VII - The Drowning of All Things

The deck creaked beneath every step as the ship labored through the churning sea.

The rigging strained, the sails billowed, and somewhere above them a low rumble rolled through the clouds.

Raymund gripped the wet wood of the railing, his gaze drifting across the foaming waves.

The land had long since faded to a pale streak on the horizon.

Black and endless, the sea stretched before him, seeming to swallow the entire world.

Suddenly his heart raced, his breath turned quick and uneven, as he felt reminded of something.

A déjà vu.

“This… this is real… or is it not?”

He tugged hard at his stubble, pain shooting across his skin.

“No dream…” he muttered, almost relieved.

Behind him, two sailors were busy with the ropes, yet Raymund could feel their eyes on him.

They exchanged uneasy glances, their voices dropping lower.

“He has done it again… I tell you, this fellow brings ill fortune upon us. He and his uncanny wife…”

The other crossed himself.

“She hasn't left her berth a single time since we cast off… And always does water spread below. Freshwater, but not from the provisions! ‘Tis not natural…”

Raymund lingered at the railing, pretending not to hear them. His hands tightened against the wood.

They already see us as a dark omen.

His gaze fell upon the darkening clouds and the stiffening wind.

Perhaps they are right…

Swallowing, he turned and pushed past the sailors’ stares toward a low opening half-covered by hanging canvas, where a steep ladder led down into the hold.

The moment he descended, the heavy smell of damp, musty wood hit him.

Barrels were stacked tightly together, lashed with rope, crates wedged in place so they wouldn’t shift with the swell.

He ducked beneath a low beam and continued aft, where the cargo began to thin.

That was where they had been given their place: a small niche, set apart by a coarse curtain hanging from a line.

Raymund paused before it and drew a deep breath.

Perhaps we should never have set foot upon this accursed ship. But now… it is too late.

He lifted his hand and pulled it aside.

Melusine sat slumped between two barrels near the stern, her dark cloak wrapped tightly around her body.

The hood was pulled low over her face, revealing only a pale shimmer beneath, wan, gray, with a hint of rose.

Her body unconsciously followed the motion of the ship, swaying faintly back and forth.

“You must take greater care,” Raymund hissed softly, stepping closer. “There is already too much talk.”

“I'm trying…” came her muffled reply beneath the hood. “But… glug… I can no longer master the water down my waist…”

Her voice sounded different now. Heavier than usual, less gurgling.

Raymund crouched beside her, his gaze fixed on her belly.

“How goes it?”

For a moment, she didn't answer.

“It presses…” she whispered. “I think… the time draws near.”

Raymund’s throat went dry.

“We must leave this ship before it happens,” he said sharply, almost too quickly. “It is too dangerous aboard.”

A soft, strained sound escaped her.

“Hnghh…”

The fabric of her cloak had darkened, heavy with moisture.

“What is it?”

“It… glug… hurts…”

“Where?”

She took his hand and slowly guided it to her body.

“Here…”

Raymund froze, for her belly was warm beneath his palm.

No cooling dampness, as he was used to.

And beneath it he felt movement. Pressure.

Raymund jerked his hand back as though burned.

“This… this is…”

Melusine’s lips curved into a crooked smile.

“Life.”

Water gathered beneath her, spreading between the barrels and crates.

“Damnation,” Raymund whispered hastily, pushing it aside with his boot as though he could stop it.

Suddenly, a throat cleared behind them.

Raymund spun around.

A sailor stood a few paces off, a crate in his hands, his gaze fixed on them with suspicion.

“Yer wife…” he began slowly, “is she ill? What ails her?”

Raymund straightened.

“That's not of your concern.”

The man twisted his mouth, his eyes wandering to the barrels, then back to Melusine.

“And why in God’s name… is it so wet down there?”

Raymund drew the curtain closed and stepped forward, placing himself before the sailor, his expression cold.

“The sea, what else?”

The man snorted softly, yet did not press further.

His gaze lingered a moment too long upon the curtain, as though trying to see through it.

Then he spat on the floor.

“Best ye leave the ship at the next port,” he muttered at last. “Before ye have to leave mid-voyage…”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and vanished among the crates.

Raymund stood still until the footsteps faded.

Only then did he exhale and remove his hand from the hilt of his hidden sword.

That damned rat. He’d deserve the cold of my steel as well.

Slowly, he turned back and stepped back behind the curtain.

Melusine had lowered her head.

“Why… glug… do we not simply slay them all?” she whispered.

Raymund narrowed his eyes.

“Because that would be folly.”

She looked up.

“Folly?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Who else should raise the sails? Steer the ship? Navigate?”

A moment passed before he continued.

“A few more days to endure. Then it is done.”

Melusine did not reply. Her gaze remained distant upon the creaking planks.

And for a fleeting moment, Raymund thought he heard a faint giggle in the wind.

“Hee… hee…”

He spun around.

“Did you hear that?”

She slowly raised her head.

“Hear what?” she asked, tilting it slightly.

He hesitated.

Then he shook his head.

“Nothing.”

Just my imagination again…

***

That same night, loud shouting tore them from sleep.

“All hands on deck! Secure the sails!”

A violent jolt ran through the ship.

Before they knew what was happening, Raymund and Melusine were hurled against the crates of their berth.

The water around Melusine’s feet splashed upward as if startled.

“Gllugg?”

“A storm,” Raymund forced out.

Another jolt.

This time accompanied by a cracking sound below deck.

Wood strained. Gave way.

