Logs for Ship 6779 - Manufacturer Kharonikacorp E.
Command: Nolram Veer.
Oneirographer: Castillo
Orient.: NNE
Aug. 20
Left port mid-afternoon. Sacrifice has given fair winds. Command thinks it will take 2 weeks to reach Amsfirth, where we will restock on fuel. Made it out in time. There is fire in the sky. The port we left burns behind us. The sky is red. The air is death. The night is cold, but bright.
Cargo remains intact.
“You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”
“You should mind your own, child.”
“It’s fine if you aren’t. I’m a stowaway, too.”
“A stowaway?”
"What we are. We aren't meant to be here, so we're stowaways. It's facts, see?"
"I am?"
"Yes. I think so, anyway. Do you know why you're here?"
"No. But I think I'm running away."
"Then you're a stowaway. Just like me. Nothing wrong with that."
“That’s nice.”
“Are you looking for anyone?”
“No.”
“I am.”
“Shows why you asked that question.”
“I don’t know if I’ll find them.”
“No one does. There are… loud noises. Voices. Flames burning out above. It makes people go away. I can't feel them anymore when they do."
"Yes. The war. People are harder than sand to keep track of. S'what my father would say.”
"Yes."
“Aren’t you going to ask who?”
“Why would I?”
“Everyone does. They expect me to either be an urchin trying to steal from them, or to have some sop story.”
“Sop story?”
"A story to make people sorry for you. The kind that gets you food on the streets, a blanket or two, coin if people are kind enough. Used to, anyway. Now there are a thousand boys like me, with a thousand stories. Harder to get sympathy now."
"I'm sure you have a good… story. I only thought you wouldn't want me prying."
“Why?”
"I don't know you."
"I can give you my name if you like."
"No. Names make this real."
"As you wish."
“I have my own problems. I don't like telling others about my problems.”
“I'll still tell you mine. A distraction, see? I’m trying to find them. The people I lost, they're my parents. Went north for the war and left me with my aunt. I hated her though, so I left. I just… I just want to know. If they're alive.”
"Do you know where they went? In the north."
"No. Just north."
"What if you don't find them?"
"Who cares. Better than being back there anyway."
“You’ll die here.”
“Perhaps. And I’d have died anyway where I came from. At least here I can see the Sea.”
“We’re in a boiler room. We cannot go on deck. How would we see the Sea?”
“We can’t be in here all the time, can we? The crew will probably leave us at the stops. To go whoring, or gambling, or whatever it is sailors or soldiers or people who escape their own lives do. When they leave, we can wear their clothes. And walk up to the mast, pull ropes and things. We’ll be the sailors then, and not the stowaways. Simple as that.”
"…Simple?"
"Yes. Seen others do it, so it can't be that hard. To get a new life, I mean."
“That’s a pretty story.”
“I spent a long time thinking of it.”
“Doubt it was with me in mind.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t.”
"How long?"
"What?"
"How long did you have that dream?"
"I don't know. Months, weeks. Years. Does it matter?"
“I’m sick.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m going to die alone.”
“That’s very dour.”
“Well it’s true. You seem nice enough. Just… stay away from me.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
“You’ll die down here if you don’t. I warned you-”
“Will I get it if I keep- if I keep talking to you?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Well, that settles it then. We have months, and I can leave at any time, but for now… I think I'm going to stay. You seem a good enough sort, and-”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Sorry, can’t change fate.”
“I’m not sure if it was fate that brought you here with me.”
“What else would it be?”
“Go away.”
“But-”
“Just go. There’s more than enough ratways you can wander without bothering me. Let me die in peace.”
“You know what? Have it your way. Just- fine.”
“You aren’t leaving.”
“Let’s play cards. I’m black. You’re red.”
“I said, go-”
“Yes, yes. You're right. I’ll go first.”Sept. 9
Dark days. Dark seas. Message from the General. Trade routes blocked: cannot dock at Amsfirth, Worms in the water. Alternative course charted. Onierographer thinks we will arrive in two moonturns, reliability unknown. We have enough food, that is not the issue. Vessels using Kharonikacorp fuel historically have not sustained more than three weeks at a time without stationing for maint. Hard sell to crew - not impossible. But hard.
Cargo remains intact.
"You were right."
"I was what?"
"Right. I did lose someone."
"Who?"
"My raven."
"You owned a raven? Those are wild birds."
