Seven Tides

2: Shadows and Light

 For the first time since the funeral, the sea has flattened, and the fog has scattered, allowing a blanket of stars to peek through the gloom that shrouds the ship; a gloom so dark that it even tries to devour the flame in the lantern. A week has passed since Fernandez went to his eternal rest. Another man has come down with the fever. The rest of the crew have barely enough strength to man their stations.

Gabriel still grieves, spending most of his free time alone. At night, instead of joining me on deck as is our habit, he lays in his hammock studying the objects in the blue pouch. We rarely talk anymore. These recent events have somehow changed him. Tonight I am on the second watch. I make my way to the aft deck in the stern, where I will spend the next four hours.

"Am I disturbing your watch, Ibrahim?" A familiar voice asks from the shadows. Gabriel steps into the glow. Shadows skirt across his face and disappear into his long, dark hair.

"No, not at all. The more eyes, the better, although there's not much to see in this pitch." I hook the lantern on a nearby shroud. The pale yellow light barely reaches the gunwale before being absorbed by the night.

"Have you seen any change in the stars?"

"There's not a familiar one," — he mumbles, looking skyward — "but they will reveal themselves soon enough."

"Your uncle had the same opinion." I step closer to where he is leaning. "He believed all things hidden reveal themselves in time."

"I am only beginning to understand that wisdom." Gabriel's voice cracks. He raises his hand to shield his eyes and looks down at the deck, touching the pouch hidden beneath his shirt.

"This has been a difficult time for you." My words sound hollow.

"Yes, and made even more so with this promotion," he says, gazing out across the inky void beyond the boat. "I imagined celebrating my promotion with him, not grieving his passing."

I am at a loss, afraid that any words I utter will seem trivial.

"Perhaps it is all for show," he softly adds.

"What do you mean?"

"I doubt if any of us will survive this voyage. The captain knows this. Maybe my promotion is just for show, to keep our spirits high; to maintain discipline and maybe a small semblance of dignity in our final days."

Again, I don't know what to say. This is not the self-assured and often reckless young man I first met on the docks three years ago. Gabriel is usually the one to lift our spirits with his irreverent humor and cavalier attitude, even during these recent hardships. This mysterious prophecy has taken him to a dark place where none of us can follow.

"Gabriel, this is not you; this is grief talking. Your uncle said you have a destiny to fulfill, so how can this be the end for you?"

Gabriel looks long and hard at me, measuring some part. He peers into the darkness again. We spend the rest of the watch in silence, listening to the creek and groan of the standing rigging as the ship rocks back and forth in the ripples and wavelets that form and break on the hull.

The next day, Captain Cabral makes his personal supplies, a keg of mead and a few modest delicacies available to the crew. Meager portions for sure, but for some the gesture is huge. It's the first time since the funeral that he makes a speech. There is a spring in his steps. With unyielding confidence, he talks about the explorer's creed, the need to persevere, and the benefits of a courageous spirit.

Some of the crew are not so impressed. They grumble amongst themselves, casting angry glances astern. Several men gather near the ladder leading to the quarterdeck, where Cabral stands. Some have belaying pins, others have rope. Gabriel moves to stand in front of the ladder. I follow to stand beside him. The men stop, uncertain of their next move. Gabriel is not a small man, and the crew respect him. Diaz, a short, sinewy man, steps through the crowd with his hand on the sword in his sash.