The Navigator's Blessing

Fog drifted ominously along the tide, churning only slightly at each passing wave. A silver light cast strange shadows beneath the looming cliffs as the moon revealed itself between the wisping clouds. Both mist and shadow avoided the rocky coast, pushed aside by the violent crashing of the relentless waves.

Further out at sea, the fog dampened all sound. The distantly crashing waves were a low hum, but all else remained silent. Only the gentle creaking moan of wood betrayed the presence of the ship. With sails furled, it floated along the current. Its deck empty, it appeared as no more than a ghost, pushed along by the whim of the ocean.

Milo wrapped his arms around his thin frame in an attempt to stop his shivering. The cold bit easily through his clothes which were little more than rags at this point. He glanced nervously toward the snoring mound of blankets on the cabin’s sole bed. The thought had crossed his mind to sneak to the drawers and steal a clean shirt to use, but he feared the jangling of the chains binding him to the corner might wake the soundly sleeping occupant.

Just as his eyes began drooping shut, the door to the cabin slammed open. He jumped, pressing himself closer against the wall as fear, not cold, set his limbs to trembling.

The man who entered the room glared down at Milo with cold, calculating eyes. Captain Aram, though getting on in years, retained the youthful physique of a man half his age. Even the darkness could not conceal the power of the tall, greying pirate. Tattoos painted his sun-touched skin, the leathery flesh marred by scars alongside the ink.

Captain Aram turned his attention to the sleeping bundle on the bed. With a heavy boot, he kicked the mound so that it yowled into painful wakefulness.

“Is this how you keep an eye on the prisoner?” the captain snarled in a gravelly base tone.

The sailor, nursing his bruised ribs, quickly scrambled off the bed to stand before the much taller captain. “I only meant to close me eyes for a minute, Cap’n.”

The captain sneered at the man.

“You’re right,” the pirate cowered. “It won’t happen again.”

Milo shuddered as the captain turned to face him once again. He could feel his mouth going dry, his tongue cleaving to its roof.

Captain Aram motioned at Milo, and the other pirate quickly moved to unlock the thick chains.

“Now,” the captain growled, hoisting Milo to his feet with ease. “We’re going to see if you’re as useful as was promised.”

Having no alternative, Milo followed the captain out from below deck into the ghostly night. A quick glance around told him they had reached the Isle of Anguare. In the light of the moon, he could just make out the shadowed cliffs the ship sailed alongside. If they got too close, he knew it would mean their end.

The captain stared up at the cliffs with an unnatural air of calm. “The merchant told me you’ve been blessed by the gods.” He turned to Milo, his expression unreadable. “I don’t particularly believe in the gods, but I do believe they have something I want.”

Milo gulped back his terror.

“Tell me,” the captain continued, “is it true that you cannot be affected by curses?”

Quivering, Milo slowly nodded his head. He did not trust his voice.

“And you need no compass to find anything . . . or anywhere?”

Hesitating for only a second, Milo nodded again.

Captain Aram gestured toward the cliffs. “The Isle of Anguare is famous. Do you know why?”

With another anxious gulp, Milo nodded. He had heard many tales of the curses surrounding the Isle, and of its legendary treasure that no man could find.

“Treasure and curses,” the captain sneered. “Only small-minded fools limit themselves to such things.”

He grabbed Milo’s chin roughly, lifting his face so their eyes met.

Milo could not help but stare into those dark, dangerous eyes. He could see the flame of desire, a desire for something not of this world, and it terrified him all the more. The captain was mad, that much was certain.

“It is said that there is a door.”

Uselessly, Milo tried to flinch away from the captain’s nearing face.

“The treasure is fine. We’ll take that, too. But you are going to lead me to that door, and act as my guide in the Beyond.”

When the captain finally released his hold, Milo fell to the deck, his legs unable to carry his weight from sheer fright. He breathed short, shuddering breaths, and tears slid down his grimy cheeks.

The rest of the crew were beginning to emerge from the depths of the ship. They had sensed the will of their captain, it seemed, driving them to appear as they did. In Milo’s perspective, they moved much like soulless puppets with no will of their own. They lived for the sole purpose of serving their captain. It made him queasy to think of these seafaring murderers as little more than lifeless tools, and he hurried to hurl over the edge of the ship.

When he looked up, the fog cleared before him. In that moment of clarity, he saw the way they needed to go. The mists seemed to outline the route the ship needed to take before rushing back into place.

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder, and he was spun around to face the grimace of the first mate. He bore a resemblance to the captain, though his face had a fairer aesthetic, and his shoulders were broader. His voice rumbled in a nearly identical low growl, though it did not yet carry any of the gravelly undertones.

