Bremi was one of the first to make it back aboard the Harmony. He was one of the few members of the crew who could swim, and they needed swimmers. The ship floated out in the center of the sheltered inlet, and there were no rowboats on the shore.
The Harmony’s lanterns shimmered in the evening air, and he spotted a few of Myrrir’s pirates roaming around the deck, keeping watch. The sails had been furled and the anchors dropped, and even the cannons looked loaded.
Bremi, Pels, and a few of the few other sailors and officers who could swim paddled out to the ship, moving slowly and keeping their heads down. If the pirates spotted them, it would be over. Pels and the officers climbed up to the main deck with the ladder, but Bremi had a different plan—whether his captain approved or not.
He climbed a few rungs up the ladder, then leapt to the nearest gun port and latched on to the rim. The port was open, ready to fire, but he didn’t see anyone behind it. Myrrir had left just enough sentries to make sure the ship didn’t float away, but no more than that.
Bremi climbed through the gun port. His shoulders were still skinny, and he was more than nimble enough.
He emerged in the gloomy gun deck, and immediately, he ducked down between two cannons so no one would see him.
On one side of the gun deck, a pair of pirates sat at a table, throwing playing cards onto a pile at the center and laughing. Their pistols waited on the table, ready to be used. Bremi crept out of cover softly, then slipped to the end of the deck, where a few muskets hung on a rack—the marines’ muskets. He snatched up one. It was loaded.
Weaving between cannons and ducking between crates of cannonballs, he approached the two pirates. As soon as he was close enough, he set the musket down and took off his yellow coat. His shirt and cumberbund were dirty enough that no one would know he was a midshipman without his coat.
Putting a stagger into his step, he emerged from cover with a fake groan. He hoped the pirates would feel some sort of pity for a young sailor who’d managed to evade them so far—or so he formed the story in his mind—but really, he just needed them to hop up from the table, leaving their pistols behind.
Both of the pirates did. They leapt up, and immediately, they rushed towards Bremi with outstretched arms.
He lunged back to cover and snatched up his stolen musket, then cocked it. He hadn’t received any formal training with firearms, not like sis, but he knew how to fire an already-loaded musket.
Both of the pirates skittered to a halt, and Bremi didn’t have to fire. “Alright, now,” he said. “Up to the main deck with you.”
That was hoping Pels had taken care of the sentries above deck.
Both of the pirates walked to the stairs, their hands up. For good measure, Bremi snatched up one of their pistols from the table. It was already loaded too.
When they emerged from below deck, Bremi glanced around, trying to guess what had happened. The orcs from the resistance held a few pirates at gunpoint, and Pels had retrieved a musket from somewhere. The rest of the sailors emerged from the great cabin, carrying Pels’s spare pistols.
“It was a good try,” Pels told the pirates. “But you’re not in luck today, eh?” He tilted his head towards the side of the ship, then motioned with the musket. “Hop overboard, now. Quickly. It’s our ship, and it always will be.”
Cautiously, the surrendered pirates stepped towards the railing. There were about six of them, and all of them jumped…well, Bremi wouldn’t say willingly. They didn’t linger.
As soon as the pirates fled the ship, Bremi ran to the starboard railing, which faced the shoreline. He watched, hoping to see any sign of Glade or his sister.
“Looks like we’ve got quite the mess to clean up,” Pels complained, pacing along the deck. He pulled a rope, but it had been knotted. “Get the longboats ashore, and get everyone else aboard. We’ve gotta get the sails in working order again, at least.”
“What about Myrrir’s ship?” someone asked. “It’s still out there, somewhere.”
Bremi spared a brief glance over his shoulder, and he used it to search the ocean. He saw no sign of the pirate junk, but it had to be nearby.
“You saw how many men they brought to Narvelpeare,” Pels said. “They won’t have enough to keep their ship going until they get back, either. As long as we’re faster than them, we’ve got a free shot to the Stream.”
The screw scrambled to action, and Bremi joined them—as long as he could keep an eye on the coast.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
They pushed the cannons back into place and cleared debris off the deck, then rearranged the rigging to sort out the mess the pirates had made out of it. A few of the ropes had been cut, and the others were tangled up into knots.
It took them until at least midnight—when the sky felt the blackest—to fix the mess. The resistance left, disappearing off into the night. Bremi suspected he’d never see the orcs or Perron again, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
Once Pels seemed satisfied with the state of the ship, he ordered everyone to stay on high alert. They raised an anchor, in case they needed to run quickly, and loaded all of the cannons. All of the marines who remained grabbed their muskets and waited at the prow, watching the dark ocean outside the inlet.
Bremi returned to the railing and stared out at the shore, and he planned to keep staring until someone ordered him to do otherwise.
