A young man was standing at the fore of a ship. His hair wet of the salty breeze, his cheeks red from the merciless sun, he couldn't care less about it. His eyes were searching for something far beyond the horizon.
The other men at the ship – hardworking sailors and merchandisers – used to laugh at him when he talked about it. That somewhere, on a voyage only the dead could sail, was a kingdom far greater than anything built by mortal hands. And there, as well, was judgment. Those who had lived a good, decent life would be rewarded. And those whose hearts were damaged and without regret … they would find their penalty.
Philip didn't wish for anyone to meet that destiny, and therefore, he would make sure as few as possible did.
The sailors weren't very grateful though. They didn't believe in God. Out here, they believed to be at the hands of the ocean spirits.
Something shook the ship and Philip almost lost his balance.
"What was that?" he asked a man who'd been scrubbing the deck. "Did we hit ground?"
The man hmph:ed and shook his head. "No. This far out, there's no land to be seen for days."
Another quiver took hold of the ship, this time leaving half of the men laying down. It was like an earthquake, but out at sea.
The bravest men rushed to the reeling and looked down for the cause of the trembling.
A second later, it was as if they were never there. The sea had swallowed them, before anyone had had time to react.
The captain started shouting orders.
"Loose all the sails! Load the cannons! Everyone at their post!"
The men obeyed. At first. But then there was a third quake. The ship tilted like the laws of gravity no longer applied. The captain's orders were lost in the screaming and shouting. Philip grabbed a tight hold of the mast and managed to withstand. Many weren't that lucky. Men were falling off, like snowflakes from a wintery sky.
"What's happening?" shouted Philip.
The old man next to him, clinging to the mast with knuckled hands, looked at him.
"You best start praying to this god of yours, for he is the only one who can save us now."
Another rumble. The man almost lost his grip, but Philip got a hold of the old one's arm.
The sun was still shining. The sky still as blue. But around them there seemed to be a full storm. The water lived, the waves were after them, had them captured and there was no way out.
A new quake. The old man was ripped out of Philip's hand and thrown into the waters. His shriek echoed long after he disappeared under the surface.
In his head, Philip was screaming his prayers, but God didn't seem to be listening.
The shakes were getting more frequent now, and for every time, stronger. Philip felt himself slipping. The wet wood was impossible to get a hold of. A wave whipped his face, filled his throat with salty water and panic. He lost his grip. He fell.
…
When he regained consciousness, he was in the water, as was the rest of the crew. They were all trying to stay afloat, but surprisingly few knew how to swim. The ship lay in pieces around them, sinking, pulling men under with it as the water took it for its own.
A woman was clinging to a piece of wood with one arm, the other one hung lifeless down her side. Panic was in her eyes. He tried to shout to her but no words could be heard. So he swam against her.
"Don't worry", he said, though he wasn't sure if she could hear him. "Everything will be fine." He reached her just in time to catch her when she lost her hold. She was splashing, panicking, pulling him down.
"Hold still!" he yelled. "Hold still or we will both drown!"
He caught the eyes of a sailor not far from them. His face was beyond sanity, beyond salvation.
"Don't despair!" Philip screamed. "God will save us!"
The man raised an arm. Something of silver shined in his hand.
"There is no god!" he roared. "This is the work of the devil!" He plunged the knife towards Philip.
For a moment, Philip stopped breathing. He didn't dare to feel if he was hurt, if he was still alive. But soon he realized he was unharmed. He opened his eyes.
Blood was everywhere around him, and every second it coloured the water darker and darker. The woman no longer tried to fight her way out of his arms. Through her chest, through her heart, was the dagger that had drained all of her life.
Philip screamed. But though he tried to save her, tried to stop the blood, he knew it was too late.
As she slipped out of his hands her leg gently caressed his arm. Only, it wasn't a leg. And where there should have been skin, there were scales.
Then, he was pulled under.
