I feel like not many people are all that interested in this, so I’m debating whether or not to post Part II. It feels wrong to leave it hanging like this without at least posting the rest of what I’ve written so far, though. But of course, I’m not sure if anyone’s still reading this, so it might just be clutter. And then the thread will probably sink many pages down before part three is completed, and it might not be worth topping at that point. Anyway, do you guys want me to continue posting the story, or not? Let me know within the next few days. If enough people respond, I’ll continue, but otherwise I’ll just let this die. 

Yes please continue I love this story.

No, please keep going! I love this!

Oh! Alright, well, ya’ll convinced me. Here. 

———

Part II

“What in blazes is a Cirein-Croín?”

“It’s the worst nightmare of ev’ry seaman in Orkney, that’s what it is,” said Ewan hoarsely, never moving his eyes from the beast. “Ye never see ‘em comin’ ‘til they’re upon ye, and then it’s too late. They say it takes seven whales t’ quell their appetite.”

The Cirein-Croin still towered above them, swaying the slightest bit with the wind, but other than that staying perfectly still. It continued to stare at them, its black eyes blank and cold. They struck terror into Fia’s heart, and yet she could not force herself to look away. It was horrible, the way the thing watched them, frozen. It was far more terrifying than any havoc it could wreak on the ship.

At least, it seemed that way, until suddenly it let out a deep, moaning roar; a haunting sound that resonated around them. And then it thrashed in the air and dove under the water. A huge spray hit everyone on deck, soaking Fia to the bone. It was eerily silent for a moment. Under the rippling water Fia could just make out the glint of a scale or two. Then the monster rose up beneath the ship, ramming the hull with its serpentine body. The ship lurched; Fia grabbed Thaxton’s arm in an attempt to stay upright, but both of them stumbled anyway. Another blow racked the ship and Fia lost her footing completely. Along with most of the others she slid down the slippery deck until the ship righted itself again. They barely had time to stand and regain their bearings before the Cirein-Croín struck at the vessel again, this time snapping off part of the forecastle. The wood groaned as it splintered and broke apart, the pieces scattering in the water and bobbing forlornly.

Suddenly, the Captain seemed to remember his role and sprang into action. 

“Macauley! Lennox! Take eight men and gather weapons from belowdecks! Brodric, lower the mainsail! The rest o’ yens, get belowdecks and row!” 

Thaxton turned to follow Macauley, who had motioned him over. Fia glanced at Ewan, unsure what to do. She followed him to the bridge, where he had begun giving orders to the helmsman. When he was done, she cleared her throat. He regarded her with raised eyebrows. After a moment, he said, “You, lass. Make yerself useful. Go with Macauley and the others. Stay with Thaxton and do what the lad tells ye.”

“Aye,” she nodded. Then remembered to add, “Uh, sir.” 

She hurried off and joined the men just as they were disappearing to the lower deck. Thaxton gave her a questioning look when she trotted up beside him.

“Captain told me to stay with ye and do what ye tell me,” she explained, shrugging. “So I ‘spose yer in charge of me now. He prob’ly wants ye to make sure I dinnae get into any trouble.” She winked.

“Oh,” he replied simply. “Right then.”

They all tried their best to ignore the puddles of water in the passageways and the drips and streams from the walls, but nevertheless it was obvious the damaged ship was beginning to leak. They reached the hold, where weapons were stored. The weaponry consisted mainly of spears and daggers, and there were also two crossbows, one regular bow, and half a crate’s worth of arrows and bolts. It wasn’t ideal—more bows and arrows would be nice—but they’d have to make do. 

“Grab whatever’s nearest—a weapon in each hand. Quicklike now, and then get back up to the deck!” Commanded Macauley.

Fia was lost in the scuffle as men grabbed for weapons and filed out as quickly as they could. She found herself being ushered out of the room with a spear in each hand and no clear idea of how they got there. As they came out onto the main deck, the ship lurched and a huge wave slammed into them, washing over the ship. A low keening sound resonated in the water, and then the Cirein-Croín rose up from the waves, thrashing its great obsidian head. A chill coursed down Fia’s spine. Her knuckles turned white as her grip tightened on her weapons. Three men scrambled forward; braver than the others or simply more reckless, it was hard to tell. 

“Wait!” The Captain called. He was too late. 

The Cirein-Croín turned its murky gaze on the three men. They froze. One of them tossed a spear pathetically at the monster. It bounced off its scales like a twig off iron armor. The Cirein-Croín swung one of its appendages, knocking the three men into the water and taking out a large chunk of the ship as well. The men flailed and shouted in the water for a few moments, before they were suddenly silenced. Fia looked away, not wanting to watch as the waters turned red. A lanky bearded man to her right let out a grief-filled roar for his comrades, and with shaking hands fitted a bolt to his crossbow. 

