Naramsin: Ocean
By the autumn of 1797, after having repaid a longstanding debt to a certain Spaniard of Cadiz, my travels had, of subsequent necessity, brought me westward across the Iberian peninsula to Lisbon, Portugal, where growing political unrest marked the reign of Queen Maria I, and shadows roamed in the gloaming.
Lisbon was a crowded, filthy city, never to recapture the grandeur lost to the terrible earthquake over a score of years earlier; but, due to its disarray and ongoing reconstruction, it was well known as a city where strangers could travel unnoticed, and where, with Brazilian treasure dwindling, gold bought the silence of the sturdy sailors plying the cold Atlantic waters. With my pressing need to leave the Continent, I secured passage from Lisbon on a ship destined for the remote Azores, where I hoped to bide my time until certain events in Spain played out to my advantage.
The crew of the Novo was not overly inquisitive, and was content to work their trade without interference. The captain, Joao Durao, was a hardened sailor, weathered by a lifetime at sea, who scrutinized both his assortment of passengers and cargo with the same baleful indifference as he stroked his bushy black beard. He was, however, more attentive to the loading of the heavy, multiple barrels of gunpowder on his manifest, and to the embarking of several pretty young women in the custody of a stout elderly merchant. The women, in turn, flattered me with their interested glances, but they were an indulgence that I could not now afford.
It was incumbent upon me under the present circumstances to be as inconspicuous as possible, so I made certain that I fed well upon several of the locals before the ship departed in order to fully fortify myself for the long voyage ahead. Sailors are, by nature, a practical yet superstitious lot, and easily dismayed by the sudden deaths of their shipmates from causes unknown. It was my intent to not afford this crew any avenue for suspicion, nor the opportunity for any deviation from their practicality, through the dispatch of their comrades to fill my belly. So it was that I resigned myself to husband both my needs and my energies until my safe arrival in Santa Maria, and, sadly, to ignore the multiple temptations presented by the beautiful senoritas.
Our departure from Lisbon was marked by dark clouds and rough water, common at this time of year, but eyed with no great concern by Captain Durao. I was pleased by his evident familiarity with the passage, as I myself had plied these dark waters many times in the distant past. Nine hundred miles of open water lay before us; and while I knew that it was necessary to place this gulf between myself and my pursuers, traveling over the restless sea was, nevertheless, for my part not a wholly welcome proposition.
The Novo made remarkable time, and its brave, strong crew of thirty proved its seaworthiness as we encountered and weathered several powerful storms, which tossed the ship heavily among the large waves, and quickened the heartbeats of the dozen passengers aboard.
But circumstances do not always favor the brave and strong; and in the small errors of men oftentimes lurks disaster.
It was nighttime, and I was above deck, enjoying the rich, clear smell of the salt air and the view of the black ocean, illuminated under the full moon, stretching endlessly around us as we plied the waters westward. In the distance, I watched black clouds suddenly amass, and felt the waves and the wind immediately begin to pick up in strength, flowing my cloak behind me. I saw the distant lightning streak across the sky, spiderwebbing through the clouds, and began to feel the light patter of light rain across my face. It was exquisite.
There was a flurry of activity on the deck as the crew prepared the ship for yet another encounter with the anger of Poseidon, and the captain suggested my situation would be much better below decks. But it had been a long time since I had seen a storm of this strength so closely, and I chose instead to stay above. Upon seeing my insistence, and having been paid well in gold for the voyage, he shrugged his shoulders and left me to my own devices.
I could see the swells before us growing larger and larger, hammering the bow of the ship with great force as they cascaded down. The Novo was a sturdy ship, I knew, and so I was not concerned, not even as the storm began to pass overhead. The remaining passengers, however, had already cautiously turned in and were all safe below deck.
Then the explosion came.
