Jonah stood on the quarter deck, staring into the distance. The sea was calm today. Far too calm, and the hair on his arms rose in anticipation. If Delia saw him, she would have droned on about static, charge, and whatnot. She was suited to be a librarian, not a sailor, but then they wouldn't have met...

He discarded the thought — it didn’t matter. A storm was approaching. He could feel it on his skin as sure as he could feel the tanned leather by his waist.

The sky was grey, muting the midnight blue of the sea and a gentle wind rocked the ship slowly. But Jonah's heart started pacing.

He had travelled this route ever since he was a little boy, and it was the first time that the journey had been so perilous. It was only on their second day at sea that the heavens opened their gates, allowing a torrent of rain to assault their vessel. It was only on the third day that they battled against strong winds which battered their sails. And it was only on the fourth day that they wrestled with the sea, struggling to stay afloat.

If that was all, they would have managed. Their journey would have been delayed, but a rough trip was within the realm of the expected. They would have survived.

Now? Jonah wasn’t so sure.

As he made his way towards the mast, his mind lingered on what should have been a routine trip back to the city of Sia. He didn't know what, but something wasn't right. Something felt unnatural. They had been at sea for a week longer than expected, most of the first three a simple endurance test against the water's relentless onslaught. Though he was glad that they had small periods of peace, it seemed the sea remained adamant in taking life this trip – a toll for letting them traverse it.

"The calm before the storm." He shook his head at the thought.

Jonah welcomed the calm - this one in particular, given its length - but he knew it was over now. Even if he was wrong, the longer the journey went on, the worse it would be. Morale was low, and their food stores were lower. If they didn’t find land soon… he didn’t want to think about that.

Jonah climbed the towering mast, entering the crow’s nest, the highest point of the ship. Ordinarily, it would have been manned, but the barrelman, beaten and bruised by the battles, rested below deck. Instead, every hour, a member of the crew climbed the mast in hopes of seeing land in the distance. It hadn’t been an hour yet, but with the premonition of dread, he took the binoculars which lay on the ground and placed them against his eyes.

“Son of a birch.”

Dark low clouds crawled on the horizon, heading in their direction. “Sound the horn!”

The ship came to life as one of the crewmen did as he instructed, and Jonah sighed. He just wanted to go home. Well, technically home lay below his feet, he supposed.

In truth, Jonah wanted to have arrived at the port city a week ago. He wanted to sleep in a bed that didn't sway to the temper of the sea, to have a meal that was freshly prepared: to relax. This was supposed to be his vacation after all - three weeks of rest upon arriving at Sia. A week had already slipped, and it wasn't as though he could delay the next departure; the journey to Lexnor had set dates. Merchants didn't care what happened at sea, they just wanted their cargo ferried on time.

He wistfully sighed again, his shoulders drooping, his thoughts broken by the chaos on the ship. The bustle even silenced Jeremy as he joined him at the crow’s nest.

The large, broad-shouldered man, approached with a scowl on his face. “I swear to Poseidon, I hope you’re pulling my leg.”

“I wish,” Jonah said, shaking his head.

He passed the binoculars to the second mate. “There’s a storm coming.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.”

Jeremy sighed, returning the binoculars to him. “Someone’s cursed us or pissed off Poseidon.”

“It’s because you keep taking his name in vain,” Jonah replied.

“If we survive, then I’ll swear in Raijin’s name instead.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Jonah understood cursing, but he could never get around cursing deities. “Must you swear by something that would swat us like a fly?"

Jeremy chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t even believe in the deities!”

“No, I believe in a God. A deity,” he corrected. “It doesn’t mean I go out of my way to curse at other deities, false or not.”

Jeremy shrugged. “If we survive, preach to me then.”

“Jeremy! Jonah!” Captain Gregory shouted, halfway up the mast. “How long till we’re fucked?!”

“It’s moving slowly captain,” Jeremy replied. “Ten miles out, so we should prepare for the worst. Half an hour max.”

“Knowin' our luck, it’ll be on us in ten minutes,” Gregory said back.

As soon as he had finished, the wind started picking up and Gregory cursed his fate, practically jumping back down the mast.

Jeremy turned to face Jonah, his brown eyes hardened like topaz, the frown on his face making him look five years past thirty.

The signs of amusement from seconds ago were gone, replaced by a veteran of the sea. “Ready?”

