Wulfric had me join the whalers the next day. Maybe Oskar had dropped in a word. I doubt it. He might have found me amusing but he would never act on a whim. I think Wulfric came to his own decision after the day’s events. He was an odd contradiction of superstition and pragmatism. Perhaps he thought my luck would rub off on him if I were close by. A word of advice; never try to work out the motivations of a madman. You will only end up with a headache and even more questions.

Whatever changed his mind I was told of the new arrangements at breakfast. Winston had risen early and was as blithe spirits as he always was. I don’t know how people could do that. That is be happy and functional in the morning. Most of us were in a torpor of stiff limbs and half-awake minds. Some were recovering from the night’s excesses. The drinking was not so bad back then, this was before poteen and rum. Breakfast was porridge like it always was. Plain with a pinch of salt, this was before molasses as well. As soon as the last bowl was served, the cooks lost no time in getting their kettles rendering yesterday’s blubber. For a moment it almost felt like home as the aroma of smoke, sea, and baking filled the camp. Oat cakes were being prepared on the side for the whalers’ midday meal. We could have no fires at sea, and nobody wanted to try the biscuits unless they had to. Without much ceremony, Wulfric came over gave me the news.

“Your back on the ship for today. Take what you need and join us by the shore.”

Winston clapped me on the back with his spoon still in his mouth. He was grinning at my assumed promotion. Honestly, I was uncertain of how to feel about the change. I did not know how to feel about anything. A sense of lethargic apathy filled me; it was a feeling I would grow accustom to. Regardless, I did as I was told. At least I would be on a bench on a boat, I could take the weight off my ankle.

We peeled off into two different lines as Oskar took his crew to our sister ship. The rest of us new hands milled about aimlessly about as the veterans saw to their tasks with a silent efficiency. We soon pushed the boats into the surf and rode the tide out into the grey. I had a better awareness of things on my second outing. The roll of the waves and racing winds were… bracing. Despite my close proximity to dozens of grunting men, I felt as if it was only the sea and myself. On a fair wind and kind waters it feels as if you are riding on a cloud. There was some conversation here and there, but the labor and tides divorced me from everybody. It is hard to describe but it felt good. My hands were cut and raw and my fingernails picked bloody. Working the oars should have been unpleasant. Instead I enjoyed the simplicity of it all. I didn’t feel happy, but I felt… alright.

I fell into an easy rhythm with the other rower on my bank. My arms were not the stoutest back then, but I did it without complaining. There were red stains where I gripped the oars. I never noticed it but the man next to me did. I think I started to win the approval of the older hands through little things like that. There are a few ways to win the respect of others. Toughness is a universal that I have found accepted by everybody. I confess that it was all a happy misunderstanding. It was as if I had withdrawn into myself and saw the world through the eyes of a stranger. It was hard going, and everything hurt but I did it anyway. Not because I had something to prove. But because I was told to do so.

Wulfric found us a wind and tacked to it. There was no more need for oars, so we withdrew them. Unencumbered I enjoyed the view. You could always see some island on the horizon out west. There were hundreds of these little spots of land out west. Some were as large as the Isle, but most were smaller. The natives inhabited some of the islands but even they were careful of the ones they occupied. Further out west was the great sea and beyond that the darkness. Sometimes the madness of the old world would wash up on the western reaches. The native clans would rally or more often flee from the ancient horrors. I do not blame them. Perhaps I will speak of it when their part comes.

As we rode the winds and waves, I chewed on an oatcake. It was a lot easier to consume than the biscuit, but I found it tasteless. There is not a lot of comfort or mobility on a rowing bench. You best found conversation from the man next to you. Mine didn’t say much and that suited me fine. What little he did was to ask if my hands were alright. They were not. But I didn’t care so I answered yes. He never asked again. Good conversation. An indeterminate span of time was passed as I was lost somewhere between the sea and sky. Somebody’s cry of “gulls ore’ the water” shook me from my reverie. A flock of the birds were circling above a point in the ocean. Some were sitting on the surface and were occasionally dipping beneath the waves. Gulls meant fish and fish meant krill. A spout of jetting water heralded the final link on that chain. Krill meant whales.

“Ware boys, we’ve got a sighting!”

Like lightning the words galvanized every soul aboard. The waterspout was but a mile or so from our position. The direction of the waterspout was well against the wind. Had we had lateen sails, we would have tacked into it and made good time. Our square rigging was all that we had, so lowered our sails, and bought the oars back out. As a pair, we turned into the wind and pulled towards our quarry. The Bright Lance and Red Smile steered apart to cover more ground. Sea… you get my point. Once one caught sight of the quarry the other would close in to assist.

As we powered through the waves a man handled a collection of bound up packages. He quickly began unwrapping an oilskin bundle. Within were shafts of wood with fitted barbed points. They were the tools that the harpoons would pierce their prey with. The heads of the harpoons were a foot and a half of cold iron. Imagine an Old Imperial pilum but with a barbed blade at the head. Like the pilum the metal heads were detachable with a pin and hammer. The wooden haft of the harpoon itself had a loop in which a rope was fastened to. I felt a flash of something uncomfortable as the implements passed into view.

There was a promise of violence in the air. In the closing distance we could make out the backs of the whales as they surfaced. My heart thundered at the sighting of the leviathan and a primal instinct came to the fore. I was swept away in the same madness that seized the crew of the Bright Lance. It is a fickle sort of infatuation that simultaneously bought out the best and worst in men. There was fear and excitement mixed into a heady concoction of aggression that we were all drunk on. It was bloodlust, plain and simple.

