The Lost Journals #2

Emslam’s Temper is worse than ever. She slams against the Star with a fury I’ve not seen in all my years on the sea.

A page from the recovered journal of Captain Otto Van Ellison following the sinking of "The Guardian Star of Shuwell" in 1250. Storms had rampaged the waters, and even the most seasoned sailors dared not to venture out far in fear of meeting their watery grave. Below is what current historians believe occurred on the ship’s tragic final voyage.

tw: death

~~~

The smell of salt water wafted into the air as The Guardian Star of Shuwell glided through the waters of the Brisbo Bay like a knife. Smooth and easy and without a hiccup in the voyage. The The Guardian Star of Shuwell was three days into his five-day voyage to Onfast, crossing the expansive bay to the waiting harbor. The trip itself was routine — one that was completed once a month, at the end of each month, like clockwork. Onfast laid on a peninsula was a home to a desert that many could not cross at its northern end, and so the easiest, and safest way, to reach the city was by ship. Only fools crossed the desert to the city and those fools usually had a death wish upon them. The desert was dangerous, not only from the blistering sun that never ceased to end but the creatures that lurked underneath the sand.

Or, that's what was said anyway. 

There had been changes as of late; like seeds buried deep in the soil, roots spreading under ground but took its time before sprouting above the surface. Wildlife and cattle alike acting strangely, shadows seemingly darker and much more sinister — as if someone, or something, was watching from within. Captain Otto Van Ellison heard such stories from passing crew members, or dock hands at the various ports along the coast of the country, but not seen it himself. He had not properly touched the hard earth in months after his ship set off on a cool spring morning. Despite not experiences the stories from the shore, Otto had begun to notice that the sea itself had been eerily calm despite the storms that normally battered merchant vessels in the hot summers. He had prepared the ship for another season of brutal storms, but it was now the middle of summer and he had yet to see an ounce of rain let alone thunderstorms. Lack of proper storms was not unheard of — especially if a drought was occurring. Otto would need to stock up on fresh water once they reach port to make sure dehydration did not occur. But there was one other thing that had been bothering Otto since they departed for this journey along side the calm sea…

The water was far too blue. 

Bosciynia's coasts were warm in the south, and the vegetation matched that of its climate, but it was by no means a tropical country. The waters in the sea were far more blue than that of the countries located south of Bosciynia, and that did not bode well for Otto. He had heard the whispers that the world was changing — and it was not for the better. Whatever that change may be was not on his ship at that moment. It would be a problem for when he finally stayed upon the shore during the colder months of the year. 

Otto made his way up the short set of stairs to the stern of his ship. Aside from the crows nest, it was the highest point on the ship and the second best vantage point though he would not be looking out ahead of him. Over the years, he had learned — albeit the hard way — that the worst attacks tended to come from behind. Not that the seas were violent, pirating had become less of a problem over the last few decades that now it was all commerce, but sometimes a violent storm can sweep in without warning if the wind changes direction. 

Behind the ship the skies were as blue and clear as the skies from the bow. Small ripples of waves broke the still waters as the ship cut through. 

And yet, something still gnawed at him. He knew all too well never to trust a clear day. That normally meant that the worst was going to follow that evening. 

"Something wrong, Captain?" 

Otto turned to see his First Mate, Yessen, standing at the top of the stairs with a raised brow. Yessen had been part of his crew for nearly a decade; soaring through the ranks after starting out as a deckhand. They had proven themselves to be trustworthy and reliable, and when his former First Mate was luck enough to retire, Otto knew just who he wanted to pick. Not without the disapproving grumbles and snide remarks from other members of his crew, but that was long past them at this point. What stood out most with Yessen than any other member was their keen eye. They noticed when a knot was out of place, or that the angle of the masts was off just enough, or even when altercations between other crew were about to begin. They just knew what to look for. 

And they were doing the same now. 

They knew when Otto was troubled down to the shift in breath. His long stares out towards the stern of the ship meant he was pondering something, and Yessen knew when to ask. 

"Want me prep the ship for a storm?" They followed with another question. 

Otto gave them a small smile. "Yes. The seas have been far too quiet and I know that something is brewing just beyond the horizon. Better safe than sorry."

