Book 2: Chapter 14 (1/2)

Gale sighed as he stared at the sky, lying on his back as the raft beneath him rocked back and forth in time with the waves. He didn’t know how long he had been at sea for, but his skin was dried and cracked, his face tanned and stubbled. There were a few stains on his white robes as well. Breeze had managed to keep him alive by hunting the monstrous sea creatures that’d occasionally surface to take a bite out of the raft. The smell of raw fish made him nauseous, but there was nothing else to eat.

“Nice weather we’re having, huh?” Breeze asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.

Gale wasn’t sure if the amalgamation of resentful spirits actually needed light to see or if he enjoyed taking on human characteristics. Gale sighed instead of answering. His face hurt from exposure to the sun and the random sprays of salt water.

“Nice weather we’re having, huh?” Breeze asked again, this time looking at Gale.

“It’s horrible,” Gale said with a groan. Drinking fish blood to survive had left his throat sore and raspy. “I wish it would rain.”

“That’s what you always say,” Breeze said.

Maybe if you stopped asking the same question, I would say something else. Gale raised his head and glared at Breeze before lying down again. “How much longer until we reach Fuselage?”

Breeze stared at Gale. “Do I look like a sailor? Weren’t you navigating by keeping track of the stars?”

“Uh, no?” Gale asked, sitting up. They were lost? Didn’t Breeze know what he was doing?

“…But you’ve been staring at the sky the whole time,” Breeze said, tilting his head.

Because it’s easier to lie down than to sit up. Gale brought his cracked hands to his face and sobbed into them. Was this his punishment for drinking as the pope? Or was it his punishment for not attending the king’s wedding?

“Hey,” Breeze asked, an awkward expression on his face. He sidled over to Gale and placed his hand on the crying man’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? Everything’s going to be alright. We have each other, don’t we?”

Gale raised his head, glaring at Breeze with red eyes. “I lied! Okay!? I lied,” he said through sobs. “There’s no undead apocalypse. There’s no curse over the land converting the living into the dead. There’s no hostile army of skeletons seeking to destroy the world! Do you understand!?” He sniffled and wiped away the tears in his eyes. Breeze hadn’t reacted, and Gale’s stomach hurt as he imagined the repercussions. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Breeze asked, staring off into the distance. He hadn’t even heard Gale’s words. His gaze was transfixed on the horizon, a massive blob of … something headed towards the raft.

Gale squinted and shielded his eyes from the sun. Was that a boat? Who would be crazy enough to be this far out in the ocean? A low murmur reached his ears. At first, he thought it was a one of those giant sea creatures singing underneath the sea again, but as the speck on the horizon got closer, his tanned face paled.

We sail, we sail, we set sail for home.

For home is where the mistress lives, we set sail for home.

We toil, we row, we set sail for home.

Servants of her undying curse, we set sail for home.