An instant before, above the pounding of the waves, my ears had detected a crashing and banging of cargo in the hold, and I realized suddenly that the heavy barrels of gunpowder had worked themselves loose, unchecked by the crew. The sudden storm we now found ourselves in now sent the barrels careening in the hold; and where the fatal spark came from in the driving rain will forever be unknown. But come it did. The gunpowder exploded, and in a shocking instant, the middle of the Novo had been blown completely apart in a deafening roar of flame and smoke.
I stared disbelieving as the ship began to gulp water and founder, and heard the screams of the crew and passengers ride upon the air. As wave after huge wave crashed down upon the Novo, a second series of explosions severed the ship in two. As the force of the explosions knocked me backwards, I lost my grip and was washed overboard into the cold and frothy deep. The salt stung my pores as I struggled back to the surface, where I grabbed hold of a large jagged plank of wood bobbing in the storm-tossed sea, and it was from that grim vantage point that I watched each section of the ship groan, bubble, and quickly sink beneath the waves.
The destruction of the Novo had been devastatingly sudden and complete, and the churning ocean hungrily swallowed her whole. Her crew, her passengers, her cargo, vanished in the rolling waves of the boiling black sea, gone as if they had never existed; and as I scanned the darkness, illuminated only by the jagged lightning of the tempest, I saw no one else, no one else at all…
The dawn arose on a calm glassy sea, and found me sitting atop the large wooden plank that was now the only barrier between myself and the cold tendrils of the deep. The salt water stung my skin like angry ants, and the rising glare of the unchecked sun scratched across my skin like hot fingernails. I covered myself as best I could with my cloak, and scanned the horizon vainly for any sign of land or a ship. Sighing, I peered against the shine of the sun on the water in the hope of finding some additional debris for use as cover, but found none.
It was a predicament that guaranteed a slow and painful death, for the powerful combination of salt water and sunlight would, over time, wear down the power of even one as ancient as I. My power of transformation was useless, for without the bearing of the stars to direct me, any attempt at flight could lead to total disaster if I could not find land before my power ebbed, resulting in an ultimately fatal unprotected landing at sea.
I therefore drew myself up into as tight a ball as possible, cocooned myself in the center of the bobbing wood under my dark cloak, and waited patiently for the fall of night.
But the weather proved uncooperative, as by late afternoon the storms again rolled across the sky and ocean, blotting out the stars, and forcing me to cling desperately to the wood as the thundering waves washed over me. Several times during the course of the night the plank flipped over in the swells, pinning me below the surface, and each time I scrambled back on top, skin aflame from the caustic salt that was now slowly beginning to bubble my hardened skin.
The cycle of sun and storm repeated itself on the second day, but as the clear day gave way to the violent night, I was able to snatch a glimpse of sky between the black thunderclouds, enough to realize that I was adrift somewhere between the Azorean and Canary Currents. The former would pull me southwest to the heart of the Atlantic and certain doom, while the latter would draw me southeast along the shipping lanes off the west coast of Africa and towards a possible escape from my situation. I hoped that the ocean drift would move me eastward before the unforgiving elements made the question of my salvation irrelevant.
But the uncooperative waves propelled me in a southwest direction, and I could only hope that they would bring me near enough to my original goal of Santa Maria to give me a chance at landfall. Bad weather continued; and by the fifth day my skin was fully blistered from the relentless sun and salt, and my strength was steadily ebbing. Worse, the large wooden plank upon which I had taken refuge was becoming waterlogged, and each day that passed saw it descend another fraction beneath the waves. I began to reflect that as the coming days went by and my power faded, I might not have enough energy to make landfall, even if it were within eyeshot.
But at dusk of that fifth day, I noticed in the distance a huge fin knifing through the water, rapidly approaching my position. I eyed the approaching fin, silhouetted against the setting sun, with a mixture of wariness and trepidation; but as it neared, I saw that it was not a shark, but a gigantic blue marlin rifling through the water directly towards me.
The sustenance that those of my kind draw is in large degree provided by warm human blood and its unique characteristics; but we are also able to survive, when necessary, upon the flesh and blood of the lower animals. It struck me that a fish of such size would have enough blood, even of such poor quality, to provide me with a temporary boost of energy that would enable me to undergo one final transformation in my desperate quest for survival.
