Apostasy

The glimmer of light bounced across the surface of the water. Our beacon of hope so close yet so far away. Lost at sea? No, we knew exactly where we were. Not lost, abandoned. Waves clashed the sides of the ship threatening to spill aboard. Maybe that would be best, cleanse the ship, rid us of all the horror. 

In the beginning …

A symphony of creaks echo the mist filled night with every pair of boots worn by a hundred men climbing the wooden plank, myself included. Once we reach the bridge between land and vessel, we’re met with an old timer with a shaky outreached hand awaiting our passes; one at a time we hand him papers as he skims them quickly. We progress swiftly with little acknowledgment; this ritual is as old as time and known to every man here. Once boarded, two men direct positions, sleep arrangements, etc. I listen intently, not wanting my inexperience to be known. Worse than being new to this life is everyone knowing it. It isn’t until I sit heavily in my hammock, do I release a relieved breath. I successfully made it aboard the Gold Maiden.

A week in, and routines are ingrained. If I thought joining this life would be without challenge, I would be sadly mistaken. The work is grueling, the food detestable and the companionship lacking. The only saving grace is the blue sky above and calm waters below. Signing up for the voyage is not what my dreams are made of, but what choice did I have. The fear in her eyes sear me even now. Determination bleeds through me, pushing me further. 

Three months have now passed. Is it normal behavior for men to go mad after being at sea for months? I believe I’m close. The crew appear oblivious to the bleakness of it all. I can’t help but dwell on it. The constant swaying of the sea, sweat dripping in my eyes from the assault of the sun, the back breaking work. There are days I forget why I am here. Then it all comes crashing down at once, Emilia. Just her sweet name whispered awakens my senses. Memories flood my mind's eye and my perseverance is restored. 

Four months and five days. I awake to the dispel of manly grunts and groans throughout the sleeping quarters. Reluctantly, I sit up unprepared for the chaos that greets me. The roughest of men are brought to their knees , pure anguish paint their features. The potent smell of putrid vomit assails the air. I quickly cup my nose and mouth while my eyes bounce from one man to another, all violently ill. The door slams open and a man with a lantern held high enters. The man points his index finger to me, barking orders to follow him. I and one other bed fellow shadow the man as he navigates the bowels of Gold Maiden. Our journey halts in a storage room, where we are instructed to stay until further notice. 

The dank storage room is moderately sized, perfect for holding dry goods and barrels of rum. I makeshift a bed out of a lumpy bag of rice betwixt two casks. My roommate hasn’t mumbled a word, not that I expected him to. He’s an Arab who speaks no english. He too shuffles bags together, resigned we are here for a spell. In the quiet, my mind ponders on previous events. How did the men become so ill and why have the Arab and myself been spared? Is it contagious? Is it poison? Time will tell I suppose. Until then , we better find rest. 

A sliver of light pierces through the threshold of the half open door , illuminating the face of the man who had brought us to our prison. Three days , we’ve been cooped up in the storage room. Every day the man with the lantern has visited, giving us food and water, yet no news as to when we may leave. Hope blooms in my chest, could today be the day we are free? What does freedom look like? The internal struggle wars within me, tearing my soul to shreds. 

The man sets the lantern down and sits on a nearby sack. His eyes level with mine before ever so slightly shifting to the Arab. With a long winded sigh, he whispers a number . The number of men lost, dead , gone. My heart stutters in surprise. The number is nearly half our crew. Seeing I am about to speak, the man shakes his head, immediately shutting me up. Standing to his full height, he motions for us to follow him once more, and once more we blindly do. 

The upper deck is less crowded than before , my stomach sinks as to the reason why. How are we to carry on with nearly half of our crew gone? I look heavenwards as if it holds the answers I seek, nothing but a navy black sky with dotted stars do I find. Sails billow slightly against the cloudless night sky. We have mere hours before the sun breaks, best get started with the day. 

