Volanta

If things weren’t bad before, they were only getting worse. It may have been in part to the god-awful hangover he was plagued with, but the more they sailed without any sign of land, the more Oliver thought about throwing himself off the end of the ship. He could practically feel the crew giving up on him. Every now and then he'd walk by a small group and they'd stop their conversation, and Oliver could be sure that they were talking about him.

Pippa seemed to be the only one to have any faith in him. He caught her defending him once in front of Peter, when Oliver wasn't around. Peter sort of just chuckled and shrugged, dropping the subject just so Pippa would smile again. Oliver didn't bring up what he'd seen, but he was no less appreciative of it.

They went another day with no sign of any land, and Oliver started to think that maybe this all was a mistake. He stood at the front of the ship, holding on to Roland’s journal as wind whipped around him. The sun beat down heavily on them, and Oliver was grateful for the wind coming from the ship’s speed. He'd already abandoned the heavy jacket and tie that made him a “perfect gentleman” and wore a light shirt with half the buttons in the front undone and the sleeves rolled up. He could feel eyes watching him suspiciously, but he ignored it, keeping his focus on the journal.

I’ve realized that the island chooses who is worthy to visit. Some don't even make it here before the island gets rid of them. Some make it, but that's only because the island has a much darker and slower demise for them. This place is much darker than it appears. I fear that the island will decide that I am the next to die.

Oliver looked up from the book and frowned when he suddenly became aware that the wind had slowed to a light breeze. It was odd. It didn't look like the ship had slowed. He closed the journal and set it down, putting his hands on the railing and looking out at the sea. It was unusually still. Like glass.

Oliver just stared ahead, barely noticing Pippa and Captain Sorensen come to stand beside him. They were equally shocked into silence. They all just stared until Pippa finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper.

“You could skip rocks on that surface,” she murmured. “Does the ocean do that?”

“No,” Captain Sorensen said. “Never. In all my years, I've never seen anything like this.”

“The ship isn't moving,” Oliver noted. “Did you ask for the engines to stop?”

“No. I didn't.”

Oliver felt a droplet of water fall on his nose and looked up. Grey clouds were forming over their heads, and the droplets intensified until it was a steady rain. And then there were showers. And then there was thunder. Oliver turned around and his eyes widened when he saw what was coming.

“A big wave is coming,” he said wearily.

Captain Sorensen turned and saw the wave Oliver was talking about. Or a wall of water, was better to describe it.

“Grab hold of something and brace yourselves!” Captain Sorensen yelled with surprising volume.

The crew scrambled to secure themselves, as Oliver, Pippa, and the captain held on to the railing. The wave crashed over their heads and they were underwater for a couple of seconds while everyone held on for dear life. When the ship bobbed back up, they were caught in a full blown storm that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

The crew scrambled to tie everything down in an attempt to navigate through the storm while waves threatened to pull them into the sea. Oliver watched several men get dragged into the ocean, never to be seen again. Every time the ship would bob and lurch, a couple people would be thrown overboard. Oliver noticed something strange about it. It felt like only specific people were falling, and not all of them made sense. Only one word crossed his mind. Unworthy.

Oliver snapped back into reality when he heard a familiar shriek, turning just in time to see one of the sailors grab Pippa in an attempt to balance himself before he fell overboard. Oliver grabbed her by the wrists as she fell overboard with him, holding on to her as the man held on to her ankle. He tried to claw his way up her and grab at her skirt to get back up, but the storm only intensified. Oliver held on to Pippa as tightly as he could without falling overboard himself. She stared up at him as if she was unsure to shake the sailor off or try and help him too. The ocean had other ideas. A wave crashed against the ship and he and Pippa hit the side. She winced, but the sailor hit his head and went unconscious, his grip on Pippa loosening. He took one of her boots as he fell back into the ocean.

As soon as this man was gone, it was as if the storm had decided it took enough lives. It slowed to a stop in an unnatural way, but Oliver was more focused on pulling Pippa back on board. He fell back onto the deck and she fell on his chest, both of them desperately trying to catch their breath. For a moment, they just stared at each other in shock. Oliver wasn't sure what to think. She looked so in shock, he really only wanted to put an arm around her and push the wet hair plastered to her face out of her eyes. He wasn't sure where this sudden need to comfort her came from, but he didn't get much a chance to think about it before Peter hurried over and pulled her up back on her feet.

“Goodness gracious, are you alright?” Peter asked her, putting a blanket over her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly.

Oliver sat up with a slight groan, a sharp pain in his shoulder. The storm had just stopped. Gone. As if nothing was there. Everyone rushed to Pippa, helping her down to the lower decks. She glanced over at Oliver once, but he didn't bother trying to follow. She had enough people hovering over her. She didn't need or want him there. To be quite frank, he was feeling a little strange. He felt the need to be there for her all of a sudden, and couldn't get the image of her out of his head. It scared him a little bit, and he pushed it far back in his mind. Finally, Captain Sorensen was the one to help him up.

“Are you alright, boy?” he asked gruffly.

“I'm fine,” he said. “I lost the journal in the storm.”

“Never mind the journal,” Sorensen said. “You're lucky you didn't lose your life.”

Oliver nodded, looking back to the ocean. It was still again, like it was before the storm. However, there was something new in the distance. A small green dot.

“Land,” Captain Sorensen remarked, a tone of shock in his voice.

“According to the journal’s accounts and the corresponding legends,” Oliver said, “The storm was getting rid of those unworthy to arrive at the island.”

“The rest of us are being welcomed,” he said.

“Or we’re being challenged.”

Sorensen straightened up. “I'll have Peter do a headcount. We’ll be ashore soon. Maybe this island of yours exists after all. Let's hope the people are there, too.”

“Right.”

“Oh, and Dr. Lambert?”

“Yes?”

“It looks like you didn't lose anything in that storm.”

He looked at the deck behind Oliver, then turned to walk away. Oliver furrowed his brow and looked over his shoulder, and his heart skipped a beat. The journal was right there, on the deck. Completely dry. Untouched.