And so, I removed my tattered garments, knotted my hair, and waited for it to draw near.
I tensed with anticipation as the great beast approached, knowing full well that I would have only one chance. Fifty yards, twenty yards, ten…. Then the massive swordfish leapt high out of the water, aiming its deadly dagger directly at me.
In my astonishment I nearly let slip my chance; but as the huge fish plunged down upon me, I twisted out of the way and lashed out with my talons, hooking myself onto the side of the fish as it splintered the wooden plank into a thousand pieces.
Thrashing furiously, it pulled me deep beneath the cold waves as I clung desperately to it, driving my talons still deeper into its body. Down it plummeted, fathom after fathom, twisting and bucking, but I held fast. The salt water boiled my naked body, and I could feel the top layer of my skin begin to peel excruciatingly away as we descended into the black depths, locked in a silent twilight struggle, with only death as the outcome for the vanquished.
I closed my eyes against the pain, and sank my fangs into the side of the twisting fish, tearing chunks of flesh away as I sought out its heart. Suddenly, the swordfish reversed direction and shot to the surface like an arrow, jumping high out of the water, and slammed me down onto the surface of the ocean beneath it. The terrific force of the impact immediately broke my left leg, but I held fast, tearing at the great fish relentlessly, like a lion on an elephant. Again it dove, again it twisted and leapt out of the water, and again I suffered a tremendous blow, one that fractured several ribs and momentarily loosened the grip of one arm; but the warrior spirit within me would not yield, and I thrust my hand deeper still into the breast of the beast.
My talons tore through his chest and reached his heart, and with a hoarse cry I plunged my hand in and slashed the powerful muscle open. The great fish shuddered and convulsed, and leapt high into the air a final time. I braced for the impact, but the gods were with me, as the twisting fish landed on his opposite side, sparing me from what could have been a final, fatal blow. But I had no time for gratitude or relief, and I sliced open the cavity of the beast, and plunged my head deeply into the gaping wound.
I drank the cold blood greedily, directly from his heart, feeling the sudden surge of energy and renewal from the animus of the fearsome fish. And as I drank, the words bubbled forth from the gills of the beast, and the surprise crawled under my renewing skin. Rolling its dead eyes towards me, I heard the gurgling, ethereal voice of an Oanned, spawn of Oannes, issue from the giant marlin under the light of the three-quarter moon:
Think not that you have escaped our vengeance, Naramsin. We who have tracked you by sea will not rest. You live now, but only delay your inevitable doom…
Starving, I ignored the macabre taunt, and fed hungrily until the full measure of the cold blood suffused my veins. My ribs and leg straightened back into place as I pushed the sinking carcass away, and, summoning my final power, I rose above the water as a black sea-hawk, and slowly wheeled into the clear night sky.
Higher and higher I rose, spreading my vast wings to catch every shaft of rising air, climbing to a thousand feet, five thousand, ten thousand, fifteen thousand, soaring into the wind, and scanning the black ocean below. The power that flowed through me was enormous, and I knew that it was not only the blood, but the life-magic of the demon beast that I had absorbed that had given me the tremendous energy I now possessed. I flew effortlessly to the southwest, searching, searching…
Now I knew my enemies were aware that I had sought refuge in the Azores, as the water-spirit I had vanquished had most certainly dispatched the news back to the East. It had, no doubt, been following the ship ever since our departure from Lisbon, but must have temporarily been thrown off track after the destruction of the Novo. Relentlessly it must have scoured the surrounding ocean, until it found me adrift and ready, it thought, for the kill.
But I had not survived this long by accident, or through weakness. I am Naramsin.
And hours later, as I soared in the night sky, orienting myself by the stars, my heart leapt as I saw, with a hawk’s eyes, the unmistakable outline of one, then two, then five westbound frigates sailing far in the distance, bound for parts unknown. My powerful wings pounded the cool night air as I swept toward them.
One frigate would soon have a stowaway.