"I didn't own one. They just - they were mine. I was its. It's… complicated."
"Are you looking for them too?"
"No. I don't think I'll find that raven again. It's gone. Even so, ravens cannot cross the Sea."
"Nothing is supposed to cross it. Yet, here we are."
“I thought after I beat you at cards you’d gotten tired of me.”
“Had to find food. Was hungry. You look fine.”
“Perhaps.”
“I thought you said you were sick.”
“Still am.”
“I almost got caught.”
"That would have been sad."
"You don't sound very sad."
"Still would have been. You have a future."
"You say that like you don't."
"I don't know."
Sept. 14
Three days at Maint. Azi claims we are alone. Command says next stops are the Three Pillars. Light will be found there - Sun? Stars? Fresh produce collected - in the event of scurvey, we must be readied. New course charted. Maint says voices in pipes. Routine check shows nothing there. We are safe. Lucky the Sea has not contaminated cargo yet, they say. Usually after so long in the waters without repair, things spoil. All abled bodies on deck are commanded to sleep tonight.
I am awake; I am to make more potions with the new supplies. However old they are, they seem not to have spoiled. They will do.
Cargo remains intact.
"They're loud up there."
"Yes."
"What do you think they're doing?"
"They are moving. I can sense their hearts. Their blood. Something is happening."
"A storm?"
"No. Boarding. I think we are to leave again, soon."
"I'll miss being able to go upstairs. Why… why don't you ever join me?"
"I cannot."
"Why?"
"Something stops me. The air. The metal. The starlight. It isn't good for me."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I know some people can't take the Sea's effects, but- wow. Is it- is it your sickness?"
"Yes. I lost my raven. My raven helped me do things, that I cannot do anymore."
"How are you finding food to eat?"
"There's plenty down here. I'm fine."
"If you say so. You could have told me, you know. I'd have - I'd have brought something for you."
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"S'pose this is where you've been. Never been down this passage before. Thought you'd left."
"No. I don't leave things until it is time."
"What's so special about here?"
"I like the feeling of the floor."
"It's a nice floor."
"It's warm."
"To me it feels cold as ice."
"What did it look like up there?"
"What did what look like?"
"Where we are."
"It was… the Sea is terrifying."
"Why?"
"It's so vast. I'd heard stories of how it spills up, melding with the sky. How it whispers to you, makes you think things. Hear things. But it was one thing hearing stories, and seeing it. No wonder they need Nieroys to chart these things. And the station, it was so big too. All stiltlike above us, a yellow light burning in the tower. I watched the tentacles come down and do their repairs for a few hours. It was nice."
"You left."
"I didn't like the things the Sea said."
"It's a liar."
"You've listened to it before?"
"Yes. I fell in once, I think. I do not remember it much."
"They say it fries your brain if you fall in. That… that you can become a completely different person. That it takes things from you."
"I don't know what it took. I only know what I am now."
"It talked to me in the voice of my sister."
"You never said you had a sister."
"She's gone. Dead. Crushed under a falling pillar years ago. I didn't see it happen, but they made my parents watch. Until earlier, I didn't know I remembered her face."
"I don't remember what it showed me."
"It kept using her face, her voice. I wanted - I wanted to dive in."
"What brought you back?"
"You."
"I dove into the Sea to find my raven. That's why I'm sick."
"The Sea took it?"
"Yes. No. I don't remember. It was a shell after everything. A body with no heart or soul. I am a half-person now."
"You seem whole enough for me. As far as old women go, anyway."
"No. I think you're wrong. I think I will never be whole again."
Sept. 30
No light. No light. We reached the First Pillar. Maru Ghostwalker greets us, receiving our Command with much relief. Oneirographer reports more news from General: convoy to receive us at Lorn, past the Third Pillar. They will accept our cargo. Pipe burst on upper deck - lost three bodies to fix it, and a quarter gallon of oil. How it did so remains unknown. Command thinks untoward pressure, but I am less certain.
Moon is high upon the waters. No light. Howling on the Sea winds. Dreamstorm on the horizon, mares within. New sacrifices must burn tonight. Safe travel? Or doom?
Cargo remains intact.
"What's wrong?"
"…"
"What's wrong, talk to me. Please. Please stop screaming. What's wrong?"
"…"
"Please. You're hurting yourself. Stop-"
"Get away from me, boy."
"Stop making yourself bleed. They locked the medical supplies because of the storm. We can't steal them any longer."
