PREVIOUSLY...
["Incredible...," Columbus murmured.
The technique was not merely effective; its capabilities far exceeded anything known to man. They did not pause to fish with hooks or small nets; they harvested the sea even as they pressed ever westward. Columbus lowered his spyglass, feeling a mixture of awe and a haunting sense of technological inferiority. The Young Leader had thought of everything—from the cement of his ports to the very sustenance of his explorers.
The "Son of Heaven," as his subjects called him—or simply Chuta to the Europeans—was guiding Columbus toward the Indies, but he did so on his own terms, proving that this New World had no need for Europe to discover the rest of the planet.]
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Two weeks later, Month 5 of Year 12 of the SuaChie Calendar.
Deck and Captain's Cabin of the Tequendama II Suaza.
The Sunset Ocean stretched before them like a carpet of cobalt glass, infinite and mysterious. Christopher Columbus, following fourteen days of unusually tranquil navigation, found himself aboard a rowboat, being ferried from his Tequendama I toward the fleet's flagship, the towering Tequendama II, under the direct command of the Suaza.
He was accompanied by Luis, his young aide, who gripped the navigation charts tightly, while Quihicha remained aboard the Spanish vessel, ensuring the course did not waver during the Admiral's absence.
Upon boarding the flank of the Suaza colossus, Columbus immediately felt a shift in the atmosphere. It was not merely the ship's imposing scale that commanded respect, but the very vibration of life within it. Setting foot upon the pristine timber of the deck, the Genoese paused for a moment to observe.
The Suaza mariners moved with a precision that bordered on the surreal; there were no needless shouts, none of the disordered chaos of men scrambling to and fro that typically plagued European vessels. Each man seemed to know his place in a perfectly rehearsed collective choreography.
Yet, what disconcerted Columbus most was seeing that these men were not automatons.
In the rest areas and beneath the shadows of the mainsails, the sailors engaged in activities he would never have permitted on a ship under his command. Some practiced simulated combat with wooden staves, moving with an agility that spoke of constant physical conditioning; others played unknown board games, laughing and conversing with an energy that denoted high morale. He even saw a group seated in a circle, listening to an officer explaining something on a portable blackboard of dark wood. They were receiving lessons—educating themselves in the middle of the ocean.
"Don Cristóbal, have you seen this?" Luis whispered, pointing to sailors exercising rhythmically. "They look... fresh. As if we had only set sail yesterday."
Columbus nodded, feeling a prickle of unease. He was accustomed to the classic crews of the taverns of Palos or the coasts of Portugal: brutish, careless men, often filthy, whose only imagination was limited to the next draught of rum or tales of sea monsters. These Suaza were a different breed of navigator altogether. They were neat, educated, and above all, healthy.
A Suaza officer, clad in a white and blue uniform adorned with copper embroidery, led them toward Captain Umzye's office. Upon entering, Columbus encountered a scene that reinforced his sense of being in a world moving at a different velocity. The English noble, James Norrington, was already there, seated with his habitual air of superiority, conversing with Umzye... in English.
Columbus—who handled Catalan, Castilian, Italian, and Portuguese, albeit at a basic level, and who had recently struggled to understand English—was perplexed. He knew Chuta had insisted on the learning of languages, but to see a Suaza military general handling the tongue of the British Isles with such fluency was further proof of the Young Leader's reach.
Umzye, noticing Columbus's arrival, switched languages with a versatility the Admiral envied.
"Admiral Columbus! Welcome to my table," Umzye greeted in firm, direct Castilian. "Take a seat. We only await Mr. Cortizos to begin this council."
They exchanged the customary pleasantries. Columbus and Umzye spoke of headings and tides with the sobriety of sea-faring men, while James Norrington attempted to elevate the conversation toward more sophisticated political nuances, which the Suaza general cut short with his usual pragmatism. Twenty minutes of casual talk passed until Juan Cortizos, the Portuguese noble, entered the cabin, apologizing for the delay.
"Right," Umzye said, standing up. "Let us delay the important matters no longer."
The general began by reporting on the technical state of the fleet. They had covered nearly twenty percent of the estimated distance. Rations were stable, water consumption was regular, and the hulls of the five ships showed no signs of weakness or marine parasites. However, following the technical report, Umzye's tone turned stern.
"I have called this meeting to address two critical points that Young Chuta, along with Chancellor Zasaba, established as non-negotiable: hygiene and the mandatory consumption of specific foods."