Jonah nodded. “Ready.”

* * *

The sky had darkened, the sun swallowed by the shadows of death, raining hell onto the ship.

Jonah could scarcely see as the rain pelted him. The storm, unrelenting, hammered the ship with winds that would have knocked any normal man off his feet, and heavy rain that felt like stones. Enormous waves crashed over the bow and pounded the hull, the ship tossed around like a toy. It felt as if it would have capsized at any moment.

"THIRTY DEGREES TO STARBOARD!” the captain barked. “ADJUST THE SAILS!”

The commands were barely audible from the thrashing on the deck, but Jonah could feel the boat shifting directions as the rudder moved, aligning the ship in the direction of the wind. That, or the ship really was capsizing.

Although Jonah would have given that command hours earlier, he wasn’t an actual sailor, and he trusted the captain. The old man, with his wiry white moustache and balding head, had twice as much experience at sea than Jonah had on Earth. He had faith that the man would see them through.

Obeying Greg's commands, Jonah made his way towards the sails that were secured along with the rigging. The first thing the crew did upon hearing the horn was to make sure that everything got properly stowed and lashed down. They had intended to ride this one out, having long deviated from their path. If Jonah was being honest, he didn’t think the navigator knew where they were at this point. Straying any further, and they would be in uncharted waters. But if they stayed any longer…

Jonah let the thought trail off as he walked. The deck was slick with water and spray, and the ship was pitching and rolling, struggling to stay upright. Ordinarily, he would have been fine to cross the distance, even with the wind kicking him like a horse. But it had been several hours since the storm began, and those hours had felt like days to him.

As he made his way towards a mast, Jonah slipped, crashing onto the deck. He howled in agony like the cries of a Banshee, the thought of a broken knee bone springing in his mind given the pain that erupted.

“Are you okay?” Delia shouted, clinging to the mast as the ship pitched. “Jonah! Are you okay?”

Jonah could only groan in response.

The ship jolted, another wave smashing into it and he slowly slid down the deck. If it pitched any more, he would be in danger.

Panic began welling in his heart. He fought through the agony and the cold touch of sleep, groping for something to hang onto. There should have been a rope nearby, strapped to the decking for instances like this.

“JONAH!” Delia cried with renewed panic.

A few other distant voices seemed to join her screams, but Jonah couldn’t tell by the crashing of the waves - It sounded far too loud. Even Delia, a few feet from him sounded like a distant seagull. The only thing he could hear clearly was the sound of an approaching reaper. For a wave to sound like that, it would probably engulf the ship.

He imagined the sound resembled a volcano. He had never seen or heard one of course, but he had listened to the tales of horror from those who did – refugees that abandoned their homes and asked the crew for safe passage.

The thought caused his muscles to tense and he fumbled with renewed vigour. Finding the rope, Jonah clutched it in a death grip, praying he would endure the mother of tides that was to envelop him. The seawater made the rope feel like slime, the texture of coarse fibres absent. In fact, it seemed to writhe in his hands, trying to escape his grip.

Jonah grasped tighter, his heart racing. He braced himself, his body stiffening and closed eyelids constricting further. Anticipation and dread sauntered in his soul like the colossal tidal wave creeping up on him; any second now.

“Jonah!" Jeremy bellowed. "Kill that fucker!”

Kill? The word caused him to return to reality, his eyes snapping open despite the pain. He pulled at the rope to help himself up, and then he paused, his heart skipping faster but the dread cast aside.

“Well, what do we have here?”

Sliding the sword from its sheathe, he stabbed at the form that slithered in his hands. An ear-piercing screech filled the air, more intense than the distant crackling of thunder.

Jonah smiled.

He couldn’t physically attack the sea, but a sea beast was a different story. He knew this one was large, the tip of its tail no wider than rope, but he saw its thickened form from the corner of his perception before it snaked out of view. It was fast.

Calming his breathing, he flicked the blood off the blade. Then he turned to see the beasts that dared attack his charge; those bastards never attacked by themselves. They would regret the…

Jonah's mouth gaped open as a squid-like beast almost the size of the ship stood before him.

A Kraken. Krakens weren’t real. By all rights, they were as true as Poseidon and his left toe. But in front of him, with a maw open, emerged a Kraken.

“JONAH!” Jeremy shouted. “KILL IT!”

“WHAT THE SALT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO TO THAT?!” he pointed.