Stormsinger

     The rocking of the ship raised Jarad from his fitful slumber, the young man blinking awake in the dark. Thunder crashed overhead as the hull creaked, the stink of unwashed bodies assaulting his nostrils. He grumbled and swung his legs over the side of his bunk, fumbling about until he found his boots and jerked them onto his feet. Feeling his way blindly ahead of him, he made his way to the gangway, heading topside into the lashing rain.
    Sailors ran to and fro, securing rigging and cannons, as the mountain of a man who captained the St. Claire stood at the helm, shouting orders to the men below. Jarad shivered and made his way across the deck and up onto the forecastle, to stand at the captain’s side.
    “About time you woke your lazy bones!” The captain spat angrily, muscles straining under his greatcoat. “Storm’s been raging for an hour!”
    “You could have woken me.”
    “Not my job! I paid you good coin, and I expect my money’s worth boy!” The captain leaned over the wheel to shout at a sailor struggling with a coil of rope near twice his size. “You going to take care of this, or am I to throw you overboard and at least get some amusement out of my thirty marks?”
    Jarad sighed and ran a hand through his hair, slicking it out of his eyes. He breathed deep, listening. The sky wasn’t angry. Storms rarely were. The song it sang was power, primal and triumphant. ‘Here I am, witness me!’ it screamed with each crack of thunder and flash of lightning, a chorus as old as creation.
     All the same, it was a tune he knew well. Jarad’s voice rose through the din, a deep sonorous note, calm and low. The storm heard and for a moment stilled, confused, then railed in objection. Jarad paid it no heed, intoning the next note, then the next; a lullaby for the great power of the heavens.
     Slowly, the thunder stilled and the winds quieted. The ship slowed its rocking as the sea became calm.
The captain relaxed his grip on the wheel. “Well, I’ll be damned. I’d expected you to be worth the silver, but I figured you for some wildling weather-witch. Your like is rare, boy.”
     Jarad paid the captain no heed, looking up to the sky as the clouds began to disperse and the rain ceased. “It could start up again. I’ve just convinced it to calm down a bit for now. Make sure your men aren’t caught unawares this time.”
The captain nodded. “All right, ye bastards! Make ready to drop anchor! I want everything nice and tight, you hear me? Now move!”
    Jarad sniffed and stripped out of his shirt, walking to the railing and wringing it out over the side. Were it not for his fair complexion he might have been mistaken for one of the sailors, toned as he was. His body bore the hallmarks of hard work and training, and he carried himself with practiced grace as he strode across the deck, as at ease on the sea as any deckhand.
    “Boy! We’ll be making landfall at Keyn tomorrow morning, then after I resupply I’m heading on to Hekara. Come with me. I’ll double what I paid you for this trip.” The captain offered, calling back to Jarad over his shoulder.
    “Tempting, Captain Grace, but I’m not interested. I’m meeting an old friend in Keyn, and I’d hate to disappoint him. Besides, I’m looking forward to food I can actually chew.”
Captain Grace snorted a laugh and turned back to the wheel. “Suit yourself! Never seen a man turn down that much silver before. Befuddling, it is.”
     Jarad said nothing as he stared out across the deck, toward the East. There, in the distance, he imagined he could see the coastline of Verakizh. Yes, silver was a lovely thing, but there were obligations to be met, and sad news to be delivered.