The Children of Promethus

Okay, I finished Nightmares by the Sea and still couldn’t get the damn characters out of my head. Grrr. I thought I’d try my hand at a sequel. If you’ve not read Nightmares by the Sea, read it first, because I’ll only make very brief introductions of the OC characters. Let me know what you all think. Love to all! Mwah. Also, when I say Present time or 100 years ago, I mean it from Jack’s time, not ours. Figured you’d all know that, but thought I’d mention it to save any confusion. Don’t forget to review. It’s like candy. I LOVE candy.

Disclaimer: Whatever….


Prologue


Prometheus is reaching for the stars, with an empty grin on his face - Arthur Koestler

Lo! Let the night be solitary, let no joyful cry be heard in it. Let them that curse that day who are ready to awake the Leviathan. - Job 3:8

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The Chanceux, 100 years ago

There are certain corners of the world best left unexplored. Places where not only do the laws of man not apply, but the laws of nature seem suspended as well. Rivers run uphill, time turns back, and creatures that belong in dark dreams rise out of the maw of night to greet you face to face. Every sailor knows this and most try to give these places wide berth, crossing themselves when they pass too near. This, however, does not stop that handful of men who will risk everything for the glint of gold and the thrill of victory. These men will go anywhere and try anything in pursuit of what is most precious to them. Captain Aristide St. Pierre was such a man and what was most precious to him was Life.
Those who knew him well often say it is a surprise that so much came from so little. It was a laugh between them, for the jibe could have referred either to his short stature of his low birth as the son of a whore and an unknown nobleman. Many a sailor had rested between his mother’s thighs and because of that, he found his love of the sea. He spent his childhood taking odd jobs at the docks, anything to escape from the scandals of his mother, and learning what he could from the men who put into port there. He grew into a devastatingly handsome man with thick black hair and bright blue eyes, his lack of height belied by the broadness of his shoulders and the strength of his limbs. He captained his first ship at eighteen and hadn’t looked back since.
This sentiment, however, was never expressed to his face. Once, a boson made this mistake while in his cups and St. Pierre had returned to the ship minus a boson and with a bloodied blade. It was this quick temper and an eye for good character that made him such a good Captain. He ran a tight ship and took no excuses, but treated loyal sailors with fairness. A privateer before he left his twenties, France called him a hero and England called him a pirate. It as during his privateering that they took a Greek merchant vessel and he first laid hands upon the map. His map. Since then, he sailed for his own agenda. Using the crown’s backing as a means to an end. As of tonight, he was finally nearing that end.
In warm, heathen seas, he was pushing his ship through a tempest so violent, it was impossible to tell where the sea ended and the rain began. He wind was bruising and in it, each man could hear Death calling their name. Sailors had lashed themselves to their posts, unable to hold on any longer, but unwilling to desert and face the Captain’s wrath.
St. Pierre held onto the helm, his bulk straining against the confines of his shirt, and leaned into the gale. He laughed as the ship crested a massive wave an bottomed out in the trough with a stomach turning drop. Every man besides the Captain held their breath until the Chanceux met the sea again with a mighty thud. Above the Captain’s laughter and the howl of the winds rose a new, more dreadful sound: The sound of ropes reaching their breaking point.
The first mate scaled the deck, which was tilted at an alarming angle and came up next to St. Pierre, holding fast to whatever he could.
“Captain,” he cried “Pull in sail or we’ll never make it out of this!”
St. Pierre turned to regard his first mate and the detachment in his eyes made the man wonder if the Captain hadn’t gone a little mad. Next port they came to, if they made it to the next port, he’d put in and find another vessel to sail out with. There was adventure and then there was this. St. Pierre blinked and recognition flooded his features, as if he was seeing his first mate for the first time after a long absence. The man took it as a good sign and pressed him again.
“Shall I give the order to pull in, sir?”
St. Pierre looked at him like he was a bug that needed to be put under boot and gave his head an exaggerated shake.
“To hell with ye!” he cried “We’re too close, ye yellow bellied sons of whores. To hell with all of ye!”
The first mate was about to breach decorum and give the Captain a stern upbraiding when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and cried out, drawing St. Pierre’s attention to it. St. Pierre grinned like a starving man offered a banquet, the first mate looked on in horror. Through the rain, they could see what looked in one instant to be a wall and in the next a bank of fog. The entity, whatever it was, seemed like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be solid or not. The first mate crossed his arms in front of him, bracing for impact, and the Captain began his mad laughter anew. The bowsprit pierced it like a lance and with a soft “whump”, they passed through.

