.7
Crystalite Prism
The days passed slower with the lack of conflict. A fight here and there over someones hurt feelings on some percieved slight. The flies finally laid eggs, so there was maggoty bread to be had. They used saliva on hardened bread and wrung out the juices to make a rye ale. It had little effect on the older men, but the younger men got a bit giggly afterwards. Atryn was the undisputed captain, but he spoke little and said much as he stood up on the deck and watched the churn of the sea. A month on the wave and the younger men began to show signs of sea madness. Some began to talk to themselves, sobbing uncontrollably and screaming at nothing and no one for no reason. One stood against the gunwale and slammed his head against it. The older men had to restrain him. The boy who had gone over board was the calmest of them now. For he had dealt with his crisis and had been saved. He watched the others sympathetically and tried to calm who he could.
One particularly rowdy day, when all the mad boys seemed to be in a loony mood all at once, screaming and fighting and crying and yelling, Atryn commanded all of them to lay face down on the iron deck and sleep. Most ignored and the older men forcibly put them to the ground. Some of the noise continued, but it seemed to work for a while. It forced them to focus and take hold of their mind, rather than running about the ship aimless and free.
Hard bread turned soggy in the rain. And they refilled their waterskins and finally bathed. Atryn lay on the deck and caught the water in his mouth. He tried to watch a drop fall from the cloud and catch in his eye. That was the calm storm. When the weather raged they huddled under the overhanging deck and held on to each other for safety, locking arms as the ship tilted on edge. The sea battered them, and the young men cried and wailed, cowering beneath the arms of the older men. "Hold on to me lad. I'll not let you go over." Some storms scream for days. They used the heavy armor to keep themselves weighed to the deck. They chained themselves to cleats for added security. Though Atryn knew the real danger. If the ship was turned they'd all be lost. Some ships would never make landfall. Were never heard of again. This was his fear in the storm. It was rare in deed for someone to go overboard, the gunwale was far too tall. Sea and skies churned together, pounding and slapping at each other, with the Iron Horde caught between, the men held fast, all protecting the next, until the storm past. And they always do.
They began to spot seagulls, and they plotted to capture them. They used everything they had, chains and swords and nets and spears and arrows. When they finally caught one they descended on it like ravenous raccoon, pawing and biting and ripping it feather from beak, until all was left was a puddle of blood and a few tiny feathers. That too was soon mopped up like soup from the bottom of a bowl. They were famished so, they hadn't even the sense to cook the damned bird, and make a real meal of it. They scratched and fought each other, for a handful of flesh. Atryn turned away during the massacre. For he knew that seagulls meant one thing. Land. He stood up on the upper deck and peered into the clouds on the horizon, the sun gray behind him, obscured and cast over by the stormed sky. He squinted and searched, perhaps one of the other ships would be near as well, for he had lost sight of them in the first storm.
About to give up and try his hand at catching his own bird, he began to turn, and something caught his eye. A rainbow. Not in the sky, but straight ahead. And not really a bow, but a diamond. The more he looked the more it revealed itself. Like a prism, and stretched out and took hold of his sight. All light and object fell from his eyes, all he saw was the colorful specter, dancing on the horizon. He raised his hand to touch it, for it appeared as if it had boarded the ship and surrounded him. He wanted to run through the hall of the rainbow, and eat it, and let its illuminated shimmer envelope his body. He saw his eyes bulge and turn rainbow colored wheels of spinning bulbs. His hair painted purple and green, as he chewed on the walls of the crystalite prism. And he let forth a scream of joyous passion as he became one with the rainbow. And at the end of the hall he saw her face, wrapped in the gray shawl. She spoke to him, her face floating in the void. "Step Foot upon the land, and protect it. Shine your lantern in the night fallen jungle. Find your home, and they will find theirs."
He awoke surrounded by the men. Night slid on a starless sky, and their faces were lit by campfire. They gawked like pumpkins against a black Hallow's Eve. He smelled the charred birds and they handed him a leg. He devoured it quickly and stuck out his hand for another. "You alright?" One of the men asked. "We thought we lost you to the madness."
"We make land tomorrow." He spoke into the fire, his face covered in grease and meat and soot. He gnawed on a wing and nibbled the bone.
One particularly rowdy day, when all the mad boys seemed to be in a loony mood all at once, screaming and fighting and crying and yelling, Atryn commanded all of them to lay face down on the iron deck and sleep. Most ignored and the older men forcibly put them to the ground. Some of the noise continued, but it seemed to work for a while. It forced them to focus and take hold of their mind, rather than running about the ship aimless and free.
Hard bread turned soggy in the rain. And they refilled their waterskins and finally bathed. Atryn lay on the deck and caught the water in his mouth. He tried to watch a drop fall from the cloud and catch in his eye. That was the calm storm. When the weather raged they huddled under the overhanging deck and held on to each other for safety, locking arms as the ship tilted on edge. The sea battered them, and the young men cried and wailed, cowering beneath the arms of the older men. "Hold on to me lad. I'll not let you go over." Some storms scream for days. They used the heavy armor to keep themselves weighed to the deck. They chained themselves to cleats for added security. Though Atryn knew the real danger. If the ship was turned they'd all be lost. Some ships would never make landfall. Were never heard of again. This was his fear in the storm. It was rare in deed for someone to go overboard, the gunwale was far too tall. Sea and skies churned together, pounding and slapping at each other, with the Iron Horde caught between, the men held fast, all protecting the next, until the storm past. And they always do.
They began to spot seagulls, and they plotted to capture them. They used everything they had, chains and swords and nets and spears and arrows. When they finally caught one they descended on it like ravenous raccoon, pawing and biting and ripping it feather from beak, until all was left was a puddle of blood and a few tiny feathers. That too was soon mopped up like soup from the bottom of a bowl. They were famished so, they hadn't even the sense to cook the damned bird, and make a real meal of it. They scratched and fought each other, for a handful of flesh. Atryn turned away during the massacre. For he knew that seagulls meant one thing. Land. He stood up on the upper deck and peered into the clouds on the horizon, the sun gray behind him, obscured and cast over by the stormed sky. He squinted and searched, perhaps one of the other ships would be near as well, for he had lost sight of them in the first storm.
About to give up and try his hand at catching his own bird, he began to turn, and something caught his eye. A rainbow. Not in the sky, but straight ahead. And not really a bow, but a diamond. The more he looked the more it revealed itself. Like a prism, and stretched out and took hold of his sight. All light and object fell from his eyes, all he saw was the colorful specter, dancing on the horizon. He raised his hand to touch it, for it appeared as if it had boarded the ship and surrounded him. He wanted to run through the hall of the rainbow, and eat it, and let its illuminated shimmer envelope his body. He saw his eyes bulge and turn rainbow colored wheels of spinning bulbs. His hair painted purple and green, as he chewed on the walls of the crystalite prism. And he let forth a scream of joyous passion as he became one with the rainbow. And at the end of the hall he saw her face, wrapped in the gray shawl. She spoke to him, her face floating in the void. "Step Foot upon the land, and protect it. Shine your lantern in the night fallen jungle. Find your home, and they will find theirs."
He awoke surrounded by the men. Night slid on a starless sky, and their faces were lit by campfire. They gawked like pumpkins against a black Hallow's Eve. He smelled the charred birds and they handed him a leg. He devoured it quickly and stuck out his hand for another. "You alright?" One of the men asked. "We thought we lost you to the madness."
"We make land tomorrow." He spoke into the fire, his face covered in grease and meat and soot. He gnawed on a wing and nibbled the bone.
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