arose.
Blinding snow peppered my eyes. The wind howled. We stumbled in the direction of the skiff, clinging to each other so we would not be separated. Espinosa, then Rodrigo, then me. I could see nothing. My hands, maybe. Or Rodrigo’s shoulders. How could we return to the ship if we could see nothing?
It seemed forever that we stumbled about. My teeth chattered. My lungs ached. My nose and fingers grew numb. Surely we should have reached the skiff by now. Then Espinosa’s face loomed out of the whiteness, ghostly, as if detached from his body. “We’re lost!” he cried, his voice snatched away in the shriek of the wind. “We’ve been walking in circles! We must find shelter and wait out the storm! Follow me!”
My heart began to beat wildly. We staggered on. And through the whiteness I heard sudden movements, first here, then there. Seawolves. Perhaps the beasts would devour us.
And then we were there. A jumble of boulders, a cave almost. Espinosa disappeared into its center. Then Rodrigo. I entered and caught my breath. Masses of seawolves surrounded us. “We will shelter here,” cried Espinosa. And while I fumbled for my dagger, my heart thudding, my ears filled with their barking, imagining their teeth sinking into me, he slaughtered four of them. The rest scattered, slithering out of the shelter. “Gather their warmth while you can!”
Cursing and sweating, the three of us pulled the bodies around us until we sat in their center, huddled together for warmth. Curls of steam rose from the carcasses. Blood pooled under me. It soaked into my breeches, my boots. “What now?” I asked, shivering.
“We wait until the storm ends,” answered Espinosa, his breath steaming.
I gaped at him. “But some storms last for days!”
“Aye.”
“But—but—” I stammered. “What can we do? We have no water. We have no food, unless, of course, we eat them . . . raw.” I prodded the beast behind me.
Espinosa sighed heavily. “For now, you must stay awake. For in cold such as this, sleep means death.”
“That’s all?” I asked.
“Aye.”
I glanced at Rodrigo. “It’s your fault,” I said. I was only half-joking.
Rodrigo scowled. “My fault? How can this be my fault?”
“Remember when we were about to die in that storm? I promised God one-half of my riches to further His work, while you promised only one-third. This is His vengeance.”
“Pah! I always thought you were a fool, Mateo, and now I know it is true. Besides, that was a long time ago, before we even reached Brazil. If God wanted me dead, He would have killed me long ago.”
I shrugged. “God is patient. He waited for the right time to punish you.” When I saw a shadow of fear cross his face, I laughed. “I am teasing, Rodrigo. It is a joke.”
“A poor joke.”
“I thought it funny.” I wrapped my coat as tightly around me as I could and moved closer to Rodrigo, leaning back against one of the carcasses. I could no longer feel my feet. Already they had turned to ice, sitting in pools of frozen blood.
“If you would like to hear a good joke,” said Rodrigo a while later, his teeth chattering, “listen to this. Why does Magallanes keep wandering around?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because he is lost.”
“That is not funny.”
“Neither was yours.”
The sound of the wind filled my ears. Cold crept through me until I could feel nothing, not my legs, nor my hands. All of us shivered uncontrollably. Even Espinosa.
Each hour, each minute, shrouded with ice. I tried to talk, to keep awake, but my mind kept wandering, and I found myself staring at nothing. Thinking nothing.
Sometime during the night, Rodrigo mumbled, “One-half. I will give one-half.”
But I did not understand because a great heaviness pressed upon me and I grew sleepy, as if I were being sucked into the watery eye of a whirlpool.
Come, Mateo,
it beckoned.
Come . . . come to where it is warm.
. . . Blessed warmth.
Leave the cold behind.
. . . Heat.
Blinding snow peppered my eyes. The wind howled. We stumbled in the direction of the skiff, clinging to each other so we would not be separated. Espinosa, then Rodrigo, then me. I could see nothing. My hands, maybe. Or Rodrigo’s shoulders. How could we return to the ship if we could see nothing?
It seemed forever that we stumbled about. My teeth chattered. My lungs ached. My nose and fingers grew numb. Surely we should have reached the skiff by now. Then Espinosa’s face loomed out of the whiteness, ghostly, as if detached from his body. “We’re lost!” he cried, his voice snatched away in the shriek of the wind. “We’ve been walking in circles! We must find shelter and wait out the storm! Follow me!”
My heart began to beat wildly. We staggered on. And through the whiteness I heard sudden movements, first here, then there. Seawolves. Perhaps the beasts would devour us.
And then we were there. A jumble of boulders, a cave almost. Espinosa disappeared into its center. Then Rodrigo. I entered and caught my breath. Masses of seawolves surrounded us. “We will shelter here,” cried Espinosa. And while I fumbled for my dagger, my heart thudding, my ears filled with their barking, imagining their teeth sinking into me, he slaughtered four of them. The rest scattered, slithering out of the shelter. “Gather their warmth while you can!”
Cursing and sweating, the three of us pulled the bodies around us until we sat in their center, huddled together for warmth. Curls of steam rose from the carcasses. Blood pooled under me. It soaked into my breeches, my boots. “What now?” I asked, shivering.
“We wait until the storm ends,” answered Espinosa, his breath steaming.
I gaped at him. “But some storms last for days!”
“Aye.”
“But—but—” I stammered. “What can we do? We have no water. We have no food, unless, of course, we eat them . . . raw.” I prodded the beast behind me.
Espinosa sighed heavily. “For now, you must stay awake. For in cold such as this, sleep means death.”
“That’s all?” I asked.
“Aye.”
I glanced at Rodrigo. “It’s your fault,” I said. I was only half-joking.
Rodrigo scowled. “My fault? How can this be my fault?”
“Remember when we were about to die in that storm? I promised God one-half of my riches to further His work, while you promised only one-third. This is His vengeance.”
“Pah! I always thought you were a fool, Mateo, and now I know it is true. Besides, that was a long time ago, before we even reached Brazil. If God wanted me dead, He would have killed me long ago.”
I shrugged. “God is patient. He waited for the right time to punish you.” When I saw a shadow of fear cross his face, I laughed. “I am teasing, Rodrigo. It is a joke.”
“A poor joke.”
“I thought it funny.” I wrapped my coat as tightly around me as I could and moved closer to Rodrigo, leaning back against one of the carcasses. I could no longer feel my feet. Already they had turned to ice, sitting in pools of frozen blood.
“If you would like to hear a good joke,” said Rodrigo a while later, his teeth chattering, “listen to this. Why does Magallanes keep wandering around?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because he is lost.”
“That is not funny.”
“Neither was yours.”
The sound of the wind filled my ears. Cold crept through me until I could feel nothing, not my legs, nor my hands. All of us shivered uncontrollably. Even Espinosa.
Each hour, each minute, shrouded with ice. I tried to talk, to keep awake, but my mind kept wandering, and I found myself staring at nothing. Thinking nothing.
Sometime during the night, Rodrigo mumbled, “One-half. I will give one-half.”
But I did not understand because a great heaviness pressed upon me and I grew sleepy, as if I were being sucked into the watery eye of a whirlpool.
Come, Mateo,
it beckoned.
Come . . . come to where it is warm.
. . . Blessed warmth.
Leave the cold behind.
. . . Heat.
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