This chapter was getting too long, so I split it in two. Here's part one, and part two will be up tomorrow! Hope everyone has a good Easter!
I wake with a groan and roll onto my back, regretting the decision immediately. My head feels wrong, as if when I move it my brain remains stationary - only to rush to follow the movement on a five second delay, colliding harshly with the inside of my skull when it hurries to nestle itself back in the space.
"Good morning, Snoozy Sparrow." I hear Caspian greet me distantly, his voice muffled underneath the excessive pain.
"Snoozy Sparrow?" I ask, rubbing the heel of my hand across my eyes. When I open them, my vision is dotted with spots of swirling light.
"The fairytale, do you not know it?"
"I'm afraid not. I know Sleeping Beauty though, feel free to use that one instead." Swinging my legs over the side of the hammock, I blink slowly at the ground and will it to steady in my sight.
"Maybe another time." Caspian responds distractedly. "Do you need help?"
"I've got it." I reluctantly jump and land with bent knees, only to be thrown off balance by the vicious tide a second later. Caspian is by my side immediately, helping me stand and rest against a nearby wooden beam. My head pounds harder, brain replaced with a loose bowling ball; It feels like my head is going to crack open like an egg any minute now. I look up, white patterns still blotting my sight, and see Caspian begin to talk. "I'm fine." I cut him off quickly. I need to focus.
In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.
The deep breaths shrink the bowling ball in my head, just a bit, and I try to concentrate on the comfort from breathing in the salty air instead of the spike of pain that strikes with every inhale.
Finally, when I adjust enough to the pain to push it back enough to think, I look to Caspian. "I'll teach you how to stow your hammock." He says almost regretfully, the pity clear in his eyes. The lack of a mirror in here is probably for the best, I can't begin to imagine the state I must be in.
Together we untie the hammock from its posts and roll it into a tight bundle, covering it in a net and cloth before enclosing it in one of the trunks at the end of the berthing deck.
The lid closes with a harsh snap, sending unwelcome vibrations through my head that make me groan and slide down against the wall so I can bury my head between my knees. Somewhere in the distance Caspian mentions lunch but even the promise of food isn't enough for me to stand or simply raise my head. It feels like the task would require a team of five, and I briefly consider that this newfound heaviness could transform my body into the most effective anchor ever if tied to a rope and thrown over the side.
Someone nudges my shoulder.
Instead of raising my head I rest my cheek on my knees and look to the side where Caspian is now sat beside me holding out a cup of water and lunch – a hardtack biscuit and cheese. I murmur my thanks and gather the strength to shift my head against the wall, accepting the food gratefully.
Few sailors occupy the room with us, taking hurried naps or changing clothes. Watching them move so assuredly strengthens my headache, but the food and drink help ease the fog with time. After a while of silent chewing, I turn to Caspian.
"Why is the wind so loud today?" His whole body seems to slump with a new weight.
"We've entered a storm." He answers, eyebrows drawn together.
"But the blue star –"
"Is nowhere to be seen." I see a muscle clench in his jaw and I instinctively reach out a hand to give his arm a reassuring squeeze. There are no words to be said. Our only beacon of help is unobtainable for the foreseeable future and the presence of a storm weeps with visions of immense danger and death. All I can do is let him know he's not alone and, if I can convince myself of the same, reassure him that we're all going to be okay. I push away the mental images of the deck splintered in two, men fruitlessly attempting to stay afloat a churning black ocean and the purple mast being snatched away by the wind. I could really use a glass of wine right now, I think bitterly.
Caspian puts his hand atop my own and smiles in thanks, but his expression soon turns curious. "You commented on the wind instead of the rocking. Why?" I take a moment to connect the dots.
"I thought it was just me and my inability to stand straight. It didn't click." My stomach sinks at the realisation that the next few days, if I'm being optimistic, are going to be spent bumping into walls and exerting the little energy I have into keeping the contents of my stomach inside rather than across the floor like the bucking sea would prefer.
"You should give yourself more credit. Your balance isn't as bad as it was."
"Well, with all the wine still in my system, I expected things to be swaying when I started walking."
He leans in and talks lower though the nearest sailor is still across the other side of the room from us. "I'd give you more to help you sober up if I could, but I'm under strict instruction to treat you as I would anyone else."
