The Light (1.2)

Brightness washed over Edgar head to shoulders as he transitioned backward up the steps from the musty darkness of the berthing and into a godly sunshine. His hard features, a gaunt square face with deeply set eyes, take shape under his long black hair, gathered up as it usually was with simple cordage at the nape. Two steps then and the bottom of Jonah’s end of the trunk scrapes on the deck as he recoils to shield his eyes, unable to lift at the same time. A pithy “Keep it up, lad” moves in and out of his young mind as Edgar compensates for the momentary loss of inertia. As the two snaked their way around the prostrated deck hands busily scrubbing, making sure not to slip on the snail-trails of soapy brine, Edgar hummed an ancient hymn, unburdened by the load. Jonah, however, was forced into more of a waddle than a walk, his skinny arms and legs only barely managing the effort.
 
A tall thermos, which was set not snugly in a shallow cup tied to one of the chest’s riveted leather straps began to topple as Jonah momentarily lost his balance. Quickly shifting his meager weight under the cargo and catching the thermos just as it began its escape, he eased a question.
 
“Will you show me your rutters again?”
 
“The ones you need to see.”
 
Always so secretive with the rutters.
 
Jonah peered over his shoulder as he wobbled around the square opening of the deck that served as a chimney for the kitchen fires below. The Princess Faye’s treant ember tender was always a fascinating feature of the ship’s operations. Firstly, for Graegor was a creature who had mastered the fear of a natural enemy; secondly, for the self-sacrificial way in which he sometimes performed his duties, occasionally tossing his fast-growing parts into the flames; and thirdly, for his great, bellowing humor about these peculiarities.
 
From the center mast toward the stern, the deck of the Princess Faye subtly rises to allow the wash of the sea to drain away from the quarterdeck. It was at this point that Edgar stopped and set his end of the trunk down in anticipation of a conversation with the lumbering giant that was Captain Townsend. And as the Captain paused descending the stairs of the quarterdeck, Edgar looked at Jonah and gave unworded instruction to finish moving the equipment with only a sly look as he lumped the sack overtop the chest.
 
“A word, Master Edgar, if you will!” Booming effortlessly from across the aft deck. “Let our young 'Helper-Pilot'" take that for you.”
 
Jonah sighed, and with great effort, moved the mass of his belongings the only way he could, with short starts and kicks, sliding the chest up the gentle slope of the deck beneath the burning sun and toward the two cabin doors at the end.