The Last Captain: Part Two
Midnight had fallen, and Miller sits at his desk before a blank sheet of paper and a pencil in his right hand, adjacent was a mug of beer. He wanted to start a log for the journey, but could only think back to the wood illustrations on the wall. It was so vivid, he thinks to himself. I can remember so much detail… He introduces the paper to the graphite of his pencil to write, but he begins to sketch instead somehow. Without ever lifting the pencil or slowing down at all, Miller’s hand ebbs and flows all over the paper, building abstract scenes of impossible geometry and illusion. Soon the paper was filled to the absolute brim with complex tessellations of ancient crusades and kingdoms.
So much detail…
Miller lifted his head to see the wall in front of him. Once again he was floored by the scene. How could I know this? He thought, lowering his head again to the paper. He pondered it a moment.
“It’s exactly the same.” Miller filled more and more pages with surreal doodles. He couldn’t understand it. He could never draw like this before. The illustrations continued to flow like a waterfall. The more he drew, the more complicate the images became. Lines would turn around to burrow all the way back through the labyrinthian scenes. Even already drawn details unknown and unnoticed made themselves apparent as the sketches continued. It seemed like his hand had a mind of its own, a step ahead of himself. Just as soon as he would make out a man’s likeness, he’d already drawn him dead further along. Spread out before Miller were a dozen pages of the mad sketching, all filled as much as they could ever be without being solid walls of penciled grey.
“Miller!” Krade said while standing outside his first mate’s room. “What have you been doing shut in here all day and night?” Miller shot his Captain a puzzled expression.
“Well I’ve just been drawing. I guess I got caught up in it.” Krade walked over to the desk.
“You drew these?” He said, sounding subtly impressed.
“Yeah… Been practicing.” The Captain studied each piece intensely. His face grew cold and rigid as he examined the drawings. Though utterly still, it would almost seem like the Captain was holding something back with great effort. His face was unfathomable like he was trembling with fear or anger, but showed no physical sign of anything like that. The sight of the drawings paralyzed Captain Krade, just for a moment.
“How do you come up with this stuff?” He asked. Miller didn’t know what to say about these drawings, knowing that it wasn’t him who crafted these scenes.
“It just comes to me, I guess.” The Captain picked out a single page and held it closer to his face to behold.
“That’s some talent, Miller.” He placed the paper back down. That’s uncanny, hr thought to himself. “Well it got a bit late. I just wondered if you had eaten anything.”
“Oh yes, Captain. I’m fine right now.”
“I’m turning in.” Krade said. “Hope for winds.”
“Good night, sir.” Krade inspected the drawings a last time before returning to his quarters. He dressed for bed then lied on his back and thought before closing his eyes to rest.
“How could he know?”
-
Captain Krade woke early the next morning to find the clouds gone, and a bright sun twinkling in jovial little clusters atop the ocean waves. The horizon remained empty, however. Must have kept going a while last night, he thought. He checked his compass. At least we didn’t get off course. Stay North. His matched his sight with the compass hands. Nothing yet to see.
Miller woke later and lifted his head from the desk. He grunted and felt a heavy soreness on the side of his face. He’d fallen asleep at his desk, the drawings scattered about. He downed the rest of the ale that he’d neglected from the night before, now lukewarm and flat. “Perfect.” He said out loud to himself.
Miller met his Captain on the deck beneath the radiant sun. “I don’t know why I was so tired last night.” He said.
“Liquor.” Krade said.
“Did you see anything?” Miller inquired anxiously.
“Not yet. You act like this is your first quest, be patient, mate. And all the way around the world, it will surely be your longest, don’t be surprised to go a long time with no action. You’ll forget about any of it after the first island. Time flies at sea, or does it stand completely still? Ha!.” Krade let out a boisterous laugh, but Miller kept an pathetic expression. “You sure get caught up in your drawings easily.”
“Yeah…” Miller said. “It feels natural.” He drew a telescope from an inner pocket of his cardigan. “I want to watch out from the crow’s nest for a little bit.”
“Of course, mate.” Said Krade. Miller started up the ladder with his telescope still in hand, but he could easily grip the rungs. At the top he stood up to scan the horizon. The wind was stronger up here. He pulled the telescope out to it’s full size and peered through. He slowly turned while studying the view.After a complete 360 he saw nothing, and packed the telescope back into the same pocket from which he’d retrieved it. He looked down to notice Captain Krade observing the sea as well, his hands resting on the ship’s coping.
Miller closed his eyes.
They opened some moments later. Miller’s elbow felt sore from being pressed down onto the hardwood, his head resting lifelessly upon his palm. He looked down to see the Captain in the same position as before. The wind continued as well, cooler at this height. Thin clouds passed overhead, breaking apart and merging together seamlessly in the breeze. The clouds were light and fragile, showing no sign of an approaching storm. Miller thought to himself how much he enjoyed the rain. Not too heavy, but more than a simple mist. He found it to be refreshing. He imagined a mild shower for just a moment, to wash away the sun’s stressful beams, obscured by light storm clouds. Of course he knew rain was not ideal for the voyage, and dismissed the thought. At least, he remarked silently to himself, it is nowhere near the torturous temperature it could reach. A ship alone at sea bathed in the direct rays of sunlight, also reflecting back upon the waves.
Miller’s eyes closed again.
Slowly.
From a dark and thick, purplish fog, approached the Captain.
