image [https://i.imgur.com/4nQgrK5.png]

Picaro went to dump a bucket over the gunwale, and a great, jagged fin rose out of the sea ahead of him. Dumbfounded, he leaned over the rail, despite the weather, to ensure his eyes were not playing some illusion. Lightning clapped near the edge of the horizon, and the image became horrifyingly clear.

Vast grey scales could be seen beneath the surface, forming the ominous outline of what he thought to be some gigantic sea monster. It was traveling in parallel to the ship, bracing against the waves the same as they, trying to outrun the storm. The fin disappeared beneath the surf. Picaro snapped back and looked around him. The men were busy, heads bent. No one else had seen it.

Then he heard Valgur from behind him. The captain had staggered down from the upper deck. He had seen it, too. "We're not alone in these seas," he said to Picaro as they shared an ominous moment.

Thunder clapped and rolled its wardrum over their heads, shaking them from their reverie. As Ye ‘Ol Marigold crested a huge wave before it crashed, the head of the giant beast erupted from out of the wave, mouth agape, swimming so close to the ship it seemed destined for impact. But, it disappeared beneath the surface just in front of them. “What is that thing captain,” Grit called above the downpour, joining them at the rail. “Blast it to the depths. If that thing rams us, we’re sunk.”

The sea clashed in argument from the mass of the beast, and the already broiling waters sent a surge back into the bow of Ye ‘Ol Marigold. The ship nearly stalled, then rocked violently, seeming to be lifted up out of the water by a giant, invisible hand.

"It's beneath us!" said Silvertime, who’s voice seemed faint and shrill in the stormy air.

"Brace, lads," called Valgur, and the ship rocked again. A crewmen that was too close to the port gunwale lost his footing and was taken overboard by a swell. Another man slammed into a cannon and lay limp. There was a crunching of wood, and the great fish disappeared.

"This thing’s gonna capsize us in the surf. Bring it down. Get the cannons in order.” bellowed Valgur.

"Most the munitions are soaked through. We have just one operational,” said Metron, the chief gunner.

“Blast. Well get it primed, and man the harpoon. Bring that thing down if ye wish to see this through,” said Valgur, his voice defiant above the howling wind.

Harpoons were at either end of the ship, two at the bow and two at the stern. They were normally used to latch onto ships to make them easier to board. The crew rarely fished, but this was to be the exception. Lightning flashed again. The beast could be seen just to port, a looming shadow, darker than even the dark waters. It moved at an angle that would eventually cut them off again.

"Wait for it to break the surface," said Valgur, his arm raised. He was at the gunwale, Grit beside him. At the bow was Atrocius, ready to man one of the harpoons. Slung about his shoulders was the jaw of a ripshark fashioned to carry his rotating railgun, Jaws. It was incredible that he could still hold onto it through the storm. A wave crashed over the bow and washed away the the man at the harpoon next to him. But Atrocius stood resolved against the waves, a violent shape in the gloom. He keened in on the harpoon’s sights, awaiting his command.

“Steady,” said Valgur. Having cleared the wave, the ship was in the trough between the next hit. The top of the fish broke the surface for a brief moment. "Fire," called Valgur.

Atrocius let the harpoon fly, striking the beast, embedding the tip of the harpoon in its skull. The crew bellowed in support, and Valgur punched the air with vigor. The great fish convulsed slightly from the impact and then dove deeper, it’s topfin scraping against the underside of the hull like giant nails.

Then the next wave hit. Ye ‘Ol Marigold rocked in the waves, but she held. Atrocius winched on the harpoon, and the ship lurched under the added duress. In its power, the great fish fought against the line, pulling the ship along at a greater clip. They descended into the trough of the wave, then up and out of it again at breakneck speed. The impact of the next wave was deafening. It sounded like the ship broke in half, and Ye ‘Ol Marigold seemed it may truly capsize. But, she kept afloat, the bow just barely breaking above the surface to regain her footing.

Silvertime manned the helm with the last of his strength, and Ye ‘Ol Marigold continued its dangerous dance with the beast among the waves. They could do nothing but hope to master the beast as only a fisherman could. Cutting the line to the harpoon would cast them adrift in the raging tempest, and they could not get a clear shot it at with their artillery.

"We need to bring it closer for a better shot," said Valgur, joining Atrocius at the bow. The captain manned the other harpoon, bearing down on the sights. A wave crashed into the pair. Valgur nearly slipped, but righted himself and trained his eye again. He noticed the winds had lessened slightly. He held his breadth. Silver grey scales flaked with shades of yellow and green flashed out of the foaming mouth of the surf. He fired the harpoon. It found its mark next to the beast’s spine. The ship was tilting at an odd angle in the water, but the second line steadied them.

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Were it possible, Ye ‘Ol Marigold picked up greater speed. They drove down the side of the next wave so fast they crested it again before it had a chance to crash. Suddenly, they were airborne. Then they were falling, and the sea was falling away, too. The bottom of the wave had fallen out, and they plummeted downward, their bow destined to crash into the sea and the crew to be washed away under the fury of the tempest.

