For months the Captain repeated his odd ritual. Every night he came to the galley, spoke a few words with the Chef, looked at the boy and said, “Good night, sleep well. I hope to kill you in the morning.”
But the nights were not good, the boy did not sleep well, and though many mornings came the Captain never did kill him. The boy hated sailing with pirates. They constantly assailed weaker vessels, took everything from those who did not resist, and never spared any who fought back. Their swords were wicked, cutting down good men without restraint. With each raid the boy silently hoped the for the pirates’ defeat and his freedom, but the pirates were cowards. They never risked an attack on a ship that looked even the least bit dangerous. One day the boy heard the pirates complaining about the Royal Navy, which grew stronger and closer every day. The King was coming against them. So the pirates set sail for distant waters and waited for the King to forget about them. But those waters were dark and strange, and the crew grew uneasy. While they were out on those high seas, the waters grew rough and uneasy. Tall and terrible waves crashed around the ship, and yet there was not even a breeze of wind. The crew trembled in fear, as did the boy. The sky was black and speckled with stars. It was no storm. An awful screeching roar blared forth from the sea. Long slender shapes twisted into the starry sky. A frightened crew member yelled the single word each of them feared. “Kraken!” The terrible tentacles twisted down to the deck of the ship, ripping through sails and rope as if they were nothing. Men screamed and hacked at the massive arms of the beast, but it was no use. The ship split in half. The boy clung with all his might to a barrel of dried fruit. There came up a dreadful sucking sound from beneath him. It reminded the boy of water draining from a tub but longer and far louder. As he looked down he saw a fearsome black pit open beneath him. A ring of teeth ran around the edge of that awful mouth, and he stared in horror as the beast swallowed men whole. At that moment the boy did not fear death. Whatever came after life, it was surely better. Life, from the boy’s experience, was a constant state of fear, shattered dreams, and, apparently, Kraken teeth. His father often tucked him in bed after tales of far better things. He remembered whispers of beauty, adventure, and love – and a better world after this one. He prayed silently and prepared himself for the teeth. They looked sharp. The tentacle wrapped around the boy’s barrel lifted him skyward. He came closer and closer to a point directly above the grinding teeth and black maw of the beast. From the corner of his eye he saw a bright flash. The noise that followed was that of a gunshot. A gunpowder keg exploded, glaring for a moment more brilliantly than the sun. The Kraken roared deafeningly. The tentacle wrapped around the boy’s barrel writhed in pain and flung him away into the sea. His barrel was knocked away by the blast. Icy water surrounded him as he sank into the sea. He felt little strength to swim. The moonlight slipped down to meet his eyes, stinging from the salt water. Still, he no longer feared his death. He welcomed the thought of leaving the terrible sea. But a terrible spark ignited in his heart, and it refused to let him die. The sea did not kill him, pirates did not slay him, and even the mighty Kraken did not swallow him. He refused to let himself die. With every fiber of strength left in his body he pumped his legs and thrashed his arms. Truthfully, he did not know how to swim, but he began to rise up. The moon grew larger, the stars began to glimmer, and at last his head rose above the water. Far in the distance he heard the roar of the Kraken once again. A barrel bobbed in the water nearby, and after a moment he reached it and clung to it for dear life. Cold sea water surrounded him. Salt stung his eyes. His ears still rang from the roar of the beast. His body throbbed in pain. As he blinked away the salt from his eyes he saw a small fishing ship on the horizon. He yelled with all his strength. A small band of fishermen found the boy floating in the sea, clinging to a barrel of dried mangos. The fishermen could hardly believe his tale, but when they came to port at a nearby island they discovered the boy’s father, who also survived the pirates’ raid. His own tale is almost stranger than his son’s, but that is a story for another day. As for the boy, he never again feared the sea. He even joined the Royal Navy, where his stories continue to be disbelieved by new recruits and bested by the oldest captains. The end.
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