Chapter 66: North Atlantic Storm

Chapter 66: North Atlantic Storm

The North Atlantic was completely dark in the dead of night.

The clouds hung low, swallowing every star and the moon whole.

The sea wasn't flat. It was massive black hills rising and collapsing, one after another, without a break.

The Polaris was thrown up and slammed back down by the waves. When the bow plunged into the troughs, water rushed across the deck and crashed against the lifeboats lashed to the sides, sending them banging and rattling.

The captain gripped the wheel in the bridge, his knuckles white, his voice nearly gone from shouting: "Hard to port! Hold her steady! Don't let the cross-seas hit us broadside!"

When Cole burst out of the cabin, the wind on deck almost knocked him off his feet.

He grabbed the handrail by the hatch. The wind blew him sideways, and his boots slipped on the wet steel before he found his footing.

Ice-cold seawater mixed with sleet hit his face like a handful of gravel being slapped at him again and again. He could barely keep his eyes open.

A few sailors were fighting to haul a spare line to windward. They tried several times to get the loop over the capstan but couldn't. A young sailor let go of the line and ran toward the container, trying to grab its edge and use his weight to hold it down.

He made it three steps.

A wave hit from the side. The ship lurched hard to port, and the container started sliding across the tilting deck toward the rail.

The deck under the sailor's feet suddenly went past forty degrees. He lost all traction on the wet steel, got swept up by the wave, flipped over the guardrail, and went into the sea.

"Help!"

His voice cut through the wind and waves, then disappeared when the next wave crashed down.

He surfaced in a trough, already two hundred feet from the ship, arms still moving, but slower and slower.

Cole didn't hesitate. He stripped off his thermal jacket and threw it down, then climbed over the guardrail.

Sophia came running out of the hatch just as he stood on the outside of the rail, leaning back in. She yelled, "Cole! Don't!" but the wind tore her voice apart. He didn't hear her.

The water hit like a wall of ice.

The temperature was close to minus four Fahrenheit. The moment Cole entered the water, his body went numb.

The crystal core in his chest pulsed hard, then started burning hot.

Cole rolled in the trough, found his bearing, and swam toward the sailor.

The current was strong, pulling toward deep water, and every foot took real effort. He pushed his limbs into half-wolf form for the extra strength, but the cold still drove into his joints like needles.

By the time he reached the sailor, the man was nearly unconscious — lips purple, eyes rolled back. Cole grabbed his collar, flipped him onto his back, face up, and started towing him in.

The crew had already thrown a lifeline from the ship.

Cole tied it around the sailor, kept one hand under his head, gripped the knot with the other, and shouted, "Pull him up!"

The capstan turned. The line went taut. The sailor was hauled up to the deck.

Ingrid dropped down to check his airway and started CPR.

Cole grabbed the bottom edge of the guardrail and was about to pull himself up when a wave hit him from behind.

It struck his back with the force of a steel beam. His body slammed into the ship's hull with a heavy thud, and pain exploded from his spine through his ribs.

He gritted his teeth and held on, but blood, warm and metallic, spilled from the corner of his mouth.

The crew pulled him onto the deck.

He knelt on the deck, took a couple of ragged breaths, and tried to stand. The moment his legs straightened, everything went black.

As he fell forward, the last thing he was aware of was Sophia's voice.

---

The light in the medical bay was cold and harsh.

Cole was brought in soaking wet. The old wound in his left shoulder had torn open again, and there was heavy bruising across his left side, the skin already turning deep purple.

While Ingrid worked on him, Sophia stood in the corner and watched.

She didn't cry. She didn't say anything. She just stood there with her hands clasped in front of her, fingers pressed white.

When Ingrid finished, Sophia heard that Cole was out of danger.

"Everyone out," she said.

"Close the door. Unless I call for you, no one comes in."

Ingrid hesitated for two seconds.

She'd known Sophia a long time. She had never seen that look on her face before.

She took the nurse with her and walked out of the medical bay.

When the door closed, Sophia took Cole's hand.

His hand was cold, his fingers stiff, the skin under his nails bruised blue from the seawater.

She turned his hand over, palm up, and placed her other hand on top of it.

She closed her eyes and began drawing on her energy.

Golden light rose from her fingertips, slowly growing brighter.

It flowed from her fingers into his palm, spreading along his veins, up through his wrist, his forearm, and finally settling over the crystal core in his chest.

Old Eric's wolf-tooth charm warmed slightly against Cole's skin.

Sophia held the position without moving.

Sweat ran down from her forehead along her brow bone and dripped onto the blanket, spreading into small dark spots. Her shirt, front and back, was soaked through and clinging to her.

One hour. She held it for a full hour.

Sometime during that time, the storm outside had eased.

The ship's rolling went from violent to a slow, gentle swell. The sound of the waves against the hull dropped from a roar to a low murmur.

Cole's fingers moved first — his index finger, a small, slight curl.

Then his lashes fluttered, and his eyes opened.

The first thing he saw was Sophia's face.

Her eyes were closed, her brow faintly creased. Most of the color had drained from her face, her skin pale and almost translucent, the faint blue veins visible at her temples.

Her fingers were still wrapped in his palm, but her fingertips were cold.

She had given all her warmth to him.

Cole lifted his other hand and gently laid it over the back of hers.

Sophia opened her eyes. When she saw him looking at her, the corner of her mouth moved — she was too tired to actually smile, but the corner of her mouth moved.

Her lips parted a few times before the words came: "You're awake."

"Much better. Thank you."

"Don't thank me." Sophia slid her hand out of his palm and turned it over to hold his fingers. "But you have to promise me something. No more throwing yourself into things like that."

Cole held her hand and nodded. "I promise."

The door opened.

Heinrich stood in the doorway holding a tablet. He took in the room — Sophia's pale face, the crystal core in Cole's chest glowing steadily now — and was quiet for two seconds.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Cole said, shaking his head slightly.

Heinrich's shoulders dropped half an inch. He pushed his glasses up and shifted straight back into work mode. "Good news is we haven't lost our course. The storm pushed us about forty nautical miles east, but the captain corrected our heading when the seas calmed. We should reach the outer pack ice around Svalbard by tomorrow evening."

He paused, and his tone changed. "Bad news is the energy readings from the Raven's Nest are increasing at about ten percent per hour. Odin has already begun warming up the altar. At this rate, we have less time than planned — maybe thirty-six hours, maybe twenty-four."

Cole pushed back the blanket and sat up. "Tell everyone to get ready to land. We don't have time to rest. The storm is over, but the Arctic is still ahead."

He walked to the porthole.

Outside, morning was coming to the North Atlantic.

The sky after the storm was sharp and clean. A break had opened in the clouds, and sunlight poured through, falling across the calmed sea and scattering into a thousand glints of light.

In the distance, the edge of the Arctic ice cap was just barely visible — a white line running across the whole horizon, blazing in the sun.

Sophia came and stood beside him, and they looked at that white line together.

Side by side at the porthole, they watched the ice draw closer.