Winds of Fate [Books IV - VI]

Chapter 153: Lowlands Away

"Hear ye, hear ye!" Douglas cries, sat atop a barrel of rum, with a copper pan in one hand and a big wooden spoon in the other. Bang! Bang! "And listen carefully!"

At the end of breakfast, an order is issued to keep everyone below deck. Work is temporarily halted, James was told, because this assembly is for the ship's future. Now, the quartermaster awaits, holding his breath and eyeing the Captain who has quietly hunched in his seat, as if hiding under his heavy black coat a few steps away.

"Today," Doug continues, fist grasping the spoon pressed against his hip, "is the third day since our Captain Smith went missin'. God be with her, wherever she is." Quiet murmurs resound, and some of the more pious sailors cross themselves. Douglas nearly presses on, but a hand shot in the air.

Anton raises a brow and squints at the pirate.

"There... there be flowers in town, sir," a stub-nosed fellow, English from his crisp command of the language and accent, with sandy hair, offers, "we... were just thinkin' the Cap deserves some rites, a way to remember her... and—"

Douglas raises both brows and immediately turns to Anton.

The Captain grasps his knee and listens in.

"Well..." The pirate shrugs, only then does Anton notice several others nod and murmur approvingly at this sailor's suggestion. "Well..." his voice shakes, and Anton couldn't quite believe she has inspired such—for Eleanore always worried she has never done enough for her crew mostly. But the pirate meets Douglas' firm, worried gaze and finally says, "she never did forget some o' us when we was sick, sir. She saved Peter." He pats the quiet young man beside him and nods. "And those two. We... we wanna remember her..." The pirate frowns. "Hear a few words for her, at least."

Unbeknowst to him, his own words knock the air from Anton's chest. She had... even in the midst of their worries about Jones, she did take the time to find a way to heal her wounded men. It was my fault, she no doubt thought. Indeed, she could have left these new recruits to perish, left Obbie to die...

But she didn't. They were three; she was certain her magic could handle it. She found a way around the gods' ban just to channel it. Anton clenches his hand to a fist and meets Douglas' gaze as the master gunner seeks his approval. He hangs his head. She had, but because she has always treasured life more than she relished the power that came with holding it in her hands. One life. Just one—to help, to keep, to save. She has always sought to redeem at least one, for no one is insignificant for her. Did it come with seeing herself too lowly?

Anton shakes his head. Because it takes great courage to find others are also worthy, not just herself. Her, with the line to the gods and their power in her veins, never thought to conquer the world.

She sought to mend it back together.

He closes his eyes, for the silence confirms that everyone is waiting for an answer to that... and no other friend nor officer is willing to overstep into his right as the closest loved one. They probably fear his anger, and Anton could just imagine his darling wife sighing at that. Eleanore had groaned about it, time and again. You have a point, you know, with those who get the brunt of your wrath, darling, she once conceded before, but sometimes you aren't thinking of the bridges you'll burn by that attitude, or even the harm you're bringing to yourself, Anton.

And she turned away.

Or to me... Eleanore lamented. And those who do love you, who'd take the fall with you—

His throat tight, he nods, more to her voice in his head than to Douglas awaiting his answer. Perhaps he has determined to move on and lead, but the crew doesn't have that closure. They cannot understand the loss. Perhaps they don't, but if they feel this way about their brief captain...