Lacuna 3: Bright Mornings and Endless Evenings
The ship's massive hull creaked hollowly as it rocked slowly on the endless sea. Beneath the deck, in the darkness of the underchambers, a rat scrabbled at the floorboards to resist the floor's sudden tilt. It held its ground but was thrown off-balance, for just long enough for a sharpened bone to pierce its skin from above. Emitting a final, futile squeak, the rat surrendered its life to the man holding the skewer.
Dark-browed Strider spun the rat round and round absently, his mind elsewhere. A few yards away, Royce, the long of hope, turned his body to face his cellmate. Strider's face was barely visible in the dim light filtering down between the boards of the Calypso's upper deck. Normally clean-shaven, Strider now sported stubble reflecting the days of the men's imprisonment.
"I don't suppose you'd consider sharing that," Royce asked tentatively.
Strider sighed. "As I recall, you took a double helping at mess the day before our treacherous captain threw us in here and jumped ship." But he tore a leg off the rat and handed it to his comrade.
Royce smiled gratefully and dug in. He was not one to quibble with the Fates, and if the Sisters gave him rats, why, rats it would be for him. The gods would provide for their children. But he reflected, as he ate, that even the Fates could only work with what they were given.
"Strider," Royce said, interrupting the other man's noisy consumption of the remainder of the rat. "Are you still on good terms with the sea-god?"
"Aye." Strider's rapport with Poseidon had always been strong, and if the mariner had muttered a few curses at his patron deity of late, he knew the latter would forgive him. His circumstances were, after all, exceptional.
"Ask him to send the wind, would you? Not a strong tail wind for the ship, but a benign wind to lift a prayer up and cast it wide."
Strider grunted. "If Poseidon sees fit to help us, it won't be any prayer from a... pantheist... like yourself that convinces him." But in the safe darkness of the Calypso, the gruff Strider could not resist a bit of a smile.
Put off a bit, Royce nonetheless nodded with acceptance. "Then I suppose my prayer will have to reach the gods under its own power." The one long of hope gazed up through a crack in the floorboards, at a sliver of clearly visible, promising blue sky above. He opened his mouth and began to sing.
Dark-browed Strider spun the rat round and round absently, his mind elsewhere. A few yards away, Royce, the long of hope, turned his body to face his cellmate. Strider's face was barely visible in the dim light filtering down between the boards of the Calypso's upper deck. Normally clean-shaven, Strider now sported stubble reflecting the days of the men's imprisonment.
"I don't suppose you'd consider sharing that," Royce asked tentatively.
Strider sighed. "As I recall, you took a double helping at mess the day before our treacherous captain threw us in here and jumped ship." But he tore a leg off the rat and handed it to his comrade.
Royce smiled gratefully and dug in. He was not one to quibble with the Fates, and if the Sisters gave him rats, why, rats it would be for him. The gods would provide for their children. But he reflected, as he ate, that even the Fates could only work with what they were given.
"Strider," Royce said, interrupting the other man's noisy consumption of the remainder of the rat. "Are you still on good terms with the sea-god?"
"Aye." Strider's rapport with Poseidon had always been strong, and if the mariner had muttered a few curses at his patron deity of late, he knew the latter would forgive him. His circumstances were, after all, exceptional.
"Ask him to send the wind, would you? Not a strong tail wind for the ship, but a benign wind to lift a prayer up and cast it wide."
Strider grunted. "If Poseidon sees fit to help us, it won't be any prayer from a... pantheist... like yourself that convinces him." But in the safe darkness of the Calypso, the gruff Strider could not resist a bit of a smile.
Put off a bit, Royce nonetheless nodded with acceptance. "Then I suppose my prayer will have to reach the gods under its own power." The one long of hope gazed up through a crack in the floorboards, at a sliver of clearly visible, promising blue sky above. He opened his mouth and began to sing.
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