“Get some rest, they said. What a laugh!”

Jamie grumbled to himself where he was hung, his limbs draping lackadaisically over the sides of his hammock. There would be no rest for him, besides the relief from gravity that was now afforded to his aching muscles and raw feet. Cold water dripped and spilled through the cracks of the floor above, while many-a hurried thumping footsteps traveled to-and-fro, and heavy waves crashed mercilessly upon the hull beside where he now lay. All in all, not exactly picturesque conditions for a weary slumber.

In truth, the irritation exhibited by this young tan skinned and dark-haired orphan lad, who knew not even his own age of fifteen, emanated more from his anxiety than any true feelings of anger. Though this was not by any stretch the first storm that The Persephone had encountered on this voyage, it was by and far the most massive. And as young Jamie had scurried about the deck on crouching feet, or on all-fours to avoid the swinging arms and bodies of his fellow sailors in their struggles, he had been witness to more than one titanous waves, ones so large that they threatened to swallow the vessel whole like how Fenrir would swallow the King of the Gods, or so his crewmate Helgi from the Northlands told him.

How was a young man supposed to sleep, regardless of the toil upon his famished body, when at any moment his only place he had ever known could be vanished beneath the sea, and the bed where he now hung would become his salty tomb?

“Hold on!” He distinctly heard over the thunder and rain and the crashing waves, a voice loud and authoritative that only their Captain, Voyagan, could wield.

A violent force struck the far hull, and The Persephone was thrown into a tip so deep that Jamie fell to the wall that was now the floor! An icy panic even colder than the precipitation around him ran through his spine as he scrambled up to his feet, one upon the wall and the other upon the floor as the corner of the room was now directly south beneath him.

Finally, mercifully, he felt the bottom of the boat slowly begin to tip back away from its near-capsize. For several seconds the young Cabin Boy felt a strange feeling in his guts like he was falling, before the keel slammed against the water once again and righted the ship with a force so violent that he heard the very spine of the vessel groan loudly, like The Persephone herself was crying out in anguish, and he himself was thrown sprawling to the floor again!

It took a moment for him to regain his wind, for his chest had struck the wooden planks painfully, and he gasped for air and coughed! Rising to his knees, Jamie scurried desperately over to the worn leather satchel where he kept what little he owned, rummaging inside it until he retrieved the item that he had sought: a most peculiar and unsettling bauble. It was a head, the head of a man, but one much too small, dried and malformed. Its lips were stitched together with string, and its eyes shut tight, and a tuft of long, stringy black hair stuck out of its scalp. It hung from a long leather band that protruded from either of its temples so that it could be worn as some sort of barbaric necklace. Despite its grotesque appearance, Jamie clung tight to the thing, holding it close to his chest and wrapping himself around it in a fetal way in his hammock, his eyes shut tight as he shook with terror. To do this he knew from grim experience would give him awful dreams, but whatever he was shown now he thought would be better than his current state. And no sooner had he returned to his uncomfortable bedding did he finally drift off into a deep slumber.

If one were to ask him to recall his dream after the fact, Jamie might have some trouble putting it into words, or even placing the events that he had seen into the order at which they had properly occurred but for the ending. To awaken from this, these dreams that felt as real as the real, was to see his memory muffled by a heavy and obscuring fog. In the moment, however, it would always seem as if he was walking beside a companion, they would always match his gait so that he could follow along despite their differences in stature. Whoever it was would never acknowledge him, however. They would never look his way even once, nor would they respond to his voice. It felt not unlike that he was a ghost. This time it was Helgi. He knew it at once for she was the only female of the crew, and the only one with hair that shone like gold. Like usual, it was tied up into a tight bun on the back of her skull, mostly to keep it out of her eyes, but also to keep it close from those who might try to cut it and steal it to sell. She was shorter than all of the rest of the crew, save for Jamie who was not yet grown out of his adolescence, but she was just as well-muscled as any of the other men on the crew. Her skin was pale as a sheet, and did not brown on the hotter days but reddened and itched. And her eyes were blue like sapphires, her traits were that of Royal Blood from her homeland, or so she liked to say. Her grandfather had been a claimant for their throne, but he had been defeated, cast out and exiled. Surely another of her many and tall tales that she enjoyed to exposit when sat at a tavern or was resting with the men in her own cot.

