The sky hung darkly over their heads and the sea demonstrated its displeasure with choppy waves shoving the boat from side to side. Water slapped against the side of the ship, and rain fell in big, stinging drops. The droplets didn't concern him at first, but suddenly the wind picked up and threw the sails against the mast. Thunder cracked on the horizon, and rushed towards them.
"Get that fucking sail up!" Arthur jumped over the railing of the upper deck down to the main deck, nearly slipping on the wet wood as the boat tossed. One of the main sails came loose from its ties and flapped violently in the wind. His small crew scrambled around him to tie down their bit of cargo. He squinted through the driving rain and spotted Jones about to climb up the ropes to the mast. "Jones!"
The blond's usually golden hair, now dark with water, stuck to his head and the boy's young face snapped in his direction. "Yes, Captain?" Jones' loud voice barely rose over the roar of the storm.
"Get off those ropes!" The teenager was young and new to his crew, still learning the ways of the ship, and his fondness for the young man invoked feelings of protectiveness in him.
"But, sir, the sail—"
He pulled Jones out of the way and gripped the jumping ropes. "Get below the deck!" Before the boy could protest, he climbed up the unsteady ratlines. As Arthur rose above the deck, he saw his crew running like ants below, but he didn't allow himself to worry. This was one of his better crews, they could handle themselves.
The ship jerked and he nearly lost his grip on the ropes. The storm was getting even more violent, but if he didn't get the sail tied up, they could lose their mast and that would mean they'd be stranded at sea, if they lived through the storm. On the other ratlines, he saw Beilschmidt climbing up with him. Arthur reached the top before Beilschmidt, and immediately began pulling the sail up. Beilschmidt reached the top and helped heave up the other side, moving with quick efficiency.
With the sail up and tied down, he moved back down the ropes. Arthur glanced back up at Beilschmidt, but something behind the man caught his eye.
"Big wave!"
The crew barely had time to react to his shout before the wave struck. Arthur clung to the ropes desperately as the water tossed him around. He spat out a mouthful of water before he continued to climb down again. Just as he loosened his grip, another wall of water hit.
The rope ripped from his hand and the water grabbed hold of him. Panic filled him as the water dragged him away from his ship. The sea rushed to meet him and the impact of hitting the unforgiving ocean knocked the breath from his lungs. Arthur clawed at the water, struggling to stay above it. He opened his mouth to call for help, but water filled it and smother his shout. Another wave pushed him below the surface and his clothes continued to drag him down. For a moment, Arthur flailed his arms, but he soon realized it was useless. Knowing there was no hope for him, Arthur stopped moving to watch the surface slip further and further out of reach.
So, this is how I die: Drowned at sea. I really hate when Francis is right. His lungs screamed for air, but there was none to be had. Arthur closed his eyes and let himself forget his body.
A buzzing started around him and hummed like someone was speaking, trying desperately to reach him, but he had wool over his ears. The voice, nice and soothing, floating over him like silk, despite the muffled words. He didn't notice the magnetic voice steadily growing clearer until the voice rang out around him in stunning clarity.
"Move your fucking legs, asshole!"
His eyes snapped opened and his sense came screaming back to him. His body jerked in response.
"Kick your legs! Do you want to die?"
Well, not really, but I don't know how to swim, he replied to the alluring voice in his mind, as his legs twitched in response to follow the voice's orders.
"Fight! Fight for your life!" The mellifluous voice yelled at him frantically, but the panic did nothing to take away from its exquisite quality. He felt the voice resounding in him and lifting him up.
When his head broke the surface, Arthur realized he'd been kicking his legs. Sweet oxygen filled his lungs and he glance around. His ship was nowhere in sight and rain no longer fell. The sea had grown strangely calm and smooth, as if made of a deep blue glass.
Far away he spotted the gray of rocks and behind that, the green of life. He repeated the lulling voice, using it to raise his morals as he kicked himself towards the outcropping of rocks.
The voice didn't manifest itself again and Arthur convinced himself it was only his imagination, but the voice played in his head, disjointed into a mere echo of its former beauty. He couldn't forget it, even as Arthur grew tired and drained. The rocks were his goal and by moving his arms and legs, he swam efficiently through the water. In the back of his mind, Arthur realized this is his first time going into deep water without floundering and immediately sinking.
