Haul on the Bowline

Haul on the Bowline

Haul on the Bowline before she starts a-rollin’

Haul on the Bowline the skipper is a-growlin’

Haul on the Bowline so early in the mornin’

“Hoist the lines, lads!” Akir strongarmed the halyard of The Undaunted three steps forward in unison with his crew. He grinned, heart thrumming in his throat and an addictive tidal wave coursing through his veins. Akir only knew the smell of the western ocean, sharp, welcoming. The deep water and chilly air would stick to his skin during early mornings on deck. This ocean’s air was filled with salted fruit. Its heat and humidity cut through the fresh salty smell, clinging to every pore of Akir’s skin like it was willing him to stop breathing. The water shone a serene teal, but the waves were testy. They rocked the ship back and forth as the setting sun beat its final gusts of heat onto the crewmen. The quickly rising moon called upon more violent waves, threatening to pitch the Dutch West India ship and her sailors into the quickly darkening waters. Akir relished the rocking boat under his feet with a childlike glee.

Haul on the Bowline

Haul on the Bowline

Haul on the Bowline before she starts a-rollin’

With one last heave after hours of work, Akir paused until the end of the line was tied and released it with a sigh. Captain Seaver rested an approving hand on Akir’s shoulder. “I say we enjoy smooth waters as long as they last. It can be mere minutes before the ocean’s temper fires up again,” he warned. Akir watched as each crewmember slowly nodded in agreement, shaking their heads to make sure their eyes remained open.

“We ought to get a drink before that, then,” someone from the crowd of men piped up.

“What an idea!” Captain Seaver exclaimed, turning to Akir with a mischievous grin.

“Newbies mop the deck before they join us.”

Akir’s jaw nearly fell open at the captain’s request. The Undaunted was some hundred yards long, even just the top deck would take Akir hours. He glanced forlornly down at the debris cluttered around his feet and an admonishing ‘uncle’ nearly slipped from his tongue, but he refrained. His fate would be much worse than mopping the deck if the rest of the crew knew his relation to Captain Seaver. Any promise he showed for sailing would be forgotten. Akir sighed and nodded.

“Good lad. Don’t get caught out by the nighttime lurkers,” Captain Seaver winked.

“Who?” Akir asked. The crew began to disappear to the lower level of the ship. He could see the stars peeking from behind the sunset as the sky slowly veiled itself into inkiness. A look of mild surprise took over Captain Seaver’s face. He had not expected Akir to question him further.

“Legends, boy,” First Mate Faulkner said, appearing behind the captain. He handed Akir a half-empty bottle of rum and continued, “legends of what teases our eyes in the ocean… the songs that lure sailors off board.”

Goosebumps prickled along Akir’s arms, but he only raised an eyebrow. “Now what could compel a perfectly sane sailor to jump in the sea?” he asked with a skeptical lilt.

“HA!” First Mate Faulkner slapped his knee. “I saw a man toss himself straight over starboard sayin’ he heard a song.”

“A song?”

“That’s right, and the other sailors said they heard it too. Somethin’…ethereal or such. A lone voice in the sea.”

“Whalesong?”

First Mate Faulkner let out another hearty laugh, “Whalesong? Boy, the sailors heard a lone voice singing to them and they understood what it was saying. That’s why their man went overboard. They said it was urging them to find it. Sounded like a woman’s voice.”

“Now who could possibly survive alone like that at sea?” Akir asked, scratching his head.

First Mate Faulkner shrugged.

“I imagine something far more dangerous than what we know is out there.”

***

Naia thrashed back and forth as the enormous ship encroached steadily upon her ocean. She frowned, throwing her tail forward against the waves to keep herself balanced. This was one of the bad ships. She could tell by how its shadow grew, cutting through through the ocean’s protests. The good ships were smaller, often holding men and women that offered pearls and intricately carved driftwood figurines to Naia in exchange for passage. The bad ships thrust violently into neatly organized schools of fish, scattering them mercilessly and razing floating greenery. Giant hulls faced the water’s great whales audaciously, threatening to cut them down just as they everything else around them.