Jamie looked about as they walked. Around them was the familiar and bustling wharf of the port city of Bastión, the city from which he had been born. Many-a swarthy deckhands were busy at work tugging and tying, lifting and hauling, chafing under a smoldering sun.

When Jamie peered back at Helgi’s face, he was surprised to see her nervous countenance that was so uncommon for the usually jovial young woman. Her jaw was set and her teeth were clenched, and a bead of sweat was beginning to form on her temple. Several times her eyes would dart about from side-to-side as if for someone following her, or watching from afar, and when they were not, then they would cast down upon her feet so as not to make contact with any of the other laborers’.

Finally, after a short jog up a flight of wooden-plank stairs, they had arrived at the Wharfmaster’s Office, where Helgi rapped upon the old wooden door with her finger knuckles. Once, then a pause, then twice more, then another pause, and then three more in rapid succession.

“Come in.” Came a scratchy voice from inside, followed by a distinct click of a lock.

Helgi peered over her shoulder with a peculiar paranoia, shoving through the door without opening it fully, and shutting it just as quickly behind herself with both hands. Jamie could not have possibly followed her through as she had done this, but after a blink he found himself stood inside the musty office as well right beside her.

“What is it?” Croaked the Wharfmaster, his back still turned away from his new guest as he was busy scribbling down notes onto old vellum.

Helgi took in a deep breath, as well as a quick look about the dark musty room, as if she suspected ears in the very walls, before she spoke. “It is done.”

No sooner had those heavily-accented words left her lips than did the sounds of scratching-scribbling cease, as the Wharfmaster turned on his heels to face her. He was a short, wide man, with the countenance of a toad, a large head with a large mouth and a portly, hairy body. He lifted up an arm and slapped the parchment down upon a table, before marching swiftly over to the Northwoman until she was distinctly aware of his moldy sour breath.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“It’s done?” He demanded, as if she had not already just confirmed it from her own mouth, whatever ‘it’ was. He looked her up and down from head to toe, as if just now sizing her impressive physical specimen up for the first time. “You and yours... really?” He asked again, a twinge of doubt in his tone.

For once the anxious expression on Helgi’s face was replaced with a furrowed brow and set jaw as indignation washed across her being. “My men and I, we do not play.” She replied in a low, confident tone.

“Apparently...“ The Wharfmaster murmured in reply. “Bring ‘er to me. I’ll have to confirm-”

“No.” Helgi interrupted him.

The short man shot a glare back up at her, one that led Jamie to think that his authority was one that was not challenged often. “What did you say?” He growled incredulously, leaning in closer so that the two were now nearly chest-to-chest.

Helgi raised two muscled arms and shoved the Wharfmaster’s shoulders, sending him stumbling back away from her several steps!

“If one thing, one thing go bad, that is it for me and my crew! I will not risk whole operation to make low-rung nail like you feel important! You have your coin, tell your boss that he must come to collect package himself!”

A moment of pause took up within the musty room, Helgi stared daggers down at the Wharfmaster, while he in turn folded his arms and huffed in a pout, though he yet appeared to be in some deep contemplation as well.

“Fine.” He finally relented. “But you better not be talkin’ out yer ass, or you an’ yer lot will be beggin’ for the hangman’s noose!”

“Hrafnsblóð.” Helgi cursed under her breath at him.

“-and he’s not just gonna come down here to the docks on the words of promise of some low-born sailors, I hope you at least brought somethin’ to pique his interest?”

At that Helgi went pallid, and her eyes grew wide. She visibly gulped, and rolled her tongue within her mouth, as if she was preparing for some kind of unpleasant act. Silently she nodded to him, and then reached down into one of the satchels upon her worn leather belt and began to fumble about within. So curious was the ghostly Jamie then that he knelt down and stepped in so as to get a better look at whatever it was that the Norsewoman was retrieving, and which caused her so much anxiousness to produce. What she finally, daintily slipped out of her pouch appeared to be a... a Handkerchief! One of those frilly, decorative cloth pieces carried by Noblemen and women, and bearing one of those fancy Noble Crests to boot, though Jamie could not recognize one of those from any of the others. Its natural, soft-lavender hue was marred with some kind of stain, crusty and brown and stiff, which appeared to make it all the more difficult for Helgi to unfold as she was then forced to peel the sticky substance back. Finally she managed to lift the final layer, which revealed that tucked within was none other than a withered, roughly-hewn finger!

