Eclipse on Deck

***(Please note, I am no expert sailor, and most of the sailing terms used below are due to research. My apologies if anything is incorrectly used or worded, and forgive my ignorance if there is something wrong)

There was peace.

Amirah heaved in a deep breath, savoring the cold, salty ocean air. The prow of the ship dipped and fell in an irregular pattern as the rollers pushed their way under the hull of the Black Cormorant. The sheets and shrouds creaked slowly in the chilly, nighttime air. The wind was blowing from the south-southwest, keeping the Black Cormorant sailing more or less north.

“Anything out there, Adrian?” she called softly. Most of the crew was asleep, but Adrian was on watch in the prow of the small longship. She saw a slight movement up ahead of the mast as Adrian shifted in his position. A moment later his voice carried back to her, “All clear. Still heading north?”

“So far as I can tell,” Amirah replied. “Northstar is still dead ahead of us.”

Adrian crossed the deck to the stern where Amirah stood with one hand on the tiller, guiding the Black Cormorant through the dark waters.

“With this heading, how long till we reach Isenduun?” he queried.

“If the wind keeps up at our backs like this we'll reach there within the next two days. If the wind quits completely we'll be rowing, unfortunately. We might not make it in time for the eclipse if we have to row there.”

“What about if the wind was against us?”

“We'd have to tack—which would almost double the distance and take much longer.”

“The eclipse is in nearly a week. Will we get there in time?” Adrian was more a fighter than a sailor, but he was still a good member of the crew nonetheless.

“We should, unless we hit any major storms.”

“That's good.” Adrian glanced up at the millions of shining stars above them. The moon had started its descent long ago, and was almost out of view. “I'm going to wake Tulfrin for the next watch and get some shuteye.” He yawned deeply, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Sounds nice,” Amirah agreed as Adrian left the stern, heading towards the rowing benches. The Black Cormorant was far from a large ship, and it held no hold, so the crew slept between the rowing benches on blankets and furs.

“Hopefully Eric wakes up soon,” Amirah muttered to herself. I should have asked Adrian to wake him up, she thought ruefully. I can't—or shouldn't—leave the tiller just to rouse him for a turn. She sighed, and then the sigh turned into a yawn. She had been at the tiller for nearly three hours, often making small adjustments to their sailing course.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Amirah heard a scuffling noise ahead of her, and a moment later a tall figure emerged from the shadows. It was Eric, the skipper, or captain, of the Black Cormorant.

“I'll take a turn on the tiller for now,” he said. “Thank you, Amirah.”

“Yes, skipper,” Amirah said teasingly. The crew of the Black Cormorant, and its skipper, were close companions. Terms of respect such as skipper were only used lightly.

“Get some rest,” Eric said. Even in the dark night Amirah saw him grinning. “Have we stayed on course?”

“Pretty much,” replied Amirah. “Of course, the wind isn't blowing from true south, so I have to give the rudder tweaks pretty often.”

“I'll make note of it,” the skipper said, glancing at the telltale. “Now, get some sleep.”

Amirah nodded and left the stern deck. She found her own sleeping space in the forward of the ship, near the bow. She rolled up in her bedroll and, before long, her breathing evened and she fell asleep.

The next day, the wind, being an unpredictable nemesis—or sometimes, alley—quitted early in the morning. With groans, the crew took to oars.

“Ready oars!” Corwin, the first mate, shouted from the stroke position. He would call the time and power for the strokes, and the oarsmen would follow his lead. There was the general clatter of oak on oak as the oars were fitted into the oarlocks. Corwin called out the stroke. As one, the oars dipped into the water.

“Heave!” Corwin bellowed. The crew pulled hard and the ship surged forward. The crew of the Black Cormorant consisted of twenty-four members, including Eric. Eric, however, being the skipper, did not partake in the rowing. And Amirah, being the only female on board, stayed at the lookout post in the prow. She could take a turn on the tiller when Eric got tired again.

There were nine oars on each side of the ship. The four people who weren't rowing would trade out when others became too tired to continue.

An hour or so later, the wind resumed, coming from the direct south this time.

“The wind's returned!” whooped Eric, glee obvious in his voice as he watched the telltale flutter to life.

Corwin, who had noticed it as well, shouted to the crew, “In oars!” The oars were stowed. The wind was favorable now, and would help speed along the little craft, along with giving the crew a break from rowing.

Eric, at the tiller, bellowed, “Hoist the yardarm!”

