Hell's Garden Chapter 1

Hell’s Garden
Chapter 1
         A large ship cut through the inky black water, like a floating sword cleaving through some dark beast. It was well into the night, though constant flashes of lightning lit the scene as bright as day. The waves themselves rose up in seeming anguish, tossing the comparatively insignificant ship like a giant’s toy.
         Down on the ship’s deck, the scene was just as chaotic as the ocean around it. Men rushed to and fro, scurrying to secure equipment or lower the ship’s sails. A wave swamped the deck, dragging two of the men overboard into the water’s cold embrace. “Captain, where did this damn storm come from?!” yelled a crewman.
         A young man, probably in his mid-20s, manning the wheel turned to the sound of the voice. “Hell if I know! Less chatter or we’ll all be enjoying the hospitality of the deeps before morning!” He said, turning back to the wheel and attempting to bring the ship back under control. He was dressed in the distinctive coat of a naval captain, and wore an officer’s sword at his side. The captain gritted his teeth and pushed all his weight against the unyielding wheel.
         “Captain Marcel, look out!” yelled a crewman, just visible and pointing in the darkness. Marcel turned and saw what at first he took to be the ominous sky. He quickly realized, however, that it was in fact an enormous wall of water, rushing straight at the ship. Men screamed, and some even threw themselves overboard. As for the captain, he just stared in open-mouthed shock as the wave crashed down on the ship. The force was so great that it shattered the main mast, carrying the huge timber overboard, along with nearly all of the sailors in the middle of the ship.
         “Heavens above!” cursed Marcel.  Just a half-hour ago, the sea had been calm, and the sky cloudless. Then, an ominous crowd of thunderheads moved in and the sea had begun bucking like a startled horse. Most of the crew had been below, sleeping, when the squall had come upon them. They were ill-prepared for an emergency such as this. A figure walked out of the hold, and even over the tempest Marcel swore he heard the figure’s loud curse. “Ceren, up here!” the captain yelled.
         The gunnery officer looked up at him and began to agilely climb the broken staircase leading to the wheel. She grabbed the wheel and assisted the captain in attempting to budge it, but it was no use. “The hold has been breached sir! That wave smashed a couple holes; I’m surprised it didn’t capsize us!” she yelled.  Marcel nodded, fully in agreement. It didn’t seem like desirable situation, but they weren’t sunk yet. Maybe if they could just…
         Marcel stared out ahead of the boat, trying to spot any more waves rushing their way. What he did spot was much, much worse. For a moment, he couldn’t even find his voice. “Rocks! Rocks ahead! Take cover!” They were tall and jagged protrusions, like the claws of some unholy abomination. There seemed to be a cluster of the spikes, and the ship was heading straight for them. Marcel was not optimistic about their chances of avoiding them, and the ship couldn’t withstand another blow of that nature. “Brace for impact!” yelled the captain, letting go of the wheel the same time as Ceren.
         The ship entered the grove of spikes, pushed by the raging sea. It looked as if the ship would avoid the largest spike, until a mid-sized wave crashed against the stern of the ship. The boat shifted in the water, in the process heavily broadsiding the spike. A sickening crack echoed above the storm, and Marcel watched in disbelief as the ship was literally torn in half by the stone claw.
         The stern portion of the ship began to dip immediately, quickly taking on water. A wave loomed over the doomed portion; a silent executioner that Marcel was sure would claim his soul. The captain grabbed Ceren’s arm as the wave collapsed with a solemn finality. Water filled Marcel’s eyes, mouth and nose, and he dimly felt the arm he was holding disappear. Marcel panicked, thinking I don’t want to die here, alone, in the depths… Something struck the man’s head, and he sank into blessed unconsciousness.
         Marcel awoke, bright light filling his vision. For a moment, the man panicked, wondering if he was still trapped underwater. He realized that he was most certainly dead, and he was probably passing on to his final reward. The thought calmed Marcel. His suffering was over, thank the heavens.
         Suddenly, the light was blocked out. Marcel began to panic, wondering why blissful eternity was being denied to him. Had he led such an awful life? What had he done wrong? Was this his punishment for… certain… pleasures?! Suddenly there was a stinging pain across his face, startling him out of his panic. He blinked, and Ceren’s form came into focus.
         “Oh thank the gods!” she cried, “Everyone, he’s alive! The captain is alive!” She turned back to the confused man and asked “Are you all right?”
         Marcel propped himself up on his elbows, sinking into hot sand, mentally checking his body for injury. He was relieved to discover that he was mostly fine, aside from a huge bump on the back of his head, a throbbing headache, and his stinging cheek. “Yes, I think so. What… what happened?” he asked the gunnery officer. The sound of feet in the sand approached their position as they spoke.
         Ceren shrugged, saying, “When you let go, I lost track of everything. I couldn’t tell up from down or left from right, down there in the dark.” Ceren shivered, “Eventually I washed up, half-drowned, on the beach.” The other survivors came into view, five of them. There were three sailors, by the names of Gabrielle, Yorun, and Sallen; and the ship’s cook, Ambrose. “Everyone else washed up here as well.” explained Ceren, “You washed up about a half-hour ago, and we’ve been trying to wake you up ever since. Thought you’d decided to pass over for a while there.”
         “I think I almost did.” replied the captain, rubbing the sore spot on his cranium. “Are you all that made it ashore?” All five nodded solemnly. Marcel sighed, genuinely sorrowful for the loss of his crew. They had been good people and their deaths were just a waste. He staggered to his feet, putting his hand on his sword to steady himself. Marcel looked down, surprised. Somehow, his sword had remained in his scabbard for the whole ordeal. He drew the fine weapon, designed for beauty and utility, and looked it over. The rapier was in fine shape, and with the necessary cleaning tools stowed in his scabbard Marcel intended to keep it that way. There was no way of knowing what awaited them on the island.
         “Do you have any idea where we are, captain?” asked Gabrielle, a frightened expression marring the usually unflappable girl’s face.
         “No, I have no idea.” Marcel replied. He stared at the edge of the beach, where the sand gave way to jungle. “I have absolutely no idea…” An unearthly howl rose from the jungle, splitting the calm air.