But he didn’t have to stare long. After a few minutes, he spotted a brown-haired horse emerging from the spires of black rock. It trotted at a fast pace, weaving between obsidian shards as it raced towards the ship.
Bremi leaned forwards as far as he could, until he could make out the details of the riders. A man sat at the front. He wore baggy white pants and a thick white sash across his otherwise bare chest, and his dark skin was mottled with scars. On his back, he carried a long spear with an amber head. That must have been Nathariel. Bremi took a step back, his hands trembling. The crew had told plenty of stories about Nathariel, and he wasn’t sure how much of it was true or not.
But Glade was sitting behind Nathariel, and Bremi let himself relax a little. Just a little. He ran back to the railing and looked closer…and spotted a body draped over the saddle between them. Her flame-orange hair dangled off the side of the horse, bobbing listlessly as it trotted along.
His eyes widened. “Vayra…”
By now, the rest of the crew spotted the horse and riders, and they lowered another longboat. A few sailors began to row towards her. Bremi stood at the railing, his hands frozen. Sis wasn’t dead, was she?
When the horse arrived at the shore, the rowboat was waiting for them. Nathariel dismounted, followed by Glade. Glade pulled Vayra off the horse, then carried her limp body to the longboat. Bremi pressed his eyes shut again for what felt like a blink, and the longboat had returned. The sailors hooked it to a set of winches and raised it up to the main deck.
The sailors helped Glade off the ship, and they helped him carry Vayra’s body. Bremi sprinted behind them, unwilling to let them out of his sight. They ran below deck, calling for the ship’s surgeon—Mr. Spawlding—who met them halfway to the infirmary.
Bremi put a jump into his step, trying to peer between the bobbing heads and catch a glimpse of his sister. Her right arm had been bandaged—
No, wait…it was gone. So was her right leg! She had stumps left, wrapped in the black fabric of Glade’s outer coat. A tourniquet had been tied higher up on each limb.
Finally, Mr. Spawlding noticed Bremi running behind them, and he announced, “She’s alive, but barely!”
They stormed into the infirmary and set Vayra down on one of the cots. Nathariel paced beside them, watching over the surgeons with a calm expression. He handed Mr. Spawlding a shimmering blue vial, but Bremi couldn’t hear what he said.
Bremi tried to follow them in, but a hand clasped his shoulder. He looked up and back, and he spotted Captain Pels. The man also grabbed Glade and pulled him away. “They’ll do all they can, but you’ll just get in the way here.”
Mr. Spawlding kicked the infirmary’s door shut behind him, sealing the room off.
Bremi looked up at Pels. To hide his trembling hands, he shoved them in his pockets. “Sir, should we—”
“They’re doing their job. We’ve gotta get out of here, now—and that’s our job.”
Bremi ran with Pels up to the main deck, ducking between scrambling sailors and petty officers. Carpenters carried planks of wood about the ship, and the boatswain rushed past with bundles of rope in his arms.
They emerged from the belly of the ship at a sprint. As soon as the starlight hit Pels’s face, he called, “Lift that anchor! Hard to larboard! Drop the sails!”
Bremi was about to run to the main mast—where he would be stationed while they left the atmosphere—but he couldn’t resist asking, “Captain, where are we heading?”
“We’re getting off this planet,” Pels said. “And…and we’re heading back to Thronehome. The Order of Balance will know what to do, whether Nathariel likes it or not.”
“He…might not,” Bremi said.
“If he doesn’t, he can get off my ship.”
“He’s an Admiral…”
“But in name only.” Pels shook his head, then marched off towards the quarterdeck. “All hands to your stations! We’ll have the breeze astern! Make for the Stream, and if we hold fast, we’ll make it to safety!”
Bremi waited at the base of the mainmast, until Lieutenant McHyll arrived—when leaving the atmosphere, the lieutenants each commanded a mast. Running around like a courrier, Bremi delivered orders to the sailors, instructing them to lower the sails and haul on the braces to adjust the yards.
The ship turned, then sloshed through the water. They passed through the mouth of the bay, then out into open seas. Pels turned the ship so they faced straight towards the Stream, and that meant the lieutenants had to adjust their masts again to keep the sails full.
Bremi climbed up to the ratlines, trying to bring an order to the sailors at the first, lowest yard, but he stopped halfway up. In the distance, guarding the Stream, he spotted an Elderworld warship—a second-rate ship, with two decks of cannons embedded in its black and white hull.
“Captain!” Bremi yelled. “Ship!”
“They won’t be able to cut us off, not with this wind behind us!”
It didn’t stop the warship from firing a volley of cannonfire. One shot splashed into the water just beside them, but otherwise, nothing hit. By the time the ocean began to slope upwards, iridescent water mixing with regular seawater, the Elderworld ship was far behind them.
When the Harmony finally pierced up out of the atmosphere, the entire crew let out a sigh, and Bremi couldn’t help but join them.