Fated Journey [FICTION]

1491 shall be the year that I sail around the world. My family begged me not to go. They believe I will sail right off the world into nothingness. I know I shall find something wondrous and world changing that prevents that from happening. Luckily, my profits from trading goods between my country and those near and far have finally provided enough funds to pay for my grand exploration.

My regular crew has sworn to follow me anywhere. Their assertions prove false. After loading the hold and preparing their bunks, one of them asks about our destination.

“We’re going to sail around de world and back again.” I declare proudly.

“Around the world?” My first mate asks, unrolling the map of the world to gaze at it. “By what route?”

He traces his finger over to the west, up to the top of the world to the far east, and then back home.

“No. No. I want to go straight through.” I push my finger further west, pick it up and bring it back around from the far east.

“But the world ends here, Captain.” He points at a triangle etched gently in red on the far western edge of the map.

“I don’t believe it does and I aim to prove it.”

“But no one ever comes back who takes that route.”

“Perhaps because they found something better than they had here,” I offer with a look which challenges any to contradict me.

The first mate glances at the other members of the crew and does just that. “Captain, please don’t make us do this.”

“Are you loyal men or mutineers?”

“Loyal men, sir.” 

“Then hold your heads up high and prepare to make history.”

They all stand a little taller, but I see the fear in their eyes. I should have found a more adventurous crew, but I wanted one that was tried and true. To the man, they had saved me from danger and kept me going when the situation seemed dire. I wanted to bring them with me, but now I am not sure. It is too late to change course or crew now.

“Shove off, men.” I call out and we are underway.

~~

Smooth sailing graces the first leg of our journey. Anxiety mounts as we draw closer to the triangle on the first mate’s crudely drawn map. One evening, he joins me in my cabin. He pours me a hearty glass of scotch, pushing it toward me in silence. I raise an eyebrow and belt it back, knowing he won’t speak his mind until I accept this offering.

“What’s on your mind?”

“We still have time to divert our course around the triangle, sir.”

“That we do, but we will sail through the heart of it and come out the other side. You’ll see.”

He sighs but inclines his head in defeat. “Aye. Aye, Captain.”

I pour him a glass of scotch and push it over to him After her takes a healthy slug, I hold out my hand. “I’m glad to have you with me on this journey.”

“Thank you, sir.” We shake hands, holding on as tightly as we’d hold the bowline if need be.

Our eyes lock and though I see his fear, he meets my eyes. Then we release our grip. He finishes his scotch and heads out into the night. I hear another crewman hail him as the door closes behind his back. I return to examining the course I have been plotting, willing the morning to bring proof of my hypothesis. 

Instead, the morning brought a storm unlike any I have ever experienced. It wakes me up by dumping me roughly from my bunk. I crawl across the floor to open the door. A deluge of water washes over me. Moments later, my first mate washes in.

“Morning, Captain,” he greets me with green-faced joviality. “Ready to turn back yet?”

“No.” I declare as I slam the door on another wave.

“I had hoped you’d have a different answer, sir.”

“But I am the Captain, so you’ll support me.” I tell him.

His face becomes greener. “Well, you see, sir. Then I’d be in the same boat with ye.”

“You already are.”

He looks sadly at his hands as the door slams open again. Instead of another watery horde, the two largest members of my crew barge into the room. They grab me by the shoulders and lift me out the door into the pouring rain.

“I’m sorry about this, Captain. I am.” My first mate leans in to whisper in my ear. 

Looking in his moist eyes, I believe him. “You’ve decided to mutiny against yer Captain. Are ye a bunch of landlubbers?” I roar over the wind.

“Sorry, Captain. We don’t plan to die for anyone else’s fairy tales.” One of the burly men responds in a deep voice. “Whether he be the captain or no.”

The second chimes in as they lead me toward one of the small boats used to go ashore in low waters, “But we wish you well and hope to see you back at home.”

A scrawny crewman who joined us at the last minute and always regarded me with wide eyes reserved for gold doubloons or unreachable idols steps forward and hands me a sack. “Good luck, sir.” I swear tears moisten his eyes more than the storm.

Then the burly crewmen heave me over the side. I grip the sack and the side of the rowboat boat with both hands. I may not survive the storm with them, but I am certain I won’t without them. I barely feel the splash as my tiny boat connects with the water. I hunker down and hope for the best as the waves toss me about. In the dark, with no way of determining my heading, rowing against the raging waters would only serve to wear me out.

