- CHAPTER SEVEN -
Oceans (Oh, the Things I've Done to Me)

Honestly I'm convinced the best of me's the worst of me
Believe me I've tried, but I just can't seem to fight
Against the tide and undertow, that drag me down
So far beneath the foam I can't feel the sun burn my eyes

-Frank Iero and the Patience

Present

It was getting cold.

Their journey to this point had been marked by sunshine and blue sky and pleasantly warm weather, which the three captive Araluens had enjoyed despite themselves. It was hard to retain one's low spirits on a beautiful day. But now the weather seemed to be shifting. The sky was more grey than blue, and the wind was growing sharp.

Will and Evanlyn sat crisscross and facing each other off to one side, playing a handgame called snaps. Gilan remembered it from when he was younger—one of those games based on instinct and speed where both players try to react to each other's movements quickly enough but not too quickly. They were at it intensely. Both youngsters were competitive and thus wholly focused on each other's every move (though Will had the edge in a reaction game like this). It was nice to see them acting like teenagers for once, Gilan mused with a smile as he watched.

Off by the rudder, Erak and Svengal were conversing anything but casually. Their heads were close together, staring off into the horizon and concentrating fiercely. A cold breeze whipped past, and Gilan felt goosebumps rising on the back of his neck. Will absentmindedly rubbed his hands over his arms as he and Evanlyn paused between rounds.

Gilan had never been to sea. But his father had, many times, and Gilan had grown up traveling to the seaside and listening to his father's stories. He had a pretty good idea of what was going on. Will deserved to know—Evanlyn, too—but he was loath to ruin their brief moment of peace. Those were so rare these days, and he knew they would be all but gone by the time they reached Hallasholm.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) the choice was made for him. Erak and Svengal reached an agreement, and Svengal grabbed for a coil of thick rope lying off to his right. Will and Evanlyn looked up as he began to advance toward them.

"What now?" Will wondered aloud, bemused. "They can't be meaning to tie us up." But Evanlyn's face lost some of its color, and Gilan thought that she'd realized what was going on. Svengal shook his head, not unkindly, as he reached the two teenagers sitting on the deck.

"Use this to tie yourselves to the mast," he offered, dropping the rope in between them with a side glance toward Gilan. "And you'd best get to it quickly."

It was as if something in the air shifted at the ominous words. The wind, which had been only minor annoyance moments before, suddenly felt biting and sharp. The clouds grew darker overhead. The ship was eerily still. Then Erak started barking orders to the rest of the crew, and a flurry of movement broke out over the deck as sea wolves hurried to the sails and oars.

"Come on," Gilan murmured, gently touching Will's shoulder and urging him to stand. "We don't want to get caught out in this—whatever it is." Will nodded and stood, Evanlyn following his lead as they moved over to the mast. Gilan handed out the rope and watched approvingly as Will tied a neat bowline knot around his slim waist. He then turned his attention to Evanlyn, who seemed to be attempting to copy Will with some difficulty. He took the rope in his hands and finished off the knot for her.

"Normally, you'd be teaching me how to do this and talking me through it," she said, a nervous tremor in her words. Gilan looked up briefly from his own knot.

"Maybe later."

She nodded, as if sensing that this was all he was willing to give in the way of reassurances. It wasn't because Gilan didn't want to comfort them—far from it—it was simply that he didn't want to lie. Gilan wasn't in the habit of making promises he couldn't keep.

Erak's shouts increased in volume. Will twisted his head to look behind them. When he turned back around, his eyes were wide and—there was no other word for it—frightened. "Gilan," he said, "you might want to finish that knot."

Gilan's definition of Hell kept being rewritten. He'd thought the searing heat of flames as they'd raced up wood braces and tar, the creaking and groaning of the bridge in its death agony, the not knowing if Will and Evanlyn were okay, were alive, or if they were what had happened to them—that was Hell. But now, as the wolfship spun between the Stormwhite's towering waves—Gilan and his friends soaking wet, shivering, heaving and coughing salt water onto the rough planks beneath them, sure that they would die any minute—this was Hell.

