Setting sail 3- Hell on High Seas [Rangpar POV]

As the last of the beautiful ballad rolled from his lips, a new horror dawned beneath this wretched squall. Leif, the darling twin of Rangpar’s beloved apprentice Svend, had been cruelly dispatched by an unforeseen wave. The force of it had dislodged the pitiful knot the lad had apparently believed sufficient to serve as a lifeline. It was with yet more terror the orc beheld his own former apprentice, Erik, that brilliant bastard, leap after him into the unforgiving swirl of the sea’s wrath.

Realigning mind with body, Rangpar surged across the deck. Geysers erupted in his wake as the storm raged down on his broad shoulders. He deftly brushed past Wilkes, who was chanting something frantically between a screaming match with the captain. With a delicacy almost at odds with his massive hands, Rangpar eased open the cellar door to the lower deck. As gently as he could, Rangpar set Svend onto the steps. He swung the door back, nearly bashing his newest apprentice over the head. He would apologize with some fruity confection from the bakery upon their return to shore. Now was a time of action, not second guessing.

“UNCLE JONAH, TWO MEN OVERBOARD, I TAKE DINGHY FOR SAFE TREADINGS!” The clunky and primitive language of man rolled off of his tongue as he steeled himself to take an action that belied a skillful mixture of both practicality and bravado. With the salt of the sea upon his brow, and pleading words to Testero, he yanked hard on the ropes to the pulley. The furious waves caught the underside of the diminutive vessel. With no time to set a mast, Rangpar instead fumbled for the oar he kept within it. Wilkes had always neglected that, intelligent as the lad may be in his own right he did have a bit of a loafing streak.

“Lad, ye’re going into that squall in a dinghy without a plan! Stop and think!” The distant voice of his father whispered in his mind as he paddled along. The tattoo of an anchor on his right bicep thrummed a sky blue. “If you go down, all our knowledge does too! Turn back and get help from yer crew!”

“Quiet Kangrar! If you distract Rangpar he’ll drown without ever teaching an heir to use our knowledge! Trust your son!” The voice of his grandfather cut in, his left bicep shone a teal color. The lights danced across his face beneath the mottled gray heavens. The waves' rage would not be quelled by the ramblings of dead men. Heeding them more than necessary would be to weigh too heavy a gambit on a losing hand. Best to speak sense to them in the one way they understand it.

“[QUIET BOTH OF YOU! I CAN HARDLY THINK WITH THE DUSTED TOMES YOU CALL VOICES FLAPPING ABOUT IN THIS DAMNABLE GALE!]” Rangpar yelled into the open sea. Orcish flowing from him far more naturally than the tongue of man. He paddled hard to the east, the storm just so happened to be heading the same way. Within the hour the Gracious Pearl would enter the eye of the storm, but the two men at sea would be half an hour behind that. Treading open water like this in a storm for that long was a death sentence, no matter how strong a swimmer.

Even worse the foolish elves had fallen into the sea without thinking to grab any signaling mechanism. Nothing reflective would work with the sun blocked as it was. The winds howled like the dead, so calling out was pointless. A rescue seemed less and less likely as the disadvantages piled higher. Yet his arms forced the oar to slice the water with a vengeance all the same.

“Younger brother… two souls to your left. A mile and a quarter out. Young and vibrant. Elven descent.” His sister's voice rang in his ears while the tattoo on his right forearm glowed faintly in a navy color. The short and pointed sentences she had always spoken with in life had remained beyond the grave. He leaned hard and paddled at a rapid pace.. The ship nearly tipped as he wrenched its course hard to match the information. A dull ringing resounded as he cut across dark waters as she guided. At times larger waves would force him aside and it would grow quieter. It was in those moments his soul would steel itself as he forced the boat onward.

The ringing in his ears became deafening as he saw dark shapes bobbing in the water. Wrecked splinters were scattered and rubbed against the shapes. From what he could see in the scant light there wasn’t any blood in the water. A word of thanks sailed towards the heavens as he reached out. His hulking hand grasped a loose, breathable fabric. A toga. He lifted gently, the body he pulled in was no longer breathing. Something screeched at him and smacked against the boat. A fierce wail between each blow. Then the other dark shape clawed its way to cling onto the side of the boat, an arm that reached over the lip of the vessel swung wildly. Technique losing refinement in the name of speed.

