The Final Days of Springborough
Chapter 21: The Sea-Swept Pirate

The first thing Captain Jonathon remembered after seeing the cliffside coming at his boat (or his boat going toward the cliffside) was, what he can only describe, as a shadow reaching from the gusting wind for him. A long dark arm, impervious to the elements, clamoring out toward him amongst the blowing leaves and blades of grass in front of the tattered white sails that were now dark grey from the moisture and due to the storm. As the creature reached out for him, J.J. grew scared feeling that it was an absolute that this was the “they” the halved sailor was referring to that was in the storm. This was the creature that cut that man in half and hollowed him out with the grey mist.

J.J. thought that he was about to meet the same fate.

The creature, with a long claw, touched the strap keeping the blonde Captain to the ship’s wheel, and as the boat slammed against the cliffside rocks, J.J. was thrown up into the air, over the boat’s ledge, and into the water. He could have sworn that before he was enveloped by the sea that he had heard a howl different from the wind. He had heard a screech much like a bird, but from something as large as a whale. And before he could process anything of what just happened- he was buried in the waves.

It was only when he was trying to figure out his next move, as the current danced around him, and the waves broke overhead that he even had to focus on the creature, and what it was. Nothing he had have ever come across in his life could match what the large, howler could be. He knew nothing from any story ever told that would make such a noise, that was currently floating about his boat. He thought about the ship he had commandeered, which was currently becoming a wrecked mess with the waves slamming it against the rocky wall.

He thought of the crew below its deck.

His crew, a group of men who must believe they are doomed, who have to somewhat blame Jonathon for their current predicament. Would they believe that J.J., who controlled the ship, but ended up smashing it into the rocks, was ill fit for the job? Wasn’t an eleven year old boy ill-fitted to be a Pirate Captain anyway? Why did it feel like he was constantly letting someone down? He wished for the days of less responsibility.

Jonathon looked around him at the violent sea doing its own dance with the storm. His men; out of all the things he could be focusing on, he knew that was the most important. He needed to save his men. So, Jage looked around, feeling the waters direct him this way and that, and he listened past all the noises to replace the creaking, breaking of the wood of the ship. He had to be careful, because he could just as easily be swept up against the rocks as the ship could, and just like the ship- he could be broken.

His lungs swelled, feeling painful up against his ribs, and so he kicked his way up to the surface to get some oxygen. His eyes hurt from the salt water, at first, but were slowly growing used to it. Pain had no bearing to Jage in the moment. Things were happening around him that were much more important than pain. As he broke through a wave, he took in as much breath as possible before dipping below the surface again. It felt calmer in the water than it did on top of it. He felt he could control himself more as he reached out with his arms and kicked out with his legs. He swam up again, breathed, looked around, saw his ship smashing against the rocks and dipped below the chaotic surface again.

The water wasn’t as rough as he believed it would be, as if the storm was just in the air, only whipping about the tops of the waves, but not necessarily barreling underneath. The current definitely wasn’t violent. Jage felt even his little frame could transverse the area between where he was and where his ship was with ease. In retrospect, it was very probable that the worst decision he had made while Captain was to keep the sails up and let the storm do with them as it wished, especially if the storm had conscience spirits in it that wanted him and his crew dead.

When J.J. got to the boat, he stayed far enough away where he could observe it, but was close enough to see any details when the lightening flashed. He looked up in the sky for any dark spirits that might see him, sense him, or come after him again. He spit the salt water out of his mouth, bobbing up and down in the water, wading with his arms as he watched his once strong, tall, proud vessel be smashed apart to splinters against the cliff wall. His sister could be hundreds of feet above him right now. That simple thought added all the motivation he needed for him to survive, and to move fast.

He heard some of his men yelling out as he moved with the waves, and went closer. The ship seemed pinned, half out of the water, on a small natural pier of rocks. This would aide Jage as long as he was able to walk on the rocks without slipping off, or being knocked off by waves which would seal unspeakable doom for all the bones in his body. His biggest fear was to have the water crash him down onto the rocks, or against the cliff wall. He had heard that being slammed about the rocks of a shore was very much like jumping from a great height, again and again. Nothing about the thought seemed at all comfortable or survivable.

He climbed onto the rocks and saw a curious sight. There in the rocks was a bone; a human bone; a finger bone. It couldn’t have been from any of his men, but had to have been there for quite some time as it was devoid of any flesh, and seemed somewhat rounded and sanded down from the ocean. He reached out and grabbed it, not necessarily having a thought about what to do with it. His men’s crying out from the hull invaded his ears over the wind. Absent-mindedly, J.J. pocketed the bone, figuring he would decide what to do with it at a later date, if anything at all. But, when one found a human bone, they didn’t just let it lie there, did they?

The young Captain climbed the slippery, jagged rocks where his ship stood trapped and moved toward where his men were. There was a large hole in the ship, big enough for J.J. to get through, but not big enough for any of his men. He saw Bud through the hole, the older man’s arm waving through, trying to get to Jage.

“Captain! Captain! Thank the Seas, you are alive!” Bud shouted.

“Bud! Is everyone all right?”

“Bumps and bruises, Cap. Some scrapes and cuts.”

“We need to get everyone out!”

“Aye, aye, Cap. Can you make this hole bigger?”

“With what?”

Nothing around Jage but boulders and large rocks, nothing of which he could pick up, let alone wield to damage the hull of The Hampton Chase even more. He looked about him as Bud watched him, both realizing making the hole bigger was not going to be a doable solution from the outside. Jage looked up at the railing of the ship deck.

“Can you get out on the deck?”

“Up on the deck?”

“Get everyone up there, use ropes to climb down to these rocks.”

“What of the ship?”

“What of your lives?”

Bud looked at his Captain, nodded and disappeared back into the darkness of the ship. J.J. jumped from rock to rock as water crashed about him. Big waves broke high above his head, splattering him with the salty water he’d grown accustomed to over his time on the seas. But, he was done with the water now. He never wanted to be so dry in his life. As soon as he had his men, he wanted to replace a cave of some sort; some area of safe haven where they could dry, and wait out this weather. He went from rock to rock, working his way toward the stern of the boat, angling to see the railing, keeping one eye on the sky where evil things were. He thought he heard a woman’s laughter on the wind. He only imagined a man’s breathless warning of something. The young Captain tried to block any thoughts of wind demons from his mind, but something had reached out and tried to snatch him while he was at the wheel, and he couldn’t just shake that off.

A rope fell in front of his face, breaking him from the thoughts he didn’t want to have. He looked up to see Juba’s frame, grasping the lifeline as his body swung back and forth in the wind. All the men will have such a time trying to descend in this weather. Most would gather bruises on their body, being smacked back into the boat. Jage was the lucky one, thrown into the waters. He didn’t have a scratch on him.

He knew that whatever it was he had to thank for that was not natural, and was probably not intending to be nice.