My small galley rowed through the great waves of the deep blue sea. Cutting through the small ones, sustaining the blows of the big ones, my boat pushed southward. With wind giving life to the sail and my additional water support, our vessel glided across the open ocean unopposed.
“Aye!” yelled one of the men, “Aye, Captain. I need some help!”
“You three, follow him! Help him!”
“Aye, sir!” “Yes, sir!” “On it!”
I was at the very back of the ship, peering downward. I could hear the captain, as his wheel was just to the right of me. I couldn’t talk much, however, my efforts were directed at the water itself. A glyph was on my arm, summoning small waves to propel the ship forward. With this tactic, we sailed swifter along the waters and sustained minimal damage as I would ensure the waves wouldn’t get too big. Of course, the occasional splash did reach my face.
“Oh!” I wiped the seawater off my lips. All I tasted was the salt. Not only did I smell like it, but I was drenched in it. For a few days now, I’ve kept my hair down while doing this wave-propelling tactic. Now, it felt like every strand of hair was infused with a touch of salt. Most people would call it “icky,” they’d scratch themselves to death since they wouldn’t like the feeling. For me, though, it felt normal; it was a sign, I thought: I was getting the hang of it again.
“Aye! It’s getting worse! Captain!”
“What is it, lad?”
“It’s worse, captain!”
I turned around and shouted, “What is it?”
“Boy says there’s a leak.”
“I can deal with it.”
I calmed the waters and wiped the glyph off my hand. Following the lad to the lower hull, he pointed toward a hole.
“Just keeps reappearing,” said the boy. The leak was draining into a bucket that rotated with a fresh one, thanks to the boy’s friends.
“Huh,” I reacted. I extended my hand outward in a halt position. The water stopped flowing. “Can you try plugging it in now?”
“Oh, yes. Now that it’s not slippery.”
The boy got a hammer and a plank of wood. With a nail, he pushed the wood into the hole and plugged it. “Mind letting the water flow?”
“Sure.”
“Hm…” the boy inspected the wood. Then, tapped it. “Looks good to me.”
“You know, I thought this journey would help me use water, not stop it.”
“Well, if you want us to flood, sink, and die—then by all means, get rid of the wood,” the boy laughed. “Ah, that’s it, boys. Tell the captain we plugged it!”
“Sure thing! Cap, guess what we did!”
“Just one leak?” I asked.
“Ah, it’s a regular thing in ships like these. Did you know that—”
“Blimey! Zul! Zul! Someone get her!” the captain roared.
“What the hell?” I said, walking to the deck. “What’s going on?”
“Turn the sails, men!” The captain was barking orders. All of a sudden, the sailors were running, frantically manning the strings, and fidgeting with the flaps.