Chapter 9 - The Lost Fleet
The ocean stretched to every horizon, a rolling wilderness of slate and silver.For forty days the Santa Isabel and her two surviving companions had drifted west beneath alien stars.Their sails hung in tatters; their water casks reeked of salt and mildew.Yet every dawn, the men gathered at the rail, crossed themselves, and whispered the same prayer King Leon had given them before they left Valencia:
"Let faith be the compass when all stars fail."
The Captain's Vigil
Captain Don Hernán de Vera had once served as a knight in Aragon's wars. Now he ruled a deck instead of a battlefield.He stood at the prow each morning, his hand on the crucifix nailed to the mast.Beside him, Brother Mateo, the ship's chaplain, recorded the voyage in a journal already spotted with seawater.
"Forty days, Captain," Mateo said. "Even the Israelites had manna."
Hernán smiled weakly. "Then perhaps Heaven hides ours in the next wave."
They laughed—thinly, wearily—and turned their eyes to the west.
The Tempest's Memory
The storm that had scattered them still haunted the crew's dreams.Men spoke of voices in the thunder, of lights beneath the sea, of shadows that swam like living smoke.Mateo dismissed it as fear, but even he admitted the wind sometimes carried the sound of bells, as if an unseen cathedral drifted below the waves.
When the wind died one evening, the ocean lay glass-still.The men knelt on deck and sang Ave Maris Stella.Their voices rose into the emptiness until, far to the west, a gull cried—a single, unmistakable note of life.
Landfall
At dawn they saw it: a dark line on the horizon, growing clearer with every heartbeat.By noon, the line became cliffs, green and wild, veiled in mist.The sailors fell to their knees.
"Terra!" cried Hernán. "Land, by the mercy of God!"
They dropped anchor in a crescent bay where white birds circled and a river spilled into the sea.The air smelled of rain and unfamiliar blossoms.No cross stood upon that shore, no smoke of hearth or tower—only forest and silence.
Hernán ordered a small party ashore. They kissed the sand and planted a wooden cross bound with ship's rope.Mateo spoke a short prayer.
"We name this place Santa Isabel, in memory of our queen, whose faith guides us still."
They did not speak of conquest or claim; they built a simple cairn of stones and left a parchment within:"Sailors of Aragon found haven here in the year of Our Lord 1251. May those who come after find peace."
The River of Glass
For three days they explored the mouth of the river.They found fruit, clear water, and strange carved stones half-buried in moss.Mateo wrote that they resembled ancient script—"not heathen idols, but the forgotten work of souls who also sought Heaven."
The sailors wanted to stay, to build a chapel and wait for rescue, but Hernán knew their supplies would not last.Two ships had survived the passage; one must return.
"Aragon must know this is no myth," he said. "The king must know his dream reached further than he feared."
He chose the smaller caravel, San Vicente, to sail home. He stayed behind with half the men to guard their landing.
When the departing ship raised its patched sail, the two crews shouted blessings across the water until distance swallowed the words.
The Message
Months later, in the palace at Zaragoza, a barnacled bottle was delivered to Leon.Inside was a scrap of parchment written in Brother Mateo's cramped hand:
"We have found new earth beneath God's stars. It is gentle, wide, and waiting. We have built a cross upon its shore. Whether Heaven intended us to conquer or simply to remember His greatness, we do not yet know. Pray for us."— Mateo of the Lost Fleet
Leon read the note three times. Then he looked toward the west, where sunset burned red behind the hills.
"They live," he whispered. "And perhaps… they have found what I could not."
He ordered a candle to burn beside the note in the cathedral, unceasing, until their return.
Closing Scene
Far across the sea, Hernán stood at the mouth of his river of glass.The jungle breathed behind him, the ocean before him.He raised his sword, the edge dulled by salt, and carved a cross into the trunk of a tree.
"For Leon," he said softly, "and for the God who still guides us, even to the ends of the earth."
The wind answered through the leaves, gentle and wordless.And for the first time since the storm, the captain felt peace.