The elf hauled on the tiller, bringing them around so that the breaker crashed over the port bow. The sailboat staggered sideways, wind and water tearing in opposite directions, but slowly she broke free of the heaving brine and clawed her way up another slope of the churning sea.
That was one of the worst things about these southern ocean storms, Kerrick realized. The waves seemed to come at them from every direction, and whatever way he steered the boat they were assaulted from fore and aft, from one side, then the next. The long twilight had faded into a night as dark and tempestuous as any he had endured. Only the slightly phosphorescent crests of the waves gave him momentary warning of the next crushing onslaught. Where the water lay smooth in a trough of the boat, it was black, eerily lightless.
He was piloting the boat more by instinct than rational thought. The sail, as Coraltop had pointed out, was deployed into a small triangle, efficiently capturing the gale roaring out of the north, but every time the wind smashed into the canvas and pushed the boat forward they had to hold on for dear life. Kerrick’s clothes were wet, clinging to his body. He smelled of soaked wool. When his body was racked by an involuntary shiver, he didn’t even notice. His wounds were a vague and distant discomfort, unimportant when weighed against the primal struggle he now waged.
Something loose flapped near the bow, canvas or rope streaming along the deck, whirled about by the storm. Kerrick knew that he would have to get up there and fasten it down, a daunting task in this tempest.
“Take the tiller!” he shouted to the kender, who was seated on the bench beside him. Despite his chattering teeth and obvious discomfort, Coraltop had declined Kerrick’s earlier suggestion that he bury himself in the cabin for a while.
“Great, it’s the biggest storm ever, and you finally let me steer,” he said, with a slight pout. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a lot of experience-”
“Don’t pull on it!” yelled the elf. “Just hold it steady until I get back.”
“Oh, of course, don’t pull,” sniffed his companion. “That’d be obvious to a gulley dwarf.…”
The rest of his remark was lost in the din of the storm, though Kerrick looked back to insure that the kender had the tiller clenched firmly in both hands. Limping past the small cabin, the elf turned sideways to ease along the narrow catwalk. Carefully, grabbing hold wherever he could to avoid losing his footing, he inched ahead to the bow, where he saw a corner of the jib sail flapping outside of the forward locker.
The ship pitched into another wave, and Kerrick held on as cold water poured over him. Without the strength provided by the ring he would certainly have been swept away. As it was, he was sputtering and gasping by the time the boat once again fought itself free of the clutching wave. With a swift gesture he pulled open the lid of the locker and wasted no time in jamming the sodden stretch of sail inside.
Clinging to every bracket, rope, and rail, he cautiously made his way back to the cockpit, at last tumbling onto the bench beside Coraltop Netfisher. The kender’s teeth were clenched as he blinked away the ocean spray, but he flashed the elf a delighted grin as Cutter sliced across the face of a huge wave and then glided into the momentary smoothness of the next trough.
“This is lots more fun than drifting along without any mast and stuff,” announced Coraltop.
“Yeah, fun.” Kerrick sighed, feeling the weariness creep over him, the enchantment of the ring fading. A new wave rose astern and caused the boat to lurch sharply forward. He cried out as he caught himself on his mending arm, then clenched his teeth and held on grimly. The swells were larger than ever, and wind whipped the whitecaps.
Times in the past he had found a storm invigorating, a challenge to his boat and his seamanship. But this was a monstrous assault of nature, a threat of death. The gale seemed to be attacking him personally. The breakers grew taller the troughs deeper. The wind stung. All of a sudden Cutter heeled, and for a sickening moment Kerrick thought she was going over and under. He braced his feet and reached out to seize the tiller that was still clutched under the kender’s arms.
“Pull!” he shouted, leaning into the bar, feeling Coraltop throw his own wiry strength into the maneuver. Kerrick ignored the pain shooting through his arms and back, knowing that if the boat capsized here, they had no chance.
Rising swells heaved under the stern, before cresting and pouring away at a shallow angle. Mountainous black seas rose to port and starboard. Straining together on the tiller Kerrick and Coraltop managed to pull the vessel and use the last bit of its speed to turn her tail into the wind.
The biggest breaker yet crashed against the stern, and water rushed into the boat, surging around their legs. As it drained slowly Cutter, heavy with the extra weight, lumbered like a drunk, slipping sideways into a deep yawning trough. The elf tried to pull the boat around but his weakened hands slipped right off of the tiller, and again the boat teetered on the brink. The ring … he had been wearing it so long that he had reached the limit of its power. He felt all but impotent, paralyzed by fatigue.
Coraltop showed good instincts as he pushed the tiller away from himself, giving just enough steerage to start the boat, nose first, down the slope of the wave. In seconds they were plunging with headlong speed, and a moment later the prow sank deep into the opposite wave. Water gushed across the deck, but the little boat was sturdy, and they held their balance. Once again the Cutter managed to slice through the briny barrier and claw her way back atop the crest of the next wave.
“You steer! I’ll work the pump!” Kerrick shouted. His arms were limp and stiff, but he could crank the bailer by foot, and he set himself numbly to the task. The gale roared and they raced with the wind, headlong to the south. Again Kerrick was hit by a different kind of wave, the fatigue that threatened to consume him. Soon the simple device was shooting a steady jet of water over the side.
For more than an hour he cranked the footpedals, maintaining pressure in the hose, slowly emptying the hull as Coraltop guided them through the continuing tumult. As she grew lighter Cutter became easier to handle, riding higher in the water, skimming the crests of the worst waves. Kerrick pumped automatically, leaning against the cabin, barely conscious of anything except the rhythmic motion. Finally, when his head dipped forward to slump against his chest, he lost all awareness. Only when he fell sideways and sprawled in the chilly waters of the cockpit did he awaken.
It took Coraltop’s help before the elf could force himself up. His surroundings swirled, a mist thicker, more permeating than the foul weather. Gradually he realized that it was his own mind that was foggy. His strength was utterly gone, he could barely keep his eyes open.
The ring! He remembered his father’s warning words. It took all of his strength to draw his right hand over to his left, and then he could barely claw the circlet of metal from his finger. Finally he fumbled with the leather flap and slid the ring into the secure pocket inside his belt.
The darkness of the night surrounded them. The icy water penetrated his bones. However, the kender turned out to be a surprisingly worthy crewman, and the boat was solid. As they plunged deeper and deeper into the southern ocean, Kerrick slipped into a profound slumber, dreaming that they would survive.
The wind held firm over a full day, during which the kender guided the sailboat on a straight course, and Kerrick slumbered. He awoke just before the second dawn broke. Immediately he checked the compass, which showed their course to be just west of south. The clouds had shifted enough to reveal a familiar star, Zivilyn Greentree, sparkling once more directly over his course. Kerrick had never known it to lie this far to the south. For the second time on this voyage, the sight filled him with awe.