"Aye," Yessen nodded before turning on their heel and making their way to the crew that walked the deck. Otto watched as one by one their gazes turned to him, confusion across their faces. They didn't understand what Otto felt in his bones, a feeling that was right more times than it was wrong, and that was fine. The crew on the deck at that moment were younger — younger than Yessen even — so they did not know any better. They did what they were told to without question, securing the few canons they had bolted to the deck while preparing the ropes that controlled the sails for a quick haul up and then an easier release. 

The sun was half sunken into the water by the time that the ship had been prepped for the storm that had yet to rear its face. Shimmering in the dying light was the sea that nearly turned into molten gold. The crew sat on the deck for their meal with laughter echoing down into the belly of the ship. Otto, on the other hand, stayed within the confines of his cabin with his uneaten dinner getting cold on his desk. He could not bring himself to eat; anxiety gripping him so tightly that the thought of food made him ill. Yessen had taken over for him after he told them he was retiring for the evening. His mind could not stop thinking about the storm. It was unlike him to stress over such a thing when there had been no proof that such a storm was on the horizon. Sailor superstitions and all. 

But something about the sea, and the way that it was behaving, felt off to him. 

If the lands were changing, then maybe the sea was, too. 

And his fears from over the course of the day were proven correct. 

The rain started shortly after the lights went out for the evening as the sky changed from orange, to blue, to purple. Stars twinkled in the night, brighter than Otto had ever seen. The crew would not know at that moment that it would be the last sky that they would ever see. The clouds formed quickly and the rain came down heavy — permeating through the wood and to the lower decks. Otto tried to keep his heart from pounding out of his chest, and his body from shaking, as the wind picked up. His long hair and beard were plastered to his face, and every few moments he would have to wipe the strands from his eyes. Only for the heavy rain to push it back into his vision. This was not the first storm he ever had to weather, but this one felt different it might as well have been. 

Gale-force winds followed shortly after; pulling at the masts and threatening to untie the knots that had been expertly tied hours before. Then, came the waves. They crashed against the sides of the ship, reaching high and onto the deck almost as if they were clawing at it. Hoping to grip onto something and pull it down with them. 

The storm felt alive. 

It fought against Otto at every turn. He was able to keep the ship straight and moving, but that was all that he could do. Attempting to turn to have them run with the wind was met with a near-shift in the wind's direction. The storm did not want them far from its grasps and was doing everything to keep them there. 

"If the sails catch the wind just, then the masts will surely break and we'll be stranded!" Yessen shouted over the howls. The cap that they had been wearing was lost to the sea hours earlier.

"We'll be stranded if we raise them!" Otto shouted back. His ears hurt from the cold rain beating against them, and how they had begun to fill with the frigid water despite how often he shook his head. They were in a situation where they would not win no matter their choices. This storm followed them, encompassing their ship and miles outward. But they needed to something. "Keep the middle at half, but raise the others!" Otto yelled finally. "The ship needs to keep moving. We're maybe a few hours out from seeing the lighthouse of the coast!"

Yessen moved immediately, their voice sounding barely a whisper over the storm as they gave orders to the crew. They scattered to their posts, fighting the rain-slicked rope and winds and the waves that reached over the edges. Each slam left the water encroaching more and more onto the deck. The wheel in Otto's hands fought him at every turn; refusing to budge a mere inch. Every which way it fought him, and if he tried too hard one way or another he feared it would snap off. He watched as the next wave crashed onto the boat, extending over the deck as if it were an arm resting on the dock. 

The ship tilted sideways just enough, and crew began to spill out to sea. 

Otto could do nothing but watch. One hand off of the wheel would mean the rest of the shit would follow suit. Those unfortunately closest to the edge were the first, most not even realizing what was happening until they disappearing in the dark shadows cast over the black sea. And those attempting to help followed soon after for the waves rose once again and grabbed them. Only the crew, selfish in their decisions to hold on tight to the ropes manning the sails and the ladders scaling upwards, were saved from the fall — Yessen included. 

When the waves released the ship instantly, its fingers slid back into the ink black waters of the sea. The ship continued to rock from side to side as smaller waves continued to thrash against the sides until they ceased. Shortly after, the rain subsided and the howling wind died. 

Then, the heavy silence of a dark night at sea fell over them as if the storm that took a portion of The Guardian Star of Shuwell's crew from its very decks mere moments before. 

Those who remained stood in silence upon the deck; faces cloaked in the black night, only for their grief and shock stricken faces to be illuminated by the cool light of the moon as it began to peak from the dissipating overcast of clouds. Each of their expressions was a stab into Otto's chest. They looked towards him now for guidance more than ever. They were not going to make the first move; an order needed to be made. 

