Chapter 5

Wil scrambled to grab onto something as the rushing water swept him off his feet. Scratching at the wooden floor, he couldn’t stop himself before he slammed into the wall, crashing into the bookshelf with enough force to destroy the wooden piece of furniture and knocking the wind out of him.

Trying to catch his breath, he sucked in a lungful of water as the water washed over him, pinning him against the wall with the force of its current. His Ursine cloak, which had saved his life in the north, was now pulling him under. The heavy, waterlogged fur was caught on the remains of the bookshelf, keeping him from standing.

Harshly coughing out water, his head broke through to the surface for a moment, allowing him a breath, before he was submerged again. Panicking, knowing he was drowning, he flailed widely, trying desperately to fight his way to air.

The cabin was quickly filling with water. The wards, which sealed the room against the elements, were ironically, the reason the water couldn’t escape.

In his panic, Wil lost all orientation as the lights in the cabin went out, the submerged wards failing. It was in the dark, unable to breathe, that he felt a hand grip his arm, hauling him to the surface with inhuman strength, easily pulling the cloak from where it was pinned.

Coughing, blinking rapidly to clear the water from his eyes, he saw it was Garman.

The large man was standing against the current, his legs braced and a visible haze of mana surrounding him. Easily lifting Wil out of the water, he dragged the nearly drowned mage towards the sealed door, not letting the water take him again.

Confused, Wil looked to see the others were also upright. Bell was covered in a similar, shimmering mana field. The old man was exuding strength that was equal to Erinn and Gunther, a Rank 4. Evidently the man had advanced while they were apart and hid his strength.

Bell was gripping Annabelle in one hand, and Martin in the other as he trudged his way through the waist high water towards them.

Mara, her rank 3 strength barely able to keep herself upright, followed closely behind the others.

Garman didn’t pause for a moment to bother trying the double doors, he lifted his heavy boot and kicked them open, the water sweeping past them onto the deck. Grateful to escape the cabin, Wil stumbled out the door, before kneeling on the deck, thankful to be able the breath again.

The deck was in chaos, a sheet of heavy rain obscured most of the activity. Wil could barely see a few feet ahead of him. Most of the crew would be below deck, protected from the severe winds, with only a handful of unlucky souls outside, working in shifts.

Everywhere he could see, the remaining crew were frantic, attempting to keep the ship afloat and pointed in the right direction.

The Drake was a three-mast vessel, designed for making a speedy crossing. Now that they were in the middle of the storm, the sails were raised, except for the few required to keep the bow of the ship pointed towards the waves.

Holding a hand over his face to protect his eyes from the rain, he saw the crew all wore lines tied around their waists, with lines of rope that wrapped around the masts. A simple precaution in case the heavy wind and waves swept them off their feet.

No sooner did Wil notice the safety lines, than the Drake crashed hard into a wave, the water rushing across the deck.

Not having anything to hold onto, Wil braced himself before he felt Garman grab hold of him again, shoving him roughly against the cabin’s doorframe. Wil saw the water knock several of the sailors off their feet, their lines going taut as they reached the end of rope.

One unfortunate sailor, on his back as he was carried away by the ocean water, was brought to an abrupt stop, only for the rope to snap, and he was swept over the side.

Wil watched, powerless to help, as it happened. The expression on the young man’s face was one that he recognized, he had seen it before on the Wall. On a young woman, right before he drove his sword through her heart. Terror, sheer terror of the unknown and despair at having to face it so suddenly.

Squeezing his eyes shut, trying to stop the image from forming, Wil gripped the wood frame tightly, the water swirling pass his boots, soaking the leather. Even now, months after it had happened, he could picture Aachen, the bodies of the undead, the stink of their rotting flesh, the agonizing screams of the infected.

Taking a deep breath, Wil opened his eyes, seeking comfort in his companion’s presence. Despite Garman’s attitude, he appreciated the older man being here. They had survived Aachen together, where so many others hadn’t. If they could survive on the wall, this storm was nothing.

Steeling himself, Wil gestured with his hand, drawing Garman’s attention. Not bothering to yell over the wind and waves, he pointed at the stairway in the middle of the ship, a simple hatch covering it to prevent the rain and ocean spray from making its way to the bowels of the ship.

Wil dug into his bag of holding, pulling out a length of rope. He passed one end to Garman, gesturing for him wrap it around his waist. One by one, the group secured themselves to the line.

Seeing Wil nod that he was ready, Garman let go him, and began leading the way across the slick deck.