"I'll hurt you."
"You're hurting yourself more. Please. Put the knife away."
"I see so much light."
"Hush now. Don't yell."
"It's hard. There is something inside me. A monster."
"You're not a monster."
"I am. I'm sick."
"All I see in front of me is someone who needs help. Can I help you? With anything. Anything at all."
"Tell me a story."
"What kind?"
"Something you loved. I need- I need a distraction. So the monster goes away."
"When I was young, I would watch landworms prowl. The ones not leashed to military - the duds, who can't hurt anyone anymore. But the thing is, even without high purpose, they seemed… at peace, somehow. I imagined that in another life, I'd have been one of them. At peace. I'd- I'd take my sister out there with me. But she didn't understand. She just got scared. I was never scared."
"You should be."
"But I'm not. Anything that can hurt me, has hurt me. Anything that will hurt me won't matter."
"But if you find them. Your parents. Then it'll matter."
"You're distracting me, aren't you. This isn't about me at all. Give me the knife."
"I…"
"There we go. That wasn't hard, was it?"
"Listen to me."
"What?"
"No, listen. When the time- when the time comes. It's getting worse, I can feel it. For when the time comes, I want you to keep that knife."
"I don't understand."
"I don't want you to hesitate to use it."
"That's not fair to me. You can't ask me that."
"But I am."
"Why? Why are you sick like this?"
"Something hungry lives inside of me. Something I can't get out of me. My raven helped, but the Sea… it did not take well. The voices make it worse."
"I can't hear anything down here. The ship's hexed against that. They can't- they shouldn't carry through here."
"I still hear them. They're awful. I want them to stop."
"You really are here to die."
"Yes."
"Fine. I'll keep it. But no promises on using it."
"I hate you."
Oct 10
Something is wrong. Hole in hull. We reached the Second Pillar. Moored for now. Mares watch the ship. They do not strike, but they follow. Why do they not strike us down?
Nearly through on greens. Need to stop soon, but where? No landings for miles, and Pillars too rocky and Seaswept to find untainted food.
Hull is patched for now, but Oneirographer worried. Thinks that cargo is contaminated - dreams keeping things afloat are no longer pure. But we checked, it looks fine. The dreams do not stain black. We're running out of food to partition. Soon there will be no means to sacrifice.
Cargo remains intact.
"I don't think I'm ever going to find them again."
"I thought you said it didn't matter."
"I thought so too. But I- I miss them. What if my parents are dead?"
"We are, probably."
"Dead?"
"Of a sort. Who will remember us? At the end of things, we are footnotes. Less than that. The ship will take our precedence, and we will be nothing. Surely that is if nothing else a kind of death."
"I guess. I don't think I ever cared about being remembered. Just by the people that mattered to me. And if they're all dead, there's just my aunt. I didn't like her."
"Yes."
"I don't know why I keep telling you these things."
"I don't know, either."
"How did you meet?"
"What?"
"You and your raven."
"I was about to be dead. I was mauled by a wolf, left to die. But it found me, nursed me to health. After that, I would help it, and it would help me."
"Help you with what?"
"Finding things. Going places I couldn't. Helping me survive. It was my eyes, my ear, my arm. My bloodheart."
"Losing it must have been hard."
"Yes. More than anything in the world. I curse the Sea, for what it took. For how it destroyed me."
"Do you think things are going to go bad for us?
"Maybe."
"The hole in the ship. The people upstairs were so afraid."
"Their dreams are poisoned. It's only a matter of time for them."
"I hear them screaming at night. I think they're awake, but they never are. Always sleeping.""They have enough stored to make it through this. But things will be bad for the next week. I feel things watching us. They're waiting to see what happens."
" I don't- I don't have bad dreams. I haven't been having dreams at all. And aside from your incident a while back, you haven't either."
"…"
"Why are we fine? It makes no sense. Why are we just fine?"
Oct 15
Contamination stalled. Enough dreamsnuff to permit sleep among crew, but we're out. If future contamination occurs, none left for treatment. Mares still follow. Onierographer sees no path ahead where we might not confront them.
The Third Pillar rises ahead. Fire burns on top, but they light up nothing. Unknown if convoy awaits beyond. Comm lines are down. The General cannot reach us.
No longer can we move fast through the waters. Only slow. Part of ship given as sacrifice. Food dwindles.