"Since when does a King take instructions?" I ask, trying to fight back the part of my brain that wants to whine and whine and whine until he caves and blesses me with extra water. There's no reason I shouldn't be treated like everyone else. In fact, it would be beneficial. I'd feel more integrated with the crew than ever, and maybe Drinian would hate me less.
"Since they came from Drinian and he can be deeply intimidating when he wishes to be."
"Are you trying to say he's not wishing to be all the time?" I find that hard to believe. He laughs and shakes his head.
"Not with me, usually."
"So, if I'm to be treated like everyone else, does that mean no more training?" I say after a brief pause. I never thought I would find anything that could make waking up at 4am worth the struggle, but every morning spent with Caspian proves me wrong. Though it would be hard to continue calling them training sessions considering we often get distracted by his stories or my questions. Nevertheless, I wouldn't want to give those up.
"No, the training can stay. We can start again tomorrow if you like." He smiles and I nod, trying to suppress a grin. We can't fight if I can't even stand up straight, so that means two hours of stories with all my worries left locked on the other side of the door.
I can't wait.
"Focus!" His sword comes crashing down on my own which was tipped towards the ground. I turn away from where I was staring through the windows and parry, swooping my blade in a large upward arc as I try to lock the tip underneath his guard and pull, but he's not allowing it. He throws his blade away from mine and attacks with a jab, forcing me backwards.
He starts to attack again, my arm rigid and ready to block in retaliation, when the wind hits.
A brutal gust, the third this hour that makes me fear for my life, attacks the ship. It pushes and hums against the windows, begging for entrance. Above us I can hear the floorboards creaking as men rush around trying to keep order, their yelling muffled under the thunder and rain assaulting the ocean in a ceaseless attack. My foot slips and I fall, sword thudding against the floor beside me.
"Are you alright?" Caspian holsters his weapon and holds out a hand to help me stand.
"Training's no fun when I can't keep myself standing for longer than five minutes." I release his hand and slump down onto the bench beside the windows, watching the white spray from the waves splash over the glass as the ship continues to rock violently.
"It will get easier. Besides, you'll be thanking me if we ever enter battle during a storm." I roll my eyes, turning to watch him as he settles across from me. Even though the space is dim, and his face is brushed with shadows, his eyes shine. I don't understand how. They're impossibly dark and yet they never cease to remind me of gemstones, like rich smoky quartz under a spotlight. It's mesmerising.
I look to the dreary landscape for a distraction. Every few seconds the room is submerged in darkness as a wave climbs the Dawn Treader and plunges us into its midnight depths, though there's not much difference between below the sea it and above, where the sky is filled with low black clouds that choke the light – except for the lightning the crew are valiantly trying to steer us away from, of course.
"Wasn't there another island close to Ramandu's on the map that Coriakin showed us?" I ask, recalling the shape that zoomed past as the map travelled from Dark Island to Ramandu's. He nods.
"Yes, but we don't want to reach it in a storm. The force could beach the boat and render it useless, or we could hit rock underneath the current that would tear the boat in two." I can't help but choke out a laugh. I've traded a war for a storm at sea, and to think I believed that life would be safer here last week…
"So, it would mean certain death over highly likely, like we're in now." I respond drily.
"We're not going to die. I promise you that." He catches my eye and I hate how easy he makes it to believe him.
"You make a lot of promises you have no control over keeping, Caspian."
He smiles and huffs out a laugh. "Yet keep them I will."
I don't doubt that he will do everything in his power to try.
The ship jolts right and creaks ominously. From beyond the door we see the blurred outlines of men rushing by and a cacophony of yelling, soon followed by the familiar thump thump thump of people climbing the stairs.
"I need to help." Caspian stands abruptly and retrieves his coat from the back of a chair, his demeanour transformed in an instant. That's another thing I find remarkable around him – how quickly he can shift from somebody so quotidian to a leader. A King.
I stand too, but he looks to me with a mix of care and commiseration. "You can't come with me." He gives the door a fleeting glance before striding over to me and holding onto my arms. "Promise me you'll stay below deck."
"Caspian –"
"Promise me." He cuts me off.