Then the tension on the harpoon lines snapped taught with a whip’s crack. There was a wicked groan, and Ye ‘Ol Marigold right itself in mid air. The mighty lurch of the vessel shook everyone off their feet, even Atrocius. Man clung tight to rigging, or were flung about like a child’s doll.

Ye ‘Ol Marigold smacked the surface of the ocean louder than a thunderclap, creating small waves. The ship groaned mightily, sounding as if now she would surely break, before being hauled onward by the strength of the great fish. It carried Valgur and his crew through several more waves, expending the last of its life trying to outswim the barbs that plagued it, but could not.

After some time, Valgur realized the rains had lessened. The lightning ceased. Ahead of them, a speartip of light punctured through the callous armor of the clouds. The great fish carried them toward it as if it were their beast of burden. At last, it began to slow just as Ye O’l Marigold broke the plane of light. The great fish lashed again a few more desperate times, as mighty a beast as it was. It had outrun the storm, but it could not halt its fate, and at last died there in the calmed embrace of the sea.

Crew of Ye ‘Ol Marigold again felt the warmth of the sun upon their faces, which fanned the fire of the tale they would tell of their desperate fight and final triumph over the Tormented Channel, and the great beast that lived in its depths. Their hearts sang with the thrill of victory once more. It was only then they truly saw the damage that had been done to the ship. For she sat listing, tilted in the current.

“We got hit mighty hard, captain,” said Silvertime from the helm. Valgur strode up beside him.

“Aye, for true. How far to the nearest island?”

“From the map, the closest island is nearly twelve leagues.”

Valgur whistled. “Quite the way.”

“We’d make better time if we loosed the fish.” Silvertime nodded to the carcass of the monster drifting close to the surface next to the ship. “Poor bastard just wanted out of the storm, same as we.”

Valgur looked keenly upon their catch. Its grey scales, flaked with yellow and green, shone in the sunlight like much treasure. “Nay. I think we’ll keep it,” said Valgur at last.

“You can’t be serious captain,” said Silvertime, aghast.

“As serious as a man can be,” said Valgur, grinning, gold reflecting from his toothy smile. He regarded his crew upon the main deck. “Oi. Lads, hook our catch up to the stern so we can drag it behind us as we go.”

There was grumbling at this. Men raised their arms in protest, motioning at the fish and the off-kilter sway of the main deck. “Belay that,” said Valgur. “We’ll make it. And when we do, you’ll have a tale to tell indeed. Besides, what man among you’s gonna turn down free food?”

A murmur rose up as men debated, finally relenting to the captain’s logic with reluctant nods. The crew moved to make way. They pulled the fish in, dislodged the harpoons tying it to the bow and then hooked it so it drifted behind the vessel, secured with several long lines. “Pull it more starboard, and hook on a fresh line,” said Grit, directing the work. “There, thats the way. Keep it there.”

The effort steadied Ye ‘Ol Marigold slightly, for the counterweight made her tilt less pronounced. “Thing’s useful after all,” said Valgur, chuckling.

“Captain, we’re leaking,” said Delmar, one of the crew, who had emerged from below deck.

“How bad?”

“It’s sizeable, captain,”

“Will we sink out here?”

“We may hold. For how long, I can’t be sure. We need somewhere to port.”

“Indeed. Have men on shifts, we’ll need to pump the bilge ‘til we can find land out here. And get men on bailing duties if it looks dire.”

Pumping the bilge did keep them afloat, but barely. The mechanism was powered by suction, a plunger system to pump out water from the bottom of the hull. With the leak, water seeped up through the floorboards and pooled about men’s ankles. Picaro took turns bailing, and even minded the bilge pump for a moment.

They were at it day and night, trying to prevent the last vengeful act of the Tormented Channel from taking them under. Yet the tempest that nearly drowned them also bore one final gift. A southernly gust plumed the sails and pushed them onward. In this way, Ye ‘Ol Marigold limped doggedly toward port, tilted and leaking, bringing the great fish in tow.

They did not stop for dusk or night. Silvertime used the stars to guide them, and when he was too tired to man the helm, Valgur took over in his stead. It was nearly dawn on the second day when Valgur caught what he thought may have been the first rays of sunlight shining like a lance from just above the horizon. The line of light was narrow and struck like a dagger, brighter than any first rays of dawn. Then it began to rotate. He woke Silvertime.

“Oi. What’s that there?”

Silvertime jarred himself awake when he saw the light. “A lighthouse? But there should be no island out here. Nothing’s marked on the map,” he said, pouring over the scrolls that marked the known places among the Myriad Isles.

As they grew closer, dawn arose and it basked the lighthouse stationed on the rocky outcropping of a small island. Valgur and Silvertime inspected the rock, and the small towers of the town that sat within its borders.

“I remember this place,” said Valgur, and he looked down at Picaro who was just coming up onto the main deck. The boy ran to the rail, recognition dawned on his face. He was back home. It was Squal Parlor.