These bad ships were riddled with guns which Naia guessed must have rivaled the weight of the ships themselves. Each time one fired, it sent an earthquake through the water, the ocean silenced in the wake of gunfire. The explosions were deafening, louder than the valiant echo of drums from the people living on Naia’s shores. Every bad ship guarded a hoard of useless things they dug out of the ground or looted from those who had worked hard to do so. All for jewelry, gold, and sugar. Perhaps there was none where these men came from.

The crew atop the ship forced it fervently through the current’s increasing strength. Naia laughed. Did they not know that the only way through a treacherous sea was to succumb to the waves? They didn’t. That’s why it was so easy to lure the men from the bad ships into the water.

As the sun disappeared and the ocean began to sparkle with life against the dark sky, it seemed the ruckus on this ship had come to a pause. The men tied their lines and congratulated each other, disappearing below deck. Only a few stayed visible, merrily drinking rum out of bottles too large for their own hands. Some began singing. Their brassy voices cut through the heavy quiet that settled above the water.

At this time of night, the ship would begin to quiet down, and the men would be subject to the calming cacophony of the ocean. Then, Naia would sing.

She would tell the men on the bad ships about the gold left in her waters by others of their kind and the fish that glowed as they danced around her tail. She would tell them about the jewels that her people so carefully kept at the bottom of the ocean, inviting the men to see them. She would promise them protection in the water. The men would listen and step overboard, trying to make their way to her. There were times entire crews would follow the first few victims, the ship and its useless wares to float into oblivion. Naia left the empty ships. They were of no interest to her.

Ships did not cause disturbances without men on them. Men on ships dumped buckets of sludge into the water and turned it a foul color. Her nose crinkled in disgust. Some men on the bad ships would take down whales one by one, stopping the magnificent creatures’ songs abruptly to replace them with bloodcurdling screams. The scales along Naia’s spine shook painfully at the sound. The more ships she left drifting, the more hesitant each crew of men was to return. Although some days, Naia felt as though they would just keep coming.

For as long as they kept coming, she would keep singing.

***

“So, what tales do men tell each other of creatures dangerous enough to survive the ocean alone?” Akir asked. He now stood at the bow of the ship with First Mate Faulkner who serenely smoked his pipe. The cool ocean air brushed pleasantly atop Akir’s skin after a healthy amount of rum. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes half-lidded, but he felt more awake than ever.

First Mate Faulkner nodded slowly, taking his cap off and holding it to his chest as though he was greeting a lady. “In these parts between the Atlantic and Caribbean Seas, there’s a nymph…” he began explaining. Akir leaned forward, engrossed in First Mate Faulkner’s story. The thrashing and moaning of the waves beneath them were no longer audible, to Akir, at least.

First Mate Faulkner continued, “…I told you about the men who walked overboard? Any ones who survived the song claim to have seen a nymph in the ocean so beautiful they had to hide their eyes. They say the song starts off beautiful and curious. But if you listen long enough, it becomes haunting and mysterious, so alluring it brings men to their downfall. Some have said it is so permeating that as hard as they try to cover their ears, they can still hear the nymph’s song,” he said with a wonderous gleam in his eye.

“Do the locals know anything about it?” Akir asked.

First Mate Faulkner chuckled. Then answered, “If they did, do you think they would tell us?”

Akir drew back slightly, the speaking aloud the question sprawled across his face, “what do you mean?”

“Perhaps you will understand soon,” First Mate Faulkner answered again, taking another drag of his pipe. “I assume the men must have heard the story from locals, but it has circulated so many ships that at this point I have a difficult time believing it is not true. Some say the nymph was a lost lady claimed by the sea, but many say that she is the protector of the water, and by extension, the native peoples of these islands.”

“What does she look like?”

“That’s where the story becomes interesting, my boy. The sailors say she has the tail of a fish and the body of a local. Her skin is so dark that she blends into the depths of the ocean.”

