[LJ Idol] Season 8, Week 12, "Boreas"
Challenge Name and Number: #12, Some Assembly Required
Author’s Notes: Fiction. Hints of magical realism and fantasy. I hope you enjoy.
Boreas
Jim found handholds in the rock easy enough as he climbed, above the tree-line of the mountain. He boasted in the village that he knew every single stone as well as he knew the members of his family. The North side, where he climbed now, was impetuous like his younger sister, and the rocks would sometimes convince him his holds were sure before sliding out beneath his feet and hands to leave him scrabbling. The East side was like his mother, and faced the village, providing no shortage of paths to follow that held no danger. Sometimes people hunted wild goats on the East side, or gathered berries or chopped trees for firewood, but the North side was his favorite, because it was here that the best views of the country could be found.
He shoved the toes of his boots into a crack in the stone, making his way up the last few feet to a good, solid ledge. He’d tucked an apple into his shirt to snack on, and when the sun fully rose it would bathe the rocks in light, making them quite warm to the touch.
He scrambled onto the ledge-the last handhold was a bit too high than he was comfortable with, but Jim was sure that when he grew a little bit it would make things easier-and settled against the rock to eat his apple.
He had reached the core when a strange noise began to sound from around the curve of the mountain. It wasn’t a buzzing sound or a screech like the calls of birds, but a creaking, groaning noise, becoming louder as Jim scrambled to his feet. A second later, a huge boat came soaring out of the sky.
It parted the clouds with two snowy-white wings on either side made of tightly stretched fabric, rowed by men and women on the deck. That was the noise-the creaking of sails, the groaning of wood and ropes and screws held airborne. Jim had never seen anything like it. He stood, mesmerized, as the wings flapped again and the boat rose higher before falling again as the sails tilted. What would it be like to sail the skies? He followed the boat’s path with his eyes; it could only be headed for the town.
Jim tossed the apple core over the side before slipping down after it, finding the right crevices in the mountainside as he scurried down, making for home as fast as he could.
~
It was a cargo ship, and boxes of supplies were unloaded and sold, and new goods loaded into place in the space of only a few hours. Jim kept a lookout from behind the railings of the second floor of the inn where his mother worked, listening to the newcomers and picking up information from the chatter in the square below. Looking at the ship up close was even more thrilling, and for the first time he could make out the white-painted name on the side of the hull, spelling Boreas in thin cursive.
When he heard that they were preparing to sail again that very evening, Jim climbed over the railing to the ground below and made his way to the front of the crowd, where a man in a feathered hat stood barking orders to two others carrying crates and barrels off the ship. No matter the answer, he was going to find a way to get on that ship.
“Excuse me, sir,” Jim asked, conveying every politeness he knew. Even as he stood his tallest, his height barely passed the topmost of the buttons on the man’s overcoat. “Are you looking for any extra crew?”
The feather on the hat barely dipped in his direction before the captain answered with a brusque, “No.”
“Are you sure? There are plenty of things I-”
“Answer’s still no.”
Undeterred, Jim continued. “The crew might be short a man-”
“I said no. How old are you, boy? My crew is full. We are not short on anything.” He laughed, loudly, and the sound echoed in Jim’s ears and turned his cheeks red.
Storming away, he returned to his home; his parents were still working, but a note would suffice. He would have to steal his father’s knapsack and a few of his mother’s homemade pies, wrapped in paper on the countertop for dinner.
There were a few books, shelved high, that he was able to reach with his fingertips. The atlas he ignored in favor of the encyclopedia, to the page on boats. There were no pictures, just text, that described how the hulls were shaped, and how they used wind to carry them forward from port to port. He ripped out the page and stuffed it in his pocket, and dropped a kiss on his kid sister’s forehead before slipping out a window so he wouldn’t have to leave the door unlocked. The view of the boat from the mountainside had been impressive and incredible, and he wondered what the view of the town from the boat’s top deck would look like.
~
They found him a day and a half later, hidden inside a barrel in the cargo hold. He’d been asleep at the time, but when they upended the barrel and dragged him to the deck it hadn’t taken long to regain alertness, especially when the thought crossed his mind that they might just throw him overboard for stowing away.
The crew was made up of six men and women, who circled him after he’d staggered to his feet. The ship was surrounded by clouds, grayish ones that filtered the sunlight. The captain was the first to speak.
“A stowaway. Do you know what we do to stowaways?”
“Invite them to join the crew?” Jim’s hopeful response faded as he watched the other crewmen going through his things. One pulled a meat pie from its paper wrapping, and took a bite. “Hey, that’s mine!”
“On the Boreas, one man’s possessions are shared by all. You want to join, right?” The crewman spoke through a mouthful of pie.
“What can we do with you? We’re too far out to take you back, and you’re too scrawny to lift crates. Could you row, I wonder? Not tall enough.” The captain crossed his arms as the winds picked up, catching in the sails; the wind was cold and sharp, and Jim had to raise a hand to shield his eyes from it.
“I mean to sail on this ship, and I can do whatever is required of me. Sir.” He lowered his hand, so he could look them all in the eyes.
“That’s Captain to you. Name?”
