It was a curious thing, to see an ancient wooden sailing ship in this day and age. My mind couldn't quite make sense of it when I approached the port and saw it anchored among the modern expensive yachts and sleek liners. It looked like it had fallen out of time, but I knew that it was exactly where and when it was supposed to be. What's more, I knew why it was there.
The experienced sailors from the more modern vessels watched curiously as the ship- my destination- was prepared. By the time I arrived, it stood proudly with sails crisp and flags flying boldly. It was simply waiting. Waiting for me.
It was almost as though the ship itself somehow knew that it was part of some ancient tradition- one that had been faithfully maintained for countless generations. And if I did what I was born to do, it would be continued for countless more. The fate of the world literally depended on me.
Captain Octavius Clay greeted me as I boarded. He was a short man, nearly as big around as he was tall. A lifetime of salty sea air and relentless sun was etched into his weathered face, but his voice was strong and clear. His men followed him without hesitation or delay, and I got the impression that they would gladly sail with him to the gates of hell itself. What's more, I had no doubt that he would be able to lead them back. Like me, he was born for this journey. The difference was that he would be coming back from it.
"Do you know why you're here?" he asked once we were underway. I stood with him on the quarterdeck, watching the port get smaller and smaller until it disappeared over the horizon. I had never been out of sight from land before. There was a certain freedom in it, I supposed.
I nodded. I did know. It was the only thing I really knew for sure. Every hundred years, the demon at the end of the world required a virgin sacrifice. As long as he got it, he would remain where he belonged. If he didn't, then nothing could stop it.
That was the legend, at least. My ancestors truly believed that he lived at the end of the world. Today, we knew that there was no such place. Not in the literal sense, at least. The island where he lived, though, may as well have been. The sea and terrain past it was impassible and largely unexplored. Because of my bloodline, I was destined to be that sacrifice. I was literally born and raised for him.
Captain Clay, at some point, left me alone to my thoughts.
I didn't see him again until dinner. I imagined there was much to do when it came to sailing a ship, so I was surprised to receive his unexpectedly formal invitation. It came in the form of a nervous sailor who let himself into my cabin before suddenly realizing that he should have knocked first.
"Sorry," the man mumbled. "Not used to having a lady aboard." He looked at his feet. At the boards. Out the window. Anywhere but at me.
"It's fine," I replied gently. In the grand scheme of things, his intrusion was the least of my worries.
The man stood as straight as he could. It was only then that he realized he was more a boy than a man, young and fresh-faced. He cleared his throat. "Ms. Brianna. The captain requests the pleasure of..." he paused for a moment, repeating the words quietly to himself before continuing. "The pleasure of your company in his cabin for dinner."
I thought for a moment. I wasn't hungry and hadn't really thought about eating, but at the same time I appreciate the kind gesture. "Please tell the captain that I accept," accepting his invitation with the same formality that it was given.
The boy smiled and turned sharply, then was gone as quickly as he had come. I was left alone again; waiting, like I always did.
The captain's private cabin was much smaller than I had expected. Despite this, it was filled with various treasures and trophies from countless adventures; adventures that I could only dream of, I was sure. My sheltered life seemed like such a waste when I compared it to what I imagined his to have been.
He only watched from his chair at the far end of the dinner table, which was practically overflowing with food. He was waiting politely, allowing me to speak when I was ready.
"I'll never have a life like this, will I?" I asked. It was a rhetorical question.
I turned and faced the captain. The look on his face told me that it wasn't a question he had expected. I sat, returning the favor by giving him time to collect his own thoughts.
"If you haven't already..." he started. He stopped, thinking about what I had said and how he could possibly offer any comfort given the circumstances. He opened his mouth again, but closed it when he realized there was simply nothing to say "I'm sorry." The words hung heavy in the air; he seemed to truly mean them.
"I never had the chance, not really. But I suppose it doesn't matter." I filled my plate, suddenly very hungry. "I never had any real adventures... can you tell me about yours?" If nothing else, I could see the world through Captain Clay's eyes.
He smiled, and then he began to speak. I leaned forward, hanging on his every word.
From that point on, I spent every available moment with the captain- when he wasn't performing the varied and complex tasks that I knew I was keeping him from the rest of the time. The days turned to weeks, which eventually turned into months as he told me about a world I had ever seen.
I hung on his every word, often falling asleep hearing about the strange and exotic places he had visited and the people he met there. He told me about outrunning pirates in a cargo ship off the coast of Somalia. Sinking in the shark-infested waters of Australia. Battling heavy seas off the coast of Florida. He had lived more deeply than I could ever imagine. More than most could imagine, I realized. His stories helped to pass the time; to forget where I was going, if only for the moment.
"So, the water's just crashing over the bow," he managed. His face was red with laughter; I imagined mine was, too. He was drunk, which wasn't unusual for him. But it was something I had gotten used to. "We're all holding onto whatever they can find, cargo's flying all over the place. I couldn't see ten inches in front of my face." He stopped, taking another draw from his bottle.
I caught my breath. While I didn't drink, I felt as though I was enjoying hearing the story as much as he was enjoying reliving it.
"Suddenly, there's Fisher- he's pulling himself along the rail, shouting something. And he gets closer, and he has to yell so I can hear him."
I leaned in, wiping the laughter-tears from my eyes. "What did he say?"
Captain Clay tried to answer, but lost himself in a fit of laughter. "He grabs onto me and he says, 'Otto, I can't find my duck!' And I look at him, thinking he lost his goddamned mind. And then, out of nowhere, I see this..."
There was a knock at the door. Captain Clay scowled, then he stood up to answer.
"Land, Captain," the sailor announced. He looked somber. We all knew what that meant.
Over the past few months, the captain and I had grown very close. The news clearly devastated him, stealing the laughter from his eyes. I could fresh pain etched on his weather-worn face. He closed the door slowly.
"Well," I began. I hadn't known exactly how I'd feel when the moment came, so I was surprised at how calm I felt then. I didn't know exactly where we were going, but I knew that we were getting close. The air was getting warmer as we came closer the equator; only the captain new exactly where we were going, but I had an idea that we were fast approaching. And now, we were there.
"We could run," he said finally. I was as surprised to hear it as he seemed to be to say it. "It's a big ocean, he won't find you."
