Storm

"All hands on deck!"

The shouts of sailors and thunder of their steps as they raced across the wooden floor echoed overhead. Imaani adjusted her stance as the ship lurched and grabbed the candle before it fell over. Milla grunted as the needle pinched his skin.

"What a time for stitches," he sighed.

"You're lucky," Imaani replied, tugging the gash on his shoulder closed. "Any deeper and we would be arranging your funeral."

"Just toss me in the ocean with the fishes. Old Finn could use the company."

Imaani smiled. "Finnegan Roe gave his heart to the ocean. Are you saying you've done the same?"

"Of course not. Not yet at least. You know, the legend says he first fell in love with a woman."

"After he'd become the ocean's slave."

"I forget I can't argue with you."

"There, that should do it." Imaani snipped the thread and set aside her tools before embracing the man and kissing his cheek, saying, "You'll learn one day."

As they held one another, Nabeel raced by, stopping just long enough to say, "Milla, Captain needs every available hand!"

"I should go," the man said, gently pulling Imaani's arms off him.

She watched as he struggled to put on a shirt, the stabs of pain evident despite his best efforts to hide them. He didn't stay long after dressing and ran after the cabin boy to the main deck where the wind whipped with rage and the waves crashed against the ship, causing the wood to groan and creak unceremoniously under the pressure.

After securing her supplies, Imaani joined the crew above deck. She grabbed the nearest line and heaved with the others until the sail was finally set.

"Someone get below deck," Captain barked, "and secure the prisoners!"

"On it, Captain!"

Imaani glanced at Milla as he raced to the hatch and dropped into the darkness. Good, she thought. He's out of the wind.

Below, Milla stumbled through the gun deck, dodging cannon balls and powder kegs, and opened the hatch that led to the brig. The lantern swayed precariously, threatening to swing off its hook, and the two prisoners huddled together in the far corner of their cell. The elder, a woman whose eyes had not seen the light for decades now, uttered prayers in her native tongue as she clutched a small cross around her neck. The other, a boy no older than Nabeel and with hair as yellow as the sand dunes and eyes as bright as the calm sea, held his companion in an effort to comfort the poor old woman. He turned to glare at Milla.

Without saying a word, Milla tested the bars and checked for any leaks. Nothing more than the normal amount of water that usually seeped into the wood after prolonged sea exposure. Thunder boomed overhead, and the wood's groaning under the turbulent waves filled the brig.

The boy spoke. Though he could not understand the words, Milla could hear the agitation and hate in the question and said, "We're in the Storm Ring now. Hopefully we'll see the morning sun, but it will be a while before then."

Judging by his expression, Milla knew the boy did not understand. He frowned and leaned against the steps. This was a bad idea. He volunteered to care for the prisoners because he wanted Imaani to focus on her tasks rather than worry about him. And yet Khasan or Jamal, someone who spoke the same language as the prisoners, would have been a much better fit.

Milla muttered a curse and kicked a nearby bucket, spilling its contents onto the floor. The woman sobbed and lifted her voice, speaking her prayers more clearly above the howling wind now. Milla watched as the boy attempted to comfort the woman, but fear had taken hold of her heart and no words could soothe her now.

"Is there... anything I can do?" Milla offered.

Peering at his captor for a long moment, the boy cupped his hands and began repeating a word. He paused, realizing his efforts futile, then sounded out, "Water," while scooping up the contents of the floor.

"Water?" Milla repeated, mimicking the actions.

The boy nodded aggressively, overjoyed to be understood. "Water."

"I'll be right back." Milla raced up the steps and descended into the cargo hold. Khasan usually kept a jug of fresh water in his nest. When he returned with the jug, and a bottle of rum just in case, the boy made the woman drink. She gagged on the liquid as the ship lurched but managed to swallow some. Having exhausted herself, she fell asleep, and the boy laid his coat across her shoulders before nodding his gratitude towards Milla.

Milla offered the rum. The boy took a single whiff of it and quickly rejected the liquor, turning up his nose in obvious disgust. Shrugging, the sailor downed a gulp before corking the bottle. "Nabeel will let us know when we're out of the storm."

The boy made no efforts to display his lack of understanding as he huddled beside the woman and glanced warily at the bottle of rum. Catching his gaze, Milla set it behind a barrel before reaching up to catch the swinging lantern. "That might help," he said, securing the fixture to the post. He gritted his teeth against the creak of the wood, nervous that it might give way, and focused on the burning candle. "Won't cure sea-sickness, but should ease the dizziness." He gazed at the prisoners. "What's your name, kid?" Pointing at himself and enunciating each syllable, he added, "I am Milla."

"Mil...la?" the boy repeated.

"Yes, Milla. And you are...?"

"... George."

"Now that's a funny name," Milla chuckled. George raised an eyebrow, unsure what amused his captor so. "I would ask where you're from, but I think I already know."

The hatch opened, causing the howling roar of the wind to gain sudden volume. Thunder shook the ship. Milla turned as Khasan stumbled down the steps, his face feverish but his eyes sober.

"You took the last of my rum," Khasan mumbled.

"Right, sorry." Milla pulled it out from the barrel and handed it over. Khasan fell to his knees and poured the liquor down his back, hissing as it burned against his raw flesh.

"At this rate, I'll still end up drunk," he laughed weakly.

"I'm glad Captain took you off the deck. You're in worse shape than I am."

Khasan grunted as he peeled his shirt off. "Imaani is as head-strong as the best of them. I imagine she will have her own crew someday."

"I don't agree," Milla answered, helping his friend expose the lacerations across his back. "She looks up to you too much. If anything, you will have your own crew, and she will be your first mate."

"Again with the mutiny. I'm starting to think everyone on this ship would rather follow me into the Storm Ring." He nearly fell over and tossed a concerned glance at the shrieking wood.

"If you are only just now starting, then you have had your eyes on the horizon," Milla laughed, catching and securing the lantern again.

Khasan smiled. "Perhaps it is a good thing, then, that I openly display my loyalty to Captain. His tactics may seem strange, but I trust he has our best interest at heart. Though I will admit, it is difficult following a man no one else understands."

"No one aside from Jamal and Nabeel have an inkling of his plans. You don't find that suspicious?"

"Hardly. There are plenty of other ships that follow this pattern. The first mate and the cabin boy are often the only ones privy to the captain's goals."

"And look how many mutinies happen on those ships."

Khasan crossed his arms and glowered. "Either way, I grow weary of everyone's loyalty to me. Ever since the Usurper, I have been walking a fine line with loyalty and knowledge, and it is entirely exhausting."

George suddenly made a sound, as though he recognized something they said and found it distressing. Only just now noticing the boy, Khasan shoved the remainder of his rum behind the barrel and began to converse with him in his language. Milla watched as George's hardened glare melted with relief and gratitude despite the aggressive sounds of the raging storm.

"What did you say?" Milla questioned after it was clear their conversation had ended.

Khasan avoided eye contact as he answered, "That he will be safe and the Usurper can't find us here." He turned to leave, snatching his shirt and rum from the floor.

Milla caught his arm. "I know when you're lying to me, Khasan. You forget how familiar I am with your sister."

"You do?" Khasan looked at his friend. "Strange, because now is the first time you realized a lie. Perhaps I am not the only one with my eyes on the horizon."

Startled by his sudden aggression, Milla let Khasan jerk his arm from his grasp and march from the brig, the hatch slamming shut under the wind's force. He stood, dumbfounded, and watched George gently console the woman. There seemed to be a chill in the air, and he sensed it wasn't caused by the draft.