From Known Destruction Across the Unknown Depths
Telimicus‘s war in Orudara finally slipped beneath the horizon, leaving seventy ships carrying thousands into the high seas. Behind them lies a charred history; before them, a void for which they have no map. As the fleet drifts further into the salt and silence, the refugees must decide which is more terrifying: the enemy they fled, or the emptiness that now surrounds them.
The fleet of seventy nearly identical ships gathered outside Carimpluni bay. The ships were grouped in seven clusters of ten ships. Each of the seven clusters flew a flag of a different color with a black animal embroidered at its center. It would have been impressive to any observer.
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 of historic distance and scale. 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. 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. Telimicas would have been back 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. At the door, he glanced back and saw Catenum’s normally stoic face tight with grief, a grief that mirrored his own. The weight between them steadied something in him. After all these years, he was finally coming to understand the price for 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 by northeast.
The climate had warmed and the air became heavier as they approached and then crossed the equator. Soon, 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 in the sea. Those still healthy demanded the impossible–to return to Orudara. Catenum signaled another captains’ meeting, a summons edged with urgency, which Messo attended.
“We have found ourselves in a bit of a spot,” Catenum began. “We aren’t moving forward quick 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!”
They 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 rising visibly high 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 never have thanked you,” Catenum said. “The past ten years have given my life shape and new purpose.”
“And I never have thanked you,” Messo replied. “None of us would be alive without your foresight and hospitality.”
“May fate keep you safe, and may we meet again on the other side of this storm.”
The storm arrived with towering 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, lost 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 stopped.
The hatch opened. Bright sunlight and fresh air poured in. Hope stirred 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 mustered a thin hope that some had survived and would reconnect with one of the others somewhere across the wide, indifferent sea.
Which record will you examine next?
