The Last Passage
In the fading light of yet another day Aone of Nisse peered intently at the thick fog trying to make out some semblance of order in the tall rolling waves. He was not so intent on the waves themselves, but on the disappearing mirages of the outline of something more than the tall, steep waves. It was something that made the ocean waves crash against something solid, something unforgiving, and not another ocean wave.

For a moment the fog cleared. And there, there was the faint outline of a sharp, jagged shape with short, spindly trees silhouetted against the darkening gray sky. Maybe they would not have to spend another dark, cold damp night on the cramped boat. “Land, land ahead,” rang out a voice. The voice carried the most excitement it had shown in 3 weeks. The rough looking bearded men rose slowly, almost painfully from their slumped positions, turned and stared into the darkening fog as the man at the tiller yelled for them to see what he had seen, or at least what he thought he had seen.

Three weeks of being cold, seasick and scared, with nothing to do but try not to mourn the loss of his sister. After the fifth day, or rather night on the boat, the sky had turned dark and the seas had turned into a frothing mountain of white cold water coming over the sides of the boat even after the captain had ordered the sail taken down. His sister had been scared and frightened to the point of hysteria. She had flung herself off the boat hoping to swim to a point of land that she had thought she had seen amongst the towering waves. There had been no land, and Aone now no longer had a sister.

The captain of the ship made an attempt to rescue her by telling his men to man the oars and row in the direction she was being swept by the wind, but it had put the boat in such danger that he quickly abandoned the effort, instead having the men row and keeping the bow of the boat pointed into the cresting waves. The last thing of his sister that he remembered was his sister’s green hat bobbing on the ocean waves. Now she would never marry. Now there were only five of his kind on the boat.
At least this is the story that had been passed down to him in the yellowing pages of the journal……….