Smoke and Iron

A Prayer on the Wind

As the twilight hours draw near the inhabitants of the city slowly make their way to their homes and hearths. Some to small hovels of wood and stone, some the cold darkness of the street. 

For others they lay themselves to rest in their fine houses and manors. Guarded by ever watchful guardsmen tasked with keeping the rabble away from the dwellings of their sleeping employers. 

Doors and windows are closed against the cold night. Candles and lanterns are carefully doused while parents tuck their sleepy children into bed. Telling them stories of mythical beasts and pirate queens until the children are lulled into the gentle hold of waiting dreams. 

Even the conniving criminals that scheme and plot find themselves falling into the throes of sleep. Preparing themselves for another day of stealing, killing, and fighting.

Like the patrolling guardsmen there are others who have not yet entered the realm of sleep. The keeper at the lighthouse holds a steady vigile over the harbor. Watchmen on the many ships watch over their vessels. Lest someone sneaks on board to steal the valuable cargo. All of them watch over their charges with unwavering gazes. Braving the cold wind that now begins to blow across the city. 

A wind that chills them to the bone changing from a breeze to a fierce gust with every second. The wind blows across the buildings making flags, banners, and awnings flutter through the air. It travels through the streets and roads never abating as it makes its way across the harbor and to the ocean beyond.

Waves erupt from the blowing wind turning themselves into great mountains of water. Though no rain has begun to fall, the churning seas and howling wind tell of a storm threatening to brew. Dark clouds begin to gather a sign for ships to prepare for the ensuing tempest that will soon engulf them. 

On one of these ships a woman gazes into the water below. Wearing a cloak of bear fur to protect her from the cold wind, she watches the ever growing waves that splash against the sides of the vessel. The laughing voices of her fellow crewmates below do little to curb the sadness of her heart. In one hand she clutches a small brass locket, engraved with the image of a sea serpent wrapping its scaly form around a sinking ship.

Opening it reveals the picture of a toddler being held by its parents. A young man with a scar on his face and a young woman with eyes the color of the sea. Both stare into each other's eyes with longing as they hold the child in their arms. Closing the locket a tear runs down the woman's cheek. The salty tear burning slightly as it trails down her sunburned skin. 

Wiping it away she puts the locket back around her neck, the brass chain gleaming under the lantern light. From the pocket of her cotton trousers the woman takes out a pure white pearl, resting it in the palm of her hand. Closing her hand in a fist she whispers into the wind. 

"Oh great Matron of the Sea let this pain end. Let what has been taken be returned and end this torture. I will gladly give my life for this endless search to cease. A search that has become dangerous and deadly. Please help me this last time and I will give to you all the riches I possess. I will be eternally grateful till the end of time."

Gently the woman kisses her closed fist and opens her hand. The pearl now is a handful of white powder. She blows onto the powder sending it spiraling into the air. Letting the pearly specks sink into the churning dark water below. Turning, the woman heads below to wait out the coming storm. Her heart now eased if for the moment. Hoping that her prayer will reach the ears of the goddess and be made real.