Part I
The peak of each wave rolled off onto another forming arched shapes, like the sails of a thousand ships all tumbling over each other in unison. They appeared to be dancing with one another in the wind teetering the vessel from port to starboard. Reflections of the moon could barely be caught off the tip of each peak under the darkened sky. The motion lasted long enough for the stomachs of those on board to get as close enough to settling, but never quite getting there, leaving the most dizzying, disorienting sensation. It was not long before the excess weight in the stern hit the wake of something below. Just enough to begin to lean fore, changing the sway completely. The weight returned almost immediately to the back of the ship only to repeat itself creating an intolerable motion sickness even for the most seasoned of seafaring. Something this crew was definitely lacking.
This new crew was far from being able to adapt to the constant upkeep that came with the hand of the sea. A hand that would guide them to their next destination, but none were willing. The risks were known from the moment they left shore, as many before them had told tales of the high seas and grand adventure. Large audiences had gathered round those willing to share tales of giant sea creatures with no explanation as to why or reason to believe. No serious mariner would waste any time with something they had not seen firsthand, especially without reason.
All could have been blamed on the mass amounts of rum, constant wake, startled rumblings and lack of sleep. Each crew mate dealt in their own way but they all had one thing they shared, the uneasiness and inability to trust the hand. Putting one’s life in some great unknown force that controlled the current and guided ships, to what, their doom? No one had heard of this great power, this… this hand. For any new mate to take on believing in destiny, especially at this length was almost as unsettling as the sickness itself.
Nights grew colder and the motion never really let up, weeks passed. The stubborn crew would not trust what they could not see, they would not give in. The youngest of the hands, Jake, was more than willing to give fate a chance, or grab onto something that might save this not so jolly group of drunks. In the late evening he stepped fore on the bow looking out into the distance with an open armed posture and slightly unsure of himself. His left arm not meeting the right fully as he opened his arms to the great big sea. A little shaky at first but much of that could have been the wake itself. He cried out to the hand.
***
Silence fell on the open air that was once echoing and reverberating off the waves that had just been crashing violently against each other. The wake began to slow the moon became more visible than it had in weeks. A few mates staggered topside in awestruck amazement. They were relieved at first and then fear began to settle in as they realized what their young hand had done.
Shapes began to appear, it was a little different for each of them. Tales they were told from their upbringing, what was thought to once be fable or mystery was now appearing before their eyes.
Part II
The crew now lay beach side like a handful of spilled straws, sloppy and hungover. The ship was nowhere to be seen. The beach polluted with driftwood, aged and worn. A few began to gain conscience of day break and eventually their surroundings. Others lay in ruin, deep in slumber, unknown as to how many kept their lives. Counts and rough awakenings were made by those able to stand, at this point that was only a couple and it would not even take all of one hand to realize. Wounds would need tending, food gathered, and an account of the previous night noted for the books, the captain’s log. Some were too weak to carry on, just yet, their mates would have to do what they could for each other with the tide coming in.
Not all hands were on deck, topside for the events, a few on hand had been down below and they would soon be realizing this. On approach their eyes bore markings, a fresh crispy finish making it very apparent as to whom took part in the storm. Something seen last night could not be unseen, but could it be undone?
Sounds of a violent night echoed through the memory of many, but they were surrounded by darkness. The captain could not remember the images from the previous night, yesterday he thought, unsure as to how many days had passed. Everything was pitch black before him a barren darkness, unable to even see his hand in front of him. This darken fate had also been true for the most of the crew, all but a couple of new comers and the boy Jake.
“Good Morning, Captain!”, Jake exclaimed.
“Mornin’?”, the captain rubbed his eyes, “Darkness…how, how is your vision boy?”
“Can see as clear as the day I was born cap’n!”, replied Jake. His voice full of youth with an outlook energized and ready to take on the world single handed.
The captain’s finger was now back and forth over a series of bumps found in two places, directly over the ball of his pupils and along the slit of his eyelids. “That is a nasty bit of muck, capt’n”.
“Muck!! What the hell..”, the crew had not seen the captain get too irritated or really lose his temper, today would not be that day either.
“Captain, no rubbing unless you want to tear a hole dead through to the other side!”, Jake tried to preserve the crew’s sanity as they were all starting to follow his blind lead. “Who is to say once you rip them open you will be able to see properly again?”
All of the boy’s current thought process on how to help them was interrupted. “How is it you get to see?”, “Where is he?”, “I’ll fix him!”, chants and anger stirred through the crew as now they were tumbling over each other in disoriented state, only this time they were sober. How could they now be called a crew with no ship? They were shipwrecked, disorderly, and too thickheaded to think the young guy could do anything to help them.
“STOOOP!!”, silence eventually fell over the crowd, after the grunting died out. He began calling the few he knew by name shuffling them around each other, and describing the others by what they were wearing. When that didn’t work so well he took them by each shoulder and moved them into position, with some resistance. Looking to make something of the symbols on their faces, having seen similar markings around parts of the wreckage that kept washing in. It wasn’t a language he was familiar with, but thought there might be some merit in trying to figure out the order. Was it by rank? By strength? Could there have been something to the order in which they all began to see something? Or was this just as random as the couple that never made it topside, never voiced an opinion on the hand?
The hand couldn’t have been real, could it? Just a myth of stray mariners losing their way, the sort of thing a ghost stories and campfire tales are made from… A number of their memories were returning. The loss of one sense began to heighten another over the coming weeks. Many of them would sit out on the shore at night listening to the waves crashing, the current changing direction and even further to noises they would not have heard. Crews could be heard over the farthest stretches just starting to make their way in. Sounds of singing, dancing, and… it all stopped. The wake, the wind, it was happening again and they could hear every bit of it and nothing at the same time.
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