Page 31 of Potions & Pints
The waves up ahead, rather than crashing in lines as they would anywhere else, were instead coursing a circular path, swirling into an enormous maelstrom. This was what he had feared. It was what he had faced once before and barely survived.
This was the center of the Heaving Sea — a watery vortex that would swallow the ship whole if they let it.
“Oh, goddess,” he whispered to himself, feeling fear grip his heart.
Tan’s eyes shot to the helm and he saw the still-sick captain desperately trying to steer the ship away. The captain strained against the wheel, but it was no good. They were still headed straight for the whirlpool — the current was too strong, the wind too fierce, the waves too destructive.
Along the deck, the orcs were trying desperately to pull the lines and readjust the sails and Tan suddenly caught sight of Vir, pulling with all his strength, a panicked look on his face. Pili was with him, yelling instructions at the orcs and crew, but Tan knew the only possible way out of this was with expert maneuvering. Even then, there was such little hope.
He had to try.
He stumbled and staggered his way across the deck, throwing himself on the helm next to the struggling captain.
“Let me!” he cried over the sound of the waves.
The captain took one look at him and nodded, fear flashing violently in his eyes.
The same fear was in Tan’s, but it was mixed with determination. His hands grasped the wheel, pulling desperately against the forces that would bring them deep into the belly of the Heaving Sea.
“Reduce sail!” he cried to the crew, hoping they might be better served with lesser winds. But even as the crew dropped the sail, he knew they were done for. No amount of expert steering, no reduction in wind, would get them out of there alive.
He caught sight of Vir — the orc’s face clearly colored with terror — and knew what he had to do.
“Vir!” he called, still trying his best to wrangle the helm, even though he knew it was futile.
Vir looked up at him and for a second Tan felt all had stopped. In a sudden rush though, the danger they were in, the sound of the wind and waves, the incessant heaving of the ship all came back into sharp focus.
“Go with Pili!” he cried, gazing at Vir. “He can share his gills with one other person! You can make it if you go now!”
Tan managed to wrench his eyes away from Vir for long enough to look at Pili.
“Please Pili! Will you take him?”
Pili didn’t get the chance to answer because Garu, Sori, and Ogen cried out, their angry voices mixing in with the squall.
“What?” protested Garu. “That’s not fair!”
“What about us?” cried Sori.
“Don’t we count?” joined in Ogen.
Panic and anger was written all over their faces and Tan felt his own panic welling up in him at every second lost.
But he didn’t have time for this — he was still straining against the wheel — but once again, the words came out before he could stop them.
“Of course you count!” he replied. “But you can’t play the lyre like Vir can! We should save the most talented among us! If you wanted it to be you, you should have practiced more!”
The words came out hollow, even to his ears, and he wished, even now, that he could just stop lying for once. Death most certainly awaited him; awaited all of them except Pili and Vir, he hoped. And yet, he still couldn’t speak the truth about what was welling in his chest, even though it was still welling as violently as the sea around them.
He looked up towards the whirlpool, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before they’d all meet their demise — if he couldn’t speak his truth now, it didn’t matter. He only hoped Pili would heed his plea. That one thought replaced every other in his mind for a moment.
But a sudden flood of anger coursed through him. He knew this would happen — rushing out toward the Manisles without a man on board was a pure suicide mission. Only it was Valar who had pushed this on them. He just didn’t know why, and the confusion, anger and helplessness contorted into hatred for the prince. Valar had sacrificed their lives, and for what? Pili and the captain had gone along with it — why?
Why did you venture through it the first time, Tan’ith’ril? Why did you urge your own sister along to her death? Arrogance.
The voices of the orcs were still blathering away, a constant angry drone that mixed with the angry drone of the sea. But it was Pili’s voice that finally cut through the noise.
“Enough!” he called over the racket. The orcs quieted down, but the waves kept crashing, fiercer now than ever.
