From Known Destruction Across the Unknown Depths
Telimicus‘s war in Orudara finally slipped beneath the horizon. Seventy ships carrying thousands sailed into the high seas. Behind them lay a charred history; before them, a void for which they had no map. As the fleet drifted further into the salt and silence, the refugees began to wonder which was more terrifying: the enemy they fled, or the emptiness that now surrounded them.
The fleet of seventy nearly identical ships gathered outside Carimpluni bay. The ships were grouped in seven clusters of ten ships. Each cluster flew a flag of a different color with a black animal embroidered at its center to make them easier to identify at sea.
Catenum signaled for the flagship of each cluster to gather several hundred yards from the main fleet. Messo and his captain, along with the other captains, rowed to Catenum’s ship for a meeting.
“Captains, we have narrowly escaped death thanks to our preparation and your skill,” Catenum said. “We are embarking on a voyage that may prove longer than any our people have ever attempted. We will sail a northerly course as far as winds and currents permit. Keep your cluster in sight no matter what happens to the rest of the fleet. For safety, form the clusters in a circle with mine in the middle so we can signal one another.”
After the captains departed, Messo beckoned Catenum aside.
“She is gone. The bastards shot her down out of spite.”
Catenum knew immediately of whom he was speaking. He had loved Holiana almost as much as Messo had. She had been the light of the village, steadying spirits when despair crept in. He had valued her counsel as much as that of his closest advisers.
“I am sorry,” Catenum said. “The entire fleet will grieve her. But we must press forward. To go back is for her life to have meant nothing at all.”
“We could have stayed and fought,” Messo said. “We would have won today’s battle.”
Catenum shook his head slowly. “We might have won today, but we would have lost many more people. And worse, we might have lost ships. It wouldn’t have mattered in the end. Telimicus would have returned again and again until we were exterminated. We must move forward. If we abandon our purpose now, all that Holiana stood for becomes meaningless.”
Messo lowered his gaze. Grief blurred the edges of everything, the deck swaying beneath his feet in a way that had nothing to do with the sea. He had helped save thousands, yet he had failed to save the one person who had believed in him most. As he turned to leave, he glanced back and saw Catenum’s normally stoic face tight with grief, a reflection of his own. The weight between them steadied something in him. After all these years, he was finally coming to understand the price of protecting the common good.
Everyone returned to their ships, and the fleet redeployed according to Catenum’s instructions. A favorable breeze pushed them northward and eastward for two weeks before the wind died. A mild current continued to carry them slowly east-northeast.
The climate grew steadily warmer, and the air became heavier as they approached and then crossed the equator. The heat below decks became oppressive. Soon, people began falling ill. The ship’s surgeon tried to isolate the sick, keeping as many passengers on deck as possible, but half the passengers fell ill within a week. The heavy air below made each breath feel thick and sour.
After three weeks of calm, hope among the passengers began to fade. Some died and were buried at sea. Those still healthy demanded the impossible–to return to Orudara.
Catenum signaled another captains’ meeting. The summons carried an edge of urgency. Messo joined the captains aboard Catenum’s ship.
“We have found ourselves in a bit of a dilemma,” Catenum began. “We aren’t moving forward fast enough, and we can’t go back.”
At that moment, the rocking motion of the ship shifted. A faint shudder rippled through the deck. Catenum rushed to the door, scanning the skies.
“Follow me!” he commanded.
The captains followed him to the deck.
“Sailor. What do you see on the horizon?” he called to the man in the crow’s nest.
The sailor scanned the horizon, then froze, staring southward. Far away, the sky had turned dark despite the bright day. The approaching clouds were towering into the sky.
“Sir, a storm’s a brewin’. Looks like a big one. And it’s approaching fast.”
“Everyone, return to your ships. Signal your clusters to prepare for a storm. Get the passengers into their quarters. Now!” Catenum ordered.
He caught Messo by the arm before turning to leave.
“I have never thanked you,” Catenum said. “The past ten years have given my life shape and new purpose.”
“And I have never thanked you,” Messo replied. “I don’t know how long my courage would have held out without your support, and none of us would be alive without your foresight and hospitality.”
“May your wits remain sharp and your voyage be safe, and may we meet again on the other side of this storm.”
The storm arrived with mountainous waves and roaring winds. Darkness swallowed the fleet except for flashes of lightning ripping across the clouds. The ships rose high before plunging into deep troughs. Timbers groaned under the strain. Passengers were thrown about, bruised and beaten in the hold, losing all sense of time. The world became noise, water, and fear.
The crews, many members weakened by sickness, fought to keep each ship afloat.
Then as suddenly as it started, the tumult ceased.
The hatch opened. Bright sunlight and fresh air poured in. Hope rose again.
“Messo,” the captain said as he climbed out of the hold, “the other clusters are nowhere on the horizon. They’ve disappeared.”
“How many of our ships are left?” Messo asked.
“Seven,” the captain answered quietly, his face drained of color.
Three ships were missing. Almost three hundred men, women, and children had been aboard them. He clung to a thin hope that some had survived and would reconnect with one of the other clusters somewhere across the vast, indifferent sea.
Which record will you examine next?