Then water rushed in.

“BATTEN DOWN THE HATCHES!” someone roared.

Another wave shook the ship, fiercer than before. Water surged across the floor, no longer in puddles but in a rising, restless mass.

The ship listed.

A crate scraped sideways, jamming just short of them.

Melusine gasped.

“What are we to do now?”

Raymund’s gaze darted through the dark hold, the shifting cargo, the rising water.

“If we remain here, we’ll be crushed… or drown.” He cast her a quick look. “At least I will…”

He grabbed what little they had, then seized Melusine by the wrist.

“On deck. Now!”

He dragged her behind him, past overturned crates, through the swaying half-dark, until they reached the ladder and climbed up.

Above, chaos reigned in the blackness of the night.

Footsteps thundered across the planks, ropes tore loose, curses rang out.

Within a heartbeat the deck was drenched, sight and sound swallowed by the pounding rain.

“This storm is not natural! It rose far too quickly!”

A sailor staggered backward, a rope ripped from his hands.

He stared toward Raymund and Melusine, who crouched near the steps to the sterncastle.

“It's because of those two…!”

Another crossed himself hastily.

“The water below… I saw it with my own eyes! The woman conjured it!”

Raymund clenched his teeth as a third stepped closer.

His gaze slid over Melusine, over the dark, drenched cloak clinging to her body, and the hood concealing her face.

“Why does she hide herself so…?”

Raymund stepped before her at once.

“Get back!”

The wind howled louder, tearing at the sails, making the ship tremble beneath them.

“We should cast them overboard,” one said suddenly. “Perhaps the storm will calm then…”

A murmur passed through the men.

“They don't belong here.”

“Into the sea with them!”

“Aye…”

Raymund’s hand flew to his sword.

With a metallic screeching, the blade tore free of its sheath.

“Fools…”

Without even attempting to answer their accusations, he lunged.

The first man staggered back, tripped over wet rigging, and the blade drove deep into his chest.

A second fell, his blood mingling with the rainwater on the planks.

But they were too many.

Hands seized him, tore at his cloak, struck him back.

“HOLD HIM!”

A cudgel hit his shoulder, numbing his arm.

His sword was knocked from his grasp and slid across the deck.

Raymund was forced against the railing, gasping.

“Now the witch. Throw her!”

A hand seized Melusine’s cloak.

The fabric tore free, the wind snatching it away like a dark sail.

And beneath it, her body was revealed.

Not wholly flesh. Not wholly water.

“God preserve us!” a voice croaked.

“A demon!”

The rain that struck her seemed simply absorbed, her eyes burning like torches in the storm. 

They fixed, full of wrath, upon the men holding Raymund.

Melusine’s body twitched.

Then her arms shot forth like spears, but not with the same fluid ease as she had done it before.

The water shuddered, broke, reformed again, as though it struggled to hold its shape.

A cry tore from her throat, strained, uneven.

“Glglll...!!”

The first two men were struck and impaled, but her second attack faltered.

Her limb collapsed mid-motion, splashing apart before it could reach its mark.

She staggered, the water beneath her surging wildly, no longer controlled, spilling across the deck.

“I… glug… cannot…”

But it was already taking effect, as the crew stumbled back, staring at the men she had killed.

“She is a sea-witch! We are damned!”

Meanwhile, Raymund tore himself free.

“Melusine!” he bellowed.

But just as he grasped her hand, another wave struck the ship broadside, and the deck tilted violently.

Raymund was thrown down, his grip lost.

He forced himself up again, searching for her in the darkness, but he couldn't see her.

Then came the next wave, crashing over the deck like a wall.

Raymund was hurled again, losing all sense of direction, as up and down blurred.

Then he struck hard, seawater washing over him.

His fingers clawed into a rope.

“My beloved…” Her voice was clear, yet he couldn't tell where it came from.

He raised his head.

Nothing.

Then he leaned over the railing.

And through rain and black waves, he saw her.

No longer on deck.

In the ocean.

“MELUSINE!”

Her eyes glowed like burning embers in the darkness.

“M-my beloved… I… I cannot… glug... control...” her voice reached him one last time through the storm.

Then a wave dragged her down.

“No!”

Raymund froze at the railing, fingers digging into the wet wood as he stared into the raging depths.

Nothing but endless darkness.

His breath raced as the image from his dream flickered before him again.

Her torn body. The black void where her womb once was.

Then he thought of the warmth he had felt when she placed his hand upon her belly.

For a fleeting moment, another image forced its way through the storm.

Melusine, curled beside him, as she had that first night she left her pond with him.

I... I'm frigthened...

Her words echoed in his mind.

Not a creature. Not a monster.

Just a lonely being he had freed that day.

His throat tightened.

If I leap after her… I will likely die...

His hand loosened from the railing, as he made one step back.

Some of the sailors had already come up behind him again as they regained their footing.

But if I stay aboard… they will kill me anyway…

His fingers trembled, his thoughts faltered.

Something brushed against his ear.

A sound that almost resembled laughter, but broke apart before it could fully form.

Raymund’s eyes widened.

He looked once more into the black sea.

“Then I shall sink with her, damned as I am…” he gasped.

He climbed over the railing.

And leapt.

The sea closed over him.

Cold, heavy, endless.

He struggled for breath, but swallowed only water.

“M-m… Melu…”

His cries were smothered.

The ship’s lights were already fading into the night.

Something dragged him downward.

Up and down dissolved.

Then all went black.