The Storm of Nehallennia

This story, The Storm of Nehallennia by Richard Blackwood, was written and published in May 2024.

The storm hit without warning, turning the placid sea into a boiling cauldron of chaos. Five students from the University of Amsterdam, out for what was supposed to be a weekend sailing trip, found themselves battling the elements. The sky, once a serene blue, now churned with dark clouds, and the wind howled like a tormented soul. Lightning split the heavens, briefly illuminating the horror-stricken faces of the crew.

Among them was Elise, a quiet history major with an obsession for ancient mythology. Her curiosity had led them here, to the waters near Zeeland, where tales of the sea goddess Nehallennia lingered like ghosts.

“Get the sails down!” yelled Peter, the group’s de facto leader, his voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. The boat heaved and groaned, straining against the fury of the tempest. Water sloshed across the deck, and the students scrambled to secure the sails.

Then, cutting through the cacophony of wind and waves, came a sound that didn’t belong—a dog’s bark. Sharp and clear, it echoed across the water. Elise froze, her heart pounding. She knew the legend well. Nehallennia, the protector of sailors, was often depicted with a dog at her side.

“Did you hear that?” she shouted, clutching Peter’s arm.

“It’s just the wind,” he replied, but his eyes betrayed his uncertainty.

Another bark, closer this time, more insistent. The air grew heavy with a sense of foreboding, as if the storm carried more than just rain and thunder.

Then, as suddenly as the storm had come, the rain ceased. The sea was still tumultuous, but above them, the sky seemed to clear, revealing a spectral light. Small apples, golden and glistening with seawater, began to fall from the sky, bouncing off the deck and rolling into the scuppers.

Elise’s breath caught in her throat. Apples were one of Nehallennia’s symbols, representing bounty and protection. But here, in the midst of the storm, they felt like an omen.

“What’s happening?” Maria, another student, cried, her voice edged with panic.

Before anyone could answer, a figure appeared on the bow. Draped in a flowing gown, her hair a wild tangle of seaweed and shells, stood Nehallennia. Her eyes were dark voids, her expression a mask of sorrow and rage. At her feet, a spectral dog bared its teeth, its growl resonating in the chests of the terrified students.

“You dare to sail my waters without tribute?” her voice was a low, guttural whisper, carried on the wind.

Peter stepped forward, his hands raised in supplication. “We didn’t mean any harm!”

Nehallennia’s gaze turned to Elise, as if seeing through her soul. “You seek knowledge, but some truths are not meant for the living.”

The dog barked again, and Elise felt a coldness seep into her bones. She stumbled back, her mind reeling. Just then, a piercing cry split the air—a majestic eagle, its wings spread wide, swooped down from the sky. It circled above them, its sharp eyes locked on the goddess.

Nehallennia’s form wavered, her ghostly visage flickering like a candle in the wind. The eagle dove, its talons extended, and with a final, defiant screech, it struck the spectral figure. The goddess let out a wail that echoed across the water, and then she was gone, dissolved into the mist. The apples ceased to fall, and the sea began to calm.

The storm passed as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the students in a stunned silence. The boat, battered but intact, drifted on a tranquil sea under a clear sky.

Only Elise remained to tell the tale. Weeks later, she sat in a sterile room of a mental asylum, her eyes haunted by the memory. She spoke of the goddess, the storm, and the eagle to anyone who would listen, though few believed her.

But in her heart, she knew the truth. The sea held many secrets, and Nehallennia was but one of its many guardians, always watching, always waiting.