, and makes an effort to rise. Alaytar breaks into an unsteady run, moving Earendil from the  path of danger.

With a toss, we mount the crest of another wave. It's got to be the biggest yet. I fall again, and am tossed to the stern. When I open my eyes, groaning, it seems as if the ship is pointed straight on its end. The swan on the prow is pointed at the cloudy sky. The mast changes directions suddenly, and with a thunderous sound, rolls right overtop of me, held off the ground by the railings, and slides right off the stern, clipping a smaller mast and taking it with it.

The mast is gone.

Alaytar sees the rift in the waters before I do. He shamelessly abandons Earendil, dropping him to the deck, a and sprints for the wheel, screaming all the while for us to hold on.

We plummet downwards. The feeling of utter weightlessness makes my heart pound. I can't get a grip on anything, and all I can see of Earendil is his blood staining my fingers.

After the fall comes a halt that rattles me to my very core. At least the sickening descent is over. 

Then the inevitable fall comes. A wave that blots out the sky . And my helpless scream.

No. It's too late. I can't find anything to hold on to. My fingers scrape at the boards of the stern, trying to find a crack. No.

Alaytar's screaming again, probably a warning, knowing him, but the once voice I really care about is crying my name. I get up, fall again, and then catch sight of Earendil.

Even in his pain, the concern is there, concern for me. He calls my name once, and then a brilliant white light explodes from somewhere. The wave is almost upon me.

The wall of water overtakes me just as the Vingilote rights herself. The last thing I see is Earendil, arms wrapped around the stump of the fallen mizzen-mast, still with a look of panic on his face.

Then the water is on me, and in me, and pulling me this way and that. I open my eyes to a whirling world of bubbling, angry blue, and then I realize that I am about to die.

Before I have time to dwell on that thought, or Earendil, or the light that hasn't faded, I slam my head on something hard - probably some flotsam from the Vingilote. 

There's nothing, mercifully.