Octavia's Curse

The ship's metal hull ached and groaned as it inched its way along the icy waters. The frozen pack angrily split against the bow, voicing its trepidation through the stillness of the air around them.

Night had fallen as densely as the fog which surrounded the ship, and the beam from the lantern's light began to flutter unsteadily.

The captain, along with his crew, remained silent as though making a single noise would surely bring about their untimely demise. But they continued to follow the light that struggled to pierce the blackened veil. The light crept slowly along the ice as parts of it cracked and drifted out into the deep, trailing farther and farther into oblivion.

To travel in such conditions at night was too great a risk, but to be stuck within the pack meant a risk far greater than the captain was willing to bear. Though the more they carried on, the more he had come to regret his decision.

His grip tightened around the frozen rail, and his brow furrowed deeper against the biting chill that clawed at his cheeks. His thick brown beard had turned white from the ice which had become caked within his hair, and the large winter coat he wore did little to stave off the searing chill which rang throughout his spine.

The ice continued to pop, announcing their presence for miles around, and the captain could feel the hairs rise at the nape of his neck. The hum from the engines down below grew more strained as the ice began to thicken. And soon there was no more water to be seen.

"Cap'n, the ice is too thick here. We'll have to skirt further down to the east, 'yonder." A man approached his side with an equal look of apprehension in his eyes.

"Aye," he calmly replied. "Have 'em turn us about and-"

"Over there! Look!" A sailor shouted as he pointed out over the starboard side. All eyes suddenly shifted in the direction his hand was pointing, and the lantern's light stopped upon a single mass which sat in the distance.

The captain narrowed his eyes to focus his sight but struggled to make out what it was, if it was truly anything at all. But soon he could hear his men begin to murmur amongst each other, wondering just the same what it might be so far out as they were on the pack.

Of course, the obvious thought was that it must be a seal, but no... too much fur. And then perhaps a polar bear, but its color was much too dark for that. The figure, whatever it was, remained still and unwavering as the ship drew near. Until finally, there was movement, if ever so faint.

He could see the object's head lift into view, and his mouth dropped at the realization of what he saw.

Curled up on the ice sat a person whose delicate features became worn beneath the arctic air. A lone Inuit woman remained silent as her arms still clung to her legs which had been drawn toward her chest.

A thick coat made of animal skins buried her petite frame beneath its lining and several loose strands of her thick black hair brushed against her reddened cheeks.

Ice had formed heavily over her lashes, and her face was gaunt. Though her eyes remained fixed upon the ship as she seemingly wondered if they were merely a hallucination.

Far be it if the captain hadn't wondered the same. But as he ordered the engines to a stop, his men began to scurry, quickly gathering a party to rescue the lone stranger upon the ice.

Moments later, a small party had gone out to meet the woman, but she remained seated, still unmoved by their encroaching presence. As they arrived at her side, she looked to the one nearest her and mustered what strength she could to finally speak. As the man cautiously greeted her with an outstretched hand, a faint groan escaped her lips, and he could barely make out the word she spoke.

"Danger..."