Ijsheiligen

The wind was cold and merciless. It had free reign over the endless sea. Ice drifted and heaved on the dark waves. Like ink stains in water. The frost bit Nathaniel's exposed cheeks and ears. The Easterling wrapped the scarf closer to his face, as he walked over the whaleship's deck. The wood, stiffened by the ice, cracked under his boots.
Tonight would be the night. Tonight they'll sail back. To Drakenburg, to home. A new home. Nathaniel's tensed fingers, numbed by the cold, squeezed themselves tighter around the wood of his harpoon. They would sail back. Yes. Under the leadership of a new captain.
Nathaniel planted his harpoon on the deck, his hand on the railing. His eyes were memorized by the water. Nathaniel had lived most of his life on the water, near the sea. But the sea this far north acted differently. Bizarre. It sometimes seemed to pulse, to live. As it did now.
It reminded Nathaniel of krō-chicks, who opened their beaks hoping their parents would feed them. No nature-philosopher, no man of faith had an explanation for the phenomenon. It happened. Sailors called it 'the Hunger'. A bad sign.

"Clement."
Nathaniel's ears pricked before he lifted up his head. He started at the man who called out to him. Smaller, blond hair brown eyes. Abram Speer. The only Krett on the whaleship. A loyalist. One of Nathaniel's.
"Speer," he replied before waving the sailor over. "What is wrong?"
"I think Van Mols know," Speer replied. He stepped beside Nathaniel and also placed his hand on the railing. His eyes stared at the sea and he adjusted his pinch-glasses with his free hand.
"He asked me to cut the ropes of the zeewolven," he said.
Zeewolf. Nathaniel's lips twisted. The small ships, cozy called 'zeewolf' or 'zeewolven' in the plural, where used to chase prey. But where also their last opportunity to escape tonight, if things went sour.
"All of them?"
"All of them. He even want to puncture the hulls."
"Ijsheilige," Nathaniel cursed under his breath. "Who told him?"
Speer shrugged aimlessly.
"It's hard to keep things a secret on a ship, Clement."
"I know," the whaler replied. Nathaniel rubbed his face. "I want to know who."
"Maybe Harolds, maybe Vic," Speer summed up.
"Maybe you," Nathaniel suggested.
"Maybe me," Speer said.
Nathaniel let out his breath as the silence settled between them. His thumb rubbed the wood of the ship as his thoughts ran rampant.
"So," he said. Forever breaking the silence between them.
"Van Mols want a fight," Nathaniel murmured. His hand reached for his beard and the Easterling stroked the edges of it. His eyes followed Speer's gaze. Back to the sea. As if he expected to find an answer there.
"Yes. We no longer have the element of surprise," Speer said. "Even if we cancel our plans, his men will keelhaul us."
"I know," Nathaniel said. As his hand reached for his neck. His fingers rubbed the tender skin.

"Fine," the harpooner said.
"Cut the ropes. All of them. To their last fiber."
"But," Speer protested. "What if-"
"There will be no what if," Nathaniel said. He laughed.
"Van Mol wants conflict I bring him war."