Knowing Will and Evanlyn would be safe at home if not for the decisions he'd made—

At his side, Will sputtered and spat salt water onto the deck. "Please, let it end," the boy moaned, and Gilan inwardly agreed. Anything to stop their horrible backsliding down the waves. Anything to be done with this. Gilan placed his hand on the back of Will's head, a silent encouragement to a strength he didn't feel.

Was it really less than a week ago that they had been so sure they would die by fire? The irony was astounding. Halt would have appreciated it.

The ship began its slow climb up the crest of another wave, and Evanlyn sobbed. Will's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. The three friends scrambled with everything they had for the mast, their terrified cries drowned in the deluge that collapsed over top of them as the ship slid backward and the wave crashed overhead.

Salt water slammed against Gilan like a brick wall. It filled his mouth, his nose, his lungs, and just as he started panicking at his inability to breathe the water surged over the sides of the boat, leaving Gilan vomiting and gasping in its wake. A look up confirmed that his young companions were doing the same.

Gilan shook the wet hair out of his face like a dog. Somehow, between bright flashes of panic, he noticed that Erak and his helmsman didn't seem afraid. They were concentrated, hard at work, shouting orders at the oarsmen. But Gilan had seen panicked men before, and these two weren't.

In fact, he was right. Erak and Svengal had seen their fair share of storms. Wolfships were built to handle bad weather, and Wolfwind was holding up well. Still, she had her limits. And any sailor knew that when the contest was man versus sea, there was only ever one outcome.

"We won't make it!" Erak called to Svengal, who nodded.

"That one nearly had us. She can't take much more."

Erak twisted and surveyed the rowers, then peered up through the sheets of rain at the clouds surrounding them. He made a decision. "We'll have to turn her and run her before the storm. Should take us southeast." He paused, seeing another wave hurtling toward them. "After this one."

The ship began its slow ascent up another wave. But this one was smaller, and when it crashed it did so without the full force of the sea behind it. It was a prime moment. At Erak's orders, the rowers on one side of the ship dug their oars in, while the rowers to the opposite side raised theirs. Erak and Svengal heaved on the sweep. The result was a neat pivot that set the wolfship spinning a complete one hundred eighty degrees, all before the next wave overtook them.

The Araluens didn't know any of this, of course. All Gilan noticed was an easing in the ship's backward motion. They were still crashing over and under the waves, but there was now a sense that they were travelling with the storm instead of against it. By the way Will looked around in surprise, dark hair plastered to his forehead, Gilan knew he'd noticed as well.

But none of this mattered to the three captives. Wolfwind crashed its way over another wave. Saltwater filled Gilan's lungs. He sputtered and gasped for air, reaching out blindly until he had hold of Evanlyn with one hand and Will with the other. He heard a choked cry to his left—Evanlyn's—and felt her hand clutch at his arm. He grasped with his right arm until he had Will's shoulder and hauled both of his young friends close to him.

Countless fears raced through Gilan's head. They could be struck by the storm's lightning, or the rope holding them to the mast might snap, or the ship might finally succumb to the towering waves and sink under. Terrified, more terrified than he'd ever been in his life, Gilan tightened his grip on his friends. If they were to drown here, Gilan was determined that at least the young ones wouldn't die alone.

He'd always been told drowning was a peaceful way to die. But not like this. Nobody deserved to die like this.

Will and Evanlyn huddled close to him, and the three Araluens held tightly to each other as the stinging rain lashed against their bodies. They were sodden and freezing and out of energy even to scream. Numb to everything except fear, Gilan bowed his head and prayed to every god he didn't believe in that Will and Evanlyn would make it out of this alive.

Oh, the things I've done to me
I wish I was good enough (I've never been good enough)

So the storm is now chapter 7! Halt and Crowley will be back next chapter, and hopefully the timeline will make sense again. I'm moving some of the chapters around (and adding a few new ones, I think) so until everything's rewritten things might read as out of order.

"Oceans" is by Frank Iero and the Patience, from their album Parachutes, and honestly it's a gut-punch of a song. (Poor Gilan.)