Monster

As the little ship, captained by the lone McTavish, was being dragged into the current of the edge of the world, ready to be hurled over the ridge and cast into nothingness, the monster came upon its flank. McTavish was sitting cross-legged in the Nest, looking over the void and watching the water spill into the abyss below. He could see a terribly long way down, but the water never ceased falling. He thought of the man that went over Niagara in a barrel and shivered. His ship, as perfect for him as she was, would not offer such protection. Gripping the rigging, he stood up and resigned himself to ruin.

The she-monster, at that very moment, had taken an interest in the man. Her shadow came out of the water and rested on the deck, her bluish-green hide towering into the air, salt water dripping from it. McTavish shot a look her way and could almost believe what he saw -- after all, he was about to drop off the edge of the flat map. She pulled a tentacle up and wrapped it around the main sail, just high enough that McTavish could walk its length. He understood that is what she wanted, and he complied. With a flip of the appendage, she shot the captain to her shoulder and they watched as the ship went over the edge, lost for all eternity.

At the Edge of the World

At the edge of the world, the water seems thinner before it falls into nothingness. That is what McTavish thought as the old ship spun about helplessly on the whirlpool, nearing a teeter on the edge of creation. The water was deadly deep, but the captain could see to the bottom, where countless animals and things he had never heard of frolicked in the undersea wind.

There's no way this can end well, he realized, as his crew died one by one on the journey. He was the only man left. His first mate, Flannery, had warned him against the edge of the world, of what old hands called "the drop of the flat map." But he didn't believe them in the pub. He believed now, though. Now that he was seeing it.

The Storm

The wind picked up and the waves began white-capping, turning turbulent where once there was calm. The sky stripped his robe of blue and put on a a gray mantle so that the clouds turned dark and mischievous. The rain began to drop in sheets, pounding the little ship with force beyond reckoning. Flannery called all hands to the deck, yelling through a fierce snarl. The crew lashed everything down and prepared for a long day. With a grim smile creasing his face, he braced himself as water came over the tall bow. Things were getting ugly.

The onslaught continued for 3 hours while Ho'okele pushed through the storm, taking on water and creaking in the wind. Three good men were lost over the side and one, Crow's Nest Johnny, lost a hand when the rigging went super tight. He fell 12 feet and managed to land on all 3s, keeping his newly formed stump, still bleeding, over his head. The rest of the crew worked hard in slickers, all drenched from head to foot with rain and salt-water.

As they made their way out of the storm, cheering went up from the men, happy that they made it though the worst of it. McTavish mopped his face with a semi-dry towel and looked into the sunlight, happy.

Ho'okele

This might be an extended series. I want to write in something specific, but I need to lay some framework, I think. At any rate, the title and name of the ship means "Navigator."

They toiled against the ropes, lashing the sail and making fast for a quick run along the islands. Ho'okele, as the ship was called, could maneuver well enough to hold her own, had 12 cannons and a captain that took little from anyone, but demanded all his men had. He stood at the wheel of the ship, looking over his most prized possession -- and the substance of his dreams. Pipe in hand, he nodded to the wheelman and stepped onto the deck.

Captain Jay McTavish was not the ordinary seaman. He was squinty in one eye, this is true, but that is where the similarities between himself and the stereotypes ended. With hair in his face and pockmarked hands, he looked more the impoverished boy of old London than a sailor of fortune. The sun caught him in the face and he pulled his right forearm up as a shield, yelling out for more speed and less jabberjaw from his crew.

His first-mate, Kevin Flannery, was 20 years the captain's elder. He deferred with the knowledge that McTavish was a better captain, let alone a better man. With gray eyes and chin stubble, Flannery stood out among the young men he was mate over. He chewed heaps of tobacco and was prone to spitting over the side, causing streams of black to run along the outer hull of the ship -- eventually forcing crewmen to hang over the end suspended, old toothbrushes in hand to keep the old girl clean.

They moved along at a good clip, slicing through the water and heading West. Flannery had joked earlier that they would all fall off the edge of the map and into the Great Abyss. "As long as I go down at sea," McTavish replied, "I'd be happy indeed." But now, hours past the islands with no sign of slowing, Flannery began to question the realism of his jest. No one had been this far out -- and he didn't want to be the first one to make the trip.

"Captain," he said, standing at McTavish's side.

"Aye."

"Can I speak plainly, sir?"

"Sure. Speak your mind, Kevin. Speak your mind."

"Well sir. Here's the thing. No one's been out this far West before."

"And..."

Flannery looked down at this point, rubbing the stubble along his jawline. "And I don't know what's going to happen, Sir. I mean, where are we going?"

"No one knows what's going to happen, Kevin. And frankly, that's why we're going. We could go to Singapore, if you'd like, or Alaska, but where's the fun in that? We head West till we make land, or die trying."

"..."

"You're a might scared, aren't ya?"

"Aye, Captain. A might."

"Well, don't go telling the crew then. Don't want morale to drop because my first-mate got a case of the frights. You understand me?"

"Aye aye, Cap'n."

"Flannery?"

"Yes?"

"Think of the adventure." McTavish's eyes sparked with the light of youth, standing at the bow of the ship, ready for whatever the sea had to throw at him.

And then the weather changed.