The news of the quickly gathering storm came over platters of curried goat, steamed rice, and dried fruits. Saudipta immediately left the dining hall, his dinner half eaten. Nasatya set aside his own silver plate that he had barely touched and followed Saudipta to the upper main deck. Men were already at work stowing the mizzen sail in the back and dousing all the torches on deck amid shouts and hurried steps.
Weather had taken a sudden turn for the worse since the evening. The sky was gray, overcast with the occasional flares of distant lightning, followed moments later by an ominous rumble. The wind was billowing around them, pulling violently at the sails. The calm and idyllic ocean had become fierce and unfriendly in a matter of hours. Turbulent waves crashed against the ship's hull, stirring and creaking the heavy galleon.
Nasatya stalked over to the forecastle where a crew of the sailors was clustered around the neck of the Swan, with Saudipta standing tall and dressed in a velvet tunic and a full, ruffled dhoti around his waist. The ship's captain, Ugrasen, a short, balding middle-aged man with a small chin, removed the long spyglass from his left eye. "We have an hour at most," he reported, his brow pulled together with worry.
Saudipta took the glass from him and fixed it to his right eye. The men around them exchanged nervous glances. "What are the chances of us weathering through this storm?" He asked, peering through the cylindrical tool.
Lord Ugra did not answer immediately; some hesitation was expected given the serious nature of the business. "Hard to predict. No man has charted the sea this far, and if they did, they never lived to tell the story."
Saudipta removed his spyglass. "Then give your men the orders. It is time The Swan spreads her wings."
Lord Ugra did not wait, immediately summoning a squad of forty expert sailors and shouting orders over the howling gusts. Saudipta strode toward the center of the deck where the main mast stood with the largest airblades on top. Nasatya rushed over and stopped him in his tracks.
"How can I help?" Nasatya's knowledge of sailing was meager, but he was a horseman and a divine being with more martial power than any on board, even the mighty king himself.
Saudipta regarded him, cold and aloof, but nodded at last. He hustled Nasatya over to the ship's quartermaster, who was busily steering the helm and walked off.
"We can use some hands with the bellows. The hoisters are in the orlop. Join them," Valladev, the quartermaster, bellowed, sparing Nasatya a hasty glance before looking off into the distance.
A quick nod later, Nasatya scrambled towards the stairs leading below, with a vague notion that he was to join those who moved the enormous bellows that aviated the Swan. The ship's boys were battening down the cargo hatches under the orders of their superiors. The officers of Saudipta's navy were yelling the civilians back into the berths to wait there until they ride out the tumultuous weather.
The instant Nasatya found his way to the steps, spots of rain began to wet the wooden deck. The first flight of stairs led down to the lower deck with the living quarters and then another flight to the lowest orlop deck, where the rigs and gears to move the bellows were laid out. It was damp as sorrow and dark as sleep, occasionally bursting with the flashes of thunder. Still, with his divine gaze, Nasatya had little trouble finding one group of the hoisters to the left of the ship, a group of muscled men well-suited for the labor. But an intricate yet heavy device like such could always use extra assistance.
The mechanism of the bellows was something Nasatya had studied only two days ago, out of idle curiosity. Wooden shafts rose from the horizontal flaps of the bellows, like a feather's stalk, and fused into oar-like poles that slipped inside through the portholes. One man sat at the helm of each oar at regular distances.
A force of twenty hoisters was needed to scull each set of bellows on both sides of the ship, and in the chaos, even the sizable crew of Saudipta's navy fell short in numbers. Several oars on both sides were unmanned.
Nasatya found one lacking a hoister and grabbed it, heaving it up and down at the hinge in tune with others. It was as if they were rowing through water, except the oars were lapping at the air. Loud lilting grunts from the men rang through the deck in unison as they pulled and pushed at the oars. Outside, the storm was raging, spatters from the heavy rain finding their way through the porthole and sprinkling Nasatya's face.
"I prayed to god we get our hands on these sticks," claimed the man before Nasatya, in between hoarse grunts, clad in a short dhoti, tightly wrapped from his waist to knees. "Why name it Great Swan if it doesn't fly?" He flashed a lopsided grin showing his teeth, some crooked, some missing.
"Have you flown this before?" Nasatya had not once seen the great galleon lift in the air since he boarded it eleven days ago, not that he doubted Saudipta's claims.
The man bobbed his turbaned head. "Only, there was no storm dogging after us. And the coastal sea was tame and loyal." The man yanked at the heavy oar as if it meant nothing to him. "This…is the real test," he said, amused, jerking his head towards the portholes, "and we will succeed."
The man was either dangerously foolish or solemnly wise to be so unafraid.
"I hope so, my friend, that the ocean shows us mercy today," Nasatya spoke with humility, "and we live." Nasatya had faced many dangers in his life and overcame them all. Still, great oceans daunted him, as vast and whimsical as they were.
"We will live!" The hoister asserted with defiant courage, "Or else who will return to tell the tale of the Great Wooden Swan that flew across the skies."