“The captain requires your presence,” the burly man said.

Milo nearly tripped on his own feet as the first mate shoved him forward. He knew the crew laughed at him, but he couldn’t hear them over the sound of his heart pounding against his eardrums.

“Alright, Guide. Time for you to fulfill your purpose,” Captain Aram grunted. “Which way?”

At first, Milo couldn’t speak. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Answer the captain,” the first mate snapped.

“Calm yourself, Philip,” the captain chided in a calm voice. “Can’t you see the poor bastard is trying to sort out his fear?”

Philip shrugged and leaned against the railing to wait.

“Th-there’s a cave,” Milo managed to squeak. He pointed at the mists. “Through there.”

Captain Aram motioned to the helm. “Take us there,” he commanded.

Opening and closings his fists a few times, Milo took up position in front of the helm. He’d never steered a vessel of this size before, but with the captain and first mate standing right behind him, he placed his hands between the wooden spokes of the large wheel.

“Are we sure he knows the way?” Philip asked.

“He knows,” the captain said with certainty.

Milo angled the boat in the direction of the route he alone could see. There were sharp, jagged rocks to either side, waiting for the chance to sink a passing ship, but he avoided these with ease. Unfortunately, he sensed the other danger, one he could not avoid.

“Um,” he quavered.

The captain watched him, waiting for him to continue with his question.

“There’s a . . . a monster,” Milo stuttered. “It guards the cave.”

“Part of the curse?”

Milo nodded.

The captain smiled. “You just concentrate of getting us to that cave. Leave the monster to us.”

As though summoned by the captain’s challenge, a large head jutted out from the waters on a long, serpentine neck. The creature let loose a roar of fury before clamping its toothy maw on the mast, snapping it in two.

Milo saw crew members rushing about, but then everything went dark as he squeezed his eyes shut. He let go of the helm to cover his ears in an attempt to blot out the noises as well. The sound of squealing, cannon fire, and gunshots pierced his pitiful defenses, and he screamed in fright.

The ship lurched, and he wrapped himself around something that felt sturdy. Unfortunately, he had chosen Philip’s leg instead of the post of the helm like he’d imagined.

“The captain gave you orders,” Philip snarled, yanking Milo free and tossing him effortlessly at the helm.

Eyes opening involuntarily, Milo saw the glint of metal at his throat.

“I’m going to help, but if I see you missing from your post at any point in time, we will have words. Understand?”

Staring at the sword, Milo nodded hurriedly. Then the blade withdrew, and the first mate left him alone. He would have sighed in relief if he weren’t terrified of the sea monster churning up the waters. He could barely keep himself upright with how much the boat pitched from side to side.

More out of desperation than obedience, he grabbed the helm tightly with both hands. He could still see the path despite the coils of the beast, and he chose to concentrate on that. The crew, he assumed, could handle themselves.

Doing his best to ignore the battle taking place around him, Milo aimed the nose of the ship along its course. Every movement of the monster trying to knock them into the rocks, but he somehow managed to keep them true. He knew it wasn’t his own skill saving them, but the blessing the infernal gods had cursed him with. In his mind, when he had a moment to think about more than self-preservation, he thought the foulest insults he knew at the gods.

“Look out!” one of the pirates shouted.

Drawn out of his concentration, Milo saw the sea monster descending toward him. The great eye of the beast locked on him as the massive head disappeared below the water, kicking up yet another wave. This one rushed over the side of the ship, knocking Milo off his feet.

He slid across the deck, driven along by the force of the wave. At the last moment, he managed to grab hold of a rope before he could be washed overboard.

The ship righted itself, and Milo flopped onto the safety of the deck. He coughed up seawater, and then hands were lifting him to his feet. With the water dripping from his hair, he couldn’t see who had hold of him. He simply found himself suddenly draped like a wet shirt over the helm once more.

Voices shouted, but the words were lost on him as he tried to gather his bearings. When the ship lurched again, he fell, tossed to the side like a little girl’s doll.

A fin slapped the deck next to where Milo lay. He tried to back away from it, but it slid toward him.

“Help!” he cried.

“The kid!” someone shouted. By the sound of the voice, it must have been Philip.

Milo saw the first mate rushing toward him just as the fin scooped him off the deck. He fell among the scaled coils of the sea monster and icy waves. The cold stole his breath, and he nearly choked on the salty water that rushed to fill his throat.

Above the waves, he saw the ship drifting toward the cave. The pirates would survive to live another day, if the curses within the cave didn’t kill them first. The same could not be said for Milo.

It was his fault. He had insulted the gods, and now they were going to drown him out of spite. He saw the sea monster, rising above him, and then the current dragged him beneath the waves.