“You haven’t seen much yet, have you?” He spoke to no one. “I’m sure you must wonder, how many hours have passed, how many are passing. How many days, weeks. Perhaps years. You haven’t been keeping track, have you? Of day and night. Do you know how long it has been, just sitting here in the nest? Can you say, for certain?”
Miller’s eyes opened this time to a dark and star filled sky. He was on his back, stretched out completely in the nest. He pulled his stiff body to a standing position and looked down to the deck. Krade was still there, hands upon the wood, eyes to the endless sea. It would appear that he hadn’t moved an inch, a statuesque figure determined to make something out of the horizon.
Miller started down the ladder to the deck. At the bottom he looked up to the sail, which seemed to be caught in a draft, but only slightly.
“Captain…” He spoke quietly. Krade stepped out of his trance and turned around. His eyes looked heavy from scanning the empty sea, and he did not respond audibly. “I am retiring to my quarters. I think you should too, you must be tired.”
“Oh yes. I will in a moment.” The Captain replied, and turned back around. “I must say goodnight to the sea.” Miller spoke not another word before descending below deck. In his quarters he changed into his bed wear and poured himself a modest glass of rum. He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment while he drank.
“An entire day gone so quickly.” He said to himself, now thinking of his dream from before. As he climbed fully into bed, the thought lingered on.
“An entire… Day.”
_
Captain Krade stood unflinching in his quarters staring at the wall as more complex images carved themselves into the wood. Starting at the floor, an outline that resembled a human form manifested itself. The depressions were filling in with a bloody red shade. The lines began inward now, drawing the features of a full sized, naked man. Immaculate detail presented a rugged man, even the smallest nuances forming into the wall. After the body reached its complete conception, the red color of blood began to drip from the carvings. Thick and true, it was real blood running down the walls and forming a sanguine puddle on the floor before the Captain. He did not make a move, but his pulse began a rapid acceleration when suddenly the figure stepped forward from the wall, leaving it empty behind him once again. It was a man, now standing before the Captain, blood dripping from every angle to the floor. Krade found himself in a state of shock as the nude man spoke to him in an all too familiar voice. A voice the Captain had known just once, a voice he prayed he'd never hear again.
"Have you met the sea... Captain?" Krade couldn't make a sound even if he wanted to. The crimson mask of blood upon the man's face broke apart as his mouth spoke and eyes opened.
"Well here I am." He extended his arms to present his full, monstrous wingspan.
"What is this?" Krade clumsily enunciated.
"Oh Captain, why must you be so stubborn? Can't you see I’m trying to help you? To save you?"
"And why do I need saving?"
"The sea is full of spirits much less merciful than the sea itself. They do not offer forgiveness."
"What the hell are you telling me?" Little by little, the Captain's voice would return to its full valor.
"You have bothered the spirits with your mistreatment of their property. You have stolen from them with not a second thought."
"Stolen? I only scavenge. It's mostly rubbish altogether too."
"Captain... Whatever it is that you have taken, is beside the point. You have committed crimes against the ghosts of the sea."
"This is complete nonsense." Krade said defiantly.
"I can protect you... Captain." The bloody man waved his arm again to reveal a familiar scene for the Captain. "Just step through the door." The door creaked open, beyond it lie the violent sea. "I assure you, you will not be killed or harmed. Are you a religious man... Captain? Wouldn't you do anything for your god?"
"I have no god."
"You might not think so, but you do. You are at my mercy, the mercy of the sea. This is god before you, offering repentance. All you must do is give in to my will. Step through the door... Captain."
"And if I don't, these 'ghosts' will haunt me, is that the idea?"
"Crudely, yes." The blood continued to drip from the man's person. "You wouldn't want to know what these spirits do to people like you, I couldn't let that upon any man."
"I will never call any being my god. I don’t care about your threats."
"I thought you loved the sea... Captain. You would think one would abide to something they love. You claimed it to be your true home."
"And it is." Krade replied.
"Well, you have some unruly neighbors... Captain. If you choose not to take my word, perhaps I can only show you the torment that lies ahead. Just a snippet, not even near the full extent of the ghosts' sadism." Yet again the man waved his arm, but this time he'd vanished. A new setting surrounded the Captain. Dark, sparse, empty. He felt a firm hand grab him by the back of his neck and throw him to the floor. The Captain was appalled at what he landed in, an incomplete circle of severed and bleeding arms. Before him towered a colossus of a man, covered head to toe in a purple robe, a hood shadowing his face. The man was silent as he knelt down to subdue the Captain. From inside his robe he drew a wicked blade, and pressed it onto Krade's shoulder. He tried to scream but had gone mute. The man began to saw through the outer layers of flesh, tissue, and muscle as blood started to flow deeply from the incision. With his other hand, the man forced the Captain down while he cut through his shoulder. After a tortuous moment, the blade met with bone and the man dropped it to the floor. He forced his fingers deep into the wound, holding it open with one hand and digging through the tendons and blood with the other. The man grasped the very top of the bone and began to wriggle it abrasively from the socket. After jamming it loose enough, he slipped his fingers into Krade's joint, squeezed tight and completely yanked the arm from its torso. The bone was scooped out clean with a sudden pop. Whatever bit of fleshy material remained intact ripped apart, blood poured from the separated arm as well as the Captain's empty shoulder socket. In very much a non-elegant fashion, the man repeated with the Captain's other arm. With both removed completely, he placed them at the top of the circle to fill the gap. The Captain seized and jerked, seemingly endless rivers of dark blood being expelled from the wounds. The man stood up to observe the Captain within the circle, then spoke with a menacingly deep timbre.
"It is our turn to take... Captain."