Like most things on the ocean, visual distance was an illusion—a trick of the eyes. Rocks that seemed close were actually a great distance away, but the sea was so flat that only a seasoned sailor could make a trustworthy judgement, and even then, it was only a guess at best. In his case, the rocks never seemed to get closer, no matter how far he swam. It seemed liked hours passed and the ocean began to pull him down again as exhaustion dragged at his limbs.
At this rate, I'll never make it. Arthur fixed his eyes on the far off shore, barely kicking his legs to keep himself afloat. He began sinking again and his legs jerk violently to keep himself up.
Arthur continued to swim, desperately trying to reach shore before his body gave out. All other thoughts dispersed as he focused entirely on a certain rock. Only that rock mattered at that moment and the voice. The fact that his life was in danger, his ship was gone, and he didn't know where he was could wait. Getting to that rock was his only thought. The closing distance between him and his goal didn't register in his mind until his feet hit soft sand and Arthur stumbled forward.
A relived cry escaped his lips and he dragged himself up the shore, out of the reach of the surf, where he laid face down in utter exhaustion. His body came back to him and his stomach heaved, expelling all the seawater and brine he'd swallowed.
Arthur rolled on to his back, away from the vomit, and stared at the sun with weary detachment. The storm clouds of before were nowhere to be seen, and the radiant sun burned his eyes. Closing them against the glare, Arthur tried to move, but his weakened muscles only twitched pitifully and he fought back unconsciousness. A shadow fell over his face and he struggled to open his eyes, and struggled even more to think of some sort of guard against possible attackers.
Over him, an ethereal man's face hovered, elegant and godly. The sun shone around the angelic man's head in a bright halo of light. Arthur chuckled hoarsely. "Are you God or the Devil?"
The shinning begin frowned, but said nothing.
"Angel of heaven, then," he murmured, almost incomprehensible. "If you are here, am I free of my bonds to this world?"
A gently hand brushed his cheek and slowly closed his eyes. Darkness overcame him and he sank into deep, forgiving unconsciousness, content with knowing he had no more need to worry.
...
Warmth surrounded him, safe and comforting, and he didn't want to open his eyes for fear of it dissolving into a dream. His body ached in more places than he could count, and he felt weakness deep in his bones. Arthur laid still for several moments, until the soft wisp of clothing sent him on guard. Silent footsteps approached him and he prepared himself to attack, although his body protested loudly against moving. Warm fingers brushed against his cheek and he sprung to catch the wrist and the person attached to it, but the person jerked back quickly and withdrew away from him. He opened his eyes, about to lunge again, but as soon as he saw the man, he froze. Such beauty should have no place on earth, but there it was before him in the form of a man.
Sudden remembrance flooded Arthur. Memories of the storm and swimming flashed in his mind, along with a voice urging him to the surface. He remembered reaching a shore and...an angel appearing before him. Arthur pressed a hand to his head and closed his eyes, warding off a headache. Other memories—strange memories—of sad, enchanting, wordless voices and the gentle playing of a stringed instrument floated across his mind, but when he reached for them, the memories eluded his grasp, replaying in only dim remembrance.
A tap on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts, and he looked up quickly. The captivating man had moved closer while he was distracted and offered him a cup of clear water. Only at the sight of the drink, did he realize how thirsty he was. Arthur took the cup and in one quick gulp, emptied the cup. He hesitated for a moment and said, "Thank you."
The man nodded silently and filled his cup again.
He drank more slowly this time and looked around. The room was lavish with intricate tapestries, rugs, and other exquisitely made items. The wealth startled him and he fixed his gaze on the stranger in from of him. The man dressed in shinning, white robes, falling all the way to his feet, watched him with simple interest. He seemed like that of another era with his ancient robes, but they hung elegantly off the man's slim body and suited him better than any breeches and shirt could. From under his clothing, strange tattoos peeked out and down the backs of his arms, but Arthur couldn't see the details of it. On his left arm, a simple, gold armband sat snugly in place against the man's inked, olive skin along with a matching bracelet on his right wrist.
"Who are you? Where am I? How did I get here? What happened to my crew? Have you seen my ship?" Arthur questioned without cease, impatient for answers and use to getting them quickly. He glanced around the room once more, noting the many windows letting in bright light. Out the window, he could see the ocean, calmer and smoother than he'd ever seen it before. "Well? Are you going to answer—"
A cushion hit him in the face and the man glared angrily at him, flailing his hands in the air.