Jamie, who had leaned in so close that the tip of his nose was but a hair’s breadth from Helgi’s calloused hand, leapt backwards and cried out in fright!

Helgi’s head snapped to the side, as if she had actually heard him even in this ethereal state, and Jamie could almost swear that her eyes had flashed with some faint blue glow!

“W-what is it?” Asked the Wharfmaster, following her gaze quizzically.

Helgi did not reply, but slowly raised up her free hand, her outstretched fingers nearly making contact with Jamie’s chest! As the young man was most unsure of what was real and what was not in a dream such as this, he panicked and stumbled back several steps! Slowly, Helgi began to take creeping steps towards him, her grasping hand outstretched as though feeling for him, invisible as he was! Jamie backed up more, until he collided with the wooden wall behind him with a thump! Helgi appeared to startle from this noise, though the Wharfmaster did not seem to register it himself. Jamie looked back in alarm. For some reason, he had been sure that in whatever poltergeistian-state he now embodied he would simply flow through the cracks in the boards and come out again on the other side. Helgi’s gait quickened, and now she marched straight towards him, her grasping claw prepared to take hold of him around his throat!

Jamie awoke with such a start from his hammock that he toppled out over the side, landing with a thud and rolling once or twice! He winced and rubbed the back of his head from the pain as he rose to a kneel from the floorboards. The rain and the waves had ceased, and sunlight now spilled freely through the cracks and little holes in the planks above.

A familiar hearty laugh rang out in the bunkroom from the wooden steps that lead up to the deck. Leaning down from the top of the steps was Captain Voyagan himself, a handsome light-skinned man who looked to be about in his early thirties, with short-cut brown hair and a beard of stubble. His chin was cleft and his jaw as defined as the muscles upon his arms and chest. He wore a large grin, as he had watched Jamie tumble from his cot, of almost suspiciously white and well-maintained teeth.

“Well!” He called down from his perch at the top of the stairs. “I suppose that’s one way to come back to the world of the living!”

Upon noticing the presence of his Captain, Jamie swiftly cupped his hands over the strange and eerie bauble that he had been clutching onto so vigorously before he had drifted to sleep.

“Is there something you need, Captain?” Jamie asked.

Voyagan simply shook his head. “Just checking in on you, lad. You worked double-hard last night, and the men who slept after you all rose before you as well!”

Jamie looked about then, and indeed the bunkroom was empty as it had been when he had turned in.

“I was worried that you might have fallen sick. You worked double-hard through that awful storm. How are you feeling?” Voyagan asked, his face becoming concerned for his youngest crewmate.

“Ready to get to work, Captain!” Jamie replied dutifully, clambering to his feet.

“Well get some food in you first, lad. We still need you to grow a bit taller yet, so that you can reach all of the ropes on the mast!” Voyagan laughed as he disappeared back above deck.

Jamie groaned as he anticipated yet another meal of pickled eggs and cucumbers. At this point the weevils that floated up as he dipped his hardtack seemed to him to be almost more appealing and edible in comparison.

Then the Cabin Boy looked down at his clasped hands, contemplating the nightmare that he had just experienced. What a strange thing it had been, it had almost felt... real. He wondered how he would face Helgi when he saw her, he was afraid he might act suspicious and odd for what he had just experienced. The grip of his fingers cracked open and he looked within at that shrunken head. But when he did his dark eyes grew wide, and a cold flush washed over his whole being, for its ever-shut eyes had inexplicably lifted, revealing the yellowing sclera beneath, while the corners of its sewn mouth were lifted into what appeared to be a mischievous grin! And when he looked upon this unnatural omen, his mind’s eye flashed with the sight of that roughly-hewn finger.