Prologue: The Wandering Star
The Southern Ocean. At 7.8 million square miles, it was the second smallest of the world's five great ocean; that didn't make it at all safe though. The entire deep cold pool of water encased for hundreds of miles off the icy shores of Antarctica made it a downward pocket of the Earth. There were only a few creatures that could even live in these waters due to it's cold heartedness toward life. But the sea's small size could not be something to fool a sailor or terrible consequences might occur. The icebergs that dominated around here were the world's main supply of fresh water but also a ships worst nightmare. When a lone ship was sailing on the desolate ocean in the middle of the night, it could crash into when and being wiped off the Earth's surface within minutes.
Water everywhere that one could look. The ocean extended for thousands of miles in every direction. The blue line silhouetted against the giant sky miles away in the distance. It was something one would see hopeless if trapped here without a good way to sail back to civilization. The god sized icy waters enclosed so much of the world. A ship sailing out here would be it's prey sooner or later. Even the most experienced captain would be in peril if out here in this world of salt water that would kill a human if he was to take the smallest drink from it. First, he would become sick with a fever. He remained this way for several days until he began to become more active. His mind would be out of control by now since the salt had reached his brain. His actions would eventually turn psychotic similar to an animal who's caught rabies. Then there would be death for him by either suicide or his actions would cause his fellow sailors to kill him in order riding him and themselves of misery.
Captain of the Danish freighter, Éclat Hanford, held his eyes opened with the little strength that he had left in his body. All he could do right now was to sleep in the breezy sea winds of the cold ocean. His face was nearly frozen stiff from being on deck watching the tiresome ocean. It was something that one would find extremely boring to do. Fortunately he was used to it from being down in these waters so long, but even he wasn't the least bit happy here. Watching this ocean was boring even for him. Those who thought that the ocean was beautiful was obviously no sailor the average sailor man was sick to death of looking at all this water all the time. Every time he came on deck to take a smoke; there was water. Every time he woke up to look out the window in the morning; there was water. Every time he had to be on duty; it was something to do with water. Being a sailor made anyone truly feel sorry for creatures that lived in the ocean. They were practically see creatures themselves.
Éclat was himself a heavyweight man of around fifty years in age with thick black hair, pale skin, dark eyes, and the strength of a bear. His crew admired him for his great strength as if he was a god of some kind. This ship called the Dimaria was his life. For the past fifteen years, he had owned it sailing all around the world shipping goods from port to port in the East Indies. The man he bought it from all those years ago was a very advanced ship captain who was well experienced with trade in the waters of the Eastern World. He remembered well being a penniless fisherman in middle class Denmark village making only a few dollars an hour. Then he was approached by a very old Portuguese sea captain who gave him advice on making a living from the high seas. It had been while he was a fisher in the harbour looking for a job that would better money in the early 90s. At that time he ran into a man named Hinkle Manchek from way down in the Azores. Éclat was the one that came to Manchek all those years ago just asking for a job, little knowing that the old captain would die on their second voyage together. The old captain caught the flu in Sumatra and died within a few days telling him little about shipping. His dying words were to for him to take the role as the new captain of the ship. To this day Éclat still had no idea why Manchek wanted him to be the next captain of the ship. The others all knew much more about sailing than he did so there was no reason for the old man to pick him. Maybe he just had a feeling about him. The crew was very loyal and decided to teach him about sailing on the high seas. They taught their own captain for many years until he himself became smarter than all of them put together.
Now he was standing outside his small wheelhouse staring out over the deep blue boring ocean. His first mate was stirring the ship at the moment because was sick of stirring out in this ocean. He couldn't wait until they got the Sandwich Islands so that he could actually take a break in that tiny community of thirty some people's motel. It would actually give him a time to think about where they needed to go to next once they dropped off the supplies for the villagers. He had been to that place before and the people very hospitable. His crew could also use some rest since they were the ones that did most of the work around here cooking, loading crates, and doing many other back breaking jobs. His first mate, Regga, here could really do with it too. She did more work than most of the people on board here did doing some of their work for them. In truth she made a better captain than Éclat did.
He could see something way out at sea from their ship. It was something black and so far away that it was almost impossible to make out from his position. Just for nothing, he held the heavy binoculars up to his face feeling the cold against his skin. The object was some sort of tiny fisher boat no bigger than twenty feet in length. It appeared to be alone and with no one aboard. But after all he couldn't tell much at all through his binoculars. It seemed interesting to find something like that out here.