“Stop! Nob’dy move!” Cried the Captain once again. The grief-stricken man did not listen, instead shooting the bolt directly at the creature. It dived down into the water; the bolt barely clipped one of its fins. The man growled softly in frustration. 

“I said, nob’dy move!” Ewan repeated through gritted teeth. He stalked down the deck, his hair dripping onto his shoulders. “We wait ‘till it’s closer, ‘till it strikes, and then we go at ‘im. We dinnae ‘ave enough weapons fer men t’ go wastin’ em.”

There was a thump against the hull of the ship as he spoke.

“Ye four, get o’er there,” he pointed to four men, who stared at him blankly. “Go on! Wait until you see it bump up against us again, and then give ‘im a taste o’ yer steel.”

The men scrambled across the deck to do as they were told. 

“Ye.” Ewan turned to Fia. “I ‘ave a better use fer ye.”

“But—I’m with ‘im, remember?” She protested, nodding toward Thaxton. 

“Aye, but I’ve changed me mind. Yer small and nimble. Get up in the crow’s nest and call down what ye see.” He took her weapons. 

Fia opened her mouth, trying to think of another excuse.

“Go on!”

She gave up and made her way reluctantly to the mast in the center of the ship, atop which perched a rickety old crow’s nest. She sighed as she began to climb the ropes that led up the pole. Such a high place seemed especially vulnerable to her, and she wasn’t too keen on being knocked into the water like the other men. And then, if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to be parted with Thaxton, either. He was the only one on this ship she trusted in the least—and even then it wasn’t much. 

She reached the crow’s nest, which, by this point, was little more than a few boards nailed to the top of the mast, and squatted down in an uncomfortable and precarious position. 

“Whaddaya see?” Called a rough voice from below. Fia looked down to see Lennox—forever branded in her mind as nasty—standing beneath her, one hand on the mast, one foot resting on the first rung of the rope ladder, his lank straw-colored hair blowing across his face. Her lip twitched in disgust at the sight of him. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something about him that made her gut twist; that made her want to squirm and look away. She decided once again not to like him. 

“Nothin’ much,” she replied, a little more snappishly than was necessary. “Looks like it’s circlin’ the ship, comin’ past the...” she started to say ‘left side of the ship’, but then remembered it had a name. She scrambled to remember. “The...port side, now.” She couldn’t resist being pleased with herself for using proper ship-talk. Her mouth quirked in the smallest of smiles.

Below her, she heard Lennox shout the report to the rest of the crew. Her eyes remained trained on the malevolently churning waters. The beast slowly, gracefully, glided beneath the waves, coming around the ship. It would bump the hull just enough to rock the ship and nearly knock them all over, and then dive back under the water before they could do it harm. It seemed to Fia almost like it was teasing them, toying with them, as a cat toys with its prey before it snaps its neck. 

Three men, one with a spear and two with crossbows, crossed the deck. They waited until the Cirein-Croín came close to surfacing, and on the Captain’s orders, leased their weapons. The spear and one bolt bounced into the water, but the other bolt—having been aimed at a soft spot under one of the creature’s fins—sank into the flesh with a sickening squelch. The creature howled and spiraled deeper, trailing black blood after it in the water. 

The next moment, it burst forth from beneath the vessel, rage obvious in its every motion. It writhed furiously, lashing the ship with its tail and fins, ramming it with its monstrous body. More men were swept into the sea. Others fell onto the deck, injured. Arrows and blades flew. More pieces of the ship were damaged and broken apart. It was a mad jumble, no one quite sure what they were doing, only focused on making it until the next moment. Both parties suffered, and it was hard to tell who was faring best amidst the chaotic scramble, but the Cirein-Croín seemed to be taking a good deal less damage than the ship and crew. Fia watched helplessly, half itching to do something to help, half scared for her own life. 

And for good reason. 

Suddenly, in a great, swift motion, the beast rolled the ship nearly sideways and struck the mast with one heavy appendage. Fia wavered and gripped the boards for balance as the wood groaned and cracked. Somewhere in her mind, she knew that she should jump. She knew she should get down onto the deck even though her instincts told her to cling to the mast, for if she stayed where she was she would plunge into the sea. But despite these thoughts, she stayed firmly in place, frozen by fear, wide-eyed. The mast made up its mind and broke cleanly in two. She hung in the air for an ephemeral moment and then her body was pounded by the water on all sides as she was slammed into the furious sea.  