Amirah turned to watch. Tulfrin and Hendilt leaped up from their benches and hauled on the halyard, a heavy rope that lifted the yardarm, a long, wooden pole. In turn, the yardarm carried the large square sail. The sail billowed out with a loud, heavy whumph as the wind caught it. The ship surged forward, spraying up sheets of salty spray as the prow bit into the waves.

“Sheet home!” Eric continued. Tulfrin and Hendilt heaved on the ropes, tightening the sail.

Amirah grinned. No matter how many times it happened, she always loved the feeling of the Black Cormorant coming to life as the wind gripped the sail.

The next day the wind was still blowing steadily. But it changed. Gradually, it had shifted over to the north, so the Black Cormorant was forced to sail upwind. The foul change of wind dampened everyone's good spirits.

“We'll have to tack,” Eric called, the displeasure obvious in his voice. Tacking was a process of zigzagging back and forth to be able to travel upwind. Unfortunately, this took a lot more time than running—sailing with the wind at your back.

By the time they spotted land, three days had passed—much longer than if they had had the wind at their backs. The wind, mercifully, had lessened, but still came from the north.

“We're far west of port,” Amirah said as she studied Eric's maps. Eric grunted.

“Kinda thought that might happen. Figures, though, I suppose.”

“Every skipper makes mistakes—even some of the best,” Amirah said, clapping Eric on the shoulder. He grunted again, never taking his eyes off the land, or his hand off the tiller.

“Turn starboard and trim the sheets!” Eric shouted. “We're too far west. Isenduun's port is to the east.”

The crewmen hurried to trim the sails. Now, with the wind at their side, the Black Cormorant made much better progress than before. They were reaching now and didn't have to tack back and forth across the choppy waves.

“Is it just me,” began Corwin half an hour later, squinting up at the sun, “or is it getting darker?”

Amirah groaned, turning her gaze momentarily from the seas to the skies. There was hardly a cloud in sight. “What day exactly was the eclipse due?”

Eric shook his head. “I didn't think it was today, but I could be wrong.”

“Soren—or, come to think of it, it might have been Oren—told me it would happen today or tomorrow, I think,” Adrian said. Soren and Oren were perfectly identical twins, who were also both astronomers. The crew and the twins were good friends, and, a few months ago the twins had told the crew of the upcoming eclipse. Eric had planned to sail into Isenduun to meet the twins, a few days before the eclipse was due. It was clear now they wouldn't make it.

Gradually, the skies grew dimmer and dimmer as the sun fought for light and the moon fought for darkness. The wind, though it continued to lessen, became colder. The crew pulled on extra coats or jackets. Amirah watched the blackening skies from the prow.

“I can see Northstar!” she exclaimed suddenly, pointing. “Star navigation during the day,” she muttered. “Who would've thought.”

“She's right,” Adrian breathed. “Never thought I'd be seeing stars in the middle of the day.”

“Not until somebody bashed you over the head with a club,” Eric joked. But he, too, was awed. The faint birdsong that had drifted from the mainland to them had quieted down. Hendilt noticed this and said, “I guess the birds think it's night.”

“Probably all the animals do,” Amirah said. “I might be fooled, too, if I didn't know better.”

It did look like dusk. The stars were in the sky, the same stars the sailors used for navigation every night. If Amirah hadn't known better, she would have believed it was night, or at least, dusk. The skies were the dim, pale blue that came once the sun had set and the light was fading. The sun, too, was spectacular. Now that the moon had fully covered it, the crew could look directly at it. There was a bright ring that looked like diamond around the black shadow of the moon.

“Haul in the sheets,” called Eric, still at the tiller. “Throw in the sea anchor.”

The sea anchor was usually made of a canvas drogue that was streamed from the prow of the ship to slow its downwind drift. The orders were quickly obeyed, and once again the crew turned back to gawk at the dark skies. Already, however, the sky was beginning to lighten as the moon pulled itself off of the sun. It wasn't long before the daylight was seeping back into the earth.

The crew waited a few more minutes in amazement, then Eric reluctantly commanded, “Pull in the sea anchor. Hoist the yard! Sheet home!”

Amirah hauled in the dripping sea anchor, and instantly felt the ship start to drift downwind more. Eric corrected the drift with a deft twitch of the tiller. Tulfrin and Hendilt raised the yardarm, and with it, the square sail. They trimmed it to use the wind to its best advantage, and the Black Cormorant was underway once more. By the time they began moving quickly with the sail up, the eclipse had finished.