Cargo remains intact.
"I'm getting worse."
"You're not. Don't tell yourself that."
"I am. You can feel it, can't you. You know."
"You're all clammy, yes. But that doesn't have to mean anything."
"But it does."
"We're lucky, you know."
"Why?"
"They blocked off half the lower ship. Something about not wanting to give 'them' fodder. Whatever they are. We're not on that half."
"I know who they are."
"Are they the things you said were waiting?"
"Yes. They ride winds of night. They are the eaters of Time. Of dreams."
"You aren't making any sense."
"They want to take the ship. We're too far in. They don't want us here. There'll be another storm. I can feel it in their minds, their flesh. Then they will feast."
"We're going to die."
"I can't move from here."
"What?"
"It's… it's gotten worse. They're strengthening the hexes in the ship. I cannot move anymore."
"How? How did this happen?"
"I don't know."
"I was wondering why you were looking so pale."
"I don't know."
"You need to eat."
"You aren't eating either."
"There's less food around. The people above think rats are in their supplies. I- I took too much. They're wary of me now."
"That's sad."
"You still should eat. I can split it, promise. I- I don't want you to die. I like you. You're- you're nice."
"I will die. And I'm not."
"Let me- what if… what if I could be your raven?"
"What?"
"Yes. Like how your raven used to help you. And you it. What if I could be your raven."
"You don't know what you're saying."
"But I do. We're not getting out of here, it's true. But up there, no one cares about me, no one in this whole world. The only one who knows me, as I am now, is you."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"Just let me. Let me be your eyes, ears, and arms. Your… what was that word you used. Your-"
"Bloodheart."
"Your bloodheart."
"Are you sure?"
"Thank you."
Oct 31
We ran out of food. Made a call. Drew lots. There was a willing sacrifice, though this one made not to ship, but to us. I feel wretched. I am unclean.
Moon bright. Night dark. Convoy destroyed in storm. No rescue. No hope. Mares boarded ship. Dead things around us. Dead things among us. Door is only thing separating us from Sea.
Cargo unknown.
"Get up. We have to leave."
"…"
"Are you awake?"
"…"
"You're scaring me. Please wake up. Please."
"It's not time yet."
"Something's going on upstairs. They're- they're searching the ship. We have the move."
"It's not time."
"We don't have any more time. Why won't you listen?"
"My raven."
"…Are you-"
"…"
"Please don't do that."
"My-"
"Please- stop it. I- you're hurting me."
"Not time yet, little bird."
"Let go of me."
"My raven. My raven. My-"
"No, no no no. No. I'm- I didn't want to use it, I'm so sorry. I'm- no. Don't die. Stop bleeding. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. Please-"
"…"
"They'll find us, do you understand? Now they'll see me, with blood on my hands. I just wanted to get us to safety. But I just- I mess everything up. Every single time, I just. I-"
"…"
"I'm so sorry."
"My raven. My dear raven."
"What? How…"
"Do not be afraid, little bird."
"What's… happening to you?"
"We will survive."
"I thought you wanted me to kill you."
"I was sick, yes. But you gave me blood. Now - now I have a raven."
"They're almost here. I hear their footsteps. What- what are you going to do to me?"
"Nothing to you. But we need to survive, do you understand? I need you to be my guide. I need you to take me upstairs."
"I…"
"I cannot pass on my own. Can't you do this one thing for me? Please?"
"I thought you said it wasn't time yet."
"Please."
"…"
Dec. 14
A long time away.
Two figures walk abreast in the afternoon light. In the distance, beyond the lock-gate, the swirling silhouettes of water, dream, and fish loom: the Sea in all her esoteric glory, leering and sultry and dark.
"Ship just drifted into port two mornings ago unannounced. No one knows where it came from," one of them, a petty officer by the simple name of Rann says, spitting off the dock-rails into the brine. So near to the end of worlds… "Looked Kharonikacorp from the make of it, but it was so battered no one could tell the model."
Her superior, a rather imposing sort of person by the name of Arnol One-Eye, for he gave up the other for hidden truths, peers up at the wreck before them. It's covered in bloody rust-stains and countless etched mostly-faded runes - no doubt made in the effort to repel the forces at Sea, patchwork repairs evident of the tumult it must have encountered. Skeletal dead creatures and kelp and tattered undreamed things that must have suckered themselves to the dead ship during its assumedly deathly voyage dangle rank at its sides, stowaways all. "Kharonikacorp, eh? Didn't think cargo ships would go this far west."