The water was shockingly cold. Hitting it was like a slap in the face. But the shock of it made her suddenly feel very alive, very alert. She was shoved further beneath the angry waves, and all was dark and muted and somewhere near calm for a moment, before she came bursting out of the surface, and then the world in all of its violent chaos came crashing down around her again. Her limbs thrashed helplessly in the water as she tried to keep her head above the waves. The sea roared in her ears. Everything was blurry with seawater and salt. She could hear voices, though she didn’t know what they were saying, and she was aware that somewhere nearby the Cirein-Croín was still gliding ominously. She coughed and spluttered, gulping air into her lungs one moment, and being shoved under by a wave the next. She groped helplessly for something—anything—to hold onto, and finally her arms found a large piece of wood among the debris. She latched onto it as if it were the only thing that would keep her alive—for it might have been. 

She hung there in the water for a minute, panting, regathering her wits. When she looked down, beneath her she could see the faint outline of the Cirein-Croín, so deep it was barely a shadow gliding through the water. The shape grew larger and larger as the creature swam nearer. Fia’s heart skipped a beat when she realized it was coming directly toward her. She began to kick with her legs and paddle with her arms while trying to stay atop her makeshift float, but when that wasn’t working, she abandoned the wood and swam frantically toward the ship. 

“Help!” She shouted, hoping someone would hear her. She banged on the hull, though she knew it wouldn’t make a difference. “Down here! Help me!” To her dismay, no one seemed to hear. The beast was much closer now, looming just below her. She watched it in terror, scrambling to think of some other way out. She felt a smooth scale barely graze one toe, and suppressed a scream. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing the sea could save her, wishing it would defend her someway. She muttered something under her breath, something she didn’t understand. Then, suddenly, an unnatural wave rose up under her. At first she thought it was a regular wave, but then it just kept rising slowly, and she stayed on the crest, treading water. It rose until it was a pillar of water against the side of the ship, and Fia could almost have leapt off and onto the ship’s deck. This strange pillar did not intimidate the Cirein-Croín, however. The beast simply swam up it. It was swift, and before she had time to react, it had latched firmly onto her ankle. She let out a small squeak of terror before she was dragged under the water, full force. She thrashed  and kicked her leg, hard, in a feeble attempt to dislodge the Cirein-Croín. She clenched her teeth and tried to ignore the way the skin around her ankle ripped, the way her blood feathered out like ink in the water. Her lungs ached for oxygen. Dots began to swim before her eyes. Desperate, she jerked her body harder. The teeth sank deeper into her flesh, and she felt the burn of tears behind her eyes. She wondered vaguely what crying underwater would be like. 

She had nearly given up all hope of survival as she was dragged deeper, but she still fought, even as bubbles began to escape her mouth. She didn’t know what had happened before, with the pillar and the water—had she caused it? Was it some sort of sorcery?—but she wished something like that would happen again. She wished the sea would rescue her once more. Maybe it would. Or maybe she could make it. It had almost seemed like the water had responded to her wishes before, so why couldn’t it do the same again? But she didn’t know how to make it. She tried frantically to remember the words she had uttered before, but they were beyond her reach. In desperation, she whispered something else. It seemed like a longshot. She wasn’t even sure what she’d said. She waited, praying it would work. 

Nothing happened. Her time was out. She couldn’t hold her breath any longer. Water began to fill her lungs, stinging her nose and throat. She had always thought that drowning would be one of the better ways to go—it seemed rather peaceful until one was in the process. She suddenly regretted a great many things in her life—wished she had done things differently, wished things hadn’t happened the way they did. 

Her most prominent thought was that she wished she would have had the chance to tell someone goodbye.

Suddenly, there was a rush of water and the sea began to swirl around her. It became hard to tell what was real and what was simply her mind playing tricks on her. She was on the verge of unconsciousness now and everything blurred together. She supposed this was simply how one felt before they died, though she couldn’t be sure what it was really. She squeezed her eyes shut and everything swam blank and grey. 

The next thing she knew she was coughing and spluttering. She was wet and cold and a few people stood nearby, but she didn’t know where she was or what had happened. The sun seemed too bright even though it was shrouded by clouds. She squinted in the light and coughed some more. Then she leaned over and retched. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and took a few shaky breaths, noticing how her throat and lungs burned with each gulp of air. She also noticed that her left ankle was throbbing terribly. 

She looked around. She was back on the ship, sitting on the deck, though she didn’t know how. Kneeling beside her she saw Macauley, and standing beside him was another man. They both watched her intently.

“Ye alright, Lass?” 

Fia cleared her throat a few times before croaking, “I-I b’lieve so.” 