A month has passed since that dreaded night. Manning the ship with a skeleton crew is difficult yet not impossible. The men are beyond tired, myself included. I thought the work divided among a healthy number of men was taxing; it pales in comparison to now. The fear still lingers, men suspiciously glare at each other as if they may drop ill and take them all with them. Rumors of all variety have spread like wildfire, but nothing has been confirmed. The mostly likely, what I’m inclined to believe , is food poisoning. The poor unfortunate souls who ate the contaminated food died while the rest of us lucked out. Since then, the food has been sorted, some were found ill stored and even compromised by rats. But even these actions can’t fulfill the starving rumors of supernatural lore. Most sensible men believe as I do , the food being the culprit. Yet , we sensible men are outnumbered by superstitious riddled minds. A whisper of a curse echos the ship. Men of this nature believe wholeheartedly there is a curse and the poor unfortunate men who died were result of such. Some men have gone as far as meeting with shamans of the natives. I know who they are, those who sport vile tokens around their necks smelling of musty herbs. Grown men believing these baubles will ward off omens, sounds ridiculous to my own ears. The worst among them are those who chant songs while sitting among the unholiest of men inside pentagrams. 

Blasphemy, is the real curse. Witchcraft dabblers! 

I keep to myself more than ever before refusing to associate with immoral crew members, though I’m not alone, the Arab has befriended me. 

Today marks an official half year. If I were in a celebratory mood I may tip back a few drops of rum but alas I’m not. Emilia plagues my mind; visions of her face once fueled my ambitions, only now chill my blood. The man I was before no longer resides in my soul. What an idyllic fool! To dream such a plan and become a hero. To believe! Emilia saved by me. No, her parents were in their right to send her away , far away from me. Following her was impulsively daft. I have nothing to offer. I now have even less. The man she loved has been stripped and all that’s left is a shell of a man. No more dreams. No more anything. 

Sheets of rain pelt hard against the worn wooden deck. Just as last night and before last and every night for the last two weeks. The ominous weather has sunken the moral of our crew. Daily squabbles now instantaneously escalate to bloodthirsty brawls . In result, we have lost two men. One dead, the other shackled and detained below deck in a holding cell. He’ll face the gallows when we port.

I scan the dark skies who engulf me once more. If only they could make me disappear completely. The billowing sails battle winds that have picked up over the coarse of the day. A storm is upon us. I prayed harder than I ever have before this evening at divine service . I knelt , head bowed before god and silently begged for my life. The reader of scripture droned on, yet I hadn’t comprehended a drop. I was too consumed by the faint murmurs filling my ears. Men begging the same as I, I reckon. The few in attendance that is. Men have abandoned their god just as they believe he has abandoned them. 

The rumored curse still runs heavy in their veins and out their mouths. 

A crack of thunder strikes, sobering me from a deep sleep. I search for the Arab and see he’s sound asleep without a crinkle in his forehead. How I envy him! Worry escapes him even in sleep. I close my eyes and sigh heavily, just as another crack of thunder strikes. I begin to hum "Great is Thy Faithfulness" whilst squeezing my eyes shut and clamping my mouth closed. Thunder strikes again , again and again. My humming gradually rising in volume, but I’m no match for thunder. 

The Arab wakes as the last strike hits. His incoherent grumbles fill the small cabin. I pay him no mind, too occupied in my own misery. My unprovoked body sways, spilling me out of bed. I quickly right myself and search for my companion. He too is struggling to stay upright. The ship rocks violently back and forth. My stomach threatens to expel its contents. Grabbing vacant hammocks for support, I make way for the upper deck. Men are running in all directions, attempting to tame the ship in the wilderness of the lawless sea. A war we men never win. Storms such as these are vessel eaters. Swallowing you whole, never to be seen again. The rain continues its assault causing us momentary blindness. The Arab and I run to our duties, fighting a useless battle. 

A light brighter than lightning appears bouncing off the waves. Hope swells within me but it quickly dies when men begin throwing themselves overboard. Others climb rapidly up the main mast fighting amongst each other for vacancy. Mayhem ensues and I resign to the fact this is it. I will forever be entombed in an ocean grave. I will die here, with not one person who knows my name. We have abandoned our families and ourselves, in return the world has abandoned us.