Chapter 1
Waves
A boy clung to a railing as if his life depended on it. His knuckles had turned white from gripping so hard, but the wet iron kept slipping beneath his fingers. The ship tilted, and each shift wrenched a grunt of effort out of him.
A spasm rose in his throat. He tried to cover his mouth with his other hand, uselessly. The vomit burst out in a bitter stream, part of it blown back into his face by the wind. He coughed, spat, but the acid taste clung to his tongue like fire.
"Ugh…" he gasped, his forehead pressed against the rail.
He raised his gaze toward the sea, and instantly regretted it. Giant waves crashed against each other like maddened beasts, some rising so high it seemed the entire ship would be swallowed the next instant. The sight made him dizzier; the world spun as though he were trapped inside a barrel rolling downhill.
A shiver ran down his back. He tried to step away from the edge, but his legs wouldn't respond. He shoved himself backward clumsily, bending his knees, still with both hands hooked to the railing.
That was when the wave hit him.
He never saw it coming. A wall of water rose above the deck and collapsed with a deafening roar. The blow lifted him off the floor and hurled him like a rag doll against the planks. The impact knocked the air from his lungs; he felt the hard, cold wood slam into his back, then the nape of his neck.
A groan escaped his lips. His whole body throbbed. He tried to roll over and get up, but only managed to turn halfway before the vertigo forced him still, cheek pressed to the soaked boards.
Still lying on the deck, the boy squinted. Through the haze of water and nausea, he made out black figures rushing back and forth without pause. They were men, dozens of them, maybe more, all in dark uniforms drenched by the rain.
One passed so close he nearly stepped on his hand. He was shouting something the boy couldn't make out, his voice shredded by the wind. Another dragged a wooden crate across the floor; the nails screeched each time a wave rattled the deck. Two more hauled on a thick rope, muscles taut, veins bulging in their necks, trying to tame a sail that lashed like it wanted to tear itself free of the mast.
The boy lifted his head just a few inches, confused. Orders flew from one side to the other, but all of them were swallowed by the roar of the sea.
"Hold it!" he thought he heard."Close the hatch! Shut it!"
The uniformed men pointed, shoved, gestured. Each seemed to have an urgent task, but from the floor it all looked like incomprehensible chaos.
"Sailing jargon?" he wondered with his forehead pressed against his arm. "Damn, my head's spinning…"
A heavy throb pounded inside his skull like a drum. His vision blurred. His cheek slid against the wet wood until it rested fully.
The black deck gleamed under the rain, stained with salt and mud. "What a deep color," he muttered without realizing, brushing it with numb fingers.
The boy tried to push himself up on his palms, trembling as if carrying the weight of the whole sea. He managed to lift his torso just a few inches, but a brutal dizziness slammed him back onto the deck. The blow forced a grunt out of him.
The world spun. He couldn't tell if it was the ship, the sky, or his own head turning, but the planks beneath his cheek seemed to slide in circles. He swallowed hard, throat burning from the vomit.
In the distance, through rain and shouts, he saw a figure turning toward him. A man pushed through the crowd, dodging another who ran by with a rope slung over his shoulder. He crouched at his side.
"Hey! Kid!" the man shouted, but the voice sounded like it came from the bottom of the ocean.
The man gripped his shoulder and gave him a light shake. His lips moved quickly, forming words the boy no longer understood. Everything was noise, water, thunder.
His eyelids were closing against his will. He fought to keep them open, and each time he managed, the sailor's face grew blurrier.
A couple of phrases broke through the buzzing in his ears. Something like "hold on" or "breathe," but they dissolved right after.
The boy tried to answer, but only managed to part his lips. No sound came out.
His pulse hammered at his temples, each beat dragging him deeper into the dark. The wet wood beneath his face no longer felt rough or cold: only a cushion to rest on.
Finally, his eyes shut completely. His last thought, fading like an echo, was:Where am I? Why is there a storm? And why the hell am I on a ship?
Darkness swallowed him without reply.
***
"HE REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS!" —the shout jolted him more than the rain on his face.
The boy frowned, blinded by a gray brightness that filled everything. Not sunlight, but the overcast sky spinning above him. He blinked several times before realizing he was lying on his back, drenched, his uniform stuck to his skin.
He tried to sit up at once, but something stopped him: his legs wouldn't move. He raised his head a little and saw a man holding his calves, keeping them lifted at an awkward angle.
"Let me go…" he rasped, trying to sound commanding. "I need to get up."
"Better not." The reply came from another side. A second figure leaned over him, two firm fingers pressing against his neck. His uniform was drenched too, hair dripping water, but his touch was steady. "We're at the bow, the storm hasn't stopped, and if you stand now you'll collapse again."
The boy turned his head and noticed something else: his jacket hung loose, half its buttons undone. The cold air seeped through the damp fabric, making him shiver.
"Why's my clothing like this?" he asked, still panting.
"We had to air you out a little and cover you under the tarp," explained the one with fingers on his neck. "We didn't loosen everything because of the rain, but once you reach land, go see a doctor. Fainting from seasickness alone isn't normal."
The boy nodded, swallowing hard. He didn't press further, though questions crowded his tongue.
His whole body felt numb, like he'd slept for hours on a bed of stone. Every muscle was heavy. The deck shuddered beneath his back with every strike of the waves, and the cold seeped into his bones.
The rain stung his face in icy needles, mixing with sweat. He tried to move again, but the men kept him still.
For a while he stayed like that, legs still raised, a finger steady on his pulse, listening to shouts of orders around him, boots pounding, ropes cracking like whips. The ship never rested.