“Not a nymph, a siren she is!” A crew member piped up from the rowdy huddle behind Akir. He turned to face a happily reddened crew with widespread smiles as though they had not been working all day trying to keep themselves alive.

“A siren.” Another crew member nodded in agreement, then continued, “like the Greeks talked of in their myths. A beautiful woman whose voice is so alluring you just can’t help yourself.”

“I imagine such a powerful voice requires an equally powerful chest! Imagine what that must look like!” the first crew member said with a cheap smile. He released a roaring laugh.

“If she looks anything like the women here, I am imagining,” the second crew member joined in with a snicker, “what is it you said, Faulkner? She’s so beautiful men had to hide their eyes? I’d drink it all in with every bit of gaze I had. Hell, maybe my allure could get her onto our ship, boys!”

First Mate Faulkner looked disapprovingly at his crew, who were far too drunk to notice.

“I am almost certain you would not survive, and Hell is precisely where you will go,” First Mate Faulkner said. He turned back to gaze onto the water. Akir nodded in agreement. If they happened to come across this nymph, perhaps the fate she would dole out was well-deserved.

“Do you believe the tales?” Akir asked First Mate Faulkner, turning away from the cheap jokes the crew had resorted to in their inebriated state.

“Aye,” First Mate Faulkner insisted, “I come to deck at dawn sometimes and in the distance, I can see her, golden comb through her hair, sitting on a boulder and watching us go by.”

***

The sun had disappeared along the edge of the sea now, and Naia could swim close enough to the ship to see its name. The Undaunted. She found that name ironic. The Undaunted broke apart rainbow families of fish and took their destruction merrily to the land, desecrating the ocean and those who lived on the surrounding islands. Yet the men on the ship remained, well, undaunted. Their careless laughter roiled her stomach so much so that the water around her bubbled.

The crew had taken to creating more noise on the ship. Their voices elicited a throaty growl which rose from deep in Naia’s stomach. She allowed the ocean’s waves to carry her away from where they might be able to see her, aiming for a small cove ahead. Naia would wait until the crew was asleep before she sang. Otherwise, they would attempt to hunt her too.

In the water, Naia could hear everything from the bubbling of the fish to the resounding dolphin squals that passed through the ocean. The vibration of dwindling whale song rippled through her skin. Now, everything was drowned out by the cumbersome creaks and groans of The Undaunted. From above the water, such titanic sounds went entirely unheard. Everything revealed itself under the ocean’s surface. Even what would be a sailor’s silent gasp for air above the ocean’s surface became a desperate scream for life underneath. Often, after Naia had finished her song, she would dive her head back underwater, visible to the sailors as they sunk to their inevitable deaths.

Naia picked her head back up out of the water. She now swam a distance from the bow of The Undaunted. Two figures stood thoughtfully at the helm, lost in the sight of the expanse of water before them. They would taste the foulness they left here. A brief desire to begin her song and watch the two men dive overboard took over Naia. She shook it away. What were the lives of two monsters when she could take them all?

A fog began to settle, too slowly for the sailors to notice. Naia felt its thickness rise out of the ocean water. She turned her head back towards the shore on her left. While the land itself was miles away, she could still hear everything that happened on the verge of the water if she listened closely. Many days, she chose to only hear the songs underwater, because those sung on the land made her heart sink. When she had been younger, songs were sung of the beauty and ferocity of the clear blue waters that ships like The Undaunted now sullied with their wastage. Her people sung of joyful celebration and warriors that fought to protect the beauty of their home. Now, the songs were heavy, burdened. Now, her people sang desperately of survival and betrayal. There were times when the songs were entirely replaced with indecipherable screams and the clanking of metal on ships even bigger than The Undaunted.

Tonight, a small group of voices on the ocean’s shore sang four longing melodies. For a moment, the waves thrashing with the violence of Naia’s thoughts calmed. The grass underneath the surface of the water danced gently around Naia’s fingertips. She breathed in, relishing the gentle flow of oxygen that connected the land to the ocean. It, too, moved in a crystal-clear current, not yet sullied by the men on bad ships. Still, a faint scent had begun to diffuse, something turning quickly putrid. There was death in the air tonight.