“Give him back! I gotta save him! I’LL KILL WHATEVER THE HELL YOU ARE BEFORE I LET YOU TAKE HIM FROM ME!” Erik’s voice boomed under the wind howling in Rangpar’s ears. There was a fire in the lad’s eyes as he lashed out without even realizing what he was slamming his fist against. As the rain of blows continued to fall without any sign of ceasing or success the elf’s tactic changed in the blink of an eye. His head reared back, and then teeth sunk into the skin of Rangpar’s forearm. Erik had bitten him. The wound wasn’t deep enough to draw blood, but was enough to force the orc to pull his arm back in surprise.

Erik was never like this. The half-elf was usually composed, analytical, a mind bearing symmetry to his own. Seeing that line of thinking replaced with abject terror was disheartening. Rangpar cleared his throat before placing a gentle palm on the chest of the thrashing half elf with his other hand while steadily pulling the young sailor up. There were a few heaving breaths in response. A physical expression of just how terrified his former apprentice had been.

“Still self please Erik. Need not fightings Rangpar. Focus!” Rangpar spoke as urgently as he could despite his limited vocabulary. If he knew elven he’d’ve preferred it to man speak, but it was their only language in common. He grumbled to himself as Erik latched onto him like a pup onto its mother. His fingernails dug lightly into the skin of Rangpar’s arm. Slowly the shivering sailor was pulled from the frigid depths. With the first half of the rescue finished, he turned his full attention to Leif. Carefully he did his best not to rock the small boat as he stooped over the apprentice. Leaning in as close as he could manage he pressed his ear to the lad’s chest. A weak heartbeat slammed against the confines of mortality, but was quickly losing its rhythm. Slow, and erratic. Almost like a cannonball tumbling down a flight of stairs. Only, there was no gravity to push it faster as it went.

“Heart not right in Leif’s chest. Not full strength, but not dead yet. Erik, you paddle that way. Rangpar help Leif.” Rangpar barked orders while pointing exaggeratedly to the ship he’d just left the safety of. Erik stared at him with a hint of ferality still in his gaze. He had to trust that those raw survival instincts would funnel him into proper action. The downside being that the Gracious Pearl had shrunk to a pear sized dot of brown on the distant horizon, and was shrinking by the moment. Even if the rest of the crew dropped anchor once they made it to the eye of the storm there was no guarantee the dinghy would be able to catch up in full. Instead of staring down the distance between the rest of the crew and his ramshackle group, he focused on the immediate need for medical aid. Leif’s heartbeat was slow, his breathing shallow, and his body cold to the touch. Every breath came weakly, barely moving his chest. Heavy hands rested on the center of the lad’s chest. His elbows locked, and Rangpar began to shove downward. He had to teach the heart what it meant to beat with a fury. He had to drive the water from the lad’s lungs once he could carry his own rhythm again. He had to succeed this time. A rhythm established, his mind began to fight against him. A repressed memory tried to claw its way to the forefront. The last time Rangpar had to reteach a heart to beat.

https://youtu.be/0Fju9o8BVJ8?si=bYWWV_iEro_JT9C5

That haunting day flickered in front of his vision. Anzar lay still on the small raft Rangpar had fashioned from the broken bits of the ship’s deck. The other ship was retreating, but his older brothers were nowhere to be found. He swam through the wreckage as best he could, the waves tossing him around relentlessly. However he swam on bravely. He had been below deck when the blast occurred. The rapid rushing in of water had slammed his younger form against one of the support beams, temporarily robbing him of consciousness.

Uthar, his eldest brother, had been in the crow’s nest. Zarfu, his second oldest brother, had been manning the cannons with their father and grandfather. He had to assume they were lost in the fireball that had resulted from the chain reaction. They were a crew and family on a whaling ship, the cannons were for self defense. They hadn’t been upkept properly, that was what caused the explosion, had to be.

Another lap through the still burning splinters returned no other survivors. Just grim confirmation. Three charred bodies laid surrounded by heavily scorched planks. The size of their tusks confirmed them to be the cannon manning trio. Rangpar dragged the corpses through the water towards a large chunk of wreckage. He pulled the identifying teeth from their jaws, shoving them into a strip of fabric he tore from his own shirt. He pulled a knot tight to keep them bundled together. He rested for a few minutes, allowing himself to hold vigil over his own grief. There would be no proper way to bury them here at sea, but leaving them for the gulls without proper observance would have been a sin in the eyes of Testero. After a wordless prayer was offered up, he pushed the charred remains back into the water, letting the empty flesh drift without any claim to his family.