There are many kinds of whales in the sea. All vary in size and nature but generally they are placid and inquisitive creatures. When we closed upon our prey, she did not flee from us. There were two of them in the water, a mother, and her calf. They were of the smaller mink variety. Small enough to be hauled to shore, large enough to be concerning. The mother was protective of her young and herded it behind her. She must have been wary of our intent. The Red Smile was closing but too far away to assist should we go in for the kill. We were approaching fast and needed to engage or risk losing them if they got spooked dived.

The iron shod harpoons were now in the hands of the chosen whaler men. When we were but yards away from the leviathans, they would cast their barbed implements into the backs of the creatures. The mother was the more valuable of the two targets. She was also the more dangerous of the pair. Should she ram one of our vessels, she stood a good chance of inflicting catastrophic damage. It was a vicious game of threatening her young to keep her distracted whilst we sunk iron in her flesh.

Wulfric had us sail obliquely towards the mother. The heaving tide had us paddling like madmen as we attempted to get parallel with the whale. We had momentum and the sea itself to contend with. It is the mark of a good crew if you could turn on a coin and keep a steady position. There was a lot of cursing and grunting as we attempted to sidle up to our prey.

We came in close to her flank and tried to ease into parallel alignment. The old hands were experienced with this kind of maneuver. They made easy work of this as six chosen harpooners left their banks unmanned. Those chosen men had divested themselves all along the ship with iron and rope. There was hard work as one flank of rowers raised their oars so that we could make a high-speed turn. I marvel at Wulfric’s strength as the man strained against the tiller and tide. Grey surf sprayed and lashed us all as we strained against the water. A flicker of fear shook my eagerness as I realized that that were going too fast. We were on a collision course with the giant that would shatter our keel. Previously I was conscious of the creature’s size, it was a leviathan and from a distance I knew it to be massive. Only when we were within yards of the creature did I register its true scale. It was longer than our ship and no doubt was far heavier. Fear of the impending collision instilled within me curious fascination with the impending disaster.

Faster and faster I willed our ship to collide with the creature as I was gripped by a new madness. Hot anger and euphoric joy filled my being. I believed I was heading to my immediate ruin. It is hard to explain it to somebody who has never felt such a sentiment. Just before we could collide, we managed to straighten our facing. The entire ship rocked, and I jaunted from my seat as the Bright Lance lurched against the waves. A few yards away the whales’ bulk could be seen just beneath the surface. She was wary of our sudden approach but more curious than hostile. Her inquisitive nature had just killed her.

Without a word the harpooners threw their cruel barbs at once. Two of the iron tips flew flat and failed to penetrate the waves. Four flew true and sunk beneath the waters. I watched raptly as four points incongruously stuck out from the water. A great cry rang from the deep, a wailing moan that evoked a surge of euphoric exultation.

“We got her lads! Keep her steady, she’s going to move!”

And move she did. We had the ropes from the harpoons fastened to the ship and when the mother pulled away the lines went taught. We listed to the side as the great beast pulled, but she soon abandoned her efforts. The barbs had sunken deep and she felt the rending pain. She would have to tear great rents from her flesh to flee. Our men prepared more harpoons to sink into her. We got off another volley of which only two struck. Between her thrashing and thick hide, it was difficult to get a clean throw. The Bright Lance rocked and shook at her heaving. Her calf swam around her in a very human gesture of distress. It attempted to remove the lines and even ram us. I was simultaneously manic and terrified at the enraged calf. More than a ton of fear and desperation sped towards. The man besides me however seemed unperturbed at our impending doom. He calmly looked at the creature with disdain. Wulfric had risen with his lance and stood at our flank, spear raised. Lowering his point to the oncoming mass, he braced the but against the ships mast.

The calf charged headlong into Wulfric’s point. Cutting deep into its flesh he halted the charge. The blow was glancing but the pain it caused made the creature balk. An even greater wail escaped from the mother as her child too received harpoons from opportunistic throwers. By this point both were as good as dead. The Red Smile had finally closed, and her crew launched barbs of their own. Between two vessels and their crew the mother was trapped. The calf had a single harpoon in its flank, but it tore free in a single terrible jerk. We sat there as the leviathan shook and turned the tides red. When she attempted to make a desperate dive, we were all at the ropes in an instant. She could tear the wood off the ship if we let her. It was a battle between pain and desperation.

The whales thrashed and bled as they lost strength. The grey became red and all the while there was that incessant wailing. I admit that it was all very hollow. It was not the heroic contest of man against nature. I was told that I was laughing like a loon when the creatures struggled against their tethers. By the time Wulfric felt confident enough to close in with his lance I was sober. She had thrashed and strained so hard that there were only three harpoons stuck to her by the time she was exhausted. I could see one blood stained eye looking at us from beneath the waves. She had struggled fiercely but seemed to lose all her ferocity when Oskar drove his lance deep into her young. It was no great struggle. A simple jab into its eye and a twist. The harpoons weakened the creatures and bound them to us, the lance was the killing implement. We all cheered when the broad bladed head of Oskar’s lance stilled the calf.

When Wulfric raised his lance for the kill, the creature was looking right at us. They are clever animals you know. Perhaps less complex than us in some ways, but there is a spark of sentience in them. What I saw in her eyes was not anger or hate. Just a look of pain and confusion. Perhaps I am imposing my own speculations on where none are applicable. You all know me for my deeds and reputation. Perhaps you find my remorse hypocritical. So be it. Wulfric had us come in right against her. He stepped one foot to the lip of our ship and thrust deep into her blow hole. The act was almost casual in its execution. She died within moments.