From The Infinity Mantle:
The sea soothed and nurtured for the next two days, the water a beautiful blue, the weather a silent comrade. Tor Island vanished from view as Bertin steered his vessel out in a wide arc before turning south.
The fourth night at sea marked Valaris’ Full Moon, and all passengers were on deck, including the three Guardians swathed against Bertin’s incurious gaze, to mark its glorious blue passage across the wide heavens. It rose early evening and kept them company into the early hours, and as it set the others went below, Rayne taking over the helm.
Bertin muttered something about the tides and pull to the full moon and elected to remain at the helm until potential danger passed, going to sleep only when Rayne insisted they would need him fresh for the entrance into Actar later that morning.
It was exactly fourteen days since Infinity’s treacherous game commenced.
Then the dark water rose in gargantuan ramparts straight out of watery hell, some lifting the ship high above sea level, others crashing defiance onto the deck, almost succeeding in driving the tiny vessel into a netherworld grave. Without lines they would have swept overboard. They hung on, unable to bellow fear, sometimes tossed like rag dolls before smashing back onto the splintering deck.
Bertin negotiated the storm for over an hour, in deep dark, each turn more sluggish as the sail tore and tattered, and the cabins below filled with water. The hatch had long since vanished into the monster’s maw.
It did not let up; only intensified. Brutal winds screeched and deafened. Every wave was monstrous, every breath a forced swallow of liquid salt. Still they forged on, praying to their various deities, praying for Bertin with all their strength. If the weather did not change soon, the beleaguered Captain would surely lose the battle, for his ship already was.
The weather did change.
For the worse.
The LORE Series 