“She’s alright!” He informed the rest of the crew. Then he stood and walked off, leaving Fia disoriented on the deck. A few moments later, Thaxton trotted over, looking concerned. He stood silently beside her for a moment, then offered her his hand. She took it, rather gratefully, and he helped her to her feet. 

“I’d all but given ye up for drowned,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“So’d I. Would ye mind tellin’ me why I’m not drowned? Nob’dy’s bothered te explain.”

“Oh. Well, after ye went overboard, we already thought ye were lost. I did want t’ go after ye—I think the Cap’n did too—but there wasn’t nothin’ we could do, not right then with the Cirein-Croín and all that was happ’nin’.” He seemed almost apologetic—as if he expected her to be angry that he hadn’t leapt overboard to her rescue. “Then the water started actin’ strange. It came up all tall-like, and then there ye were on top of it, but then ye got dragged under and that was when we all thought ye’d be drowned for certain. Ye were under there a long time. I’m surprised anyone could hold their breath fer that long. But then the water came up again, almost like a wave, but different, and it just sort of dropped ye on the deck. We weren’t sure if ye were alive or not, but ye must’ve been ‘cause here ye are.” He gave her a lopsided grin.

She hardly noticed the last bit—she was stuck back on the part where he’d talked about the water. “What was it like, the water? When it came up and dropped me on the deck, like ye said?”

He creased his brow, thinking. Then he said, slowly, “M’not exactly sure how t’ describe it. Like I said before, ‘twas almost a wave, but ‘twas different. Slower, less violent. More deliberate. Like it wanted to ‘elp ye.”

Her eyes drifted out to the water, her mind reeling. 

“What was it?” Thaxton asked.

She looked back to him, shrugging one shoulder. “I dinnae know any more then ye do.”

He walked to the other side of the deck. She followed. “De—de ye think ye might be able t’ make it happen again?” He asked carefully.

She stared at him incredulously. “Och, nay!” 

“Did ye not cause it before?” 

“Cause it? Aye, right!” But even as she said it, she remembered muttering the foreign words, wishing for the water’s help. Was it possible that she had spoken to the sea and it had responded? But how could that be?

“Well, I know that sort of thing doesnae ‘appen on it’s own. S’not normal.”

She frowned. “No one can control the sea. It’s a free thing.”

He gave her a certain look. She rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated huff. They both fell silent, watching the ocean. A few yards away the Cirein-Croín leapt from the water. Arrows were leased, but only two made their mark, and they barely left a scratch on the creature. Fia’s throat tightened as she realized how desperate they were.

“If ye could make it ‘appen again, we might be able t’ stand a chance against that thing,” Thaxton said very softly, looking into the distance. “I dinnae know what else we can do against it. The Cap’n won’t give up n’matter what, and neither will the rest of us...but we can only ‘old oot fer sa long. It’s only a matter o’ time b’fore we’re all done in.” There was a sadness and desperation in his eyes when he looked back at her. “Ye hafta at least try.”

She pressed her lips together. He was right; she had to try. Even if it was crazy. “Yer bum’s oot the windae,” she told him. “But alright.”  

She turned and ran to the prow. It was damaged and splintered, and her heart sank when she saw the beautiful dragon figurehead had been smashed and broken apart. Behind her, the Cirein-Croín came up and attempted to roll the ship again. Blood roared in her ears as she stared at the roiling water. She looked down at her webbed hands; they were shaking. She didn’t even know how to begin to do whatever she’d done before. But I will. I must. Because I have to.

She closed her eyes and tried to find the way she’d felt before, when it had happened. But she couldn’t place it, so she settled for envisioning the ocean, trying to feel some sort of connection. Nothing seemed to change. She opened her eyes, and found she could focus better that way. Then she began to speak. She wasn’t sure if it was of her own volition or not—it was hard to be sure. She did not understand the words she spoke; they felt strange in her mouth. She wasn’t even sure if they were words—they were more like a series of sounds, a melody. 

A song. 

Her whispers floated off on the wind, flowing around her like silver mists. They fell over the water, weaving a net of delicate filigree. Her voice grew slowly louder, and she soon settled into a rythym. A few of the crewmen had turned to stare—Thaxton among them—but she didn’t pay them notice. All eyes turned to the ocean as it began to rise up, twirling and twisting in waves and arcs, spiraling down gracefully toward the Cirein-Croín. The water began to rage then, crashing down upon the monster, coming down in torrents, swirling and pounding like nothing they had ever seen before. Fia fell silent, mesmerized by the scene. The Cirein-Croín fought the angry waters at first, but it soon gave up. With a resentful cry, it dove beneath the water and disappeared, hoping to find easier prey elsewhere. The water that had seemed to have taken on a life of its own melted back down into the sea, where it calmed and lapped gently against the ship’s hull.