"It's unnatural."
"Has anyone come out of it yet?"
"No. No one yet, sir. Far as the younger petty officers are concerned, ghosts must man it."
"Ghosts?" His eyes narrow.
"There's been wailing for days. Thought you might have heard it."
"I sleep heavy."
"I know, sir."
He cracks his back. "You send anyone in, yet?"
"That's why I brought you here. Three people. Anderson, Kavi, Sylva. Good officers all. Sent them in yesterday, to stop the screams. It did that, at least."
"They're gone?"
"They've not returned since."
He peers up. The air is unnaturally still, the dreamless water a glassy pale around the dock. Silence, but for the faintest echo of the whines and whispers of the Sea. "Well whatever they were, there's none now."
"I don't trust it, sir."
"Can't trust anything, that's a healthy disposition to have these days. Let's climb, shall we?"
They grapple up the sides, slowly yet surely, making time to secure their footing amid the rusted topography of dead things and dead words and dead dreams. It's a long climb, with much slipping and sliding, the sighs of Seaflesh as their hooks puncture their inert colonies the only sign of life in the towering hunk of flotsam.
They reach the top.
"You brought your lamp, right?"
"Yes, sir."
A match strikes the air, and a light flickers to life. The tell-tale sirens of dream anchoring moan, echoing against the hollows of the harbor around them. An instrument most cunning, most ships that come into port are screened with it regardless of content.
"Good. Can't have any stray dreams."
The ship's deck is a blasted thing. The railing is near-flattened, festooned with cascading seaworm corpses, now-frozen in a death-mask by the spells of the Lock. Bodies that must have once been human stand half-melted to the metal of the ship, mouths grown nearly shut with bone mid-scream.
"Mare attack," Rann whispers.
"That's too simple. There's something more afoot. Adult mares die the instant the Sea is left. Perhaps there was one, or perhaps not, but there's something else in this ship I don't like. There is darkness in it."
"Lower deck looks inaccessible. Wherever the missing officers are, they're not there."
"I agree."
They turn to their right, only to find someone staring up at them: they cut a lonely, gangly figure, dark against the sun.
"Hello?" Rann's the first to speak. The figure shuffles closer at the sound of her voice. It turns out they are a youth - not quite boy, not quite man. Fighting age. But he turns, and they can see now his entire body seems black with dried blood. His eyes seem old, older than anything, dead and sunken. She steps forward, and he flinches. She tries again. "We're good people. Promise."
He says nothing.
"What happened here?" Arnol asks, voice stern but tentative. "Have you seen anyone else come through? People like us."
The youth tilts his head, rattling ever so slightly in an imaginary wind. Rann bends down to look at him, waving her hand in front of his eyes. She pinches his arm for a moment, fingers grazing leathery skin. She stands back up, cursing.
"He's not responsive."
"But he acknowledged you before."
"I've done things you haven't, sir. Things they don't tell people in the ports. He's not responsive. Whatever actions he's making… he's far away."
They stand there for a while, Arnol pacing this way and that. "Where the hells are they."
A sudden lonely, keening howl groans from the far side of the ship. There is a mournful quality to it, as if from a dirge. The youth perks up, scurrying away with shambling limbs, shrieking and babbling. Before long, he's gone.
They clamber up to the other, higher side of the wrecked behemoth, boneless organs and Seaslime coating their boots. The whole ship reeks, but it gets worse and worse the higher they climb. Before long they are at a pinnacle, a former prow now blasted and shattered, broken idols of fish and men and squid where superstitious cargomen might have once given sacrifice staring lifelessly at them. Go away, they seem to whisper. Not here. Not now. Leave. Go.
Rann vomits.
To either side of the idols, charnel-piles reach to the sky, limbs disjointed and ripped apart, faces with jaws half on their hinges, some new, some old. And at the foot of it all, three new bodies prostrate beneath the idols as if offered in willing sacrifice, the tattered torn uniforms hanging listlessly off their piteous bodies. But these bodies are different, new. They do not have the evil formlessness of what mounts behind them, but instead their limbs are intact, only…changed.
Limbs bend the wrong way. Half the teeth in Kavi's mouth are canine, dry gums ruptured and drenched in dry blood. Anderson's hands are half clawed, his stomach torn apart by his own hand, spilling out on the flood beneath him. Sylva is barely recognizable, bloated and twisted in a fetal form, a bony tail tearing its way out her spine.