***

Most of the crew had gone below deck with First Mate Faulkner, but some had fallen asleep on deck. The Undaunted coursed through the waves. At each turn, the ocean seemed to fight it. The salt in the air cleared Akir’s nose but stung his pores. There seemed to be so little on the ocean. Yet each time The Undaunted crashed through the tide, two more surges set the ship back. When he sailed at home, the ocean unveiled itself, its inhabitants jumping through the water and dancing around his ship. Here, the darker the water became, the more exanimate the ocean felt. Akir tried to peer past the darkness of the water to no avail. This ocean hid from him, an impenetrable barrier between his gaze and everything that danced beneath its surface.

However unnatural, the silence kept Akir at peace. In the dappled starlight that shimmered above the ocean, it was not difficult to picture a lone figure in a cove at the edge of the water, watching the ship pass by demurely.

Could a maiden’s song be so dangerous? Akir turned his head to face the cove that The Undaunted was slowly passing. Even the greenery that would have spilled from its edges shrouded itself with the night’s darkness. The only thing illuminated by the stars was an endless expanse of dark, tumultuous water. Akir barely remembered when he set sail. It could have been centuries since he had left home. Perhaps weeks and centuries would all feel the same to him here.

At first, Akir could have sworn he was hearing the wind. The note started as a slow whistle, blending into the whistling breeze. It slowly increased in volume until Akir found himself listening to a careful melody. It swam through the dark air and wrapped around his chest. He closed his eyes, allowing the gentle tone to hold him. Who was singing so lonely and late into the night? Then, the tune:

Haul on the Bowline

It’s a far cry to freedom

Those were not the words. Akir opened his eyes with a jolt. What had First Mate Faulkner said? Beware of the nymph. The song, beautiful and curious at first, turned into a haunting ballad. The melody that wrapped around his chest comfortingly at first now held him in an uncomfortably tight grip, squeezing the life from his chest. Akir breathed in heavily and released the air from his lungs slowly, as though he was underwater. His brain cried for air as though he had already fallen from The Undaunted and begun to drown.

Haul on the Bowline

The ocean is a-callin’

The tune took on an eerie echo. An ever-so-slight note change sent goosebumps scuttling up Akir’s spine. His body jolted upward as he recalled more of First Mate Faulkner’s story. There were still men on the deck who were likely more drawn to the nymph’s song than he.

“No man left behind,” he muttered. Akir ran backwards from the bow of the ship to the men sitting and sleeping on deck. They all looked to be staring at the sky or aimlessly into the fog, entranced by the haunting tune. Akir could see one or two men standing to lean over the edge of the ship, craning their necks to hear more of the nymph’s song. Their eyes were squinted in concentration as though the nymph’s voice was slowly fading. To Akir, her song only sounded louder.

One crew member slung himself dangerously over the side of the ship, his torso skimming the ship’s banister and his toes dangling from the edge.

“No!” Akir shouted, sprinting to the crew member and pulling back with all his might. The crewmember fell limply to the deck, sitting with his hands behind him and legs splayed out as though he could not remember how he got there.

Akir’s head whipped back and forth, the gears turning in his mind to concoct a way to could save his crew members from throwing themselves overboard. “Running this ship will be a million times more difficult without you lugs to pull the halyard,” he grumbled as he grabbed the arm of each man and placed them in a circle next to each other. Akir walked around them, ensuring each entranced face was focused to the sky instead of wandering towards the surrounding ocean. Arms crossed, he stared at the wood of the ship in attempts to ground himself. He would not listen to the nymph’s song.

***

Naia twirled her hair in her fingers, safely perched on a boulder in the cove that The Undaunted slowly passed. She began her song as usual, with the pleasantries and allure of welcoming a visitor into her home. She invited the ship’s crew to explore the depths of the sea, convincing them the water was safe. After all, was that not what they wanted? A key into her home. She would convince them the water was their home.