"Help the injured down below deck and make sure there as been no lasting damage." Each word Otto spoke was harder than the last. His throat wanted to close up, but he could not let his words break or falter. Yet his voice sounded so small and weak and not his own. "Yessen, we will get the sails down half way and then watch shifts will begin." 

Wordlessly, the crew made their way below deck. Some were carried, legs bent in ways that were not noticeable before while others had their arms all but ripped off from being yanked and pulled. He lost a portion of his crew to the sea, and another were bedridden with injuries. Reaching the coast was their main priority. 

Yessen and Otto silently prepared the sails. The wind was enough to catch and carry them, having shifted after the storm, pushing them forward towards their goal faster. A good sign, even if it were to be their only one. At the Yessen's behest, which many would have deemed a threat, Otto retired to his own cabin to rest though both knew that would not occur. Otto could not sleep, not when the deaths of his crew laid heavy on his mind. In all his years sailing the seas Otto Van Ellison had only lost two crew members on a voyage — never a raging storm, but from the illness that tended to come from sea travel — and were given the proper burial at sea that they wanted. He could already feel the heartbreak the families of the crew when the letters were received. 

That was what he spent his hours instead of sleeping. His penmanship was barely legible on a good day, but when it mattered he could write like that of a scholar  — in his own mind at least. He spoke fondly about each of them, highlighting each of their achievements and how they helped care for the ship that they had called home. Periodically he would turn away from the parchment for fear that his tears would stain and streak the still-wet ink. Though, he supposed, that was a good sign for the families to know that he cared. He always did. 

Otto reached for his journal next, this time not caring how his scribbles looked. He documented everything of the day just like the days before. Down to the way that he ached from grief and how sleep would not visit him that night. 

What took up another portion of his already limited amount of journal pages was the storm itself and how it seemed to be alive. He missed no detail. It needed to be documented. When he was on shore longer than just a few days he would have to bring it to one of the universities in the capital for their opinion. Perhaps the land folk were right about the changes overall.

At some point, after the tears were shed and the ink of the letters and journal pages had dried, Otto dozed off at his desk. He had not intended to do that, wanting to relieve Yessen after an hour of rest, but his body fought against him. There were no dreams in this sleep, only the inky blackness like the sea that took his crew — a cruel joke on his own mind. 

It was in this sleep that Otto would lose his life. 

A second storm would hit much harder than the first, appearing out of thin air just as the one during dinner had. He would not see the claws made of out of the black water reach and firmly grab the ship as it had once tired to just hours before, nor would he see how Yessen fought hard against the howling winds that tossed around the broken boards the deck until one struck him at such a high speed that his death was the most merciful of all that would occur that night. Otto would not see how easily the waves tore through the layers of the ship throwing him and the remaining members of his crew and their cargo into the sea. He would be dead before his body hit the water, crushed underneath the compressing boards of the deck. A brief moment of pain that he thought was in his dream before the sea took him below the surface just as he planned for his own death. 

It would be years before the wreckage of the The Guardian Star of Shuwell was discovered by an unsuspecting fishing vessel the important cargo that had navys from the neighboring countries searching for it. The storm had made the ship's wreckage and cargo their prize, keeping it far below the surface in its clutches until it could not hold it anymore. One by own pieces of the wreckage would float to the surface. 

A broken mast here. 

A water-logged crate there. 

The tattered remains of a nearly forgotten ship captain's jacket and the journal he wrote in miraculously found its way inside. It would be another decade after discovery until his journal would be published for the world to see and the sad realization that The Guardian Star of Shuwell was a mere forty miles away from shore before the wreck.

It was known a storm caught them, but its magnitude would forever be unknown, and there would never be another storm like it. By the time that the wreckage was discovered, and its contents were hauled up from sea itself, the strangeness that had taken over both land and sea would become the new normal. No one would begin to question a strange, sudden storm anymore because it would not happen. Strange would become the new normal. Brisbo Bay would become known as the strange sea, the sea of nightmares, and the sea where ships went to die. 

Despite the tragedy that came upon the crew, it would not be known until years later that the wreckage would keep the world safe for just a bit longer. It kept the beginning of the end away from the hands that would be eagerly and effortlessly searching for that missing cargo. 

But all things hidden are eventually found.

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The Lost Journals #1