The Mariner

But damn, it was dark. The Mariner stared at the sky, trying to get some glimpse of the moon poking through. Not a hint. It was as if they were within a cave, deep underground, rather than out at sea.

McConnell shrugged, dismissing the concern. “If you say so, you’re the sailor.”

“And you’re not? Spent your whole life on Sighisoara?”

“Oh no, I drove there. It was just after the Shattering, when it was still possible to do such a thing.”

“You remember the Shattering?”

McConnell shook his head. “No. Just the drive. A long drive across Europe. I was trying to get as far as I could from home, only after a point I could no longer tell which direction home was, or even if it still existed. To be honest, I don’t even know what I was running from. Sighisoara wasn’t an island when I arrived, and then — one day — it was.”

The reverend smiled grimly. “But that was long ago. The point I was trying to make was that I’m not a sailor, I’ve never spent time at sea, so I wouldn’t know how to read the signs like you do. Though when the sun went down I didn’t see a hint of cloud in the sky, and I don’t see how you could tell if there was one now.”

“Pardon?” Something’s wrong. Suddenly the Mariner’s breath became shallow, the hairs on his neck bristling.

“I mean,” McConnell continued, unaware of the Mariner’s alarm. “Who can tell what’s in the night sky? A dragon could hover right above and we’d never know.”

The Mariner paused and looked into the abyss above. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of light in any direction.

“But there’s usually some light…”

“From where?”

“The sky.”

McConnell grinned and shook his head. “My friend, you’ve either been at the bottle or touched by God, I’m not sure which. The night is the night, there is no light.”

The Mariner wanted to grab McConnell by the shoulders and shake him, force him to remember, but he knew better than that. If McConnell had forgotten about the stars and the moon, then for all their sakes he should avoid the subject. He remembered the change that had occurred in the philosophy teacher. He remembered the change in Absinth.

Absinth. He hissed the name through his teeth, remembering the dream from which he’d awoken.

“Something about the Oracle…”

McConnell didn’t respond and the silence was pleasing. The Mariner sought no conversation, instead he focused his attention on the surrounding blackness. The suffocating dark felt like a huge wall about to bear down. Oppressive and bleak.

McConnell had forgotten the existence of stars and who could blame him? There wasn’t a single star to be seen.

25. FRESH SHORES

JUST AS THE MARINER HAD predicted, the morning brought a breeze that slowly pushed the Neptune into motion. Contrary to his foretelling however, there was no rain. The Mariner watched the sky throughout the early hours until the rising sun changed the pigment from murky black to brilliant blue. His fears had been confirmed, there were no clouds. Had they cleared before dawn? The alternative seemed too daunting to contemplate.

“What are you looking for?” Grace asked as she’d awoke, rubbing her face to cast off the night’s grime.

“Nothing,” the Mariner lied. To mention the stars was a risk he wasn’t prepared to take, not with McConnell, and certainly not with Grace. “With the wind returning we should arrive soon.”

This seemed to bring a great deal of cheer to the girl, though the Mariner couldn’t understand why. The only place in the world he had a desire to be was aboard this ship, and even then it was out of necessity rather than affection. What must it be like to feel a connection to a place or time? Was the island he sought such a place? Would it be his home?

Like the previous two mornings, the devils busily gathered around Grace for their early feed. The Mariner had watched in disgust as Grace shelled out portions of her travel provisions to each of the beasts with equal measure.

“It won’t be long until the wind picks up, then they can find themselves food at the zoo!” the Mariner chided, but Grace had turned her nose up in protest.

“They are members of the crew, just like us. Aren’t you Basil?”

The devil, tongue and teeth dripping with drool, wasn’t interested in the notion of equality, merely the piece of dried meat in her hands.

“Bllleeeeeuuuugggghghhhhh!”

“That’s right, you are,” she’d said, patting the beast and allowing it to eat from her palm.

The Mariner had watched both feeds, amazed that every time she allowed their chops near her fingers she never lost a single digit.

This morning was different, there was no more food to go around and the devils were beginning to gather expectantly.

“She has them well trained doesn’t she?”

McConnell appeared beside the Mariner, doing up his trousers from using the latrine. Both men watched the girl and beasts from the safety of the far side of the deck, having learnt from harsh experience that the devils liked to have priority when it came to breakfast.