“Haul on the Bowline.”

The crew had sung during the day. Naia sang it in return, enticing the sailors closer with each word. She could hear the ragged breathing of the men on deck as they suddenly forgot where they were and what they had been doing, dropping their bottles of rum and pints of ale to hear her greeting. Still, she could not hear the familiar splashes of men diving into the ocean, or the singular cry of, “Man Overboard!” More crew did not run on deck to try and save their shipmates only to meet the same fate. In the middle of her song, Naia strained to hear. Still, no screams muffled by the sound of waves or plops of crew frantically attempting to swim to shore before getting caught in her melody when their heads broke water. How strange. She lowered her fingertips just beneath the surface of the ocean, letting its warmth run upward to her shoulder. The tide did not swirl as it did when she welcomed new bodies into it. Abruptly stopping her song, Naia slipped back into the water without a splash. The fog became thicker.

The Undaunted cut through the waves slightly less effectively now that the moon was pulling them with more fervor. Still, the ship sailed forward, halting what would otherwise be the rhythmic movement of high tide. Naia dove beneath the ship, taking care to not approach too closely. If she started singing here, the crew might spot her. She gnashed her teeth, her song aching in her throat.

Naia let the current carry her upward until the top of her head and her eyes broke the surface of the water. Her tail beat against the tide. The moon was not yet high, and the fog thickened around her. From here, she could see the figures of eleven men on the ship. Men were not abandoning it. Her face contorted. Ten men were sat in a circle. The eleventh stalked around them like a hunting shark, arms crossed. He stared intently at the wood of the ship, while the others were fixated on the foggy night above, aching to hear more of Naia’s song.

She poked her chin out of the water and sang once again. The sitting crew members, whose trancelike state had not yet worn away, began to flail urgently. They eagerly tried to crawl past their eleventh member in the direction of Naia’s voice. She almost giggled at their boorish above-water bodies trying to lumber away from safety. Pathetic.

The one standing sailor who had been circling the others looked upward with his comrades. So, he had heard her song. Unlike the others, however, he shook his head and turned his attention back to his crewmates. He grabbed each of their arms and threw them back into the circle he had made them sit inside as they wriggled to get out. That was why Naia had not heard the splashes of men jumping. Several crewmates on ships like this thought themselves heroes. They thought themselves above the endless and powerful force of the ocean. Naia rose further out of the water. Her shoulders were enveloped in the thick, swirling fog as she let her previous melody carry in the wind. The ten sailors on deck began to flail even more desperately.

***

Akir jogged around his ten crewmembers frantically as the nymph’s song became louder. When the higher parts of the melody rose in volume, his ears registered a shrill screech. He winced. Then, it would settle back into an unnatural melody.

He craned his neck from where he stood, barring the crewmembers from the edge of the ship, attempting to find where the song was coming from. Whatever was singing, nymph or not, had to be nearby.

The melody stopped once again. Akir sighed with some peace as his flailing crew mates settled down in the circle he had been struggling to keep them in. Not having to corral the men, Akir peered further over the side of the ship. The fog made the water look like an endless chasm, the blackness of the sky reflected in the crashing tide. The wind blustered at Akir’s back. He pitched forward, catching the edge of the ship to avoid the tantalizing call of the cavernous swells below.

Then, a flicker. Shining scales shone in the water. The fog encircled Akir’s neck in determined hands. It thickened to an opaque haze, too thick for the stars to reflect in the ocean. Something moved back and forth in the water. A fish? No, this fish would have been large if he could see it from the ship without light. As far as he knew, sharks did not flash in the water like that. The haunting melody started up again on a low note. This time, it was deafening. Akir leaned forward even further, bracing himself against the strengthening gale at his back. He spotted a head and shoulders poking out of the water.

“Hey!” he shouted. The nymph’s song stopped abruptly. She looked up at him from the water.