The three Europeans exchanged looks of bewilderment. To them, hygiene was a secondary concern at sea, and diet was simply whatever remained in the hold.
"I do not grasp the problem, General," James Norrington said, adjusting his cuffs. "My men eat and drink. The ship floats. What more is required?"
Umzye leaned forward, resting his hands upon his desk.
"It is required that you fulfill what was covenanted. We have planned this voyage for months, not weeks. Young Chuta was very clear with your monarchs: water must pass through the sand and charcoal filters we installed; personal washing must be daily, however minimal; and the consumption of citrus and fermented foods is not a suggestion—it is a medical order."
"General, my men are not accustomed to washing every morning nor eating sour cabbage if there is salted meat to be had," Cortizos replied with a grimace.
"And for that reason, in these twenty days, your crews already show signs of lethargy," Umzye countered. "On the English Tequendama II, only the Suaza personnel follow the regulations. On the ships of Spain and Portugal, the situation is worse. Filth attracts diseases we cannot afford in the midst of the Sunset [Pacific]."
Columbus felt a flush of shame. Upon arriving at this ship, he had immediately noticed that the Suaza sailors did not smell foul. On his own vessel, the stench of rancid sweat and dampness was already beginning to permeate the timbers of the lower decks. Only the Suaza support personnel traveling with him remained impeccable, as if they belonged to a superior caste.
"You must understand," Umzye continued, gesturing toward Columbus, "that these rules are to thwart diseases such as the plague of the gums or the fevers of overcrowding. If you do not respect hygiene, you will not be ready when the sea ceases to be so calm."
Columbus listened intently, but internally he knew it would be a Herculean task to change the habits of his Spanish sailors, a sentiment likely shared by the other European crews. Men of the sea were stubborn by nature; they viewed cleanliness as a weakness and strange food as an insult. James and Juan seemed to think the same; they nodded out of obligation, but their faces reflected that they did not grant the matter the importance Umzye demanded.
The meeting proceeded with details regarding the headings for the coming months. While listening, Columbus could not help his gaze drifting toward an object on Umzye's desk. It was a transparent glass tube containing a piece of steel or bright metal within. It was placed centrally, alongside a high-precision compass and other nautical instruments Columbus had learned to use with Quihicha's aid. He did not know what the tube was, but the way Umzye consulted it from time to time suggested it was a vital instrument of measurement.
When the meeting concluded, Columbus left Umzye's dayroom and walked a bit further along the deck before descending to his boat. He observed the Suaza once more. They looked animated, energetic; their eyes were clear and their movements decisive. In contrast, he recalled the image of his own men leaning against the gunwales, eyes vacant and shoulders slumped from monotony and poor nutrition.
One month, Columbus thought as he climbed down the ladder to his boat. In one month, the difference between his people and mine will be so great that even kings will be able to see it from the other side of the world.
Luis settled beside him in the boat. "Do you think they are right about the food, Admiral? Those fruits are good, but it is not necessarily something our sailors are used to, and that cabbage smells odd."
Columbus looked toward the immensity of the Sunset Ocean, where the sun began to stain the clouds blood-red. "Young Leader does nothing without a motive, Luis. The problem is not whether they are right, but whether we shall be capable of following them before the sea exacts the price of our ignorance."
As the boat pulled away from the Tequendama II, Columbus looked back at the flagship once more. In that moment, he felt the voyage was only just beginning, and that the dangers he feared—the storms and the monsters—were perhaps not as lethal as the simple filth and stubbornness traveling in his own holds.
One month later, Month 6 of Year 12 of the SuaChie Calendar.
Sunset Ocean, aboard the Tequendama I (Spanish Delegation).
Christopher Columbus's cabin had become a sanctuary of creaking wood and elongated shadows. In the gloom, broken only by the flickering dance of a whale-oil lamp, the Admiral found the only space where his facade of command could crack without consequence. The air here was heavy, steeped in the scent of old parchment, wax, and that rancid aroma of sweat that no sea breeze could ever fully scour from the bulkheads.
Columbus glided his quill over the journal with an intensity that nearly tore the paper. Writing there, in the privacy of his berth, allowed him to release the words his throat kept silent before the crew.
"Forty-seven days have passed since we left the shores of the Quyca behind," he noted. "And these last thirty days the sea has been a mirror of deceptive calm, yet in them, my own men have begun to rot from within."
