I sail the clouds of a new world, under new stars, on a new ship…
It is called Longinus and that in itself gives comfort. Not so much that it provides any clues as to where I and my crew are; but rather that even here, in a land made of cloud and floating rock does some remnant of the bible exist. And if that is so, then surely so must our savior.
It is the only piece of writing I have understood since my arrival. I know not the meaning of any other material. Even this log, known only for its purpose in the clear format and font that a dedicated man would fill with rote and measure. The pages past the entry may contain some clue or explanation as to why we are here and yet we have no means of discovery. No one exists amongst us who can read the strange dialects.
I say ‘dialects’ as it is, depressingly, clear that I am not the first to have cast thought to paper. Nor am I the second. Indeed there are some seven different languages that fill the pages of this book and I imagine that the only link between any of us is that our first entry would express the confusion, wonder and dread that haunts our voyage.
So confounded I am that I have yet to fully explain the miracle that, even now, we enjoy. I stand upon what appears to be wood but what that wood stands upon is neither land nor sea. It is sky, as ephemeral as the breeze back home and yet we sail as steady and unfailing as if it were the calmest water. We sail around and, indeed, through the clouds and it is in such fog that one could, if diligent, think oneself back home amongst the waves while the truth was obfuscated.
But it is a fleeting thing and one best not to dwell upon as I am concerned, in a veritable odessy of concerns, of the pieces of rock that may hide within the clouds to collide with the unwary.
Yes rock, some small enough only to accomodate a man should he be standing, or some larger piece that one could build a home upon, though I would not wish to. Perhaps even bigger, we hope. With settlements and inhabitants, somebody who has answers.
But it is a fleeting thing…
Other than stone and earth that flies as easily as our new vessel, there is no sign of anything below us, save more clouds. Perhaps below awaits the answers to this mystery but how does one even direct a ship to sink or rise?! Tis providence or divine will that which moves us is a technology as commonplace as the vessel that now lies abandoned. Sails of gold impel the ship and a smaller sail sits where a keel would normally be found and it is by that means that we have made progress.
It is clear that we were expected, or perhaps that the previous crew had not been long upon ‘Longinus’ as supplies are plentiful. Nevertheless they are rationed as harshly as if it were mere crumbs. Who knows how long before we find more. I do not intend for my entry to be simply another in a series of unintelligible scribblings for some other poor soul to fret upon.
Some amongst the crew say that another vessel is near. I get reports of a longship, a vessel once used to shuttle savages across frozen wastes to pillage and plunder, that moves within the clouds as if it were our shadow. I have not seen it and until I do, it shall remain the lesser of a plethora of riddles that demand my attention.
Perhaps we are, in fact, in Heaven…
The Sea Foam