The way First Mate Faulkner had spoken about the nymph, Akir had expected to see a beautiful woman. But what faced him now was no mere beauty he might have seen on land. The fog was coming from her, rising from her skin in thick sheets like steam. Her eyes were the deep blue color he had always imagined the ocean to be on a perfect day. Her skin was so dark she did almost blend into the darkness of the water but somehow still shone a silvery glow. She bared her teeth, and they were sharp, unlike any human’s Akir had seen. Her hair was braided just as the locals’ hair was braided and it floated in long locks that held shells, beads, and other shiny things that Akir could not identify from this far away.

The nymph looked taken aback at the sight of him. Her eyes, enormous, were littered with disgust and fury.

“Are you here to take us?” Akir called over the side of the ship, checking back over his shoulder to make sure all ten men were still on board. With the nymph not singing, they had settled into their previous, mildly dazed positions. Akir glanced back at the water. No response. “Will you grant us passage?” he called again and spotted the moonlike eyes once more. The nymph’s body was submerged, now with only her forehead, eyes, and hair visible. Every so often, Akir caught the flick of a tail which held her steady against the movement of the tide. “Please tell me why you have come for us.” The nymph rose out of the water, so her face was entirely visible.

“Why have you come to my ocean?” she called, “no man has come to this part of the ocean and survived my song.” As the nymph spoke, the ocean waves began to rock The Undaunted even more than before. The motion dipped Akir slightly closer to the water before pulling him away once more. The fog closed around Akir’s neck, solidifying in a way air should not have been able to.

“We’re just merchant sailors, miss,” Akir gasped, “please, what can we offer you?” he choked the words out, his esophagus fighting against the weight of the fog. It entered his mouth and filled his throat, forcing him to audibly gasp for air. The nymph tilted her head slightly as he did, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“I do not want offerings from you. They are coated in blood,” she hissed, “your kind have ravaged my waters and my people for centuries. You leave filth in my sea and bring pain to the people who bring life to my shores.”

“I swear to you I have not done any of those things!” Akir exclaimed, leaning towards the edge of the ship. He tried to clear his mind, to connect to the waters beneath him as he did the ocean he sailed through in his home. This ocean raged in protest. It did not want him.

“DO NOT SWEAR,” the nymph commanded thunderously. She rose further from the water. The Undaunted keeled towards the water and Akir’s fingers skimmed the top of the ocean. He jolted backwards. The water was frigid.

The nymph’s once hypnotic voice now filled the silence in a whistling echo, deep like an angry whale’s call. “Do not invoke oath to tell me lies, sailor.”

Akir felt as though he was too close to the moon. He almost had to look away from how brightly the nymph’s deep skin lit the surrounding darkness. He imagined her eyes could, at times, be demure, but now they were filled with magma. Akir had to shake himself to gain his bearings. The ocean waves took tighter hold of The Undaunted, as though it was trying to shake his men from the deck if they would not jump themselves.

***

Naia stared at the sailor who seemed impervious to her song. If he had not been a human, perhaps she would have wanted to learn more about what was behind such bright and curious eyes. She found herself wondering if there may have been a heart strong enough to brave the ocean in his chest. No, perhaps not. After all, this sailor, too, was killing her own.

“Who will feed our families if we die?” he insisted.

“They will die, like my people have for centuries. Who was to feed the families of those you took?” Naia asked accusatorily. She swished her tail under the water, creating deadly whirlpools.

“I haven’t taken anyone!” the sailor cried. A desperate plea saturated his claim. His knuckles were white from the force with which he gripped the ship to keep himself steady. “Why must you kill us?” his voice shook with the strength of the waves that rocked the ship. Naia exhaled in quiet satisfaction. Now, he feared for his life as her people and her ocean had for centuries.

“I will take many lives of your kind before mine are avenged,” Naia answered. She had heard such pleas before. Men raised their eyes to the sky, calling upon their gods to show mercy. They did not even understand that she was the god they should be begging to.