He paused, watching the black ink dry under the amber light. His thoughts flew to the crisis of the previous week. The "plague of the ships"—scurvy—had made its appearance with its habitual, silent cruelty.
Columbus had seen seasoned mariners, men who feared neither pirates nor gales, weep like children when their gums swelled until they covered their teeth, turning black and bloody. European superstition, ever ready for divine judgment, had dictated immediate isolation; men crossed themselves when passing near the sickbeds, fearing a "bad air" would steal their lives.
But the intervention of the Suaza support staff had changed the power dynamic of the ship. Columbus remembered vividly the impassive faces of the Suaza healers. They brought no relics or prayers; they brought ceramic jars of acidic juices, pastes of citrus fruits, and fermented cabbage that smelled of vinegar and earth. At first, the Spaniards resisted, spitting out the "medicine of the infidels," but the Suaza were relentless.
"Drink," they had said, with an authority that brooked no defiance.
The result was, in the eyes of the Europeans, a work of magic. In barely twenty-four hours, the greyish lethargy of the sailors vanished. Within five days, gums regained their rosy hue and the suppurating sores on their legs closed. This was not faith; it was a science the Europeans could not process. Columbus analyzed it in his journal: the standing of the Suaza had shifted from contempt to pragmatic veneration. The "relegated" were now the most sought-after consultants on the ship.
Columbus closed his journal, feeling a strange mixture of relief and humiliation. His own medical ignorance weighed on him as heavily as the ocean heat. He stood up, adjusting his doublet, and stepped out onto the deck.
The sunlight blinded him for an instant. The deck was a hive of a new and strange camaraderie. He saw a group of his Spanish sailors sitting in a circle with two Suaza officers. They were trying to learn words: "water," "wind," "brother." Laughter erupted when a sailor from Huelva attempted to pronounce the guttural sounds of the local tongue. In another corner, some engaged in mock combat with staves, marveling at the fluidity of the Suaza's movements. The atmosphere was electric, vibrant, charged with a hope Columbus had not felt in days.
However, the harmony broke when Quihicha appeared on the poop deck. His face, usually serene, was rigid as volcanic stone. Beside him, Luis, Columbus's young aide, had his eyes wide, fixed on the horizon behind them.
Columbus, whose instinct for disaster was sharper than ever, approached with long strides. "What is it, Quihicha? Your face brings news of the graveyard."
The young Suaza officer wasted no time on pleasantries. "Admiral, the flagship has sent a Red Level alert. It is not like the light squall of last week. This time, the pressure instruments have dropped to levels that herald only the fury of the Juracán."
Columbus recalled the glass tube with metal in Umzye's office. How could that small object sees what his own eyes, trained by decades, did not perceive?
"Are you certain? The sea remains like a plate, Quihicha. The wind barely caresses us."
"Precisely because of that, sir," Luis intervened, his voice trembling. "It is the silence before the scream. The message says the storm is likely to be ten times stronger than the last. Preparations must be made without fail… right now."
Columbus looked at Quihicha and saw a fear the youth tried to bury beneath his military training. He remembered how the last time the Suaza "predicted" the storm and how he had ignored them, surviving only because Suaza protocol forced him to act. He would not repeat the error.
"To your stations!" Columbus roared, his voice projecting over the murmur of the deck. "Secure all loose gear! Luis, have the supply crates lowered to the hold! Quihicha, order the men to secure the lines of the fighting tops—no one goes aloft without a harness!"
The ship exploded into activity. Controlled panic was better than ignorance. The sailors, moved by the memory of their medical recovery and the respect earned by the Suaza, did not question the order. Columbus took his place by the helm, gripping his spyglass.
He aimed toward the flagship. There, Umzye and his men moved with the precision of clockwork. Signal flags fluttered with frantic urgency, repeating the message so every ship in the fleet would receive it. Columbus turned the glass toward the English Tequendama II.
"Look at Norrington," Columbus muttered.
The English ship moved with an irritating parsimony. The sailors worked, yes, but with the lethargy of those who believe they are performing unnecessary labor to please an eccentric ally. James Norrington did not seem to understand that the sea knows nothing of noble titles or economic investments.
"But look at Cortizos's ship," Quihicha said, pointing toward the Portuguese Tequendama I sailing further out.
Columbus focused the lens, and his heart skipped a beat. The Portuguese ship still had its sails fully deployed. Hardly any movement of preparation could be seen. Through the lens, Columbus spotted a handful of figures—the Suaza support personnel—running across the deck, gesturing desperately toward the bridge where the figures of the Portuguese officers remained static.
