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The storm did not so much fade as simply stop. One second the wind was howling, the rain lashing; in the next it was all over. It was as if they had simply passed from one room into the next, one of violence, the other of almost perfect calm. With cramped hands, Lore unfastened her straps. She had no idea what was going on belowdecks, nor did this question, at that moment, concern her very much. She was tired and thirsty and badly needed to pee. She squatted over the pot she kept in the pilothouse and stepped outside to toss the contents over the side.
The clouds had begun to break apart. She stood at the rail for a moment and watched the evening sky. She had no idea where they were; she hadn’t been able to read the compass since the storm had begun. They had survived, but at what cost? Their fuel was nearly exhausted. Beneath the stern of the Bergensfjord, the screws were softly churning, pushing them through the motionless sea.
Rand emerged from the main hatch and ascended the stairs toward her. He took a place beside her at the rail.
“I’ve got to admit, it sure is pretty out here,” he said. “Funny how it’s like that after a storm.”
“What’s the situation belowdecks?”
His shoulders were slumped, his eyes rimmed with dark circles of fatigue; a bit of something, vomit perhaps, was caught in his beard. “We’ve got the bilges working—we should be dry pretty soon. You have to hand it to Michael, the guy knew how to build a boat.”
“Any injuries?”
Rand shrugged. “Few broken bones, I heard. Some cuts and scrapes. Sara’s taking care of it. Lucky thing no one’s going to want to eat for a week, seeing as how we’re so low on food. The smell is pretty bad down there.” He looked at her for a moment, then said, carefully, “Want me to shut down the engines? It’s your call.”
She considered this question. “In a minute,” she said.
For a while they stood together without talking, watching the sun descend over the starboard side. The last of the clouds were separating, lit from within by a purpling light. An area of water near the port bow had begun to boil with fish, feeding near the surface. As Lore watched, a large bird with black-tipped wings and a yellowish head swooped low over the surface, reached down with its bill—a quick, sharp jab—hauled a fish free, tossed it backward into its gullet, and began to climb away.
“Rand. That’s a bird.”
“I know it’s a bird. I’ve seen birds before.”
“Not in the middle of the ocean you haven’t.”
She darted into the pilothouse and returned with the binoculars. Her pulse was racing, her heart was in her mouth. She pressed the lenses to her eyes and scanned the horizon.
“Anything?”
She held up a hand. “Quiet.”
She made a slow circle. Facing due south, she stopped.
“Lore, what are you seeing?”
She held the image in the lenses for an extra few seconds to be sure. Holy damn, she thought. She lowered the binoculars.
“Get Greer up here,” she said.
—
By the time they were able to bring him up on deck, darkness was falling. Lucius did not appear to be in pain; that part had passed. His eyes were closed; he did not seem to know where he was or what was happening. With Sara supervising, Caleb and Hollis served as stretcher-bearers. Others had gathered around; word had spread throughout the ship. Pim was there, with Theo and the girls; Jenny and Hannah; Jock and Grace, holding their infant son; the men of the crew, weary after the long battle of the storm. All stood aside as the stretcher passed.
They carried him to the bow and lowered the gurney. Lore crouched beside him and wrapped one hand with her fingers. His skin was cold and dry, loose on the bones.
“Lucius, it’s Lore.”
From deep in his throat, a soft moan.
“I have something to show you. Something wonderful.”
She slipped the palm of her left hand beneath his neck and gently tipped his face forward, toward the bow.
“Open your eyes,” she said.
His lids separated to make the thinnest slits, then a little more. It was if he were using the last of his strength to perform this tiny act. All stood silent, waiting. The island was well within sight now, directly ahead: a single mountain, lushly green, soaring from the sea, and, above it, a cross of five bright stars, punching through the twilight.
“Do you see?” she whispered.
The breath in his chest was barely a presence; death was in his face. A long moment passed as he struggled to focus. At last the faintest of smiles curled his lips.
“It’s…beautiful,” Greer said.
