The Light of Heaven

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The storm that smashed into the side of the Vigilant was pure, immense, power. It bit and tore like a starved prehistoric leviathan taking its first meal in months. Thick skeins of rain lashed against the timbers of the two-masted caravel, gouging at them as harshly as whipcord tore the skin and muscle from men's backs. Walls of water crashed down onto the deck with tumultuous booms to rival the thunder overhead. Lightning flickered among the clouds.

Any man with authority to give orders was screaming those orders at the top of his voice, but there wasn't a chance of anyone hearing a word over the storm's primal roar. The sails snapped and boomed overhead, and Captain Jonas Wylde wasn't sure whether his precious Vigilant could hold herself together. A tall and burly man with not much of a neck, Wylde had seen a lot of storms in his thirty-odd years at sea, but few as ferocious as this one.

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