Jim’s grin widened. “Jim Hawking.”
“Welcome aboard.” He introduced the rest of the crew in order of rank: there was Melinda, the first mate, with dark skin and a belt dangling with holsters and scopes; Tom, Merry, and Joyce, sailors with strong arms who manned the oars; and Jane, who had a long scar behind one ear and manned the rudder. And of course, there was the Captain, who provided no name but his title.
They kept him busy, and he took over from Melinda at the fourth oar. They rowed in unison, snapping the wings up and down to keep the ship aloft. When the winds were good, they only needed the wings for stability, but when the winds lagged, the work was strenuous and unrelenting. Even so, every time he pulled the wooden beam up he had to move to his tiptoes.
For weeks they called him ‘stowaway’ instead of Jim, whenever they needed something from him. Stowaway, tie down that sail. Stowaway, the first mate wants to have another look at that map. Stowaway, fetch me the last of the meat pies. There was always something on the Boreas that needed attention, and more often than not it was Jim who was sent, either to fix it himself or to fetch someone who could.
He’d thought the view would be better, flying like this. It was, in a way. Standing on the top deck, at the very front of the ship, was thrilling with the kind of danger that comes from knowing that any rogue gust of wind could blow you right off, but mostly they sailed through the clouds or above them, where the winds were strongest. Where the clouds were thinnest he could see the ground below, patchwork fields and bumpy hills and the intermittent village, but mostly it was nothing but grayish, discolored white. At night, when the stars came out he would lean against the steps and try to count the constellations. The encyclopedia page grew creased within his pocket, but he kept it close, and scribbled pictures and notes on the other side, of knots he learned and the shapes of the sails.
He woke up one day to pounding rain. Every door and hatch had been closed off, to keep the rain from getting in, but as he staggered to the top deck the water had soaked him in seconds. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and found Melinda, barking orders as Merry and Joyce struggled with the oars. The ship dropped in the air, and Jim stumbled forward, grasping hold of the center mast to keep from sliding towards the railings.
“Stowaway! Untie the sail, there! Let it out!” Melinda was shouting in his ear, and he struggled with the knots. The sails were made heavier with water, he knew that, but they’d sailed in rain before. The storms were the real problem, when lightning and unpredictable winds could toss the Boreas around and drop it from the sky with hardly a thought to the crew struggling to keep it aloft.
He undid the knots, but the sail caught at the top, still wrapped around the mast. The ship sank further, and through the dark clouds Jim could see a flash of golden light. A few seconds later, a deep boom echoed in his ears, louder than anything he thought possible.
“Jane! Up! We’ll try to avoid the worst of it!” The ship surged again, running deeper into the clouds as it rose, reeling as Jim was all but thrown to the deck. The winds were stronger, and lifted the boat higher, into clearer skies. He saw another flash of gold.
“Let me climb,” Tom asked the Captain, who had joined them at the mast. The center sail was still stuck, and it needed to be free before the ship could brave the storm again.
“How much longer?” Melinda asked.
“Ten minutes at maximum.” The Captain looked up, to the top of the rigging where a rope fastened the sail. “You’re too heavy. The ropes won’t support you, not in these conditions.”
“Then let me,” Jim spoke up. “I’ve climbed mountains. I’m light enough. I can do it.”
One short nod, and the Captain stepped back. Jim grasped the ropes and started to climb. The ropes sagged from the added weight of the rain, but the loops were easy handholds as he scaled the rigging, working his way up the mast to the very top. The ship pitched again, and Jim clung to the ropes as below, the oarsmen worked to keep the ship above the storm.
He climbed higher, wrapping a leg and arm through the ropes to hold himself in place while he struggled with the sail. A few ropes were keeping it bound, and after he freed it the sail gathered air and snapped outward.
Going down was more difficult; he could not see as well, and had to trust his feet to find the proper holds. The ship pitched again as the storm drew closer and the rain picked up, stinging icy cold. He reminded himself it was just like the mountains he had climbed, and he continued down, clinging to the ropes, until his feet touched the surface of the deck.
“Jim!” Melinda had a mostly dry coat to wrap around him, and he accepted it gratefully. The ship surged forward, much more surely now against the wind. She clapped him against the back. "You did it!"
The warmth of being called by his name was greater than that of a dry coat, and Jim leaned against the wooden mast. "Thanks."
"Here," she said, unclipping a spyglass from her belt and handing it to him. "Eventually we'll be past this storm. Tell me what you see."
Jim stood by the railing, spyglass pressed to his face. The clouds were still roiling and dark, punctuated by bursts of lightning, but the danger of sinking was lessened. With each passing minute, the Boreas felt more capable against the storm. Jim swept the glass across the ship, watching the crew, turning his gaze to each in turn. He spared a thought for the page tucked inside a pocket; by now, the ink would have ran across it, ruining the text and his hand-scribbled notes. Not that he really needed them anymore.
He swiveled back to face the sky.
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Notes: Jim Hawking is a reference to Jim Hawkins, a character in Treasure Island. Some of the crewmen (Tom, Merry, Joyce) are also references to Treasure Island characters.
Boreas is the Greek name for the North Wind.
Concrit is welcome.