The Sea Goddess & The Pirate

Chapter One

One moment, everything was fine, then the next the powder keg of the Eisreachtú, his father's old worn ship, had blown the entirety of the boat to pieces in a flurry. Wood splashed the water, the scent of molten tar, and burning flesh plagued the air. Everything on fire. Will was dying, and it was as if the gates of hell had opened from the abyss, clawing towards him.

It wasn't rare, ships exploded all the time. A sailor always knew to live in the moment. Peering in the future showed nothing, there was nothing to seek out or look for. That was the life of a pirate and despite its downs he wouldn't change his profession under threat of damnation.

But that didn't stop the pain that was bustling through him, sharp unbearable, He wished ever so much to scream. But if he screamed, his bruised and wounded lungs filled with the water, his ribs splitting open with endless agony.

But then, there was the sea. Dowsing his burns in her cool currents, licking his blood, and soothing his wounds, and the torment subsided, or he submitted to her power, he wasn't certain.

Will always knew that he belonged to the sea. He was always lured to her unpredictable waters. He did not hold on to life with anchors and ropes. He allowed himself to be carried away because the roar of the waves was attractive and suggestive, more tempting than any siren he was told the tale of. He let himself be carried away by the impulse of the ocean, by the lacerating drag of the swell.

Surrounded by water.

Surrounded by the sea.

In the endless immensity, in the waves of vast currents.

Beneath the light of the dim moon and north star.

In the moonshine foam...

-

Will thought he heard the voice of the sea, demanding and alert, calling his name in a voice so high it pierced, yet so low it drowned.

He woke on the deck of a ship.

He was sure he was dead, he recalled the fire, the screams, the scent of burning flesh, the way the hot tar dripped. The pain that plagued his scarred body as he floated wounded in the ocean's deep abyss, thrown from the burning deck. Yet despite all this, he felt placid, light.

"He's awoken, captain." Spoke a voice he did not know but knew the tone of. That of a fallen sailor, a pirate, worn and tired yet answering to a captain. He opened his eyes and saw the sky, dark with the dim moon and that star, the north, that had guided so many a sailor or pirate away from near doom. The deck beneath him rocked with the waves, and he stilled slightly. Whether in the world of the mortal or the not, he was still home and he was sure hell wouldn't appear to him so kind.

"Take him to my cabin." Ordered another voice somewhere on the ship he had not the sight of, strong and feminine. He was certain he had heard the vocals before, in his dreams. His first impulse was to find her. To gaze his eyes upon her. To meet her, and bow and vow himself to her. But he found himself too relaxed, his body limp more so from the mental exhaustion than physical.

He took a breath of the familiar cold night air, engulfing him with the scent of the salty gulf.

"Am I dead?" He questioned, and he surprised himself with the manner in which his speaking didn't seem scratchy or pain him in the slightest.

Many a man chuckled, loud, boisterous sounds that he knew well. Laughter of sailors, of pirates.

"Don't worry yourself with that prospect, mate." a young man, perhaps his age, retorted, and everything about him was both gracious and roguish at the same time. "Call me Jack, me and Gonzo are going to bring you to the captains cabin."

Will closed his eyes once again, relaxed. The ship gave him a strange feeling, as if it were known, as if the ship he lay atop at this moment and not The Eisreachtú or his mother's old dock cottage back in Béal Átha Seanaidh had been his home for his entire life. He felt how they carried him down to the lower deck. He did not fight.

-

The next time Will woke, he was home. Well, he was in an unfamiliar cabin, but everything within in, from the salty sent of the sea to the creaking of wood, told him he was safe and gave him ease.

He stood from the cot, surprised that his body did not pain, surprised that he had no visible burns on his skin, because he remembered the tar burning him with more ardor than was humanly possible to bear. He could hear voices laughing and jesting outside, a celebration perhaps.

He glanced at everything in the mid sized cabin, trying to conclude where exactly he stood. Near the cot on the floor planks were a carelessly thrown pair of boots, too small to belong to a man. A bureau with a plate of graphite, and stack of parchment. A turned over wood tub that was used for a makeshift table, with a washbasin and messy linens tossed about it.

There were different objects strewn on a ledge at the top of the small cot, but one caught Wills attention more than anything, because he recognized it.

It was a small broach pendant painting, depicting an eye, one with dark skin and an iris of crystal blue that swirled like the ocean.

When he was a younger lad, Will managed to fetch hold of a sailor's satchel, the man being one his father particularly distasted, for which he was awarded by his father, a rare thing indeed coming from the man that so often gave him nothing but whip scars on his back or a string of curses after he had accidentally incurred the man's wrath. Yet still, he was just this once so pleased with the lad, his father had allowed him to keep one thing from among all those in the loot.

Will had chosen the broach because it seemed to him that the eye within the thin gold frame personified the sea in frightening accuracy, so gazed and majestic he was certain the portrait could be depicting nothing less than that of some goddess. And then, a few years later, once he had joined his father's crew, he had thrown it into the sea as an offering so that a storm that had hit the Eisreachtú for several days would subside. He recalls kissing the pendants frame, before tossing it in, within the hour the storm had calmed.

How had that gotten here?

He heard the aged boards creek, then suddenly the door opened and when Will turned around, he was met with Jack, smiling rather brightly.

"I see you woke, Will" the man offered, "come along, it's nearly supper."

Will raised an eyebrow.

"I don't recall telling you, my name."

Jack chuckled, the sound of someone who has surrendered to the sea and has no regrets.

"We all know yer name." he told, leaning against the door frame. "She has been awaiting ye."

She.

Wills heart pounded; he wasn't quite sure why.

"Can you tell me where I am? Im still alive?"

What if he wasn't? If Will was dead, there was only one place he could imagine that appeared like this. It was an old legend that circulated among sailors, among pirates, on long nights when they would drink too much bellow deck and start telling tales, and although few claimed to truly believe it, everyone was afraid of encountering that ship. The cursed ship, some called it. The mythical ship home to the dead at sea.

"Sorry, mate. Yer place is no longer among the living." Jack retorted, confirming Wills suspicions. He didn't know exactly what he was feeling in that moment, but for some odd reason, he was sure it wasn't fear. "Yer on the Argo."

Author's Note: Hi everyone, I've had this story swirling in my head for a while so I've been so happy to finally get it written down. I'm not quite sure why I named the ship the Argo lol, perhaps there would be a better one but I thought I might play into the Greek mythology aspect and add another reference. The broach is of course a lover's eye pendants, more popular in the Victorian era, but invented in the late 1700s. (It's a bit early for this story but I couldn't resist using it) If you have any constructive criticism, please send it my way as I'm always looking to improve. Anyways, see you next week with the next chapter. Have a lovely day.