"I promise." He looks between my eyes and nods, like he's trying to determine whether or not I'm telling the truth. While typically I would love to sneak up there on my own, seeing the fear in his eyes and the plead in his voice makes me stop. This isn't just an act or a dream or any other excuse I want to fashion for myself – this is real. Here is someone who cares for me, truly, and I can't to throw that away. He stands straight and drops his arms to his sides, though I can still feel the gentle press of his fingers across my shoulders.
"Men often get thrown overboard in a storm. I'd quite like to avoid that happening here." I nod and accept the complete lack of benefits to me going on deck. I want to help, but that doesn't mean I can. There's no denying my unfamiliarity with this. "Thank you." He raises his hand and I freeze, watching as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear almost unconsciously. He pauses, hand hovering beside my head, before clearing his throat and mumbling a goodbye, leaving the room with a swish of his coat.
Following his bizarre and unprecedented display of affection, Caspian assists the men on deck for the entire day.
Crew members come and go, shrugging on coats as they ascend the stairs and returning so drenched that I wouldn't be surprised if the water had seeped into their bones as well. From how badly they shiver, I doubt the difference would even be noticeable. The second the door to the deck is closed, they direct frozen fingers to their coat buttons, fumbling to remove the sodden fabric and eager to have their shirts follow suit. At best they salvage a two-hour rest, but for most it's not long until deck duty is replaced by rowing until the next rotation.
When he left, I wandered the ship searching for something to occupy my time and found the door to Caspian's cabin, occupied by Lucy and Gael, wide open. The two girls sat on the bed playing 'I went to market' with Gael facing away from the door and Lucy glancing through every now and again, eventually catching me passing by.
Now I sat where Lucy did, with her moving to rest against the wall so we formed a triangle, trying to concentrate on the game. It wasn't easy now I had an ideal view of all their comings and goings, which is how I knew Caspian had been above deck for far too long. Rhince had already done two shifts up there and still there was no sign of him.
"I went to market and I brought an apple, eggs, flowers, a can of beans and… cake." Gael said.
"I went to market and I brought an apple, eggs, flowers, a can of beans, cake, and," Lucy paused dramatically. "A goat!" She finished excitedly. Gael giggled and insisted it wasn't possible. "We never said what type of market it was!" Gael giggled more and continued the game, this time adding an entire castle to the list. They'd given up including me during the last round, when I failed spectacularly at remembering only three items because I thought I'd heard Caspian yelling above deck.
"A goat, a castle, and three dragons!" The door opens again and I strain my head to the side to see who's there, but it's one of the crew I haven't interacted with beyond the expected niceties.
This was getting too much. All I can hear is him telling me about men being thrown overboard and the fact that the weather only seems to be getting worse unsettles my stomach more. "I'd quite like to avoid that happening here." So would I, you idiot. If you're not alive up there I'm going to kill you.
There's another flash of lightning and thunder rumbles all too soon. It's close. Dangerously close. Lucy falters for a moment and inhales, but then picks up the game as if nothing happened. I wish I shared her resolve.
"Excuse me." I murmur and leave, eyes pinned on the door at the top of the stairs. I just need to make sure he's still there.
"Amber – no." A hand forcefully grabs my forearm and drags me away towards the end of the corridor. I blink away the cloud of panic in my head, though it still feels like it's choking me, and turn to Marco. His mouth is set into a firm line and already there are dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep as he stares at me stiffly. "You know you can't go out there."
"Caspian's been up there since this morning, I just want to know if he's –" Alive. "– Okay."
"I'll check, you just stay here." The door opens when he's halfway up the steps, but the rumbling of even more thunder blocks the sound of him speaking to whoever just emerged. A few seconds later he comes back with Fiedan, already shirtless and heading into the berthing deck. "He's fine. They're getting him to come back down soon, there's just a lot to be done." The knot in my stomach eases slightly, one hand giving the loose end of it a quick tug, but I doubt it will unravel much more until I can see him and clarify it for myself. Not that I think they're lying, but my mind has a special power for creating very vivid and very grim figments. Still I nod and give him my thanks.
We're quiet for a while. Looking out of the porthole only makes me feel sicker. I used the think the waves were beautiful, the sea here is so clear. It made everything dazzle, and when the sun was setting it embraced the colours of the sky as its own and made me feel as if nothing could go wrong in the world. Now my heart seizes every time a new monstrous wave rises and knocks the ship, leaving hands of white foam on the glass when it can't break through.
