The water has turned as foreboding as the skies. Dark blood-red is its color here in the OuterReach of the Blood Sea. The waves heave in great swells.
Raistlin explained that the color of the water stems from the reddish soils of the fertile fields that once surrounded the city of Istar. Since Istar was destroyed in the Cataclysm, the Maelstrom that flows in its place constantly churns up those soils, coloring the water red, giving the Blood Sea its name, and reminding all of the fate of the fabled city entombed beneath it.
Overhearing him, Captain Nugetre scoffed and said the color of the sea came from the blood of the thousands trapped and drowned when the gods wreaked their will on the city of Istar.
Flint is up and hobbling about now; his leg is getting stronger. He joined us on deck at midday when a commotion spread over the ship. Sailors stood in clusters, pointing excitedly, arguing about the omens of the sea and sky.
One of the crew, a stout, manly veteran, insisted that dragons have been spotted in the skies over the Blood Sea in this vicinity. Challenged by his fellows, he admitted that he never sailed this close to the Outer Reach before and that these were stories he heard in taverns in Bloodwatch.
The others jeered at his admission, but I noticed that Raistlin had listened to him carefully, a thoughtful expression on his tense face. "Dragons!" snorted Flint. "Next we'll be hearing about genies who grant three wishes!"
By midafternoon, we found ourselves in the grip of a strong current that pulled us northwesterly. Captain Nugetre's instructions were to lay off any drag, take the sails down, and glide with the current. The first shift of crew took positions along the rails, in small groups assigned to one of the anchors or the oars or the extra rudders. But they were under orders to do nothing for the time being, to let the ship be sucked along the Outer Reach.
The Castor was swept along in a gradually accelerating curve. The skies above had darkened so that it was difficult to say whether it was night or day, based on the evidence of our eyes. Thunder exploded in the air, lightning flashed, and a stinging rain attacked us intermittently.
Captain Nugetre manned the helm of the ship. We all watched him as he stood in the aft castle, tossing the wheel back and forth violently, trying to correct the movement of the ship and keep it from being drawn into the Tightening Ring. Whatever else the crew was supposed to be doing, we all stole glances at the captain, knowing that beyond the Tightening Ring lay the Nightmare Sea and the place where Istar slept beneath the vengeful Blood Sea, the Heart of Darkness. No seafarer is known ever to have ventured beyond the Tightening Ring and made it back to tell his story.
I noticed that Kirsig ran to assist Yuril, whose job it was to move from post to post, calming the sailors. The half-ogre bounced alongside the taller, more muscular and handsome woman, making for an odd contrast. She amused the sailors with her half-comical presence yet did as much as Yuril to maintain discipline.
Flint and I dashed to vacant oar ports, ready to lend our muscle if the need arose. I have to say that Flint has bravely swallowed his fear of the sea and, although his face turned white in this instance, he stood ready to help in whatever way he could.
Raistlin clung to a center mast, buffeted by the growing winds but determined to stay and watch whatever developed.
A deepening of the darkness let us know night had fallen, and with it came the full horror. The skies erupted with thunder, the sea seemed afire with bolts of lightning, and the heavens poured icy, slanting rain. The waves rose to a towering height, then dashed violently over the decks. At one point we heard screams, and later we learned that one unlucky sailor had been swept overboard.
The ship listed crazily, and in the blackness of the night, there was no sure way to steer the Castor's course. The wind howled behind us, in front of us, all around us, impossible to reckon with. Yuril had relieved the captain and was at the helm when the worst began. She was soon joined by Nugetre; the two of them strained to keep the wheel from spinning dizzily. They shouted and cursed at each other and at the elements, linking arms around the wheel, desperate to steady the ship.
The continuous gusts of wind drove icy sprays into the ship fore and aft. Some bailing was necessary. The worst of it was that with the storm, the bailing, and the uncertainty, no real rest or food was possible all night. Both shifts worked alongside one another, weary, chilled to the bone, and filled with dread.
I argued with Raistlin, insisting that our goal would be better served if he were safe below deck. He refused to listen. However, in the early morning, when the storm abated somewhat and several of us hurried to catch some sleep, I saw that he was slumped at his post.
Kirsig hastened to help the young mage to his cabin below. Flint and I followed not long after, shivering in the wind and spray. From my cabin, I could hear Raistlin muttering and tossing in a restless sleep.
We all slept fitfully, cognizant of the ship's erratic movement and our own building fear.