Voyage To The New World
- Pauline Nguyen
- Aug 5, 2017
- 7 min read
Endless blue danced with golden sky as Flynn soared over the plains of Lisbon, breathless with laughter. The clouds, fluffy as cotton yet thin as silk thread, disappeared with a gentle poof at his passing. He burst through them, feeling water droplets tickle his underbelly.
The valley before him was a quilt of color. Ribbons of azure water twisted through umber brown fields. Dark green trees dotted rows of sun-grown wheat, while to the West, the land was swallowed in the gaping jaws of the ocean. The red-roofed houses slanted over the city; an earthiness that matched that of pounded ochre and spicy cinnamon. He swooped downwards and felt the grass flutter at his side. Flynn felt as light as air as he basked in the Portuguese sun.
Being Wind is...amazing. And he loved the freedom of every moment.
Two hours later and Flynn hovered in the sky with his mother, awaiting the return of his brother.
He was buzzing with excitement. It’d been a year since Charles left at the tail of Bartolomeu Dias’s ship, powering the sailor towards the mysterious lands of Asia. He’d been dreaming of going there for ages, imagining aromatic spices, silken cloth, and glossy ceramics.
“It’ll smell like a thousand scents, Flynn! Lisbon is fantastic, but Asia is a whole other world. Imagine the mountains and rivers that are there. Will the fields be as green as ours? I wonder if the sky will be as red as the tales of Marco Polo say they are. I’m going to Asia, Flynn!” Charles had exclaimed in a flood of words, as he swung Flynn around in utter joy.
The brothers had grown up with adventure and exploration in their hearts, ever since King Henry had reported of Africa. Glittering gold, endless desert, frightening masks, and tribal men with sharp-toothed spears. As exciting as being in the bustling trade center that Lisbon was, Charles and Flynn longed to accompany a sailing ship to the oceans. They’d power the captain and his crew through perilous storms and deadly waters, seek untamed lands rife with secrets, and meet new peoples.
The sound of his mother jolted Flynn back to the harbor.
“Charles is back, Flynn!” she cried, as she flew around the clouds for a better view. “He’s at the back of the Sao Cristovao!”
Flynn craned his neck to sight his brother within the jumble of masts and yardarms,. Cheers echoed from the harbor, and as the caravel slid into the breakwater entrance, Flynn finally saw Charles pushing against its stern.
His brother was huffing with exhaustion, but there was no mistaking the pride in his eyes as the ship settled into the gentle waters of the port. He looked up and caught Flynn’s eye, flashing him a grin. Flynn returned it in kind. Already, dockhands were throwing mooring ropes to secure the ship to the harbor posts, for fear of it slipping away. As soon as the Sao Cristovao rested against the dock, Charles flew towards Flynn and his mother, enveloping them both in a hug that smelled strongly of sea salt.
“Mother! It’s wonderful to see you. Flynn-I’ve tales to tell you. Stories that you’ll never believe.”
“And that’s how I navigated South Africa! A terrible storm, there was, raining with the madness of a soldier with bloodlust and drenching the ship and its crew. Halyards slicked with oil and the sails flapped without use. Half the crew were hanging onto the ropes for dear life, while the other half were tossed around like rags across the ship. Dias was pulling on the tiller with all he had, and-”
“What did you do?” Flynn asked in wide-eyed amazement, drawing himself closer.
“Let me guess…” his mother smiled, barely containing her own pride. “You batted the rain away, corrected the sails, and blew the crew back on its feet.”
Amusement glinted in Charles’s eyes. “Almost, mother. The only way out of a storm is through it, so I pushed with all my strength through the rain. I was exhausted. But I gritted my teeth and with one final push, I cleared the Cristavao of that storm.” He glanced eagerly at his brother and mother’s faces, seeing his elation reflected in their eyes. Gratefully, they showed none of the shattering dread he’d felt in that moment. How his life had flashed before him with dawning terror.
He’d keep it a secret.
Flynn was in awe. Almost every expedition ship came back with storm-wrecked stories to tell, but these always seemed to be exaggerated. Tales of sea monsters, giant waterspouts, and beautiful sirens rang throughout taverns, but Charles had always been an honest one.
His brother continued: “Other than that, the voyage was wonderful. I’ve seen sunsets as pink as roses and water as green as cut emerald. The Indian Ocean is much different than the Atlantic. It’s warmer and its waves smaller. Honestly Flynn, you could have a go at it and be fine.”
Something twitched in Flynn’s mind, but he brushed it aside.
“Was Asia everything you hoped it’d be?” his mother asked gently.
Charles nodded, his eyes beaming. “Oh yes. Flynn, you wouldn’t believe the air there. It’s cardamom, pepper, ginger- all the spices you can name. The valleys sprout lush with trees, right next to rivers amber as caramel. You’d love it, I’m sure.”
‘Course I will. I plan to fly there one day.
“Have you heard the news, Flynn?”
The younger Wind glanced up from his leisurely flight down the Mondega. “Hmm, Charles?”