The sailor’s dark hair was thoroughly tousled by the wind, his eyes frantic. He glanced back again at his crew members, nearly catatonic. In a moment of pause, Naia almost laughed at the sailor’s figure. He was larger than most humans, but only strong from the force of hauling the lines that kept the ship afloat. His arms were not designed to bear the weight of water the way Naia’s were. He only had the force to keep ships afloat. Naia sank them.

“Let your lives be warnings,” Naia called, “so that others with homes to return to and families to feed do not make the same mistakes.”

“The people you hate—my kind—will never stop coming to your ocean. They have families to feed, just as we do,” the sailor pleaded again and shook his head. “We do not deserve to pay for the crimes of others.”

“They are your crimes too! After what you have done to these waters! After you have sailed through my ocean to deliver the weapons that threaten to end the life on my shores!”

“Haul on the Bowline, lads!” the sailor called, “we must keep this ship steady!”

Upon hearing the song, the crew members seemed to perk up slightly but were still dazed. The sailor called once more.

“It is no use,” Naia said. At any moment the sailors would pitch themselves overboard. If she took the one who was speaking to her now, nothing would stand between the crew of The Undaunted and the wrath of Naia’s ocean. The water twirled around her in anticipation of their sacrifice.

However unsteady, the dark-haired sailor was determined. He grabbed two large ropes, pulling with all his might to battle the wind which plagued the ship’s sails. His brows furrowed in doubtless determination, his feet held steadfastly against the deck with an inhuman surety. This sailor was trying to survive. Naia found herself gazing upon him the way she might have gazed at locals on a drowning ship. Unlike his crew members, the sailor was not granted the peaceful trance that hid the truth of his descent into the water. He was forced to face his death just as he faced Naia now — glaring in its face. None had struggled so valiantly against Naia’s song. Dare she admit, none had succeeded the way this sailor had.

“No!” the sailor cried. He grabbed another line. “Even if I have to sail through hell and forever, this ship will stay afloat,” he called over the roar of the waves.

The sailor pulled at the halyard with all his might. As water began to spill onto the deck, the sailor stopped. His eyes filled with the impending doom of his sinking ship. Naia watched the sailor’s heart drop to his stomach as he stared at the dark expanse of ocean in which he was but a speck.

For a second, she considered letting him sail back to the home he so fervently invoked. Perhaps he would never make this mistake again.

Even if Naia let this sailor live, the ships would only keep coming. If she released him now, what would he do when he returned to his home? Sail once more? Return to her waters? Sparing his life was a quiet deed. If even this sailor died, every ship from whence he came would know. His death would resound through his world more than his life ever would.

A tug in Naia’s chest sent a wave of sadness through her. He fought for his crew’s life the way she fought for her innocents. Perhaps he truly believed he and his crewmembers were free of blame for what had happened to this ocean and its people. Naia sank back into the waves.

“Careful what you wish for. There are more ways to send a warning than destroying your ship,” she warned.

“What more is there than killing us?” the sailor raised the challenge to Naia. Rage dripped from his voice upon the realization that he would die at her behest. The corner of Naia’s mouth curled upward. Her chest swelled and the water around her began to bubble once again. This time, however, it was boiling.

“You want to be a sailor? Fine. Brave the seas forever. I permit you to sail my waters, but the minute you step on land I curse your sins to catch up with you and your body to wither with your deeds. I curse only love to cure you, but you will never be able to set foot on land to find it,” she let the words grow in her chest and fill with the loathing that had caused men’s deaths for centuries.

The sailor stopped hauling to give Naia a look of utter hatred. The hopeless fear had left his eyes upon hearing his life was to be spared.

 “You curse for an eternity to repent a sin that is not mine,” he spat, “I have not killed or looted or plundered! I am saving my men from the likes of you, witch!”

“How dare you deny the sins you are part of by fighting for your ship. Perhaps if you could admit the truth, I might have spared you. Consider this a kind alternative.”

***

Haul on the Bowline

Even hundreds of years later, the locals who lived on the shores of Naia’s ocean would tell tales of the singing man on The Undaunted. A sailor doomed to roam the ocean and harmonize with Naia’s song until his curse was broken.