Arnol turns slowly to Rann, eyes wide open. "Wolf. We have to leave."
Another howl wails across the sound, but they're competent. They'll make it. Arnol is the one in a daze now, but Rann pulls him along well enough. They're halfway back to their rappel-point, when they see something in their path. It's the youth, standing silent and cold, but this time his eyes meet their own. In one of his hands is a rusted knife, long and black.
The boy's neck suddenly preens as if considering the command of some hidden teacher. The throaty sound of screeching birds and thumping leaps thunder behind them. At the very end, it is Rann who makes a call. She pulls Arnol back, and they stagger both, a jumble of limbs, off the brink.
They grab once, twice, to dangling flotsam at the shipsides, bracing their fall if only for a moment. When they finally hit the waves with a slam, a roar echoes out from above them, but nothing follows them. The swimming shadows of perched monsters blot out the sun, but it's over. They've escaped, though it is becoming increasingly clear to Rann that she is partly to blame for her own comrades' deaths. She mourns for it, and will mourn for it, many months thereafter.
They clamber up onto the pier, collapsing side by side under the sinking sun, the Sea gleaming red in an afternoon soon slipping into a bloody evening. Across, out of the dead ship, the roars slowly fade off into mournful keening. Black blood dribbles from their lips.
"We could have rappelled," Arnol says.
"I didn't want to lose you," Rann replies. 'It would have been on me."
"Damn straight." He descends into a coughing fit, seawater burning his lungs. "Guess we know what that ship was for now, at any rate. Good thing the docking hexes still hold, else we'd all be fucked about now."
"Of everything I'd have guessed to be on it.."
"Don't act surprised. A more biological bent has taken precedence in the wars abroad. Different sides trade beasts like playing cards to destroy the others." He grins something merciless. "Besides. We have it trapped. It's at our mercy."
"And the boy?"
"A loophole, maybe? I don't know. Who cares."
They both pause, shivering in a post-survival daze.
"You hesitated. Before we fell," Rann whispers, clenching her hands, trying to stop them from shaking. "Why did you hesitate like that? I've never seen you do it, in all the years I've known you. The boy was looking at you."
"Ditching the honorifics now, eh?"
"In all due respect sir, I just saved your life."
It's just them. Shuddering breaths, sweat, fear, relief - the human things. The things that ground them. Arnol staggers up, almost slipping. Rann rushes to help break his fall, but he pushes her away, saving himself this time.
"Course it wasn't the boy. I don't know, Rann. I don't fucking know."
The howls stop, the faint sounds of wind taking their place.
"What about the ship?"
"What about it?"
"It took three of us. Are you- Will you bomb it?"
"Bomb it? No. Of course not."
"But the monsters-"
"We can neutralize the animals well enough, I'm sure. We have time - they don't. The ship is a gift, if we can blow open those doors, get underneath. Weapons, Rann. And that includes the wolf. We'll be able to protect ourselves better than anything else before. You understand?"
It's a long time before he gets a response.
"Yes sir."
He lets out a breathy sigh.
"Just- get some rest. I'm going to file paperwork. Three new names to add to the lists, I guess."
"Am I discharged?"
"No - well, I don't know yet, actually. Even if you are, you of all people know it's not a big deal," he says, the words not reaching his eyes, which are far away. "You're in the system now, for real this time. You get shuffled around for a few years, do the right people some favors, get to know others. I'm sure after that you'll be back in right as rain with the next turnover. This is just a raindrop in an ocean. You'll see."
"Okay, sir."
She takes one last look at the ship. For a moment, she's back, staring into the dead eyes of the youth on deck, sandpaper skin under her calloused hands. The image of the hollow boy, a man not quite yet a man all covered in rime and sweat and blood, etches itself into her mind. She wonders how he came into that position. Why of all passengers, the beast had kept him alive. Why he watched her specifically, before they escaped, but had made no sudden moves.
Why she hears a voice she's never heard before but is sure more than anything that it's his, in her head, even now. It's nothing but unintelligible babble, but in it she can decipher elements and feelings that are indeed discerning: pain and fear, love and loss, and an indefatigable sense of yearning for something however impossible that might be. But then she blinks, rubbing her eyes, and it's all gone. Nothing more than the Sea's expected murmurs.
She walks away.