"That fool Juan is trivializing the urgency," Columbus said bitterly. "He believes the message is an exaggeration by Umzye to demonstrate dominance. May God help them, for the water will have no mercy."
Thirty minutes passed.
Time seemed to have stopped in a bubble of heat and suffocating humidity. There was no wind—or rather, it seemed to have the same intensity as always. The silence in the fleet was absolute, broken only by the occasional thud of a pulley against a mast. Columbus felt cold sweat trickling down his neck. What if the Suaza were wrong? What if this was merely a display of technical paranoia?
"Admiral," Luis's voice was a whisper laden with dread.
Columbus, still looking west expecting to see clouds appear ahead of them, felt a hand on his shoulder. Luis was not pointing forward. He was pointing back, toward the east, from whence they came.
As he turned, Columbus felt the blood turn to ice in his veins. His brow tightened into a deep furrow of worry. On the eastern horizon, where the sky should have been a fading blue, a nightmare was gestating.
A wall of purple-black clouds, so dense they appeared solid, rose from the sea until they touched the zenith. They were clouds that devoured the light, charged with an electricity that made the air taste of metal.
"Confirmed," Quihicha said, returning from the signal station. "The flagship orders the emergency maneuver: release the lateen sails at the opposing angle. They want to use the peripheral air currents to pull the formation away from the eye before it reaches us."
"Do it!" Columbus ordered, his voice now a whisper against the immensity of the peril. "Luis, Quihicha, direct the maneuver! I want not a single loose rope!"
Columbus stood alone by the helm for a moment, watching that black wall advancing toward them. Now he felt it: a strong wind, which he had previously mistaken for a routine breeze, but which now brought a heavy dampness, laden with cold, violent droplets of water that struck his face like needles. The wind was not constant; it was turbulent, spinning upon itself like a wounded animal.
Suddenly, a bluish-white flash tore the sky from top to bottom, illuminating for a second the silhouette of the five ships against the total darkness of the storm. Three seconds later, a thunderclap so deep that Columbus felt it in his very bones made the timber vibrate beneath his feet.
"It is here," Columbus murmured, watching the first bolts of lightning begin to dance upon the crests of the waves which, suddenly, had begun to swell with terrifying violence.
The sky broke. The first roar of the storm struck the hull, and Columbus knew that, despite all the science of the Suaza, this day many names—European and Suaza alike—would be written only in the foam of the Sunset Ocean. Or perhaps, a miracle would save them.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
First, I'd like to mention that this chapter is brought to you thanks to the support and words of a good friend of mine, John Reuel (Tolkien). Hahaha, I'm not nearly as good a writer as he is, but a girl can dream.
Joking aside, let's continue with the voyage, and this will be the last one—yes, you heard right, the very last chapter—but with technical details about diseases, food, and other secondary matters (not that I'm saying they aren't important).
This is to avoid repetition, since in these last two chapters we've covered food, how they would obtain it, and their reserves. We've also touched on hygiene and health; I don't want to mention that in every chapter people get sick or there are reports of remaining food supplies, blah blah blah.
However, other important aspects of navigation will appear (the storm in this chapter, mutinies, islands, the mainland, etc.) and perhaps some references to naval improvements implemented by Chuta in the last year.
By the way, I had a slight problem estimating the journey.
At first, I thought it would take them 3 months to go and about 4 to return. But in reality, it could take up to 8 months to return, extending the journey by almost a year.
I calculated the initial estimates by taking into account the distance they traveled in the Atlantic and interpolating the times to the estimated distance across the Pacific. This worked well for the outbound trip, under optimal conditions, but the situation changes for the return journey.
Because to take advantage of the favorable current on the return route through the North Pacific, knowledge of Northeast Asian geography was needed, which Chuta only knows in broad strokes from his previous life.
This is why the journey won't be as short as I expected. And well, I had planned to extend this section of the voyage until they reached the Great Quyca again, but it would be better to release a chapter from time to time, maintaining the chronology of the main story.
But I'll leave it up to you.
Should I continue the navigation section? (Including contacts with Asian cultures)
Or should I stick with the main story and occasionally continue with Columbus and Umzye's voyage?
I'll be attentive and prepared for whatever you deem appropriate. Both options seem good to me, so I'll read your comments, and we'll see what happens.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future (Chapter 91)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 34) (INTERMITTENT)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 14) (INTERMITTENT)
You can find them on my profile.]