Despite the intense rocking of the Drake, the warrior had little trouble retaining his balance. Wil followed closely behind, but he was not able to match the warrior’s stability. Several times he was forced to kneel on the deck, waiting for the ship to right itself or clear of water, before continuing on.

They had nearly made it to the stairwell when the darkness was lit by a flash of lightning, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. The lightning struck the center mast, directly ahead of the group.

Startled, the party crouched low on instinct, shocked by the sudden lightning strike.

The mast was already under strain from the heavy winds. It cracked from the lightning and began to splinter and break along the length of wood. With a series of pops and snaps, the heavy timber mast split and slowly fell towards them.

Watching the falling mast with horror as it dropped towards them, Wil tried desperately to think of a spell to stop it. He was still going through the options when he saw Garman stand up straight, looking at the falling ship’s mast with a determined expression.

Raising his fist, Wil saw the warrior channel his mana into his hand, it glowed red as it was surrounded by a haze of heat. Leaping forward, Garman punched the wood, his fist slamming into the mast with a resounding thud.

The mast paused for a moment in midair as Garman’s fist connected, like it was frozen in time, before the massive piece of timber exploded into bits of wood and splinters.

Not wasting any time, Garman lifted the heavy trapdoor, waving for the others to enter the stairway.

In short order, the group was gathered in the storage hold. Wet and exhausted, it was as if they had spent hours or days outside, rather than only moments. The worse off was Annabelle. With no mana to protect her, she was half frozen, violently shivering as she desperately tried to warm herself.

Seeing how bad everyone was, Wil repeatedly cast drying charms and warming spells on the area. The simple cantrip barely drained him of mana. Despite the need to potentially activate the wards, it wouldn’t do them any good if everyone expired from the cold, and it only took a moment to accomplish.

Finally dry and warm, with the motion of ship becoming increasingly more violent, Wil turned his attention to the wards, observing them as they were now fully activated.

The lines were filled with mana, drawn from the surrounding sea and air. Even though they were designed to protect the ship, already he could see cracks forming in them. The crisp lines, carved deeply into the wood, were splintering, webs of small fissures spread in the wood surrounding them from the strain.

“Mr. Brookmoor! It’s time. The Drake cannot take much more of a pounding. We’ve already lost two of our masts, and most of the sails and rigging.” The captain, coming into the hold from on deck, was completely drenched.

Edvard was always neat and tidy, Wil had never seen him out of sorts. But now, the captain’s beard was dripping water, his overcoat had rips in it, and his eyes were harried, like things were spiraling out of control and he was desperate to grab onto any line for safety.

Taking a moment to assess the other man, Wil lifted his hand, leaving it hovering over the wards on the hull. He took a deep breath, before looking behind him at the others.

“Captain, are you sure we have no other option?” Wil asked, practically begging from an alternative. Edvard, pausing for just a moment, slowly shook his head.

“I’m sorry Mr. Brook…I’m sorry Wil. We’ve no other alternatives. I am not a gambler, but I’m afraid we must roll the dice on your idea.” The captain apologized, hanging his head as he gave his permission to overpower the wards.

Wil looked at Annabelle, seeking confirmation. He could see her mind turning, seeking another way, before reaching the only conclusion available. Her eyes hardened as she nodded her head.

“Alright, I’ll start. Once I begin, someone will need to replace me if I fall, otherwise, the wards will collapse, and we will never be able to use them again.” Wil said, turning back to the wards and, without time to second guess his decision, slammed his hand onto the wood.

He drove his mana into the lines of power, pushing more energy into the wards then they could otherwise pull from the surroundings.

Brilliant blue light spread from his hand, rushing to fill the runes. Like a stone dropped into a calm pool, waves of Wil’s mana rippled throughout the hold, quickly overpowering the wards.

The hold was filled with the smell of ozone and the air crackled with magic as the wards pushed back against the storm, forming a shimmering, hazy bubble of protection around the Drake.

Wil lost track of everything around him, He couldn’t see anything except the burning runes in front of his eyes, couldn’t feel anything expect the rush of mana leaving his body. He could no longer tell if he was pushing the mana out, or if the wards were pulling it from his body.

Wil had no sense of time, nothing existed, except the magic.

Someone was screaming, his ears rang with the cries. Whoever it was, they were in agony. He couldn’t find it in him to care, as the wards consumed him.

Slowly, inevitably, the blinding light faded. Whether it was the wards failing, or him, he didn’t know. Vision blackening, Wil collapsed into oblivion. Nothing existed for him, not even the magic.