Mark of the Damned | 18+

Atlas Hands

Song - Atlas Hands by Benjamin Francis Leftwich

The galley is finally clean after everyone devoured their lunches. I grew up on a farm. My father and the farm hands worked long, grueling hours. Plowing fields, mucking stalls, bailing hay, nothing about life on a farm is easy.

Never have I seen a group of men eat the way this crew does.

They don't eat as much as they inhale food without chewing it. Potatoes, salt pork, and bread, all cleared away in an instant.

"Niahm, come here," the captain calls down into the cabin. I haven't been invited to come up at all today. With any luck, the fresh air will ease the dizziness that continues to plague me. As I step up into the blinding sunlight I'm hot with the sudden realization that he might be throwing me overboard.

Resigned to my fate, I walk toward the helm to meet him.

"I need you to sew the edges of the main mast. If they fray, the whole sail will begin to fall apart." He points vaguely forward.

The direction he pointed to has two sets of sails

"Yes, Captain."

Taking the crate from his feet, I plan to inspect the sails to figure out which one he was referring to. The less I speak, the better.

I don't mean to, but my eyes wander, searching for him. When I don't see him, my shoulders droop.

"Psst."

The sound comes from above me. Looking up, I'm surprised to find Silver in a large bucket. He gestures, tipping his head, for me to join him. He leans down, taking the crate so that I can climb the small ladder.

We're surrounded by vast, open blue. There is nothing in sight in any direction. I've never seen so much blue.

"Ok," he looks at me seriously. "This," he touches the pole, "is the main mast. We're standing in the crow's nest. See each mast has two. Use it for repairs to the sails or for night watch."

Looking above us, I stare at the crow's nest directly over our heads. I thought climbing here was frightening, I can't imagine climbing up higher. Ignoring my nervousness, I focus on him. He gives me a brief lesson, quickly explaining the different parts and places on the deck.

"If you're on the deck, this is the best place for you. You won't be in the way and you can't get yourself into trouble. I'll be watching. When it's time to move up to the next nest, I'll come up with you." He starts to climb down but hesitates, lingering for barely a second but it's enough to make my heart beat faster.

The view from here is spectacular, crystal waters and endless skies. Unfortunately, I can't enjoy it.

It didn't seem like the swaying and rocking could possibly get any worse but apparently, it absolutely can. Sitting in a bucket, high in the air, makes the constant sawing side to side much more noticeable.

Patching the small rips and frays in the sails takes longer than it should. The captain's patience must be nearly lost for me.

The first time I leaned over the crow's nest to retch, everyone yelled out "watch under!" No one seems to notice or care that I'm sick. To my surprise, it helps. I gave up being embarrassed long ago and now I'm just trying to survive the first day.

"Go below deck, take a caulk," Silver climbs up into the crow's nest.

"Huh?" I slip the needle into the sash on my dress so that I won't lose it.

"Sleep. Go below and sleep. Rest will help the sickness."

"I have to finish at least one sail. He's going to throw me overboard!"

"Niamh, go."

I'm not sure if it's the growl in his voice or how he speaks my name, but I immediately obey. My body remembers how angrily he reacted the last time I ignored his orders. Moving on their own accord, my legs bring me down onto the deck.

"I have to cook," I look up at him as he follows me down the ladder.

"I'll wake you."

I'm useful on a farm. I'm quick with milking and collecting eggs. I can muck stalls and brush down horses. I am not a lazy or incompetent girl with no worthwhile skills. I wasn't lying when I said I could sew and launder soiled clothing efficiently. I don't want the captain to think that I'm just a silly little girl.

Mostly, I don't want Silver to think that.

I watched him work in the moments between sewing tears and trying to keep my insides inside my body. He is the kind of worker my father would have loved to hire as a hand on the farm. He's fast and calm. He climbs the ladders and hangs from the crow's nests with ease. It's elegant in a way, the movement of his body. Steady and strong, completely sure of what he's doing.

"Lock your door," his gravelly whisper makes me shudder.

As I climb into my hammock I set the task in my mind. Tonight, the evening meal will be faultless. No one, not even the captain, will be able to find a single complaint. It will be a bounty of fried potatoes, and salt beef stew with vegetables.

Rolling flat onto my stomach, I press my face into the rough wood. I spent less than five minutes in my hammock before I had to get on the floor for my own sanity.

Sleeping in a rocking, floating hammock inside a rocking, floating boat made the unimaginable sickness more severe.

"Why are you on the floor?"

I'm too weak and sick to even care that he's here. I no longer feel butterflies in my stomach, only nausea.

"The hammock was swaying."

His chuckle is like a thin strip of light shining down into the hazy sick darkness.

"It seems that hell has no bottom, it can always get worse." I force myself to sit up.

"Eat this," he holds a small chunk of something out in his hand. "It's ginger root. It will help."

I don't want to put that in my mouth, but I do it anyway.

"Silver, do you..." I start but stop myself. I want to ask why I feel the way I do whenever he's near. Why do I feel connected to him? Why does a simple glance from this stranger set my heart ablaze? But I can't ask that, so I force my mouth closed. When I peek up, he's staring down at me tensely. I can see the strain on his face, in the tightness of his muscles.

"Cooper, my name is Cooper. Call me that." He sounds almost desperate. A raspy, deep longing in his voice that makes me tingly and nervous.

"Cooper." His name tastes like sugar.

His head falls back and he groans, a relieved heave of breath that jolts the muscles in my body. An intense feeling of longing spreads through me like a fire spreading through a field, quickly and with reckless abandon.

I've never felt this way before. The sight of him elicits a kind of nervous energy beneath my skin.

I want to taste the salt on his lips. To touch him, my fingertips itch at the thought of feeling his warm skin. Broad hardened muscles and thick hair.

Flashes like memories from another life spark through my mind. His skin melding with mine. Our hands exploring and touching, and searching, leaving no area undiscovered.

"Niamh," His eyes flicker and he jumps up, slamming my door into the wall as he flees the room.

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