“You, toothless,” I say to one of the crew who passes within range.

“How'd ya know me name?” He is puzzled, despite the fact that he has the characteristic puckered lips and hollow cheeks of someone without teeth.

“I have a gift,” I tell him, figuring if he's smart, he'll take it as a joke, but if he's slow-witted, he'll think I'm clairvoyant. “What is the closest port?”

He taps his protruding chin with a bony finger terminating in a long nail, with black grime like a crescent moon at the base. “Ascension Island.”

“Let's make a beeline for that port.” I am wary, watching the crew as they go about their business, and watchful that they don't try to mutiny. I feel like I haven't fully cemented by control of this pack of ruffians.

He looks about him, scanning the horizon and the clouds. Today is the type of day you'd take pictures for a travel brochure—clear, nearly cloudless—so he's skeptical. But he's also scared to cross me. “Yes, Cap'n.” He relays the order among the crew.

I move to the upper deck, where the helm lies, and look out over the ocean. Every man who scurries across the deck or climbs among the rigging is under my watchful eye. The man steering the helm is short, but broad, and his bare back is covered with black tattoos that are difficult to detect due to his dark tan. Judging by the scars on his back, he's been lashed with the whip as punishment.

Taur and Liana now approach me. The horned man is wearing his fur cape, as well as a broad leather belt where a heavy knife is sheathed. Interestingly, instead of purchasing a sword, he holds a metal club like a baseball bat, complete with a pommel, a leather grip, and knobs on the striking end. Liana is back in her pink dress, only she's managed to salvage just one flower, a red rose that creates a focal point of bold color in her snowy white hair above her ear. I motion for the two of them to follow me up, moving to where the helmsman can't hear us.

“You two must be armed at all times,” I warn them, “and stick together. I can't have you separate and get picked off one by one.”

They nod in agreement.

“You say there's going to be a storm?” Taur asks, wanting to be respectful, but doubt is evident on his face.

“I know there's going to be a storm; Lord Riyel is telling me.” Looking out at the clear horizon, there is the slightest of breezes on my face.

“How do you know if Lord Riyel is talking to you?” Liana leans against the railing and lets her long white hair trail behind her. Her hair is beautiful now that it's free of those awful twigs.

I lean against the side of the ship and think. “Good question. I guess the first thing is, you have to believe it's possible. If your image of God talking to someone is the crazy lady lying in her own crap, you're unlikely to hear Lord Riyel's voice. Secondly, the more you do it, the more certain you are of His voice.”

“How do you know it's his voice, and not your own?” Taur asks. “Or that of...”

“A demon.” I want to clap him on the back, but I rest my hand lightly on his scars. “You're very wise, Taur. Nothing is easier than to hear your own voice as the voice of God, especially when you have raised yourself up to be your own god.”

I start to rest my hands on the gunwale and do the dramatic staring-out-to-sea pose, but my arms are too short once again, and it makes me hunched over, nearly doubled up, so I drop it. I start to do the old arms-crossed-thoughtfully pose, but realize that won't work, either, so I just stand.

“If the voice is telling to do something wrong, like kill your mother, it's not God,” I explain. “And if it's something real convenient, like go to Hawaii and have sex with lots of big-breasted women, it's probably not God, either.”

“Hawaii?” Liana asks, her light blue eyes open wide.

“Uh, a really beautiful place.” I go to pat Liana on the back but have to scoot in really close because of my stubby arm. “Remember, you two stay together. And keep a watchful eye on the crew—I don't think we've fully cemented our control, and they'll turn on us in an instant if given the chance.”

The two nod and leave, strolling across the deck. I reflect on what an odd pair they are, a young girl of maybe eleven, albino, with snowy white hair and ornamental scars, and a tall, brawny man with a bull's horns sprouting from his head.

The ship plows through the sea, and in time I can feel the swell begin to build, so by the time the sun dips to the horizon the sea has become rough, and the sails pop loudly when the growing wind buffets the canvas. The skies grow increasingly dark, even before the sun sets, until they are black. The rain begins to fall, but at nightfall the rain pours down, and the wind picks up in its fury, so that the ship pitches and yaws.

“I'm havin' a hell of a time, Cap'n.” The helmsman shouts to be heard over the downpour.

I jump down to approach the nearest crew member. “You, get the horned man and the girl up here, now!”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The man complies, even though the deck is slick and heaving. The helmsman is struggling to steer the ship, leaning on the wheel, but the strength of the waves against the rudder pulls him up off the deck. Liana and Taur arrive, with Liana sliding across the deck until she butts into the poop deck. The muscular man helps steer the ship, and tosses his cape aside, so that his scarred back can be seen straining to regain control of the ship.

“I'm steering blind!” the helmsman shouts. The rain pours down, splattering the canvas sails and coursing like rivers over the deck.

A lightning bolt strikes the sea, illuminating a small, steep island.

“There!” he shouts.

When the thunder booms, striking with a concussive blast over the ocean because there are no obstacles in its path, the noise is deafening, and the sky turns pitch black again.

“Prepare to anchor!” a crew member shouts while vigorously ringing a bell.

