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He'd never liked water that much, even though he grown up next to the sea. Maybe that was the problem. Iz had watched more than enough wives standing, desperate as the ships rolled in awaiting the return of their husband with coin and all their limbs. He'd seen the newly made widows sobbing as the Captain of the ships broken the news, spied the ships on the horizon be swallowed up by a storm and dragged to the depths only a few miles from home.
His mother still insisted he learn how to swim, protection from the inevitable should would say. The only jobs around were at the docks, he'd end up in the sea either way.
Gathering up every item they may need, Iz and his mother made their way to a stoney beach at the bottom of a steep cliff. Hidden from view, his mother didn't fear for others to see and jeer. A ten year old learning to swim with his mother was nothing short of inviting spectacle, she'd remind him. Like it was his fault she hadn't flung him into the water long ago.
Settling into the sensation of pebbles under his feet, his mother's tatty square of cloth enough to allow him comfort to strip to his smalls, Iz was prepared. How hard could it be? He'd heard an old wives tale that a newborn baby takes to water so fast that some believe we were from there. Mermaids who grew bored of the sea and ventured onto land, that was what humans were. As if he'd believe in all that.
Taking a shaky step towards the lapping tide, Iz watched his mother hike her skirt up around her knees and tie the ends off around her thighs, keeping them there. Guiding him in with her outstretched hands, Iz followed carefully into the water.
Ankle deep. The cold lapped between his toes, causing a shudder but nothing more. The slimy stones and slight dips in the ground made him uneven on his feet, but he persisted. His mother's outstretched hand a constant guard to stop him from tripping.
Knee deep. The temperature was becoming bearable, the feel of water hitting the back of his legs becoming almost calming. As he continued, his mother shifted back further, pushing off into the water to create distance. No more safety net. Now just an observer.
Crotch deep. He'd wished they'd done this on a warmer day, but then this small area would have been flooded with locals trying to enjoy some sun. The chill in his bones had to be ignored, he needed to reach his mother.
It was freezing. The salt was licking every inch of his skin, causing small blossoms of pain in areas that small nicks and bruises lay. Scratches aggravated by the water. No wonder sea men drown so often. The sudden cold in your lung would be enough to send any man to his death, Iz imagined. He couldn't help to appreciate his mother for not scooping him up in her arms and dumping him in to make him swimm
As the water reached up to his chest, his mother swimmed widely and motioned upwards. Iz frowned, shifting his stepping to try and avoid the slimy seaweed and slippery stones. She motioned again as another wave came towards, and gave a small jump. Iz did one in turn.
The splash of the wave hit his face as he came back down, gasping as the salt hit his tongue and tongue. The feeling of water in his nostrils sent his head spinning, mouth agape as he tried to get air but just was hit with a mouth full of seawater. Visions flew through his mind as he shut his eyes, shuddering violently as he coughed up the tide that had taken to his mouth.
Images of stormy seas and dark sails, grey hair tossled in the wind. Gunpowder residue on his hands, the taste of metal on his tongue, red in his vision. The smell of ale, the singe of cannonfire. Riches, wonders, and ships plundered. Wood splintered across a sea of fire in a freezing wind. A heavy anchor, thick ropes, the plunge under choppy waters that dragged him to pitch black.
Stumbling backwards out of the waters, Iz found himself struggling to breathe as he pushed against the tide to return to dry pebbled land. His mother, a distant blur before him as he landed on the hard stones on his back and stared at the clouds rolling overhead.
They tried again a few days later. Chest deep, Iz lifted his feet off the stone and kicked forward. He took off, a few shaky metres before a wave met his face and he sunk like a stone.
He could see a shadowy figure before him in the water, hair floating like wild tendrils of an unknown creature, obscuring their face. Everything was black and grey, cold and uncaring, eyes like whirlpools staring into his soul as he squeezed his own shut. A sudden rush, the water pushing down upon him as Iz opened his mouth to scream but it was stifled. His mouth was filled with bile, body limp as he gave up fighting.
His mother's tight arms held his small, pre-pubescent body close to hers as he vomited up bits of sand and grit from the current. The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth, yet none existed on the sand. He could feel the pain in his teeth, like he'd bitten a stone, swallowed something raw that should never grace a boy's lips. Grasping for purchase on his mother's skirt, Iz shook from head to toe. The water was not a friend of his.
First Mate Hands never liked water that much. Even as right hand man to the most fierce Captain to ever sail the season, Iz always knew he'd end up in the sea one way or another. It just was a question as to when he'd sink to the bottom of the ocean.