There was still a chance Uthar, Pene, or his mother had survived. His older brother and sister were the toughest orcs he knew, and even though his mother wasn’t an orc by birth she was by nature. The younger Rangpar shook his head before diving back into the frigid water, he swam another lap. The broken stem of the mast floated aimlessly, still spinning slightly on its own roundness. The nest itself was sideways and empty, half sunk half floating. A gleam of hope burned in his chest.

“UTHAR! UTHAR WHERE ARE YOU?!” Rangpar cried out as he kept his head above the waves, slicing through the water hand over hand as he continued to patrol. He was exhausted though, and slowing down slowly but surely. Suddenly his arms were too heavy for his shoulders to roll them properly. He kept his hands below the water and swung them in front of him, a doggy paddle his mom had called it. He kicked weakly, but clung onto his own motion. As he rounded to that empty basket, weary limbs allowed him to perch there a spell. He knew that Anzar was drifting to the south under the blazing sun, but at least floating he was safe. The coast was clear of any other ships as far as he could see. That was comforting and terrifying at the same time. No one would come back to finish the job, but that also meant rescue was more than just unlikely. A dark shape bobbed past in the water, limbs weakly swaying against the tossing of waves. It was Uthar! Rangpar did his best to drag his older brother into the crow’s nest. However, to his horror, his elder brother didn’t draw breath. Rangpar searched for a heartbeat, and found a very faint one. He did just as his mother taught him. hands rested on the center of the lad’s chest. His elbows locked, and Rangpar began to shove downward. He had to teach the heart what it meant to beat with a fury. He had to drive the water from the lad’s lungs once he could carry his own rhythm again. He had to succeed.

Rangpar spent two hours pounding away, as ribs broke and began to splinter through his brother’s chest. He hadn’t noticed how cold his brother was to the touch when he started. He’d ignored the gnarly gash that ran beneath his brother’s hair from nape to crown. He just pumped away, without any real rhythm. Desperation forced speed over technique. He’d failed Uthar. With trembling hands, he pulled the tusks from his elder brother’s jaw.

His hands were steady now. A rhythm that followed the natural pace of a boy this size’s heart thrummed against Leif’s chest. The half elf was still warm to the touch and had no visible wounds on any of his major bleeding points.

“[Come on lad, I believe in you. You can do this.]” Rangpar spoke softly as he pumped life back into the barge lad. He could keep the heart beating, but he needed someone else to give the both breath again. Erik’s hands were full with paddling onward. The gracious pearl was still miles out. “[Mom, how can I help him breathe and keep doing his heart’s job for him?]”

“You breathe for him. Keep one hand on his heart and use the other to keep his airway open. Pinch his nose, seal your mouth over his, and breathe into him.” His mother’s voice came sweetly in his mind. A tattoo of an open palm shone softly on his right chest, a twinkling in powdery blue. He nodded to himself, a confused look from over Erik’s shoulder forced him to pause and point at the paddle and ship again. Rangpar pressed his mouth over the lad’s and exhaled as hard as he could. The air rushed down the lad’s throat, but no major response. He kept his rhythm with one hand and continued to breathe life back into the boy. He would not lose another family member. He would not fail another revitalization. This he swore as he drove breath in again and again.

The dinghy continued to cut its path beneath the terrifying squall. A sea black as pitch threatened to swallow them whole. Yet ensconced in natural horror, wrestling the life of this barge lad from the jaws of damnation, Rangpar’s resolve held. He went on like that for two minutes, being the boy’s heart and lungs. Finally, a surge of sea water rushed up to splash against his tusks. Leif gasped and sputtered as he coughed up the last of the brine. Wheezing breaths as he shivered on the deck floor of the dinghy. Rangpar pulled him in close and shielded him properly from the pouring rain.

The boy had just raced against death to claim his body, the first thing he ought to feel is the warmth of an embrace. Gently he rocked Leif, soothing him amidst the horror. He glanced back to Erik and gave him a relieved smile. The half elf did his best to hide his emotions, but he saw the relief wash over his former apprentice like rain after a drought. Today they had battled nature itself and won.