Silence.

The air was cold and the stars above had shifted their positions. It was as if the months had passed from tropical summer to northern winter in a matter of seconds. There was a strange sound, like the sound of glass breaking, only muffled through a blanket. St. Pierre looked up to see a sheet of ice creeping up the sails until they had frozen solid. This was it! He had found it!
“Zeus, ye bastard!” he called out, madness tinting his voice “Look! I found it! The impossible? Ha!”
Be broke into hysterical laughter, holding his side and men began to unlash themselves, looking around in wonder.
“Look!” one man said, and puffed his breath out.
It immediately crystallized and fell, like a miniature snow flurry, to the deck.
“What manner of devilry…” the first mate started and then turned on the Captain in a rage “Where the hell have you taken us to?! One minute we’re fighting a tempest in warm seas and now it’s bloody freezing and we’re where? Where?! I haven’t felt cold like this since we sailed near Greenland!”
The Captain looked at him, but didn’t see him. He continued laughing, though it was quieter now and began mumbling to himself.
“Bastards said I couldn’t find it. Said it wasn’t meant to be found. Said it didn’t exist at all. Unnatural….Unnatural! Ha! Here it is and it is real. I FOUND IT!!! D’ye hear me, ye interfering bastard?!”
St. Pierre shook his fist at the sky and the first mate pushed him out of the way with a sound of disgust. Grabbing the helm, he checked the compass, but it was spinning wildly and the stars were of no use because he wasn’t sure where or even when they were. With a mighty sigh, he started to turn the wheel in the direction he hoped they had just come from when one of the sailors cried out behind him.
“Land!”
The first mate looked up and there, in this desolation of ice, was a sight that didn’t make sense. A small island showed itself in the moonlight, though he would have sworn it wasn’t there moments ago. The beach was almost non-existent, the ocean practically coming to the foot of tall cliffs that shone like alabaster in the night. From over the top of the cliffs peeked vegetation that was obviously lush and should not grow in temperatures such as these. In the center of the island, it’s base hidden by the cliffs, was a mountain, greenery winding up its side.
The first mate kicked St. Pierre, who was sitting on the deck, smiling like an infant at the island.
“Damn you man! What have you brought us to?”
“Mind the spit,” St. Pierre said absently, pointing.
The first mate turned and saw the sandbar they were almost n top of and turned the wheel violently. The ship skidded past and at this close distance, he could see the surface of the sandbar didn’t look like sand at all….Rather like scales….

The sandbar moved.

Rising out of the water was a creature that stilled the voice of every man, save the Captain, who took up cursing whatever it was. It’s head rose until it was taller than the mast, a serpentine body still trailing in the water. A crest ran along it’s back and swayed in the slight breeze. The body seemed to shift colors in the night: black, blue, green, black again, but it was the eyes that gave all pause. Two giant orbs the color of the rising sun regarded them all with cold interest. Without a sound, its head dipped under the water and chaos broke out on the ship. Every man cried out to his own god and did what he thought would save him. Some prayed, some raged, some armed themselves against the beast, some turned their weapons on themselves. The silent bulk of the beast approached the ship and the first mate turned to St. Pierre.
“What is that?!”
“Leviathan,” St. Pierre answered calmly.
“What’s on that island,” the first mate asked, sounding defeated.
The Captain’s eyes filled with greed and he rose to his feet.
“Life,” he said, pounding on fist above his heart.
The beast didn’t attack the ship, but circled it instead. Occasionally, it’s scales would brush the side of the ship with a sound like an amplified death rattle. Faster and faster it swam, around and around until the water surrounding the ship began to churn and , finally, cave in on itself. The ship shuddered in the resulting whirlpool and began slowly to turn. In mere seconds, the force of the whirlpool pulled it under. It surfaced once, then disappeared beneath the black sea.
The water became calm with unnatural speed as the creature swam back to wherever was its home. Under a frigid, green moon, St. Pierre’s body bobbed to the surface. He still wore a slight smile upon his face, though it was a smile of victory and not madness. Intricate patterns of frost danced their way across his open, sightless eyes.