HE HEARS THEIR CRY
A lone officer of the famed admiral ‘Zorava’ lay adrift upon timbers from his own vessel. Almost all but he survived the onslaught of the living ship ‘Leviathan.’
He remembered hours earlier, the possessed craft flailed with its iron dragon tail and tore his sister ships asunder in its fury as it latched onto their hulls with its dragon head prow.
He also remembered his admiral repelling the demonic vessel turning it away for Vindavia, protecting its host occupant, the vile sorceress, ‘Moxatol’, but in the melee he had been overlooked. As the battle waged, he found himself flung far from the fighting.
What was left of the twenty ships had long since disappeared over the horizon, leaving him to lurch upon the humps of gently rolling yet huge waves.
To the west of him, the coastline of Vindavia was the merest thin grey wisp against the blue of the ocean.
Never had he felt so alone. When one bobbed in the sea as he did, then it became all too clear how small and insignificant he really was.
The officer began to shiver under the failing light of the day. It seemed the temperature of the water instantly plummeted as dusk emerged.
He shook, not merely from the cold, but at the thought of what was to become of him.
Would Leviathan return? Could sharks be circling him now? Would he drown?
Clutching the timbers tightly he made several attempts at climbing out of the water, but soon gave up as his efforts failed.
At last calm washed over the navy officer. A resigned calm at whatever his fate might be. There was nothing he could do about his situation and he knew it.
Under the serenity of hopelessness, the man receded into sleep on the floating debris.
An hour perhaps two turns of the glass passed after that, when he awoke to splashing in the water beside himself.
Through semi raised tired eyelids the naval man saw that a fishing vessel had drifted beside him.
“His life is still in him!” yelled the fisherman that had plunged into the water with him.
A rope was tossed over the side and the fisherman quickly tied it around the waist of the officer. Brawny arms wrenched him free of the sea and helped him to the deck.
A blanket was draped around his shoulders and a mug of rum placed in his shaking hands by a stocky Nusallean man in his mid thirties with a black, bushy beard.
“I am ‘Menta’, captain of this sad fish trapper.” He said with a smile, trying to sound pleasant.
“Gillad” he said without feeling now staring at the stars in the night sky.
Menta’s gaze rolled to the sky then back at the officer.
“It is a pleasant night. Not a cloud to be seen anywhere. Would you accompany me to the prow?”
A nod was given from Gillad before pushing himself to his feet and walking with the captain. Together they leant on the gunwales, looking up as they spoke.
“I thought I would perish today.” Began Gillad. “I even prayed. I have never done so before.”
An assuring smile broadened on the captain.
“It would seem that he heard you. That being the case, you were never in danger. My God is a redeemer by the name of ‘Jesus’. His Father is the one known as God.”
“That is both His name and His title. He is the Creator of all. The sea you have been in the earth…all that you know. Even the stars you see before you he has created and flung them into space.
He sets the time and the seasons for everything…so I doubt he will fail with whatever small problem either you or I would have.”
All at once, calm washed over the officer, a peace that he found indescribable.
“He sounds both powerful and benevolent.”
“Indeed Gillad, would you like me to tell you more about Him?”
“Aye.” He replied wondrously and listened for the best part of the evening as the fisherman told him of his God.
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