All hands erupt from the hold below and tumble over the wet deck as it rolls and heaves.

I have the best night vision of anyone on the ship, so I move close enough to shout into the helmsman's ear. “Steer us to starboard!”

The ship is sluggish to respond, and one might as well try to steer a cork in a tempest. But the ship drifts erratically in the direction of the island, which is a black silhouette against a pitch-black sky, visible only to me.

“Straighten her out. Try to keep a straight line dead ahead.” I wrap my tail around the base of the helm to keep from falling and sliding.

The ship rises as we enter a wave, and the bow points up at the inky sky. The wave drops, and we pitch downward, coasting forward and picking up speed. Now that we are close enough, the island becomes visible, so all can see a dark peak that might be made entirely of obsidian. The ship is certain to be dashed against the rocks as we hurtle toward the island, but we hit a stretch of calm water and drift forward until the prow butts against a steep rock wall.

The rain still pours down, but the ship is still, resting in a steep harbor. A cheer goes up from the crew, who raise their arms in joy, glad to be alive.

“Away anchor!”

“Batten her down!”

* * *

“You saved us, Cap'n.” The man grins, flashing several gold-capped teeth.

“Lord Riyel saved us,” I reply. The candles glow brightly, and although the rain still falls heavily, the harbor is calm, and the ship is nearly motionless. I start singing...

The wrath of God is slow to build,

but unleashed in sudden violence

in the downpour.

“What's that mean?”

“Ankla has been judged.” I look solemnly at the crew, who have stripped out of their wet clothes and are down to their undergarments. The barrel of rum has been opened, and the men have been imbibing freely. I figure we aren't going anywhere for some time, and this might serve as the kind of experience that binds the crew to their new captain.

“A wall of water as high as the roofs has struck Ankla,” the albino girl tells them, “and tomorrow the bodies will lie in the streets.”

“Lady Liana has the gift of prophecy and clairvoyance.” I add.

“Lady? Why she's a...” The man suddenly realizes what he's about to say, especially now that his tongue has been loosened by liquor, and quickly corrects himself when he sees my reaction. “A genuine dame and a blessing to have aboard.”

“Hear! Hear!” The men toast and drink.

“On behalf of all of us, thank you, Lady Liana, for gracing our humble ship,” one of the crew says, surprising me with his eloquence.

The young girl blushes, which is a wonderful thing to see in an albino, as her translucent skin becomes flush like a rose blooming.

“Tell us a story, Cap'n,” the helmsman says, and I can see the weariness in his face.

“Yes, tell us!” A chorus of voices chimes in.

“Well,” I begin, and rise to address the group. “There was a wealthy man who had everything, a beautiful, spacious palace, and the finest clothes—sable robes and purple cloaks. He drove a gilt carriage, pulled by several hundred horses. He wore jewelry of gold, silver, and rare metals. His wife was a virgin, a tan beauty with black hair and dark eyes, and she gave birth to his son.

But he wasn't happy. In his arrogance he thought he needed to lie with a drab, the lowest of harlots, thinking it would show what an important man he was. One day he was in his carriage, pulled by an enormous team of horses, when it overturned, and he died.

The wealthy, arrogant man found himself in a dark place, surrounded by flames that gave no light. The torment was insufferable. Hour after hour he burned, until at dusk he was freed from his fiery punishment but found himself compelled to wander the earth as a ghost, back to the palace where he once lived. He sees the beautiful wife that he had, and his young son. He shouts, but they can't see or hear him, and now he watches another man court the wife that he neglected. He watches like a shade as the new man serves as the father he failed to be, because he was busy counting his gold and flirting with harlots in the tavern.

Full of grief, he returns to the dim cavern at sunup. He welcomes the flames, drawing them into his bosom, when a light of incalculable brilliance sweeps over him. He wants to hide, because he knows he is naked, and horribly disfigured.

Lord Riyel asks this man, the lowest of the low, if he will serve as his representative to battle and defeat the dark gods.

The man falls on his face, vainly trying to escape, to tunnel away from the unbearable light, but he can't hide, and so he agrees. “Yes, Lord, I will serve as your vicar to battle the dark gods.”

In an instant he finds himself being assembled mote by mote in the whirlwind on a salt flat. He stares at his hands, but they're not human. He races to a saltwater pool and sees his reflection in the pool—he's a reptile, and he realizes that he never was a man.”

The men are silent, as it slowly dawns upon even the slowest and drunkest of them that I am talking about myself.

I am still standing, so I make an announcement. “In two days' time we take on the ships that fly the flag of the enchantress.”

The men react, but are careful not to directly oppose me, until one man cautiously speaks. “I mean no offense, Cap'n, I only speak to inform you, but the Tarantons have an armada.”

Liana speaks up. “Three of their ships were destroyed in the storm. A fourth broke up on the far side of this island. There is one straggler left.”

I move into the middle of the circle. “Then it's settled. Enjoy your celebration, men. My companions and I must rest up. In two days' time we sack the Tarantan ship.”

A moth the size of a man's fist flaps against a cedar beam, and the men jump when my tongue shoots out and snaps it up. I'll take that as an omen.