We Descend

Prologue

Ocean Pacifica, The Red Millenium

It's about midnight but it seems the world is heading not to another day, but to a darker night.

Lady Ulna is rocking back and forth continuously, above the water surface of the vast ocean Pacifica while the sea sent ferocious waves and the sky burst into an incessant rainfall. This behooves the ship to triple hands toiling aboard. The floor of the main deck creaks as the waves landed a roaring splash on both side of the ship, prompting the frequent lurching they experience. The ship has been a century old justified by the slight fractures of the railings and crevices on the floor.  The ship squeaks by sudden changes of it's position. From time to time, it is met by mountains of waves taller than the ship, lifting the forward part of the ship to an angle that requires the passengers to hold on firmly to their position. As well, sudden strikes of lightning cringes everyone on board. Many a times boughs of electricity branched away from heaven then hit the water, at times even a hundred meters from where floating vessel was then, with people screaming, it was followed by an ear-blowing thunder sounding like an iron metal dragged along a rough road. The ship, being the closest thing to heaven, has three masts pointing toward the sky, provoking the anger of whoever oversees the fire of heaven.  

At the very end of the mainmast two-meter taller than the foremasts, a flag, an image of two facing arms with both hands spread out looking up, resembling a crown, wavers through the assaults of the wind.  The crews are all occupied with tasks to keep the ship from sinking or in balance. No one is spared from work when lives are involved. The wind is violent, making movement of the crews stiff and hard.

"Captain," A lanky man approached Vladimir with a look of anxiety. "We are windbound and not able to advance with the presence of wind going southwest." His face is dripping with water while he's essaying subtlety of alarm and nervousness in front of his superior. Lady Ulna is the most popular sailing ship in their whole village. Many a story of ventures and narrow escapes from the call of death were chronicled and others have been used to tell children at night. Being one of the crew is a great boost to the self-esteem of a man. For masculinity is measured by the number of death you cheated. Nevertheless, what is happening currently muddled him. Has he to worry for his life? Or need he not to for this might simply be a usual encounter especially by an experienced ship like Lady Ulna? Considering it's his first voyage, he might just be feeling normal as a neophyte.

"Had all sails been reduced?" Asked Vladimir, turning his head in every direction to check the current situation but his body steady in its stance. He has to play the role of a strong dependable authority. The crew knows the captain is preoccupied by something else. Asking if the sails were adjusted is too obvious to ask.

"Fully," the crew answered. "I-I'm telling you Captain, the wind seems to have mind of its own. After we rolled up all the sails, they began striking the side of the ship driving us south and not toward the dawn." Vladimir was silent, however not speechlessness, but of mere expression of supremacy. A captain can oblige an answer whenever a captain wants. The crew waited for the answer but with a quick gesture of the hand, Vladimir sent him away. He bowed his head then was about to turn when the captain spoke. 

        "Calm your self, lad. This not the last time you're going to worry 'bout your life if you tremble to a simple squall." Vladimir said in a raised tone to struggle with the noises drowning their communication. The way he spoke was seemingly phlegmatic, unconcerned even on the verge of death. He smirked as he watched him trudged against the rain that bit like ants when hitting the skin, the man's knees shivering both from cold and, he assumed, from fear. But soon after few seconds, he regretted to have named their situation a "simple squall". The weather was going more unusual than what he had first thought it was. The waves were gigantic. The lightning visited them more frequently. The wind was getting stronger. His fear was growing, his anxiety now branching out to different negative thoughts. He had to calm down to think of what's best to do.

 Vladimir, standing straight next to the foremast, makes short interval between his breathing. Water was filling up his air sacs. He stared at the bowsprit of the ship. In this circumstance, clarity of destination is a must. "Lady," Vladimir calls to the woman standing at the most end of the ship facing the east. "Are we almost there yet?" His clothes is scruffy like his unshaven face. Small curls of brown beards and moustache shrouded half of his face. He stared at her carefully, his brown eyes were asking. Since the voyage set off, he had been feeling strange about this unknown woman who talked to him at the spur of the moment at the pier and promised him the map of Deorc's nest. At first he wasn't able to believe her. It is known by the whole world that Deorc lives in the moon and whether or not you have the map, travelling your way towards the moon is beyond reality. However, the woman said something that made him buy the idea of it being possible. How could he refused? Sailing is searching for what a normal soul couldn't find. He walked toward her but the wind pushes him back. He became aware later that the woman is not experiencing the same. The wind is avoiding her! He thought. The air current, despite being unseen by the naked eye, hit even the thinnest object in the ship. The winds were all one and struck like a concrete thing but seemed to split at meeting the woman.  WHO is she? WHAT is she?

"Lady?" He called again.

The woman still didn't answer. She seemed mesmerized by the savage water below. Her loose untidy hair was hovering in harmony with the air current. "Lady?" He asked for what seemed a hundredth times already, fear registered in his voice unconsciously, as he betook himself closer to the woman. "I think it's best if we discontinue this voyage. We might not be able to make it through the night if we wouldn't steer clear of this part of Pacifica." He stopped few inches to her. "Should I signal my crew to go back? We might even meet the eye of the maelstrom."

"Vladimir," the woman answers back yet it sounds calling his attention rather than responding. She faced him, shivering of cold. In her arms, swathed in gray fabric, an infant is sound asleep. "We are on the eye."

Vladimir, at first befuddled, peeked overboard and he was dumbfounded. They are sailing in the trench of death. "Holy monstrosity," he breathed. Without taking his eye off to where the thing that left him petrified is, he ran toward the nearest crew. "Drop the anchor!" He has to cry out every word coming out of his throat. Clear communication is needed in this lot of situation. "Drop the anchor or we're dead!" He waved to everyone. A few seconds later, everyone is yelling the exact order of the man. It's not his first time to meet a maelstrom at sea, he's encountered nine maelstrom already and coming across the last five did not excite him as much as when he was still starting to sail. But a sudden appearance of a giant hole below them without moniton is serious. He couldn't hide his fear when he was running to every direction ordering his crew to drop the iron hook.

The ship inclines to the the left as the water below formed an appearance of a giant funnel, water whirls along the edge and a dark hole at the center guzzles everything that comes close to it. The wind is becoming wilder and more barbaric keeping them stuck and nowhere to run but to death. He never encountered a maelstrom in this part of Pacifica which makes it odd. Another reason why it worries him is the exact location of the whirlpool. The hole is right at the deepest ditch known in the floor of Pacifica. Falling through it is a certain death. Vladimir saw the woman at the very end of the ship, and she's calm. She heaved her arms towards the sea, with the baby supported by her two hands."What is she doing?" Vladimir muttered. Although limping, he strode towards her. "Lady!" He called out. "Go inside now. Your daughter is not safe there." She stepped on the railings which brought her near the very edge of the ship. He made it to her but by the time he grasped her shoulder, the woman dropped the baby to the raging sea below. "Lady, no!" He shouted at her but it's too late. Has she gone mad? Leaning on the wooden railings of the ship, he looked down to where the infant has fallen."What did you do? She's your daughter!" He asked, gasping for air.

"The d-devil beg-g-got her." The woman stuttered with deranged smile. "She's not meant to be here!" She said her words before losing her remaining sinews and collapsed to Vladimir's arms. He looked up. The starless sky is smothered by a blanket of thunderclouds while lightning set it on fire. No one is taking care of them tonight. The celestial bodies are blind.

"Oh, Constellations, beamed down on us."