“Christopher Columbus is planning to leave for Asia.”
Flynn nearly toppled into the river and only managed to catch himself a few centimeters short of getting wet. Excitement coursed through his body and he righted himself up. “Do you know when?”
“I overheard one of the dockhands recently. Two day’s time, Columbus is setting sail to find a Westward path to Asia,” Charles said. He, in turn, was skimming the glittering water, creating a V-shape in his wake.
This could be it. Flynn felt the sun warming his body, filling him with hope. “I can’t believe it took 3 years for someone to plan another expedition, but it’s finally time. This is my chance, Charles. I’m going to Asia.”
“Absolutely not, Flynn! You are not going to Asia!”
Flynn recoiled in surprise. He was confused; why was his mother so angry?
“But Mum-”
She shook her head furiously. “You’re much too young to go that far.”
He gaped at her, his face drawn with disbelief. “Charles was my age when he left! How is it that-”
With a sigh, “Flynn, you’re still too weak. I’ve seen you on the rivers. You can barely muster up enough strength to reverse the river flow, much less alter the course of a storm-angry ocean.”
A grumble of frustration shook him. “I’ve waited three years for an opportunity to even come! How much longer do you want me to wait? This is my dream, Mum, and I can’t-”
His mother suddenly grabbed Flynn and folded him into her arms. His breath was shallow and his heart painful in her embrace. “You’re my son,” she whispered softly, “and I can’t lose you.”
Flynn tried to put all his guilt into the note he’d left his mom and hurried along under the haze of dawning sun. It’d been three years since an expedition was funded and Columbus had gotten his lucky break with King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. When opportunity rose, Flynn needed to be there to take it. Charles knew; he’d understand.
The waves were soft and gentle on the sand. Seagulls cawed in their limestone nests. All around Flynn, black caves and blank cliffs judged his escape indifferently. The colorless blue of early morning seeped into pink, and soon, burning orange.
Now Flynn heard the clangs and smelled the fishy air of the harbor and sighted for one of Columbus’s ships.
Aragon, Ferdinand, Bella...he said as he blew past the sterns of many a caravel. Ahh, the Santa Maria! The name shone on a plaque, clear as day. Flynn also noticed how much bigger this ship was than the others.
“Half-seven through the morn, Captain!” A dockhand called from a nearby loading dock. “Almost time to set sail!”
Flynn turned to see the man who was being addressed. Clad in a belted doublet and buckled boots, with a sailor’s hat on his head, Columbus responded back: “Sullivan!
Recheck our supplies and make sure everything is as it should be!”
“Yes, Captain!”
Flynn had never felt so alive as he powered the Santa Maria through the Atlantic Ocean. Crest over crest he ascended, down into the deep troughs he sliced. A pulsating, swaying rhythm beat inside him as he pushed up, then swooped down with a rush. All around him, the water streamed past the ship in little rivers and slapped against its hull.
This was much better than ruffling the meadowflowers in Lisbon fields. Flynn continued blowing the caravel, carving a way through the ocean to the lands of Asia.
Lightning was all Flynn could hear in the storm. Cracks that’d deafen anyone’s ear and scare them witless. Throughout the night, the clouds had gathered, angry that Flynn had ran away from his mother, and decided to punish him with a thunderstorm. Ashen sky was rent wide by smoking daggers of light, which pierced the waves down into the ocean depths.
Rain slashed into Flynn’s face, making it hard to focus on the Santa Maria. It swayed dangerously; at any time, it could topple and Flynn wouldn’t be able to save its crew. They’d never reach Asia. Flynn would never come home.
Suddenly, white flashed before Flynn’s eyes, nearly making him lose his grip on the caravel. Thunder boomed like the cries of gods, and Flynn’s head hurt.
He was shaking with exhaustion, his limbs deprived of strength. He was wet and tired and hurt and wanted nothing more than to fall into the sea, awash in a current that wasn’t his own.
The only way out of a storm is through it. Flynn sucked in his breath, gritted his teeth, and pushed the Santa Maria with everything he had. He burned with ache, but forced himself to continue.
“Aaaaah!” With one final effort, Flynn heaved on the ship, glimpsed a patch of blue in the clouds, and collapsed against the stern.
The clatter of wood woke Flynn from deep sleep. He felt a wave of nausea overtake him, and had to stand up slowly to avoid the headspin. The sky was now a clear blue, showing no clouds in sight. A stark contrast to the stormy hell of...yesterday. The ship must have gone on through the night by its own momentum. Flynn resumed his push on the stern, the crew noticing the little ship’s extra speed.
“Captain! I see land!”
Flynn’s head jerked up. Land?
Columbus strode to the bow, telescope in hand. He turned around to his crew a huge grin on his face. “We’ve done it, lads! That there,” he flung a hand out to the distant brown line on the horizon, “is Asia! We are the first men in the world to sail West towards Asia!”
Flynn whooped in joy and powered the ship on even further. The first wind to make it West to Asia as well.
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