Celicia Port plus 24
First Mate’s Log
Coalition Calendar Year 477
24 days from port
I’m now convinced that our navigator, Cyril, is a magician. In the frigid chill of the storm, the captain and navigator howled with the winds and bellowed with the thunder.
The captain was convinced that our intrepid navigator was being reckless, risking all our lives for nothing.
Finally, the storm cracked the foremast. Then everything moved quickly. In front of the whole crew, the navigator simply touched Captain Nerrin.
The captain crumbled to the floor.
Before any of us could react, Cyril the navigator strode out of the mess hall and went up on deck.
We checked on the captain; whatever Cyril had done to him hadn’t killed him, and we drew lots to see who would confront Cyril up on the rain-slicked, frosted deck.
I drew the short straw.
I’m afraid to tell the men what I saw when I went up on deck.
Cyril sat, unmolested by the storm. He was calmly chanting and waving his hands. I stood fascinated by the sight. I must have watched for a few minutes before he stopped chanting and stood up. He stretched out his hands and…everything stopped.
The sea stopped churning, the wind failed, and the rain stopped falling.
In a daze I followed Cyril’s instructions and led him to his cabin to rest.
When I returned to the mess hall, the men were too frightened by the storm’s sudden disappearance to say a word.
I posted watch, detailed men to tend the captain, and sent the rest to their bunks. Somehow, one by one, they’ve all fallen asleep in the stillness of this unnatural night. We shall see, together, what tomorrow brings.
(Continue to Celicia Port plus 25)