Until someone called the man with the steady voice, and he left at once, running to help. Only the one holding his legs remained, struggling against each jolt of the ship.
The boy breathed deep, trembling, unsure if it was from the cold or from the memory of sinking into darkness.
The sailor lowered his legs carefully, as if afraid they'd break on touching the floor. The boy lay there a moment longer, panting, then forced himself to sit.
He pushed himself up clumsily, hands pressed to the soaked deck. The drenched uniform clung like a second, icy skin. Every move was a struggle: muscles failed, knees shook, and his head still spun.
The wind still scoured the bow violently. Gusts slid under his loose jacket, sent chills tearing through him, shoved him back as if trying to return him to the ground. Around him, the men kept running, shouting, hauling ropes and crates. No one had another second to spare for him.
Head bowed, the boy suddenly looked up. A thought cut through the fog of dizziness."The letter!" he whispered hoarsely.
His hands dove into his pockets roughly, fumbling through every fold of wet fabric. His fingers, purple with cold, barely moved, but he searched nonstop, over and over. Nothing. No trace of the paper.
"It's not here? Did I lose it?" Panic squeezed his chest tighter than the storm. He looked around, as if the wind itself had stolen it. "Those two from before… maybe they have it…"
He tried to stand at once, but the ship lurched with brutal force. The deck tilted and threw him to his knees. The planks scraped his skin through the fabric.
He growled, grabbed the nearest bench with his left hand, and pulled himself up again, swaying. He sat, gasping for air, while chaos unfolded around him.
He couldn't stay there. He knew it. If he wanted to keep searching, he had to get under cover.
He forced himself up once more. His legs still shook, but he took step after step, leaning on the wall behind the bench. Barely a meter ahead, a dark blue door seemed to promise shelter.
He staggered toward it. Each jolt of the ship slammed him into the wall. The handle was wet and slippery. He pulled once: nothing. Again: the door barely budged.
Gritting his teeth, he leaned his full weight. The door gave with a sharp crack, opening just enough for him to slip inside and shut it clumsily behind him.
The change was instant. The roar of the wind cut off at once, as though he'd stepped into another world. Outside the storm raged; inside there was only the creak of wood and the rhythmic pounding of waves against the hull.
Before him stretched a narrow staircase leading down. He gripped the railing with both hands, still trembling, and began to descend. Each step was damp and slippery. His first foot nearly slid, and he had to plaster his torso against the rail to avoid tumbling headfirst. He stumbled downward, slipping now and then, until he reached the last step.
A hallway stretched ahead. Long, straight, lit only by white lamps that sputtered with a dirty glow. The light-brown painted metal walls gleamed wet under the dim light.
He had no time to notice details. The ship tilted violently, as if a wave had lifted it whole. The boy lost his balance instantly and slammed against the right wall with a thud that forced a groan. He tried to brace himself, but another lurch threw him left, shoulder first into a closed doorway.
The dizziness made reacting harder. He staggered forward, bouncing side to side.
The first door resisted his crash.The second too.The third rattled under the blow, but didn't give.
The fourth was ajar. And when his body struck, it swung wide open.
His shoulder went in first, then his hip. The boy rolled across the room's cold floor, leaving a trail of water dripping from his uniform. He ended up on his back, gasping, muscles taut, ribs aching with each breath.
A groan slipped out. The effort of staying upright this long had drained him. He could barely tell where he was. His forehead burned, and a constant buzz filled his ears.
"Shit…" he muttered with dry lips.
The boy raised his gaze with effort. His eyes, still clouded by dizziness, picked out a figure in the room.
Not another sailor running or shouting. A man stood before a small rectangular mirror, calmly adjusting a blue tie that glimmered under the faint light. He wore a pristine black uniform, dry, without a single wrinkle, as if the storm hadn't touched him.
The boy blinked several times, bewildered. The entire ship trembled and tilted like a furious beast, but that man stood still, as though the deck beneath his feet didn't move at all. The contrast churned his stomach worse than the seasickness.
"How… how is he so steady?" he thought, too weak to speak.
The stranger froze as soon as he noticed him. He stopped fixing his tie, turned, and walked toward him with calm steps.
"You're in rough shape," he said in a deep voice, without a trace of surprise. "Let me help you."
The boy barely managed to open his mouth, but only a hoarse gasp came out.
The man crouched, extended a firm hand, and grabbed his right wrist. The grip wasn't harsh, but final, as though there was no way to slip free.
In a second, he hauled him up with impossible ease. The boy felt himself rise like a sack of wet cloth, his feet no longer touching the floor.
"What…?" he murmured, not understanding.
Before he could react, he was slung over the man's shoulder, carried as if he weighed nothing. The movement churned his stomach further, but the man's strength pinned him, leaving no chance to resist.
He was taken to a plain bed against the right wall. The man laid him there with surprising gentleness, arranging him as if setting down something fragile.
The boy blinked several times, head still spinning. His vision cleared just enough to notice the man watching him from above, expression calm—too calm for the storm raging outside.
"Did I look that bad?" he wondered bitterly.
The answer seemed to come as a smile. A sly, contained smile that didn't fit the chaos beyond.
"Doesn't look like you'll be getting better anytime soon," the man said, leaning closer. "But at least you don't look so gaunt anymore."
The boy swallowed nervously. His chest heaved, breath racing to steady itself.
"Hm? And that smile just now? What's he laughing at?"
The man tilted his head and, as if offering something trivial, asked lightly:
"Hey, want a potion?"