"What was that for?" Arthur glared back, irritated by being interrupted.
The man tapped his throat and shook his head vigorously.
Oh. Arthur blinked in surprise. "You can't speak."
A nod answered him.
He must have come across as rude to the man he assumed took care of him by asking so many questions all at once and giving him no time to explain himself. "I'm sorry, but you see, I've just woken up in a stranger's home when I was so sure I was dead the last time I was awake."
Wary understanding lit the man's eyes and he nodded.
"Is this your home?"
Nod.
"Did you bring me here?"
The man gave him a withering look, but nodded.
"Do you know what happened to my crew or ship?"
Head shake.
"How long have I been sleeping?"
Three fingers.
"Hours?" Head shake. "Days?" Nod.
"Have I been sick? Have you been taking care of me?"
More nodding.
"Thank you," said Arthur, unused to such a one-sided conversation. "Do you have a name?"
The man pressed his lips together and help up a finger for him to wait. Hurrying to a table across the room, the man took something and brought it to him. It was a piece of parchment with small, still drying ink written on it in fine script. "You may call me Lovino."
"Lo...vino. Lovino? Hello, I am Arthur Kirkland." He found the simple sentence rather formal and reserved. "I'm glad you can read and write, it would have been hard to carry on conversation with only hand gestures."
Lovino rolled his eyes, and retrieved a quill and ink pot in preparation to answer more of his questions.
"Can you tell me where I am?"
"You're on an island."
"Off what coast?"
Lovino shrugged.
"Where is the closest mainland?" He frowned.
"I'm not sure, but birds have flown here from the east, so I suspect the mainland you speak of is in that direction. I believe a fisherman once called it by the name of Italia, but I have never left the island and cannot confirm this myself."
He eyed Lovino curiously. This man knew nothing of the world outside his island, but if what he said was true about the birds, land couldn't be far. "Why have you never left?"
"It is better to stay."
Confused by that answer, he asked another question. "Why did you help me?"
"Should I not have?" Lovino frowned.
The question startled him. "Well, I most likely would have died if you hadn't."
"Exactly. I do not need a rotting corpse tainting the island. It is easier to care for you than bury you."
"You are strangely honest," he said with a chuckle.
"I see no reason to lie. Are you hungry?"
He nodded. Lovino set the parchment and writing tools on the bed by his feet, and walked out of the room with surprising grace. When Lovino returned, he carried a bowl along with a small piece of bread. He sat up slowly and took the bowl and bread from Lovino, and movement by the door caught his eye.
Another man, just as unearthly beautiful as Lovino, poked his head in and waved excitedly when he saw Arthur looking.
"Who is that?"
An irritated expression came over Lovino's face before he even turned to look. Lovino chased the other man away from the door with a single fierce glare over his shoulder.
Arthur watched this and spooned soup into his mouth. The broth was weak, but it still held good flavor. Of course, anything tasted good after a few months at sea. Lovino seated himself on the edge of the bed, setting the parchment in his lap.
"Who was that?" He repeated, finishing the soup and bread quickly.
"That is Feliciano, my brother. He, too, cannot speak."
"Are you monks?"
Lovino gave him a strange look and shook his head.
"Then how have both you and your brother lost your voices?"
Lovino stared at him, a deep scowl darkened his lovely features. "That is just how we are. Now, if there is nothing you require, I must go."
"Ah, no, I am fine." Arthur recognized evasive maneuvers, but ingrained manners didn't allow him to pursue the subject of their speech when Lovino obviously didn't want to tell him about it.
"I suggest you sleep more. Call Feliciano if you need anything." Lovino stood, set the parchment on the table, and left the room.
Arthur stared at the doorway, before moving back under the soft blankets. He glanced down and saw his clothes had been replaced with a fine tunic. Fingering the fabric thoughtfully, he was surprised to find it of such a high quality. It felt like he wore nothing at all; the fabric was so light. Happy with his new clothes and pleasantly full, Arthur closed his eyes and let himself sink into sleep once more.
New story! Bad me for starting another when there are others to finish, but oh well. I like this one a lot. I'm a freshman in high school and we'd just read The Odyssey when I had this wonderful idea for... Can you guess? Sirens!
-Windy