At some point, the storm dissipates and the gentle rocking of the waves puts me to sleep. Sunlight pulls me out of a nightmare of mutiny to the realization the mutiny wasn’t a nightmare. I slowly rise to peer over the edge of the boat. Clear seas greet me from every direction. With the sun to shed light on the contents, I open the sack.

“Bless him. I wish I remembered his name.” 

I pull out a compass and some rations and a few water skins. Carefully nested in a change of clothes and a sturdy box, I find my spare sextant  and a compass giving shape to the bottom of the bag. As I check my direction, I am pleased to find myself still headed west toward the triangle.

~~

As the sun rises to its full height in the sky, a thick fog slowly settles around me. I marvel at this as fog usually melts in the rays of the sun. I glance down at my compass to assure myself that my prow still cuts through the waters to the west. Instead of being reassured, my confusion deepens. The needle bounces from side to side as if inspired to dance by a steady drumbeat. I look up again to behold shadows floating in the fog. 

A roar sounds over my head and I look up to see a manta ray soaring across the sky at unbelievable speed. My jaw drops to my chest. Then the force of a collision forces it back into position. Emerging out of the fog, an immense ship blocks my way forward. Men in matching uniforms of starched white peer down at me over the railing. Their faces mirror the mystification clouding my mind.

Before I can call out, the mist seems to rise and takes the mirage with it. I marvel at the brilliance of clear skies above and calm seas below. A glance at my instruments reveals that I am still heading west. I fashion a crude hat from my bag to keep the sun out of my eyes and look at the meager food left for my consumption. I nibble a bit of jerky and look out toward the horizon, hoping to see land.

The next three days pass in much the same way, except that the third day finds me nibbling on the last bit of jerky from my rations and sipping sadly at the last drips from my water skin. As the last bit of water wets my tongue, I shield my eyes as I peer out to the horizon. A large shape bobs in the distance. I stare at it, wondering if my mind is already slipping away from me. But if I let it disappear from view, I would not have time to forgive myself, so I applied myself to the oars as if I believed in this vision before me to be reality.

“Bless me. It’s the captain!” A familiar voice echoed over the water as I drew closer to the apparition, which now revealed itself to be my own ship.

I stopped rowing and stared up at my first mate as other crew members joined him to peer down at me. 

“I guess the world didn’t end at the triangle after all,” a rough voice declared, “Bring him aboard.”

As they worked to reclaim me, no one deigned to meet my eye. With my feet finally firmly on my deck, I eyed them all wearily. 

“So what do we do now?” Someone asked as they surrounded me.

“Good to see you, captain,” the first mate said though he hadn’t looked me directly in the eyes.

“I wish it were mutual,” I said as I tapped my sextant against my leg and surveyed my men, searching for the boy.

When my eyes rested on him, he held my gaze for a second before looking to the deck in shame.

“Step forward, boy.”

He did so, haltingly.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Earl Withers,” he mumbled.

“Looks like I am the Captain of this ship again. Want to try your hand at first mate?”

My former first made hung his head, but no one argued my statement. The rest of the route home found a very quiet ship except for waves slapping against the hull and birds crying over our heads whenever we approached land. Though Earl did warm up to me by the end of the journey, offering me the occasional joke to liven up the day. Upon reaching our home shore, the men set the ship to rights and disappeared onto the docks. I wasn’t sorry to see the backs of them. Earl and I stood alone on the deck, surveying the owner of the ship as he came aboard to hear about our journey. He seemed satisfied with the goods we had acquired, but I could tell by the hesitancy with which he paid me the agreed fee that rumors had already spread about the mutiny against my command.

 

~~

One year from our fateful voyage and I seek out my former crew. I don’t blame them for not wanting to see me. I wouldn’t want to see the disappointment etched on my face either, but today they shall see it. They shall not turn away because today they must admit that I spoke true when I said we could safely circle the world. I wish they had seen what I saw, so someone could help me make sense of it, but no man nor beast will let me sail a ship now. Once the aura of a curse falls upon you, the whole world avoids being in your wake.

~~

I was torn between having them speak with terrible grammar and mispronunciation, which can be annoying to read, and my normal narrative style. What say ye? Did I choose wisely?