"Regga," he commanded, "Turn five o'clock east."
"What for," she inquired from inside the wheelhouse, "We can't just-"
"Do what I said," he commanded.
The ship turned into the direction of the object. It was something out there black with a greyish tint. As they grew closer, he could tell that it was exactly what he thought it was; a small black sailboat around six metres in length. But what would a tiny little boat like that be doing out here in the middle of this dark deep ocean. It was hundred of miles form any form of land. Normally fishing boats wouldn't go more than a few miles from the shore; This little thing was over two hundred miles away. It didn't make sense to him at all. Was this even a possibility of being true. Éclat couldn't be for sure until he got a good look at it. Regga still didn't seem to understand what was going on until she could see it too. Her eyes widened in shock.
"Dear Christ," she exclaimed, "is that a fisherman's boat out there!"
"I think so," Éclat nodded, "And I want to know what a little boat like that's doing way out here."
They were now only a few hundred yards from the boat. It was holding no one inside it although there was some food supplies in it that were half eaten. There had definitely been someone in this thing at one time very recently. The ship slowed very quickly to a halt next to the little fishing boat. Éclat shouted some orders to his men down on the lower deck to retrieve the boat. They pulled it in to the point where it was nearly touching the ship. Then Éclat could see something they were pulling out of the boat. It was a young man. He ran to where they were as they sat him down on the deck of the ship. He was sunburned badly but other than that, seemed perfectly healthy. His body was shivering like someone with a chill. That wasn't at all surprising since he was out her in this weather. It must have been at only about ten degrees above zero out here; the water far colder than that. His clothes were soaking wet from being in the boat half full of water. He couldn't have been over twenty anyway. In truth he was little more than a boy. He was dressed in a sports coat, jeans, and black boots. It was quite shocking to find that this young man was not at all any kind of native, African, or even a Latino; he was a European out here in the middle of nowhere floating on a tiny fishing boat hundreds of miles from the nearest landforms. The ship nurse was running with a towel toward all of them. It would take more than that to get rid of this. He was in hypothermia and sunburned badly from the high sun. His eyes showed that he now had snow blindness. Something like a paper was in his hand crumbled up like a raisin. Éclat took it from him and unfolded it revealing a faded map with the face of something roaring on it. Éclat didn't take the time to read what it had written. The ship nurse dabbed the wet towel on the helpless young man's face. The man relaxed as she touched his face gently. The captain had so many questions running through his head like a matrix code.
More and more sailors were moving close to the scene in curiosity of what was happening. They weren't going to do anything but bother the man by being there.
"Hey all of you," Éclat shouted, "Move away from here, you'll smother him to death! Get back to work!"
He bent over the man who shivered despite the blazing sun. his skin was as white as a ghost with the blistering sunburn on top of it. His lips were the colour of a night sky as well as his eyes were growing to be out of their original hue. The young man's were now moving enough to form words. He listened close to hear that they were indeed words. The assistant nurse was bringing a stretcher with a man running along beside her.
"What was that," Éclat whispered to the dying man, "I don't think I picked up on that very well."
The man replied in Nulish instead of Danish but fortunately the captain knew enough Nulish from his travels to understand him.
"An island," the man mumbled in the foreign language, "An island. A monster. They…didn't make it. Where am I?"
"You're safe on a Danish cargo ship," Éclat said calmly, "What are you talking about? What island?"
"An island," the man murmured, "We were shipwrecked and… I was the only one left. We were…"
Éclat knew that he wasn't in the shape to be telling stories. He picked the man up by the legs on the nurse assistant did the other end of his body. The pair of them lifted him and placed him on the stretcher. The man wasn't saying anything now. He had probably gone out of consciousness after they laid him down on the stretcher. The captain walked alongside the three aid givers as they wheeled him quickly to the medical room. He stared at the paper that he retrieved from the man. It was covered with Nulish writing on it which he could read little of it. He hoped that the man lived so he could interpret for him. The one thing he did see though was the map. It was very crude with numbers written on around the landform as it appeared to be. The landform was an island. He suddenly felt a great a deal of interest come over him to understand what had happened to this man for him to be in such a state of condition. But for now, there was nothing he could do. He slowly went back to the wheelhouse to steer the ship closer to their location.