Ark

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The sea was angry. Waves battered the wooden sailing ship, pitching it to and fro and threatening to upend it with each wall of water that broke across its bow. Rising high on every swell and crashing down into every trough, the ship creaked and groaned as it struggled on its Sisyphean journey toward the land that, according to the charts, lay somewhere close by.

“I swear we haven’t moved in an hour.” Godfrey shouted above the howl of the wind and the rush of the waves. He stood, arm twisted into the rigging to hold him in place, and watched the horizon for any sight of land. It had to be there.

“Oh, we’ve moved plenty. Up and down, side to side.” Despite his lighthearted words, Hugo’s face was a mask of grim determination. “The gods of the sea are toying with us.”

“Don’t blaspheme,” Godfrey said. “Not even in jest.” He looked up at the sky as if he expected God Almighty to smite them. Given the current state of things, it would make for a fitting end.

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