The stars twinkled overhead, their pale light shining down on the ship as it bobbed in the water. Killian gazed up as more of the sparkling dots emerged, their presence a small comfort because their patterns were different to any he knew. It only cemented the fact that he was in another realm.
"Did you keep going south? After escaping the storm and leaving those men to drown?" Henry asked, the disapproval evident in his voice as he thought of men left overboard more than two centuries ago.
"Aye, mate. We went south." Killian shivered as he remembered the ice. He thought of the great frozen clumps floating in the sea, groaning with the trapped spirits and he wrapped his arms around himself.
He had never really thought of ice as haunting. They so rarely got it back home that when the weather did plummet enough, and the cold petals fell from the sky, excitement filled the air.
It was so different, Killian mused, when you couldn't just head inside and heat some water over the fire. However, there were no fireplaces aboard; and sat up in mainmast, in the crow's nest, he couldn't just head inside when he got chilly. The landscape could look beautiful, in its own way, especially now, as the sun set and the mist spread the red hue around. But the brilliant colours wouldn't last long; they never did. Soon enough, the world would be lit only by the light of the cosmos and the ship's lanterns. That was when the ice seemed more alive than ever, when the stuff glistened with moonlight and you could see shapes inside.
Up in the crow's nest, a position he occupied because he was covering for Jameson who had fallen ill with the cold, Killian could hear the noises that emerged from the ice. There had to be fierce spirits inside the murky blocks, desperate to escape. He could hear the creaking and the groaning of the ice as it fought to contain them. The sailor wondered if it was Maker or mage who had encased them within.
Some of the mountains were as tall as the foremast before him, would probably be as tall as the mainmast he sat upon if he bothered to compare, but the young man didn't. He didn't want to.
He tried not to look at the ice at all, which was a difficult task as it lurked everywhere. And so it was that everywhere, Killian could see shapes. On occasion he would turn his head, certain he had seen the shape of an aeon. But they were gone, extinct since the beginning of the Eternal Calm. Another moment, and he thought he saw a person, arms raised and moaning upon a sheet of ice.
That was impossible though, and he turned his head. Hands tucked into his armpits, he searched for a horizon, for a gap in the mist and the ice. He understood now why, after a week in this place, the men were unwilling to spend much time in the crow's nest. He'd tell Lieutenant Willis when he got down. Fours bells rang out through the icy wasteland from the ship. Killian was only two hours into his watch. He took a deep breath, feeling the cold air jolt on the way into his body and he shuddered violently. The shivering was a constant that he was learning to live with. But breathing was becoming more and more painful.
He shut his eyes for a moment and prayed to the Maker, desperate for help, for a way out. He wanted to go home, back to his brother. Liam was always so confident, he would have known what to do. He wouldn't have sat in his cabin, snapping at anyone who came nearby like their captain chose to.
He'd even take a bloody workhouse over this. They were dangerous places to be, even if you were small enough to fit in the machines. At his size, dangerous would be an understatement, but at least he would be warm. The sailor tried to recall that heat, the way the sweat had dripped off his face, and stuck his shirt to his back… it was a distant memory though, unable to thaw the icy edges of his imagination long enough to enter.
Another noise had his drooping eyes snap open once more. An echoing cry, louder than the gruesome wails of the ice. Sitting up, Killian searched the sky. The sun was dipping and through the clouds of icy mist, there was a glint; it made Killian freeze with fear.
A stymphalian bird?
His hand drifted to the old crossbow that lay in the nest, his thoughts drifted to the muskets that were stored below, but his eyes never left the bird.
Was it a stymphalian bird? Was that beak bronze, capable of tear flesh from bone? He called down to Harris, demanding he come up and take position while Killian spoke with Lieutenant Willis. While there were a few other officers on the ship, he had served with Willis before, and the man was second in command after their captain.
"What is it, boy?" Willis grumbled as he opened the door to his cabin. "You look like you've seen a Minka Bird."
"No Sir." Minka birds were only seen in dreams and they foretold death. "I saw this one awake. It was a stymphalian bird."
"Man-eaters." He sighed. "Are you sure?"
"No. Maybe." It was hard to think through the cold. He'd never experienced anything like it.
"I hope it was a hallucination brought on by this blasted weather and a lack of sleep." Willis sighed, looking older than he ever had. "Let's go up and see if it's still there."
Up on deck, Killian looked to the sky. He shuddered when he saw the creature again, just a glint of the wings, but he pointed it out nonetheless.
"See how it lets out red sparks in the light of the setting sun." He explained.
"That is a hercinia bird!" exclaimed Willis, a broad smile transforming his face with boyish excitement. "To lead us home!"
"A beacon!" cried out Dominic, who had been stitching the spare mizzen sail in the dying light of day.
"It's can't be. Sir, please!" the midshipman pleaded. "They are only seen in forests. We're out in the middle of the ocean. It makes no sense!"
"Nonsense, Jones. Have a more positive attitude, if you will." Willis turned and began to head up the deck. "We follow our good omen."
"And you thought it was a bad idea." Henry said, eager to hear more. Killian gave a nod.
"Aye. Have you encountered these birds before? They are few in number in our realm, and to have one flying so far from where it should be… it didn't seem right."
"I've never even heard of them." Henry replied, though he was fidgeting with his cell phone. "How do I spell it?"
"I don't see how that matters at the moment. You need to be heading to bed."
"Already?" The boy pulled a face, clearly unwilling to sleep yet. "Can't you finish the story?"
"Not yet. No. Tomorrow." Killian ran a hand through his hair, unsettled at even telling Henry the story. It had been a long time since he had thought about it. "Smee? A bunk for the lad?"
"Aye Captain. Come along then, laddie." Smee led Henry down to the crew quarters, answering the questions that bubbled up from the boy with patience.
Killian stood up and headed over to the helm, running his hands over her wood. He wondered if they had birds here that were capable of causing good and bad fortune. This wasn't an inherently magical land, so the animals probably wouldn't have any connection to magic either.
Maybe if he had lived in this realm, rather than his own; where luck truly was random and the not tied into the animals, to the peoples and to the land itself. But, the pirate shook his head. It was too late to think about what might have happened; two centuries too late.
