The ship’s drunken rolling and the howling of the wind, mingled with the distant sounds of banging doors and breaking glass, dragged Mirra from her exhausted slumber. Pale, watery light came through the windows, and Bane lay on the bunk, clad only in his trousers. The captain’s faint bellow of, ‘landlubbers!’ mixed with the snapping of loose canvas and the thuds and cries of men as they struggled with the sails. The wind keened in the rigging, and the hull boomed as it crashed through deep troughs. The ship shuddered, creaked and groaned as if the storm was tearing it apart. Bane gazed out of the window, apparently enjoying the tempest.
He looked around when she sat up. “It seems I overdid the bad weather.”
“Can you stop it?”
He shrugged. “Naturally; but it will give me a headache.”
“People could be hurt.”
“So?”
“The ship might sink.”
“I will not let it,” he assured her, scowling.
Mirra nodded and huddled against a locker. Bane stretched, yawned and rubbed his eyes, all such normal human actions that she smiled. The rune scars on his chest were still red after his last ritual. He rose and pulled on his boots, tunic and cloak before leaving the cabin. Mirra climbed onto the still-warm bed and gazed out at the wild sea, fascinated by its power. After a while, she decided to venture on deck for some fresh air, and to experience the storm’s fury. She found a warm cloak in the wardrobe and wrapped herself in it, then climbed the steep stairs to the deck.
Above, bedlam reigned. The wind shrieked through the rigging with unbridled glee, ripping at the tough storm sails. Lashing rain, mixed with spray, drummed on the wallowing ship’s deck. The captain roared orders at scurrying men who slipped on the wet deck as they tripped over ropes snaking about like live things. Sheets of spray flew over the ship, drenching the men who struggled with soaked rigging and slippery fittings. Torn canvass, snapped spars and broken rigging littered the deck.
The inexperienced crewmen lashed themselves to the masts and railings as they staggered to and fro. The ship heeled and listed, reared over huge waves and plunged into deep troughs amid cascades of spray. Sea Bird ran from the wind, spilling most of the gale from her ragged canvas. Walls of water loomed over the stern, threatening to engulf the ship, but it rose up the swells like a cork, making Mirra’s knees buckle with the added gravity. As it crested the swells, her weight became normal, then she seemed apt to float off the deck as the ship slid down into the next trough. Waves boomed against the hull, whipped up by the veering wind to drench the deck and crew.
Bane stood in the bows, riding the plunging ship like a mettlesome steed. His clothes were dry, for little spray came over the bows, and he was in the lee of the jib, which protected him from any that did. The demon steed stood nearby, as steady as if nailed to the deck. The captain clung to the wheel, lashed to it, his burnt face filmed with salt. A wave smashed against the ship, stinging her cheek with spray, and she revelled in its cool wetness. Clinging to handholds, Mirra ventured onto the deck and darted over to the railing, where the panorama of stormy sea and heaving ship lay before her. The wind tore at her with amazing power. Black clouds raced overhead, and distant thunder rumbled.
Holding onto the railing, she watched the men run about, lashing rigging, raising fresh storm sails and clearing away debris. A wave splashed her, making her flinch at its iciness. Deciding it was too cold and wet on deck, she started back to the cabin. As she released the railing, a massive wave broke over the gunwales and swept her feet from under her. She was washed across the deck, trying to grab something, but the water dragged her to the far railing. Another wave swept over the ship, foaming with white spume. It carried her through the railings, and she flailed wildly as she tried to seize a rope or stanchion. Nothing came to hand, and she screamed as the grey water rushed up at her.