"What does a storm mean for us?" I ask, my voice pathetic. The more I watch, the more our situation sinks in. It consumes my mind and the nightmares grow as swiftly as the waves do, only they have nothing to stop them. They just keep growing until they're a towering tsunami ready to crash down and wash me away. Marco sighs deeply and runs a hand across his eyes.
"A few dreadful weeks at best. We can't cook so it's biscuits and cheese for everyone." He sarcastically cheers but I can't bring myself to laugh. Weeks? Weeks?
"Can we not go on the deck at all?" I don't want to hear the answer, but the tiniest sliver of hope is praying for a miracle. Thinking of the size of the crew and the size of the ship, with half of our space declared off limits, makes me itch.
"Unless you want to help clearing off the water or face Drinian at the wheel, no." Marco answers.
"How do I clear the water off?"
"Amber, I was joking. You have to stay down here." I bite my tongue. If he won't tell me, there has to be someone who will. There has to be a moment where I can go up. There has to be. How could anyone survive without fresh air for weeks? My lungs seem to beg for the crisp, cold wind now they're aware of its absence. I don't know if I can survive this.
"Are you scared?" He asks.
"I've had worse." For now, I add internally. Too many elements of this is familiar. The confinement. The rations. Death's presence lurking around the corner. But that had never lasted for weeks before. Marco doesn't ask what I mean and I don't offer any elaboration, but still memories from last year creep into mind.
The Blitz was like nothing we could have imagined; a terror peeled from the darkest parts of our brains, thoughts we never dared to visit made true. For 57 days we were bombed. Night after night after night – even when they ended, and the sirens no longer blared across the country, come evening I still retreated to my shelter because I couldn't shake the echo. I thought I still heard them wailing. People still lived their lives, we picked ourselves up in the mornings and carried on, but then came late December.
100,000 bombs in one night. We didn't find out until it was published in the newspapers in February, but we all remembered. It was impossible not to. The vibrations had my skull rattling long after they had ceased to fall, my whole body quivering in fear. It took me three days to brave the outside again and nothing had been the same since.
Something on my face must show that I'm somewhere else because Marco extends his arms to offer a hug. I gratefully accept, winding my arms around his back and burying my face in his shoulder. I feel him do the same. We may be the same height and only one year apart in age, but he feels like a baby brother I need to protect. I think it's his face, there's something unarguably boyish about him that I can't see shaking with age, the severity of his expression now doesn't suit him; it looks as if he's trying on his fathers shoes or shirt – oversized and worn down, and just… wrong.
He sighs and pulls back. "I need to get back to work." He taps a coil of rope attached to his hip. "Deck duty." My eyebrows furrow in confusion, so he explains. "We tie ourselves to the mast. It's the best way we can ensure, well, not dying I guess."
"Please be safe." I say, wrapping my arms around myself. He gives me a reassuring smile and nods, turning towards the staircase. It opens before he reaches it and together we stop as Caspian descends the steps shivering so hard it's like he's convulsing, but when I step forward to talk to him Marco holds a hand out in front of me and shakes his head once. Caspian doesn't see us, he simply walks down the opposite end of the corridor and disappears from sight.
"Let him rest." He says softly. I stare at the empty space and mumble an 'okay', torn between the relief of seeing him alive and moving and the desperate need to shout for the doctor to ensure he rests properly with as much warmth as possible.
When he sees that I'm not about to make a mad dash down the hallway, Marco ascends to the deck and leaves me alone. Lucy and Gael's voices drift out from the open cabin door a few feet away and I find myself heading towards them without thinking.
I knock on the door and force a smile when they both turn. "Can I join?"
"Of course!" Lucy exclaims, patting the spot on the bed where I had been before.
"I just won. You can start the next round." Gael says when I'm settled.
"I went to the market and brought" I pause and think.
'We tie ourselves to the mast. It's the best way we can ensure, well, not dying I guess.'
"Some rope."
A quick thank you to Jane Smith and Liz who both left lovely comments but I unfortunately can't PM my gratitude, and to everyone else who has left comments, favourites, and followed this story so far.